The Stone Breakers Yard

A poem in tribute to those executed in the immediate aftermath of the Rising , in Dublin and Cork .

The Stone Breakers Yard

The stone breakers yard still echoes,

From the footsteps through it today.

To remind us, who walked this way,

So Ireland could be free at last.

The claustrophobic grey walls soar;

Always casting damp cold shadows,

And each new breaking day bestows,

No warmth in the stone breakers yard.

Thirteen times the brave walk was made

From each stale, dank, candle lit cell;

Along corridors cold as hell

To the north west side of the gaol.

The fourteenth time there was no walk;

For the rebel had been wounded.

Placed upon a chair and bounded

Stood sat in the stone breakers yard.

What silence fell upon the place

Save the firing squad preparing;

Praying Capuchins despairing.

The stone walls quashing all whispers.

They presented arms, aimed and fired;

Followed by a cold single shot.

Last breath expired, the bloodied spot;

Lying in the stone breakers yard.

They came from various backgrounds;

Teacher, farmer, and journalist,

Writer, clerk and tobacconist

They pledged their lives to gain freedom.

Profound belief in their vision

They gave their lives to make it true;

Leaving their written words, their coup,

That survived the stone breakers yard.

It’s time for us, to set about

To reflect and again proclaim;

A nation for us all, the aim.

Looking back and to the future.

Recall the final dawns and names

Of fifteen men who had no doubt;

As the volleys echoed throughout,

Silencing the stone breakers yard.