The Life and Death of Connor Finnegan (part 1)

     This is not a feel good poem in any way, it is a fictional work about a very real situation. The conflict between the Irish Republic and the British Crown was a bloody and hard-fought “war” for the jurisdiction/control of the six counties of Northern Ireland. It is a look at how the tensions between the sides could, and did, escalate at the slightest provocation. It is a tale written through the perspective of a “Republican” with his inbred hatred of the British, and the atmosphere of the times. The “Troubles” would claim many lives, combatants and innocents alike. May God rest their souls.

     It is an extremely long poem, an epic, if you will. So much so, that I have decided to post it in two installments. Part 2 will follow on Saturday, March 17th. But in the mean time please grab yourself a cup of your favorite beverage and give it a chance. A lot of labor went into it, so please don’t give up on it.

     Thank you for your patience and support. Fridays are for friends, have a good one,


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 The Life and Death of Connor Finnegan

 Seamus Connelly, watched in pain,

as the soldiers,

searched his home.

What right,” he thought,

do the bastards have,

to force me down to prone?”

 The word had quickly spread about,

of his diatribe,

towards the Crown.

‘Twas that speech, that had him now,

with boot on his back,

and on the floor, face down.

Just at the hour of five a.m.,

they’d broken in,

and dragged him, from his bed.

They had brought him harshly, to his knees,

with a blow,

at the back of his head.

 It was at the pub, on Saturday last,

that his troubles,

had got their start.

When out from the mouth,

the words he spoke,

came directly, from his heart.

 Though, the pints he drank,

had loosened then,

his very, Irish tongue,

he had ought to have,

been more mindful, there,

to the crowd he was among.

 The more the pints,

were poured for him,

 the more venom, he had spewed.

He had damned the Crown,

and for all it stood,

and did, in manner crude.

 Yes, he damned the British,

all to Hell,

and with them sent the Royals.

But, most of all,

he damned the souls,

of the Irish, to them, loyal.

 Eloquence had abandoned him,

around the third, or perhaps,

fourth glass,

when he invited,

all true Irishmen,

to get up off, their arse.”

 To join together and fight,

as one,

to drive the British home.

To use all weapons,

they could find.

To use “bombs or guns or stones.”

 His alcoholic vitriol,

had continued passed,

and well beyond, sublime.

The fervor heightened,

in the place,

and might explode, at closing time.

 But, a squad of soldiers,

just ‘happened’ by,

coincidently, at that hour.

Or, forewarned per chance,

to disperse the threat,

and thus, diffuse its power.

 But, looking backwards now,

could not allay,

or assist him, in his plight.

He had heard the words, sedition,

and conspiracy,

to incite

 Offences dire, to be sure,

to be sent,

to Her Majesty’s Maze.

And there he’d stay,

for longer than,

at least five thousand days.

 Options now for Seamus,

were but few,

or less.

To surrender calmly,

and accept,

his certain now, arrest.

 But, Seamus went,

not quietly,

never now, nowhere, before.

And this would be no different,

if he could just,

get off the floor.

 Providence came,

as O’Malley’s dog,

charging through the door.

A good neighbor he,

O’Malley be,

and knew full well, the score.

 So, with no shackles,

yet upon him,

and the dog, at the soldier’s crotch,

 Seamus, almost wishing,

he could stay,

just, for that to watch.

 The front door about gone,

from the battering,

would stand not, in his way.

And if he could make it,

to the street below,

he’s surely, get away.


Jack Downing

July 2011

Copyright© Jack Downing, aka Jake All rights reserved. Contents may not be reprinted or disseminated in any manner without the expressed written consent of the author. JRD 3/16/12


About poemsandponderings

Hearth and Health are wonderful things and if you're without either such sorrow that brings So I cannot express enough thanks to my Lord and to my family and friends for the support you afford! ~Jack Downing~
This entry was posted in beer, dog, epics, Freedom, God, history, innocent deaths, Irish descent, tavern, violence and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to The Life and Death of Connor Finnegan (part 1)

  1. Riveting! Can’t wait to read part 2!

  2. Bobby Sands film was very well done.

    • Refresh my memory, Carl. Do you remember the name of the movie? Or who was in it..I don’t think I saw it. I would like to though..Thanks for your time in just reading it, the verbosity of the Irish oozed out of me, and oozed, and oozed…


  3. In suspense to see how this ends…

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