In Rosemary Canavan’s book of poems ‘Trucker’s Moll’, her dedication is “for my mother who started me off”. I can relate.
My mum also encouraged my youthful angst in my 1968 handwritten notebook, long before keyboards ruined my ability to wield a pen and ink, by putting a little (accountant’s) tick of approval next to poems she liked. Done in pencil – I hope it never fades… I treasure those little marks.
Rosemary’s poem on page 61 ‘Flowers in March’ was written on St Patrick’s Day in March 2003.
I too sat newly arrived in Ireland, watching that same parade on the television, in March, 2003 and wrote on the same theme.
Baghdad Ballet
A young boy sits, on his mother’s shoulders,
smile-excited in the sunshine, taking part
in a parade. He proudly thrusts the finger
-sign of peace. Nice to see in an Iraqi child
– family bombardered by ‘Shock and Awe’
the night before, apparently forgiving.
But the visual is blitzed as it flashes onscreen,
by the plastic Sten-gun held aloft, back-
ground brandished in the child’s other hand.
Do you think the young lad plays in secret tunnels,
knows where to hide, where doubles walk
to keep the myth alive, the magic tricks
to keep awake illusions of a still-controlled-city.
Streetlights burn in defiance of invaders largess.
Traffic moves through the night while
bright glows explode in distant thunder
shower shrapnel. We sit on green comfy
sofas, presumed warm and safe inside,
miles away watching the performance
on TV young Liam wears red and white,
holds his defiant hurely high – a warrior
enjoying the sunshine day parade
– a protest for peace in Shannon…
Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003
#FrancesMacaulayForde #RosemaryCanavan #SalmonPoetry #JessieLendennie #SalmonBookshop #CliffsOfMoher #Poetry #IrishPoet
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