Irish Free Range Breeders Association

Irish Free Range Breeders Association A forum page for Free Range Breeders to discuss what matters.

A forum page for Free Range Breeders.,cooks,consumers to discuss what matters.regarding labeling and definations of Free Range and Artisan

25/10/2024

I am anger
I use my words a sword, sharp and merciless,
meant to cleave, hack, tear through the muddled and the passive,
to strip away the rot of complacency, to lay bare the apathy,
and push you, demand off you, to question. To look deeper.
To face the truths you bury within yourself, truths we all hide,
hidden so deep they feel foreign, yet they are ours. They are real.
The truth writhes beneath the sanitized headlines,
buried under layers of polite disambiguation and genteel distance.
The country itself screams, mouth wide in a silent wail,
jagged and shattered, exposed and vulnerable.
Eyes that once held love are now hollow, empty orbits staring,
at a world that has chosen not to see.
We are a proud People , but now we are grist, stripped of defense,
left alone, ignored by a complicit world, gagged by its own guilt,
a guilt nearly eight decades old, ancient shame turned blindfold,
hands over ears and eyes, telling itself, Look away. You didn’t see.
But you did. We did.
Guilt is weaponized, shaped into denial, twisted to justify,
to salve horrors we swore we’d never repeat. But look closely:
every denial, every turned eye, every silence is approval.
This murder by abstinence, this absence of compassion—it chokes.
It implicates us all. It is ours, yours, mine, bound together, no escape.
This violence, this blindness, is in the air we breathe.
We were once them, torn down, starving, lied to, gasping for freedom.
We were them. And deep down, you know it. You know this is true.
These people—this suffering—they are us. Their screams form
the edges of our nightmares, the haunting whispers of all we ignore.
Their screams are ours. Their suffering is ours.
This is us, and we cannot pretend it away.

25/10/2024

Palestine Ignored.
Beneath the silence, fears weave tightly bound,
A labyrinth of caution, shadows deep.
In apathy's embrace, some hearts are found,
Indifference laid where empathy should sleep.
The voices that stay hushed, perhaps unsure,
Or weary from the battles not their own,
Ignore the cries for peace, the pleas so pure,
In silence, seeds of disregard are sown.
Yet in the quiet, hope for change might dwell,
If courage finds the voiceless and breaks the spell.

23/10/2024

Where did our heroes go?

Where have all the heroes gone,
The ones who built the world we stand upon?
Those who inspired others to rise,
To explore new frontiers, to seek the skies.
Peacemakers, nurses, teachers unbound,
Doctors healing with heart and hand—profound.
Their impact once a guiding light,
Now fades away into the night.
Great writers, poets, artists of old,
Whose words and visions made us bold.
They led us forward, showed us how,
But without them, the world feels dimmer now.
Our thoughts grow dull, no questions raised,
In easy comfort, our minds are glazed.
Wealth breeds apathy, drains the soul,
And true heroes fade as fame takes control.
Replaced by influencers, hollow and loud,
Celebrities lost in the faceless crowd.
Chasing fame without a cause,
As the line between real and false withdraws.
Misinformation fills the air,
While truth, once cherished, is left bare.
Our hearts grow cold, compassion fades,
In a world where kindness slowly decays.
But somewhere deep, their echoes remain,
A call for true heroes to arise again.

22/10/2024

There is a crime here beyond all words,
A silent grief no tears can hold,
A ruin vast, overturning worlds,
Where earth is rich but hearts grow cold.

The rows stand straight, the trunks are firm,
The fruit hangs ripe upon the bough,
Yet children wither with the worm,
For market’s mercy knows not how.

The oranges rot, unsold, unearned,
While hunger’s ghostly children cry.
Profits dictate the fruit unturned,
Underneath a callous sky.

Coroners pen with somber script,
‘Malnutrition’—the stark refrain.
On death's certificates, duly clipped,
A nation’s shame, writ clear in pain.

In hungry eyes, a wrath takes shape,
The grapes of wrath grow dark and deep.
The souls of the oppressed awake,
Heavy with vengeance that they keep.

21/10/2024

Scream from Gaza.

In the war-torn ruins of a fragile heart,
A scream ascends, rips through the blindfolds of a world numbed in apathy,
Despair grips tight, from love it wrenches apart,
In the silent empty of the lost and fray.

Echoes of cries from fractured souls arise,
Beneath the shadow of a ruthless flood,
Lost whispers mourn the innocent's demise.
In this land where sorrow’s seeds are being sown in blood

21/10/2024

Connemara shores.
On the rocky shores they stood,
gaunt, hollowed out by time and hunger.
Their skin, rough and thin, stretched tight over their bones,
hands once full of the earth’s promise now empty,
reaching for a harvest that had long since abandoned them.
The earth had hardened,
the sky an empty expanse, unyielding,
each step a slow rebellion against the weight of nothingness.
Children’s cries, distant,
thin as the wind that swept the cliffs,
while mothers watched, eyes emptied of hope,
fragile as the dying grass beneath them.
In the homes, the fires barely flickered,
nothing left to burn but air.
The sea, vast and indifferent,
licked at their feet, its bounty unreachable and forgotten.
They moved like wraiths,
trapped between memory and loss, this world and shadows
the taste of food, a ghost that would never return.
West Connemara—where famine was more than hunger—
it was the slow, deliberate erasure of being,
as if the world had closed its eyes,
letting them fade into the memory of the rocks and shores they once called home.

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