Arklow : Against the Stone.
The sinking sun comes down in a bronze song
Stretching out towards the sea.
In the grid of my house with drip wax candles
I know the morning rains will whip up
And sweep across the old green valley
Cleansing the confused air of that oblique town below
Where church bells ring out
In an orgy of clerical indulgence.
.....The medieval charter of Rome
Will not have diminished with the night
And neither will the grey brown littered plastic
On the narrow street
...
The odor of decay mingles with sea air.
Gone is the harbour industry.
Gone is the Pottery
Gone is the last protest against the wrongs
Of government and rank.
Leaving the slumberous no place to walk
A thousand cars are parked along the river banks.
The town has swelled the lands of far away
The youth no longer stay
The fire of their history
Those fierce Norse invaders
Is blown out
...old roots deep in the psyche
Are buried now in names.
I’ll walk the sandy beach,
Look out to sea ...my thoughts left loose to roam
And to the line of fishermen I’ll nod..
And walk on fast..I must avoid the sight
Of living mackerel slammed against the stone.
Kristine Byrne Sept 2013