A prayer to Saint Patrick

Following the popularity of the Joseph O'Connor's most recent radio column, which I transcribed during the week, I've transcribed this poem to Saint Patrick. This was written six years ago for St. Patrick's Day, so some of it is slightly dated, yet NAMA hasn't gone away - so it's not all totally irrelevant.

The Drivetime radio dairies are available from the RTE Drivetime website, however quite often there can be a substantial delay between the broadcast date and the podcast going live on the website. If you'd like a written version of the radio column, then you'd better learn how to touch type!

Click here to listen to Joe read his poem.

Hail glorious Saint Patrick.
Dear saint of the green
If you’re talking to God
You might mention we’re keen
For divine intervention.
In difficult days
Deliver us Patron
From government ways.

At lot of kerfuffle
About the re-shuffle
We’re promised a team
Willing and able
Not the usual yes-men
Arranged like dull chess men
Around the cabinet table.

From where is to come the solution?
We really don’t have an idea
We’d probably have revolution
By now if the guillotines came from IKEA.

And the parties with soundbites to offer
Go throwing the head in the Dáil.
They rant with impunity
No sense of unity
Out here, we’re sick of them all.

There’s a feeling the ship has no rudder
A fear that auld Erin is fecked
We’re a broke Irish joke
Buying pigs in a poke
We’ve a Taoiseach we didn’t elect.

And over-promotions in Cabinet
And faces familiar ten years
And under-performers
And wasters who scorn us
And wafflers and free-marketers.

A government, distant and sullen
Its evasions like snuff at a wake.
Afraid of the voter
They’re growing remoter
Their motto seems
“Let them eat cake.”

While they’re bailing the bankers who wrecked us
It’s proving a hard to watch drama
Some call it essential, the brave new prospectus
And some call the thievery NAMA.

And we need to talk of the Taoiseach,
For he doesn’t express himself warmly,
He’s growing more curt
As we all feel the hurt
And the tensions emerge with John Gormley..

And our parliament rings with the rumpus
Of point-scoring schoolboy scenes
Distracting attention
From generous pensions
And the hum of the State limousines.

And Willie O’Dea, you’ll remember
Is a member resigned in a fuss
And we need to start talking about Willie,
Before Willie starts talking about us.

And Enda’s agenda’s uncertain
Now George Lee has kissed him so long
And we need to talk about Enda,
‘Cause we haven’t a breeze what he’s on.

Just an earful, dear Patrick
We’re fearful
And we’re scared to go spend what we’ve earned
For we’re fiscally floored
And we cannot afford
And we’re banjaxed and Bertie Aherned.

And your island has come to a junction
But our leaders will not let it wither
Oh they put the fun into dysfunction
Collecting their pay as they dither.

Saint Patrick, o’ blight of the serpent
And foe of all slimy reptilians
We founded a quango, for giving to Anglo
A couple of more bailout billions

Prey mercy on Ireland, Saint Patrick
For of irony rich
We’re the star.
Look down from your steeple
The banks robbed your people
And we’re buying the getaway car.

Joseph O'Connor