The Pheasant’s Freedom

You are mocked at
And shot at:
 
Fool-of-many-colours,
Condemned jester.
 
Fattened on yellow meal
And lies,
 
Not kenning conspiracy
Until they level
 
The four walls
Of your safe-house
 
And you are driven out
Into a world without end.
 
        *
 
In the fog of confusion
You trip out before cars.
 
But your lover is no fool,
Hunkered down in the ditch
 
In her suit of speckled dun
While you prance
 
Over meadows
In your silk pyjamas.
 
You call out blithely
From the undergrowth,
 
Broadcasting your presence
To all:
 
“Kokok!”
“Come and Kill!”

Saoirse an Phiasúin

Saoirse an Phiasúin

Séidtear fút is caitear
piléir leat:
 
Amadán ildaite,
crósán daortha.
 
Ramhraithe ar mhin bhuí
Agus éithigh,
 
Ní thuigir comhchealg
Go leagtar
 
ceithre thaobh
Do chlós sábhálta,
 
Go tiomántar amach tú
I ndomhan gan teorann.
 
        *
 
I gceobhrán do mhearathail
Tuislír amach os comhair cairte,
 
Ach ní óinseach do ghrá geal
Suite sa díg ina culaith ghlic
 
Uidhir agus bhreac
Fad is a phramsálann tú
 
Thar na bánta
Id’ phitseamaí síoda.
 
Glaonn tú ón luifearnach
go hard saonta,
 
Ag fógairt do láithreach
Do chách:
 
“Kokok!”
“Tagaíg is maraíg!