WB Yeats looks down from a lamp post banner at a tent erected in front of the Irish Parliament. I tried to find out what they were protesting. The policeman said he thought it had something to do with child abuse. I looked on indymedia Ireland for an explanation to no avail.Che was celebrated all over the world today. Even in Bolivia.Ireland was no exception.At the National History Museum in Dublin, Sean told me to look for this little gold boat from the first century BC. The slender mast proves that there were sailing boats in those days. It was found in a farmer's field in County Derry. The farmer's wife washed the dirt off and almost lost some of the oars. I think the Irish tabloids are even more pervasive than those in the US. On the train from Dublin to Cork this woman spent her time with Brittany, OJ, Angelina and George Clooney.Walking through Dublin one comes across many different forms of street solicitation.This one seemed particularly clever.
But ya tell me Over and over and over again, my friend Ah, you don’t believe We’re on the eve of impeachment.
Rummie is cryin’ “Waah, I want my Momma!” Hillie’s wastin’ time racing black Obama. The Supreme Court ruled and jacked up the election With politics first… but justice second- There’s Karl Rove and Jeffrey Gannon in Lincoln’s bedroom closet neckin’!
And ya tell me Over and over and over again, my friend Ah, you don’t believe We’re on the eve of impeachment.
Cheney’s blood clots are coagulatin’ Chicken hawks are still escalatin’ Fox is in the hen house, there ain’t no regulatin’ And Nancy Pelosi won’t start investigatin’ And marches alone don’t stop the devastatin’ The evidence is just too damn incriminatin’ Bring the troops back home to our Americanation!
But ya tell me Over and over and over again, my friend Ah, you don’t believe We’re on the eve of impeachment.
Gonzales is lyin’, so is Scooter Libby They’re droppin like flies because of all their fibbies Abramoff, Delay and Kenny Lay are frightened Who is next in line to get an inditement? Bush is readin’ “My Pet Goat” gonna miss all the excitement. The poundin’ of the gavel, Republigoons are sweatin’ Armageddon sick and tired of all their Armageddon.
Yetcha… tell me over and over and over and over again, my friend Ah, you don’t believe We’re on the eve of impeachment. Mm, ya better believe We’re on the eve of impeachment.Dove Cottage by Janine Pommy Vega (for Margaret & Peter)
In 1800 the busy life of the newborn middle class with neighbors dying as they crossed the mountains at night in winter and the eldest daughter seeking out a cloak from the next door neighbor, to search for her parents, thrust at eleven into the adult business of survival
Amidst poets walking eight miles to see if you had another stanza to that poem, or he had an idea, or if she did walking in company around the mere on a cloudy dry day with the robin singing extravagantly the thrush with his head cocked listening for nightcrawlers under the earth in the quiet garden
pulls one out and slams it this way and that against the ground, another tiny murder in the bucolic life When the child workers sleeping inside the cogs of wheels in the machines were let go, no longer needed, someone pointed to the village across the estuary, There, there’s your home, and as the tiny band trooped out the tide rushed in
The middle class supported not by a king but their own consequence Wordsworth writing for his life the populace eating oatmeal bread and hasty pudding the wide view over the lake lending itself to contemplation, a consciousness connected to particularities of nature
particular lemon thyme on the stone walls lady’s smock and lady’s slipper the blue-eyed jackdaw and black headed oyster catcher, until somebody points it out you may not see it The sister and brother, Dorothy and William, love companions busy about survival in the wet cold weather he focused on a thought in mid-air, she papering the bedrooms to keep out the wind,
come at last to this: a daffodil reflecting inner light, the shout of laughter from a dusty couch in a dark room, the singularity of spirit reflecting a totality reverberating like guitar strings at the door
The becks and hows and fells and tarns and crofts and meres of another time leapfrog through literature to the present, the ancient people busy about survival with one syllable place names, geographical landmarks a history of galloping consciousness
wild things brought back to the garden heckberry blossoms, buttercup and orchis brassy rhododendron and azalea taking root under the watchful magpie, the finch and raven the black lambs bleating at heaven’s gate Derision of these people at one’s peril
who opened chinks in the wall of the everyday, who insisted on their visions grew sick for the lack of them persisted in them, eyes far-distanced and heavy-lidded with laudanum, who pursued the dandelion of common prayer. Grasmere, Cumbria, England, May 2007.
WB Yeats looks down from a lamp post banner at a tent erected in front of the Irish Parliament. I tried to find out what they were protesting. The policeman said he thought it had something to do with child abuse. I looked on indymedia Ireland for an explanation to no avail.
Che was celebrated all over the world today. Even in Bolivia.Ireland was no exception.
At the National History Museum in Dublin, Sean told me to look for this little gold boat from the first century BC. The slender mast proves that there were sailing boats in those days. It was found in a farmer's field in County Derry. The farmer's wife washed the dirt off and almost lost some of the oars. 
I think the Irish tabloids are even more pervasive than those in the US. On the train from Dublin to Cork this woman spent her time with Brittany, OJ, Angelina and George Clooney.
Walking through Dublin one comes across many different forms of street solicitation.
This one seemed particularly clever.
