Thursday, September 15, 2022

FamineShips2022TonyFallon116

 FamineShips2022TonyFallon116

In the dark eighteen forties Ireland was England's breadbasket

That time dead thrown in mass graves without coffin or casket

While ships sailed out loaded with meat and Irish grown grain

While sons of the rich were being educated in France or Spain

it was not the failing potatoes brought total ruination

but the result of land taken from natives during plantation

Overworked fields did not provide an adequate harvest

So food was often scarce in winter when weather was harshest

The potatoes crop rotting in the ground meant certain starvation

meanwhile clergy preached after suffering  there would be salvation

with the passing generations holdings got smaller and smaller

Indoor animals only added to the unhealthy squalor

Those behind on rent were evicted on the orders of the squire

Cattle were more profitable so the house was set on fire

Thrown out on the open windy road to face certain doom

With no money in their pockets to buy food to consume

Reduced to begging for some pennies from heartless bosses

To die in the fields and ditches without benefit of crosses

The living trying to get overseas with their last few pounds

Leaving their families and loved ones in villages and towns

Immigrants boarded rotting ships which very well might wreck

Long before they safely reached the ports of Boston or Quebec

Corpses thrown overboard without any slowing motion

To become food for trailing sharks in the Atlantic Ocean

Then be treated like they were either a criminal or a spy

With signs in the windows saying No Irish people need Apply


The Rahara Rose © Tony Fallon Jan318

 The Rahara Rose © Tony Fallon Jan318

I cry because it's over and you are here no more

This place will never mean as much as it did before

Yet when I have cried enough I often have to smile

I think how lucky I was to have you for a while

No more we'll roam the valleys or climb a hilly peak

No more we'll go to Mayo and climb St Patrick's reek

No more we will walk the streets of Boyle or Castlerea

No more we'll swim in the chilly waters of Lough Ree

When I met you again in New York I felt so blessed

And our love for each other very quickly progressed

You were a happy worker I often sent flowers

To my true love working in the ill fated towers

I never visited you I am fearful of heights

You said from your window were many impressive sights

That you should be taken from us is hard to perceive

On your first day back to work from maternity leave

Farewell my Rahara Rose until we meet again

Your memory will stay until I am old and then,

You will take my hand one night and call so soft to me

Like swans we’ll fly together to beautiful Lough Ree

Often Sal comes in the room as my eyes I'm drying

And in a sad, sad voice asks Daddy were you crying?

How long more can I lie and tell her it is pollen 

This replica of you, the young Miss Sally Fallon.

Farewell my Rahara Rose until we meet again

Your memory will stay until I am old and then,

You will take my hand one night and call so soft to me

Two children of Lir forever swimming on Lough Ree.

Friday, September 2, 2022

YelowBus©2022TonyFallon0831

 YelowBus©2022TonyFallon0831


They got on the Yellow bus 

And you know I was sad

That's not for children

But it is for granddad


It's not like sixty years ago

When it was us was sad

They'll get food at school 

They have a new iPad


At every stop this morning

Were parents who were sad

Parting with their babies

Missing their lass or lad.


They all start as equals

So innocent and pure

I hope they eliminate war

Or find a magic cure