Go on, file a paper,
make an imaginary notice of imaginary things,
and build on this a physical entity.  
See how deaf the masses will go,
from hearing the Latin tongue:
parchment, and paper,
tomes of dust and sand.  
Make a rule because you can,
and cement again the fetters,
our fathers and mothers cleft in twain.  

Ireland is still an English land,
while English law remains.  
Tories breed like rabbits,
so don't ask me what's wrong,
why you're unsatisfied with your oppression,
why enough is never enough,
till the colonial fetish is propagated,
into every heart and mind there,
worked deep into the furrows of our holy ground.  

Will you never have done?
Are you not content with your own misery,
without inflicting it on others?
Is it not enough to be in chains,
but to love and ****** those chains?
  
Oh mighty sculptors of our race,
chip chip away and see what's left.

Some pomes stick to the wall like spaghetti,
And filch meaning from better poets.  
So take not the dower of my time,
And I'll make no obloquy against ye petty scriveners.

The hazy natural poetry flounts with airs and graces.
Let the humans out to air, and hold yesterday's darkness in sunny relief.  
Bring in capacity to strike down the dimness of the mass.
Do a little dance for the lame people, and bless the prodigal sun.

There was man,
Who was six foot;
There was another,
Who was not.

Seemingly

It is when an imagined happiness,
comes momently to the fore,
only to die in a vivid blustering of the weather,
then it is painful to be man.

Think ye on what might have been,
and dwell on the reminiscence of a passing prosperity,
which as a flaxen cloth is wrung,
passes to the obscurity of memory.
So sink to the shadows - ye might have been great.
Sigh and divulge the substance of your bodies,
rise, turn and stare.  The land groans,
from the labour of many, rises and falls,
to the beat of begetting and dying, while the begotten die,
and the dead beget some more,
to ache their heads and till their beds,
and carry on for a little while longer.  
I sat today and listened to the Angelus on the radio -
because what else was there to do?

Today was a day,
which was like other days in some regards,
but in others not.
Which is to say, that it was okay.
That was my day.