my morning poem,,,
again 2 first by paul durcan,,,

1916: Not to be commemorated

The Irish Government has announced that 1916 is not to be commemorated in 2016 on account of their 150% rollback of the principles and ideals of the 1916 rebels.

The authorities wish to proclaim that they not cherish all the children of the nation equally:

That the people have no right to the ownership of Ireland:

That the people have no God given right to freedom:

That the nutrition of good government is inhumanity and rapine:

That the testosterone of proper administration is the pylon and the wind turbine:

That the people have no right to speak other than in celebrity cliché, media jargon, smart speak:

That all forms of humane speech are to be outlawed in the light of the disgustingly visionary utterances of the poets Pearse, MacDonagh and Plunkett and the gay causal words of the feckless McBride:

That liberty, equality and fraternity are prohibited substances in Ireland:

In 2016 anybody caught proclaiming 1916 values will be sentenced to solitary imprisonment for life in a windowless room in a ghost estate:

The 2016 logo, a brand Ireland will be in fake high-end Celtic calligraphy – fugg off.

Signed on behalf of the provisional government; the old hag of Beare.,

and the second to remind ,or remember old times,and smells and sounds,
enjoy

The Forge
by Seamus Heaney

All I know is a door into the dark.
Outside, old axles and iron hoops rusting;
Inside, the hammered anvil’s short-pitched ring,
The unpredictable fantail of sparks
Or hiss when a new shoe toughens in water.
The anvil must be somewhere in the centre,
Horned as a unicorn, at one end and square,
Set there immoveable: an altar
Where he expends himself in shape and music.
Sometimes, leather-aproned, hairs in his nose,
He leans out on the jamb, recalls a clatter
Of hoofs where traffic is flashing in rows;
Then grunts and goes in, with a slam and flick
To beat real iron out, to work the bellows.

1969