h'work for w/e 1.11.21 -- IMMIGRANT
Posted: Tue Oct 19, 2021 4:59 pm
Could doubtless do with some fine tuning - but in the interest of kicking things along it is as first written - I will smooth out the bumps though later on.
IMMIGRANT ... Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBarkPoet
She carried in her pockets all her past and history
and little else was left for her to hide
the clothes upon her back, a pair of battered worn out shoes
her bible, rosary and shattered pride
were all she had in truth - a shawl and spare smock made her swag
a few pennies she had squirreled away
She stood and drew a breath - her last deep breath of Irish air
then turned her back and climbed the steel gangway.
She'd said her last confession before leaving for the coast.
In truth she felt 'twas not her that had sinned.
The Irish troubles haunted her, in nightmares and her dreams
and some perhaps would think her too thin skinned.
But she had gathered up her virtue and her innocence
and chosen to leave her home at Kilbride
rather a random rover than a life of servitude
in marriage that outstanding debt had tied.
"Bless me Father" she had said, her thin shawl her face shading
" today I leave my kith and kin behind.
But I won't warm an old man's bed nor be a companion
nor will I have my whole young life consigned
in payment of a debt that was never of my making.
It isn't right I'm sure that you agree."
And from behind the screen she heard a muffled guttural sound
she took as affirmation. So did he.
'Lord Strangford' docked at Dublin - it was 1826.
Destination - the Isle of Hope it seems.
The decks were heavy laden with a host of immigrants
who carried little save their hopes and dreams.
A coffin ship from Ireland - day by day passengers died
the Davy Jones' sea locker their last bed.
Without a way to store them they were all buried at sea
and sharks that followed feasted on the dead.
Conditions were quite terrible, the water stale and foul
whilst vitals were in very short supply
below decks stinking hot, with people crammed close together
relief was felt when someone up and died.
The misery was palpable, and arguments were rife
but all there hoped for better days ahead
At least the weather aided them as they moved with the tide,
staunching their hunger with unleavened bread.
Two square rigged masts above them with full complement of sail
captured the winds and drove the vessel on
three thousand miles from Dublin to the shores of Ellis Isle -
the Isle of Hope or Tears so far from home.
And how this story ended well alas I cannot tell,
its ending has been lost across the years.
But we know the girl had courage, we know that she had dreams
We understand her worries and her fears.
She was just one of many, very many young colleens
departing from those verdant Irish shores
seeking a future better than the one they left behind
just one more soul that history ignores.
She carried in her pockets all her worldly goods on earth
and little else was left for her to hide;
the clothes upon her back, a pair of battered worn out shoes
her bible, rosary and shattered pride.
19.10.21
IMMIGRANT ... Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBarkPoet
She carried in her pockets all her past and history
and little else was left for her to hide
the clothes upon her back, a pair of battered worn out shoes
her bible, rosary and shattered pride
were all she had in truth - a shawl and spare smock made her swag
a few pennies she had squirreled away
She stood and drew a breath - her last deep breath of Irish air
then turned her back and climbed the steel gangway.
She'd said her last confession before leaving for the coast.
In truth she felt 'twas not her that had sinned.
The Irish troubles haunted her, in nightmares and her dreams
and some perhaps would think her too thin skinned.
But she had gathered up her virtue and her innocence
and chosen to leave her home at Kilbride
rather a random rover than a life of servitude
in marriage that outstanding debt had tied.
"Bless me Father" she had said, her thin shawl her face shading
" today I leave my kith and kin behind.
But I won't warm an old man's bed nor be a companion
nor will I have my whole young life consigned
in payment of a debt that was never of my making.
It isn't right I'm sure that you agree."
And from behind the screen she heard a muffled guttural sound
she took as affirmation. So did he.
'Lord Strangford' docked at Dublin - it was 1826.
Destination - the Isle of Hope it seems.
The decks were heavy laden with a host of immigrants
who carried little save their hopes and dreams.
A coffin ship from Ireland - day by day passengers died
the Davy Jones' sea locker their last bed.
Without a way to store them they were all buried at sea
and sharks that followed feasted on the dead.
Conditions were quite terrible, the water stale and foul
whilst vitals were in very short supply
below decks stinking hot, with people crammed close together
relief was felt when someone up and died.
The misery was palpable, and arguments were rife
but all there hoped for better days ahead
At least the weather aided them as they moved with the tide,
staunching their hunger with unleavened bread.
Two square rigged masts above them with full complement of sail
captured the winds and drove the vessel on
three thousand miles from Dublin to the shores of Ellis Isle -
the Isle of Hope or Tears so far from home.
And how this story ended well alas I cannot tell,
its ending has been lost across the years.
But we know the girl had courage, we know that she had dreams
We understand her worries and her fears.
She was just one of many, very many young colleens
departing from those verdant Irish shores
seeking a future better than the one they left behind
just one more soul that history ignores.
She carried in her pockets all her worldly goods on earth
and little else was left for her to hide;
the clothes upon her back, a pair of battered worn out shoes
her bible, rosary and shattered pride.
19.10.21