This morning I awoke with grace
Of God, the sun upon my face
And, as the day was heaven-sent,
I lay there in my canvas tent
And marvelled at those bearded loons
Who whistle eco-friendly tunes.
For aeons now they have insisted
Policies are grossly twisted,
Repeating, yea, ad infinitum,
We’ve obligations to rewrite ‘em.
They claim we should protect the masses
From the scourge of greenhouse gases
And “legislation needs reforming”
Due to so-called global warming.
(Greenhouse gases? Pah! My arse!
‘Tis but a science-fiction farce
That Cork and Galway may tomorrah
Fall like Sodom and Gomorrah!
‘Tis clear that both these wondrous places
Sport the very best oases,
And people in glass houses oughta
Smell the roses and the water)
And thus I lay in contemplation
Of the eco-situation,
While outside, my well nourished ass
Grazed lightly in the marram grass.
Why, just last week, as I recall,
I bought a paper at the stall
Of my old friend, Saleem Ka-bar
Down in the Blanchardstown bazaar,
And read how still those heat-deranged
Green activists claim Ireland’s changed!
And though I grant in certain ways
Old Ireland’s vanished in the haze,
I view their words with much regret
That they should come across so wet.
Oh yes ‘tis true, our travelling folk,
Still railing ‘gainst convention’s yoke
By roaming freely ‘cross the land
From Dunes of Mourne to Banna Strand,
No longer go “traditionally,”
(By 4 x 4, or SUV)
But ride along the harsh terrain
By virtue of a camel train.
And yes, ‘tis true that anybody
Now can cross the Shannon wadi
By walking without fear or dread
Across the arid river bed
And stay as dry as Israelites
Escaping to Mount Sinai’s heights.
But sandy fields of Athenry,
Where still the circling buzzards fly,
You’ve only changed by dint of colour
From verdant green to somewhat duller.
The farmers still protest the rates
Of subsidies for figs and dates.
And still I see familiar faces
At the dromedary races
(Where, I grudgingly confirm,
The going is routinely “firm”)
Where two or three may come together,
Still they moan about the weather,
And how this year they’ll go to Spain
To try and get a bit of rain.
Alarmist eco-friendly warrior,
Don’t you think we might be sorrier
If our climate were endowed
With drizzling rain and blackened cloud?
How could we cope with sudden storms
And sun that neither lights nor warms?
How would we know what clothes to wear?
How would the turbaned goat-herd fare
If we were prone to sudden showers,
Summonsed by almighty powers?
Seditious fires should not be fanned
Across our brown and pleasant land.
Of God, the sun upon my face
And, as the day was heaven-sent,
I lay there in my canvas tent
And marvelled at those bearded loons
Who whistle eco-friendly tunes.
For aeons now they have insisted
Policies are grossly twisted,
Repeating, yea, ad infinitum,
We’ve obligations to rewrite ‘em.
They claim we should protect the masses
From the scourge of greenhouse gases
And “legislation needs reforming”
Due to so-called global warming.
(Greenhouse gases? Pah! My arse!
‘Tis but a science-fiction farce
That Cork and Galway may tomorrah
Fall like Sodom and Gomorrah!
‘Tis clear that both these wondrous places
Sport the very best oases,
And people in glass houses oughta
Smell the roses and the water)
And thus I lay in contemplation
Of the eco-situation,
While outside, my well nourished ass
Grazed lightly in the marram grass.
Why, just last week, as I recall,
I bought a paper at the stall
Of my old friend, Saleem Ka-bar
Down in the Blanchardstown bazaar,
And read how still those heat-deranged
Green activists claim Ireland’s changed!
And though I grant in certain ways
Old Ireland’s vanished in the haze,
I view their words with much regret
That they should come across so wet.
Oh yes ‘tis true, our travelling folk,
Still railing ‘gainst convention’s yoke
By roaming freely ‘cross the land
From Dunes of Mourne to Banna Strand,
No longer go “traditionally,”
(By 4 x 4, or SUV)
But ride along the harsh terrain
By virtue of a camel train.
And yes, ‘tis true that anybody
Now can cross the Shannon wadi
By walking without fear or dread
Across the arid river bed
And stay as dry as Israelites
Escaping to Mount Sinai’s heights.
But sandy fields of Athenry,
Where still the circling buzzards fly,
You’ve only changed by dint of colour
From verdant green to somewhat duller.
The farmers still protest the rates
Of subsidies for figs and dates.
And still I see familiar faces
At the dromedary races
(Where, I grudgingly confirm,
The going is routinely “firm”)
Where two or three may come together,
Still they moan about the weather,
And how this year they’ll go to Spain
To try and get a bit of rain.
Alarmist eco-friendly warrior,
Don’t you think we might be sorrier
If our climate were endowed
With drizzling rain and blackened cloud?
How could we cope with sudden storms
And sun that neither lights nor warms?
How would we know what clothes to wear?
How would the turbaned goat-herd fare
If we were prone to sudden showers,
Summonsed by almighty powers?
Seditious fires should not be fanned
Across our brown and pleasant land.
.
Thrilled to discover that this got 2nd place in the Trim Literary Festival Swift Satire Competition organised by the Boyne Writers Group
