Comrade to a Fickle Deity
Mottled jowls adorn his life, softened hands and harried wife
staring at her feet.
A booming voice resonant with greed, bigotry and obstinate idiocy
indicates the insecurity that bubbles beneath.
That troublesome tongue seldom held behind tainted teeth,
has launched imbeciles upon voyages laden with infected product.
The eyes, his eyes, speak of unspeakable conduct barely concealed
within ersatz expressions of concern.
A storm rages around such ego.
Gashes and wounds congeal but rarely heal,
yet still he persists;
a malevolent presence lurking in pasty skin and finery
that shields the contempt within, reserved for the vulnerable.
Abandonment, treachery, murderous intent carried upon the ice wind
of his fetid breath rank from brutality and decadent endeavour.
He lives well;
feeding upon the dispossessed who sleep tearfully,
young and old, in the fertile new dirt.
Then admires the sharp crease in his crisp, cancerous, blue shirt.
Note: Rebel Voice has been notified by the author that this poem was written about General Eoin O’Duffy (shown in the photo taking a Nazi Salute), who was the founder of the Blueshirts, a Southern Irish Fascist organisation of the early 20th century.
O’Duffy took a contingent of his right-wing nutcases to Spain to fight for General Franco, but had to leave hurriedly as they were deemed a nuisance to the war effort there (the Spanish Fascists effectively kicked them out of Spain because the Blueshirts were crap at fighting).
O’Duffy was one of the founding members of the Irish political party, Fine Gael. The Blueshirts formed the basis of the membership for the fledgling party, and many members regularly wore their fascist attire to party meetings.
Today, Fine Gael, (one of the only political parties still in existence that has been formed from early European fascism) are in government in the southern Irish state (also known as the Irish Free State). They have always been closely aligned with the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, as was the Spanish fascist General Franco.
It would seem that Ireland, north and south, has a long way to go before anything resembling a true Republic will be formed. Yet a good start would be to get rid of the damned and callous Blueshirts who still sit in authority on our island today.