Wednesday, June 11, 2014

staggering ability of the Irish to abuse

'Corrosive Ireland


We know how to do this in Ireland, 'save the soul', give the scattered crumbs to the scattered shattered lowly people.

Give the least able the least possible.
Offer with one hand and most definitely take with the other.

We have a culture here.
We give up on the least able for Christianity pounded into the chizlers from all classes,
the erring ways of the wayward and lost
was the forgotten.  Ever and now.

'Dumped' being the Noun of preference.

We dump all upon the church and state.
All we never wanted
All we felt had wronged some precious moral code.

We dump them away from sight in institutions
We had many grounds of high surrounding walls.
There to rot.
The righteous to get on with their lives.

The Ireland of saints.
Always known but is it now or was it ever so?

Suffering profound poverty,
small without industry.
Industry was at the core of the soul and if you could not contribute you had to go.  You still have to.

The many who walked away never counted the cost of the precious soul they abandoned to the state.
Can we say it was a self preservation or profound guilt?  Can we be the brave new world of the intelligent and the enlightened, to acknowledge the wrong we continue to do?

We shall never know why culture takes hold in this manner but yes, the scholars will and say they understand.

Presently, We never grasp the concept of what we do to another
We have not the soul left to care,
We have not the soul to seek out consideration.
Battered from the hungry psyche of disadvantaged times.

No matter.
Many a class found their ways to spirit away the wayward.
It was easy.
The institutions were not to be missed.
Standing high from the grass edge huge monuments of grey granite.
Standing high from the priest on the pulpit pounding down the words of recklessness and the hell,
The damnation of the downtrodden,
The castigation to the sinful repentance that you had now but also have to endure for ever.
For evil ways.

Once in, your life will never be the same again.
Enlightenment came but the saving was a dying in itself.
You had been abandoned and far from light or lightness
You were catapulted into extreme darkness
 called Loneliness of soul
Abandonment of spirit
Forgotten for the love
The child was now part of a past and all moved on
Without you.

If you had a difficulty, difference or became too distressed
An answer was found
But found and dressed as the christian way
‘here, my dear you will be looked after’
a euphemism of deceit and deception.

You were not the looked after
The person and society who benefited was another.

How many made it through the initiation rites?
The few that stayed the course and with affluence, wit and influence.
The rest were ‘inside’
Many walls.

The rage that now is history was never so.
It continues apace with a modern way
The disabled are beaten to a tiny hovel
The mother is offered a bloodied mattress in her abandonment
The wealthy have the seaside view to sit on swivel chairs
Watch the big yachts sail on easy the pay packet for the life of Reilly.

The forgotten are at the back.
Facing the wrong way, the other way.
Further and further away from those who held the high moral ground.

How crushed you became when in spell of church or state
The care of both became the capture.
You were in for life and no mistake.

How easy too if you had been taken in and taken there
To become that victim of abuse thrice times over.
Today aged sixty i can say that released from one institution
I am in the clasps of another
They can be no different in the Ireland i know.
We only know one particular way.

You manage with cash and carry to live a life of self authority or you surrender under pressure of disadvantage.
Not just that aspect you may not cope with but the baggage you carry
That baggage is a burden forever
Let no one let you forget.
If the state has responsibility,  the state will dress up the responsibility.
the state will be the first to let you know -
You are a withering thorn in the side for their need to bother.
You do not count and never can.

You can escape the hard way and triumph but if that is done then that is taken again so easily.
Nothing can happen a soul who has erred, in Ireland
You have to do it alone or be captured by state in all its guises.
When this happens the road becomes torrid.

Your wish for the freedom of others rebounds in a statement said.
‘Happiness is not a right.’
How strange.
I thought it always was.

So who, when they say this, are these people?
They are the ones on the edge of nerves with worry
That one day you will extract a care from them that they do not wish to offer or give.
This saintly child of Ireland institutionally attached to the institution of the Mass.
You have no direct right to happiness
But I have they say but never you!

You are spirited away
Into the care of the state
You go in one door and then another till your life is over
That life spent to get out
The paths may be winding within the power of the few but escape is not an easy way or an easy adventure

Escape is the only word
Never happiness
But state care is nothing more than a bitterness from state
To have to bother.
It doesn't resemble social responsibility.
It resembles hatred of your very person.
Hatred at the core of care

Abandonment of respect
Abandonment of love.
You do not deserve it.
You cannot expect happiness, it isn't a right – for you.
For me yes, but for you never.

You have to bear this tragic consequence of difference.
We demand it so.
You cannot expect the others, who have jumped that wall of easy entrapment before ever arriving at its shore.
You cannot expect the Irish Christianity so warped now in the perception of the world’s choice, who wonders and still considers our greatness.

The green flag flies on the one day of our country
The world wants to be a part in some sick way.
We flash that colour boldly from china to Istanbul, from mongolia to Paris.
All the while the withering of the most precious continues in a callous and cruel way.
Our ways are imprinted.

We do not do this on the conscious level.
We do it at the level of belief in ourselves that we have this right to abuse all.
We can abuse and we will, no matter.
We do not have a civil or moral code of care
We abandon the least able at whim.

So that the privileged can continue a life worth living.
They can get the Sunday Mass in for their soul’s insurance
As long as they can leave the thorns within a holding place,

The life of those trapped is never the same again.

When i say my life is being abused i mean it.
We see it now in the guise of health not housing.
But you jump from one to the other and as a different way and worry you jump straight to the abuse of another.

Why do they feel they can do it?
They do it as part of a self righteous belief that the fallen are worth not a jot
By falling we lose our right to be placed alongside.
The problem in Ireland being, if you fall here you stay fallen.

Only the ones that got away became free
And it is these that signal the great Irish for the great Irish abroad to emblazon the nostalgia of green
It is not for the downtrodden but the triumphant.
No one ever triumphs or wins
In the care of the church or state in Ireland.

The evil runs through each department of our institutions, whether they give a roof over your lowly head or give you health meant as a constitutional right.
But you have no rights, mark my word without affluence you surrender to abuse.

To one i sound the trumpet loud.
My abuser right now has become the health care system for the public poor.
That system that colludes and shatters the joy of escape from housing, you plummet now deep in depression awaiting your fate at the hands of state.
No one cares and you do not matter.
Reflecting my own i see an evilness within Ireland.
I have no idea how it can escape such ways.
The only thing i know is

Feeling the effects of a grubby nation's need to abuse the least able.
You feel it, eating away like a cancer, even within a health system designed to offer succour to the poor.
You feel it, in every way.

Once more i wish to escape
Not unlike the mother with the child.
The mother and child who could not live up to an ideal of only a few.
We do this you see, with incredible ease.

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