Ceasefire

Come down, dismount your piebald pony,
Leave cloud of doubt and halo of fury,
And I’ll lay aside prejudice’s helmet.
 
Do you know me now, dark glowering man,
Or do we all look much the same in your eyes?
On the edge of Kilmallock you pulled a knife.
 
And although the point was turned on me,
It was as though you could not see,
It was as though you fought with shadows.
 
And although your hand controlled the hilt,
I felt like a surgeon observing a reflex,
For the knife was your answer to all your ills.
 
I never wish to deny free will,
But who can deny conditioning
Instils salivation in dogs and men?
 
Yet might both of us pull out of Pavlov’s disease
And see the face behind the mask,
No cloud or halo, no helmet or knife?

Sos Cogaidh

Sos Cogaidh

Léim anuas ded’ chapaillín spágach piebald,
tar i leith gan néall buille ná luan amhrais id’ thimpeall
agus bainfeadsa clogad mo chlaontachta díom.
 
Nach cuimhin leat mé, a fhir theann dhuibh,
nó an bhfuil an sciamh chéanna orainn uilig id’ shúilibh?
Ar imeall Chill Mocheallóg tharraingis scian orm.
 
Is cé gur ormsa a bhí do bhior dírithe
bhí sé ar nós nár fhaca tú éinne,
bhí sé ar nós gur throidis le scátha.
 
Is cé gur agatsa ‘bhí greim ar an gcos,
do bhraitheas mar lia ag faire frithluail,
toisc scian do leigheas ar gach aicíd dod’ chás.
 
Níl fonn orm riamh toil dheona a cheilt
ach ní féidir linn cumhacht seanthaithí a shéanadh,
‘cuireann uisce le fiacla con agus duine.
 
‘Gus an gcloífidh an bheirt againn galar seo Pavlov,
chun go gcífear an duine taobh thiar den aghaidh fidil
gan néall, gan luan, gan clogad ná scian?