Eileen ‘ike’ West

An invisible menace threatens.
I might blame the economy,
I could say it’s people’s indifference,
But it’s not.
It is fear of the unknown, for sure.
An unlikely unknown;
As if lately, we’re overshadowed by ghosts,
Phantoms from some dank corner of the collective mind.

Where once the group psyche held a semblance of
Peace and grace,
Darkness chokes out the light.
Marching heavy-footed into consciousness,
Innocent women deemed ‘spoils’ are cast down and raped.
Suspicious-looking individuals tortured for confessions,
Fodder for fashionable ‘humane cruelty.’
Young soldiers bludgeoned,
Mired in their own bloody sludge.

From a hermit’s cell in Ireland,
The long-dead Saint Kevin warns,
“Knocking such pesky visions from awareness,
Hain’t yet thinkable.
Same as fleas on a dog,
Can chase the devils away, for one moment
Only to have ‘em reappear in the next—
‘Tis nothin’ to do,
Lest like me, ye become reclusive.”
From New York Harbor,
Lady Liberty’s voice booms in retort,
“Try this—
Torch with my blaze, those marauding specters.”
Elbow bent, she takes aim,
Shooting rays of red, green, and gold.
The Lady hits her mark, shrugs, and sighs,
“Alas, now we’re naught, but witless.”

Except to become hermits or feign rash ignorance,
There is no regenerating forsaken peace and grace,
No coming home to some idyllic state.
In today’s war, does not matter where the battlefield,
The death toll rings,
Broadcast through every plane of sensibility,
Making sure the piper is paid in full.
And ‘tis little to do for this blight on conscience, but suffer.

Time to recognize:
Warring itself must be conquered,
Every battle rounded up and scrutinized,
Like suspicious individuals
Sent to chambers for questioning,
Modern combat viewed as true ‘spoils’
Must be thrown from patriotic pedestals,
Liberating minds bound exhaustively, in wars’ bloody sludge.

Meanwhile, an invisible menace threatens.
I might blame the economy,
I could say it’s people’s indifference,
But it’s not.
It is fear of the unknown, for sure.
But an unlikely unknown;
Overshadowed by ghosts,
Phantoms from our collective mind.

Eileen ‘ike’ West, MA, is an international teacher and writer featured in Susan Smit’s Wise Women (NL 2003) and Susan Taylor’s Sexual Radiance (US 1998). Across decades, West’s essays liberally sprinkle magazines and other publications in the US, UK, and EU. Samples are available at ikewest.com. West’s first poetry collection, Whistler of Petty Crimes(2023), and earlier novels, Away from Hannah’s Castle (US/NL 2006) and Another Giant World (UK 2018), are available through various and sundry outlets.

This poem, Irish Hermitage Dream was originally published in Whistler of Petty Crimes (Atmosphere Press, 2023), and later appeared in Record of Dissent: Poems of Protest in an Authoritarian Age — Summer 2025, published by The Chaos Section Poetry Project. We’ll be featuring each poem from the collection individually in the weeks ahead. You can read the full collection or download a free PDF of the chapbook here.