In the Coming Times Anew - Monstrous Float

This poem is inspired by 'To Ireland in the Coming Times' by WB Yeats. I think it has deep resonance with the Ireland of recent times.

The smothering lapel-sheiks discharged
now stare at thickets of placards
that point out Tig-irish wrongs
as we rant through the throng.
No stone - none to our dismay - lies full-turned;
for such is the tint in our sunset darkened,
that sworn oaths to winters long held and swallowed
crave credit terms from those that fired the dirty bellows.
Like a be-draggled mattress and jar hoarded
we were raided, left for dumb and marauded.

Unleavened treasures strewn about our feet
She, Róisín Dubh is now a refactored beast.
Cylinders fired 'neath her oversized chassis,
not even a pilot light now for our poor lassie. 
We stand whereabouts and count the damage done

as shores ebb with a telling tide of those now gone.

3 unwise: 'Ahernia', 'McGravy', 'Clowen' kicked sand 

in our face. Cirque 'DUH!' Soleil Acts with a can of mace.

We rot in wretched gullies, Ireland's pride sliced alive 

burned off the Richter-Rehn scale with sod all and lime.

How in the hell did we let this happen?

Was it impure neglect, civil state caught nappin'?
A work of evil dressed for a sin-filled jubilee,
smoke keening nightmares for you and me.
It never quickened the fire so much in our belly
when vents blow a fuse with Bonds and spent Lolly;

a bingo barrel into which we daren't stray again.
Let's not swear to decrees that scale this destruction!
Let us not be über-wistful but let's mind crosses and nails
lest we show red faces At The Races on the World's rails.
Thorny roses scratch features smelling not of irony,
but of rancid tales and cold blooded unmatrimony.

McWilliams foresaw it all through crystal imagery,
now a worm embedded in our worst memory.
Catastrophe measured by a nations gout 

Floored -KO'd - Lights Out!
All things sacred got laid with a lowing wail,
following the stooped and genuflected trail,
of a Famine land broiled in greasy stew
of blind-led riders running on empty tanks of red hue.

A ghosted land with trees made eerily bare,

for who shall we restitute good will's fortune there:
The old who saved and scrimped near death?
But not you who fanned flames on each and every bet.
You know my heart now, 

it no longer sings or rhymes a note
with your cold rimmed treason 

around this Monstrous Float.

Author's Note

yeats original is here: http://www.poetry-archive.com/y/to_ireland_in_the_coming_times.html
I used the same 3 verse, 16 line format as the Yeats original, to conjure something not too dissimilar! Originally published last year, I've re-written it because of unhappiness with that first attempt. I'll say no more.

Reviews

[Hollow Man]

Erin Go Bragh...wish i was ther now. highly emotionative piece with killer rhymin

[FaithfullyJennyBear]

i love the way you write, it has so much emotion in it, it is amzing. you shoud write sooo much more like this x

[Lilly Negoi]

i don't know how the first attempt was, but this one is quite impressive! highly descriptive, and with a very interesting rhyming pattern!