Cradle in the Breeze

 

Me mum said

how I loved me cradle

in the summer sea breeze

swaying east and west

under the mossy

thatch covered porch

that looks west over

gentle rolling green hills

separated by low stone walls

harvested over generations.

The cradle rocks back east towards

the jagged crags where

the crumbling cloister ruins

with me soulful ancient ancestors

protect me a rocking.

I still swing here west and east

under a new thatched roof

with me wee grandson

who loves the same lovely breeze.

 

 

I’ll Drink to that

 

To anyone but the bloody Brits

Cromwell and all those bastards that followed

Burning and pillaging us.

Better the Krauts any day I say

Gimme another beer lad.

 

Curse those red troopers

Those pinky fingered gentlemen

For we Irish are all brethren

Comrades to the green core.

Set me up another Finnie.

 

Except those greedy McDonalds

Untrustworthy bastards

who didn’t even share their potatoes.

They must have some English blood.

Gimme another cool one.

 

We ain’t lambs you know

Meek white bellied lambs.

We’re branded Celtic warriors

Til the last lad standing

Just one more team-mate.

 

Hey, would ya mate, comrade

Consider our homeland

And lend me a few schillings.

Seems those bastard Brits

Stole me money too!

 

                                   

© Andy Anderson