Having it both ways

Yes they told us it had been
The finest Government we’d seen,
Responsible for economic boom.
The leadership was given,
The economy was driven
And Ireland’s global stock began to zoom.

‘Twas great Government, they said,
Unsurprising that it led
To a wave of most unparalleled prosperity.
Our finances truly soared
As the Celtic tiger roared
With bravado and defiance, not temerity.

But now dear old Ireland’s fecked,
The economy is wrecked
And suddenly the focus has been shifted.
The world recession is to blame
For this unemployment shame
And the plaudits, once so loud, have slowly shifted.

It’s a worldwide fiscal crisis
That affects our costs and prices –
The Government is really just a victim.
And poor Brian, what can he do
But shut his eyes and see it through?
It’s so unfair how journalists depict him.

.

Barrack Obama’s Inauguration Speech

We had a sense of hist’ry in the making,
The dawning of a new and golden age.
The earth stood still – my wizened hands were shaking,
All eyes upon this man upon the stage.

The rhetoric flew down to earth like manna
And landed on our aching, yearning ears.
From Washington to Brisbane and Fermanagh,
We answered him with loud, affirming cheers.

For half an hour he spoke with deep conviction.
We marvelled at how well the message flowed.
With clarity of purpose and of diction
Into people’s consciences he strode.

Black and white and young and old united,
We listened as the neck-hairs stood on end.
We felt that every past wrong would be righted,
A President ‘pon whom we could depend.

A speech with all the elements of drama,
We sat back overwhelmed when he was done.
Then Rasher pointed to Michelle Obama
And said, “Begod, I’d like to give her one.”

Goodbye Dubya

They claim he was a fool, this man
Who made up words and grinned inanely,
Who sent troops to Afghanistan
Where still their gait remains ungainly,
Who turned his anti-terror plan
Against Iraq, sans judge or jury,
Serving simply but to fan
The flames of fundamental fury.

They claim he was a mere buffoon,
A pygmy when great height was needed,
Who howled in anger at the moon
When economic boom receded,
Who whistled aye the self-same tune
When ears were closed to that old number,
Who toddled off to bed too soon,
Escaping into blissful slumber.

Hist’ry, though, will scarcely find him
Dim, when all the books are written.
Rather, led by those behind him –
Shadows that bewitched a kitten.
Pow’rful forces that did blind him
To the line ‘twixt right and wrong,
Puppeteers that have defined him
As the man that tagged along.