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‘A Land of Plenty’ and other poems by Simon Havoc

By: Simon Havok

A Land of Plenty

From the Aran Islands to Belfast, a land of plenty, for the meek and bold
Over infinite rolling emerald hills of rocky roads that bend and fold
Deep into the Scots pines, in our home beating a bodhrán drum
In a place none could let loosed for any price, never to be sold
Tipping back another cup of the majestic fermented gold, spiced rum

In the place defended by the blood of the brave rebel fathers of old
Then let every ode lyric be sang, clapped, and stomped loudly with pride
In a place that warms the soul, even as the clouds bucketing down so cold
Continue swinging, jolting, and swaying to every note, no need for a ride

Just passed the dewy pines, old stone, leafy trees, down the cobbled road
Duck your nimble head down to miss Mr. O’Reilly’s drunken swing
A fiery star bursting through the Celtic fog, entrancing eyes that behold
Then, up ahead was a sight to see that made my heart dance and sing
The kind of thing worth more than colossal cluster of Leprechaun’s gold

Right there be the lass that occupied all my dreams, Amelia Bohannan
My stomach like waves crashing into the seaweed covered boulders
No time to rest or wait, as I ran up, cheekily grabbed her soft hand
Felt the massive cast iron weight lifted off of my shoulders

This golden hair brushed by my face, smelled of lush wild rosemary
Perhaps a love too precious for mortals, perhaps into the soil to bury
It’s time to walk into the blazing horizon, full of feverish laughter untold
Let’s take things slowly, my dear, better yet make haste, let’s get married
From the Aran Islands to Belfast, tis land of plenty for the meek and bold


The Saint
Turn the cheek
Blessed are the meek
Blessed are the pure in heart
Begin this now, just start
Along comes one with malice intent
Spouting sharp words, mind is bent
Remember the words, to turn the cheek
Pushing the blade in deeper, as they shriek


Unstick these laden feet from this thick muddy tundra
Wipe your soiled boots until clean
Continue forward, with lighter steps
Encompassed with austere purpose & pleasantries


The Descent
the meek, genuine, and sincere are
scorched, stomped, and crumpled by the vain irrelevant
and shallow self-lusters of the world. These empty vessels effortlessly
gain the allegiance of all mankind. Media-addicted minds no longer maintain
a conscious understanding of any true tangible values. Ethical perceptions are
flung beneath the hooves of bottom-feeders. The internal light within is convoluted
by the presence of the fallen angel. He uses his guilt-soaked souls to pave a
path of golden stairs that spiral straight down to his home

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