Poem | |
Dramatic prose for the pompous asses
I throw my Platos at you
If you come any closer
I will Socrates you right in the nose
Demands, demands!!!! The clowns now have demands?
I say, rise up oh poets of the infinite dot universe
Proclaim the revolution a new
Justify our fight with words wrapped in doo doo
When I see a condescending donkey trip on his verbatim
I laughs cause I know he will fall into Satan's den
I am at eleven, usually a sober man
I carry my saber high and shout "Ekphrasis I don’t give a bloody damn"
Infinite ............................ Universe
More great poems below...
Poem | |
Green hues denote the healing of our earth,
That special season of springtime’s rebirth.
Green grasses growing o’er the hillsides face,
Embracing greening trees in leafy lace.
While amber fields engage in heaven’s kiss
As raindrops splash into emerald bliss,
I watch amazed as tender shoots abound
With daffodils and tulips breaking ground.
A floral scent begins to fill March air.
St. Patty’s I’ll wear flowers in my hair.
So many varied hues that can be seen,
This Irish lass loves every shade of green!
Contest Name It's Spring show me the green
Poem | |
Inside pub steins stout magic spoke
‘neath genie wisps of bangle smoke
Brown cone cigars, deep chubby pipes
Aromatic spills to breach the night.
Music calls to muted songs
Rough knuckles echo Bodhrán drums.
Flute, melodeon, bouzouki*, mandolin
Penny whistles, uilleann pipes, one feisty violin.
Pied piper rhythms, pied piper beats
Bold Celtic persuasions to move proud legs and feet.
To Daver and friendship, thank you!
* Bouzouki...A stringed instrument that could stand up to the volume and intensity of fiddles, flutes, accordions, and pipes.
*uilleann pipes...Irish bagpipes...melodeon. an Irish accordian
Poem | |
A stone round standing fortress crowns forever beauty
The name translated to english Grianan means sunny spot or sun temple
The land bows down inspirational the view
seat of the high kings dating back to 1700 B.C
Overlooking Lough Swilly and Lough Foyle
Eogháin, after whom Inishowen is named
was baptised at Grianán by St. Patrick
where they imposed Patrick's rule
Eoghan was a leader of the Ui Néill's
the northern clan descended from Niall of the Nine Hostages
Eoghan began a dynasty that brought forth the High Kings of Ireland
for more than 500 years
our crowned jewel rings in the heart of Donegal
High up on a massive hilltop
it was a place of sun worship
or the place of hibernation of Gráine
a Celtic sun-goddess
In Celtic mythology Grainne was the sister of Aine
goddess of the sun, and though Grainne was known as goddess of corn
or grain (springs from the earth after being nurtured by the sun)
both sisters are said to have been birthed by a sunbeam or “of the sun
There is also a tradition that the temple was built by Daghdha
the good god or god of the earth
He was known as the King of the Tuatha dé Danann
a race of supernatural beings descended from the Goddess Danu
They inhabited Ireland before the Celts
This tradition has Daghda building the fort to protect the grave of his son
A variation tells of giants building the hill and the Grianán on top a residence
for the shining ones who gave birth to the children of the sídhe
All of these traditions link the hill and the fort on top with supernatural beings
to unseen energy and power and a link to the Otherworld
With one breathtaking scene
overlooking spanning miles awestruck
sweeping below beautiful country side our forty shades
of emerald green jewel of Ireland
From inside outwards the pen flows golden precious
Here stands a kingdom
dating back to a time of tuatha de danann
one dynasty sings over centuries
Legend states that the giants of Inishowen are lying sleeping
but when the sacred sword is removed
they will spring to life reclaiming their ancient lands
Our ancient ring stone clad fort in Irish folklore sings
One such tale relates that Niall Frasach
he was born when these freasa or showers fell
honey silver and blood
A high-king of Ireland
Son of Fergal mac Maolduin
Brother of Aodh Allan
It is said that, when a famine occurred
they carried off by force the one cow
that the solitary hermit of that church had
the hermit cursed the king and his host
there was an earthquake
people devoured one another there at this time
A great cow-plague existed
he prayed and the famine was lifted
with showers of food and silver falling from heaven.
(High King of Ireland 743-770 AD)
to me it stands out one fort in a test of time
On a clear day one can see five of the nine counties of Ulster
from Grianán's parapets.
A truly magical wonder to behold
still standing in our midst
sings enchanting sweet beautiful
magical music to this heart
Poem | |
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
More great poems below...
Poem | |
The Irish bank was ripe and ready
For a hood whose hand was steady
And had a gun, not 'fraid to use it
Bent on living life or lose it
Just out side the door he waited
Put his mask on, hesitated
Then rushed in through, the bank's front doors
While standing on the lobby floor
With gun held high he shot one round
"Now everybody-- best get down"
Laying face down on the floor
A dozen patrons maybe more
And a teller, young in age
Standing frozen in the cage
So the crook with lightening speed
Driven by his lust for greed
Tossed a bag and said to fill it
Got it filled, then turned to split
As he ran, a man quite daring
Grabbed the mask the crook was wearing
At once the man, seamed surprised
Looked the robber in the eyes
Then took a bullet in the head
Now on the marble floor lied dead
The thief now desperate, looked around
At all the patrons looking down
But saw the teller, see his face
Then walked to him in rapid pace
And put the gun up to his head
Another victim laid there dead
Now the thief to end it all
Shouted out inside that hall
"Has anyone else, seen my face ?"
Perhaps a glimpse might leave a trace
Then McGee said "I'm no sneak
But I think me wife , just took a peek"
Poem | |
MacJock looked uptight
When we said "That's not right,
We're not paying one pence you see"
Den Finn swung and missed
With his powerful fist
And it landed on the jaw of McGee
MacJock grabbed a bottle
Intending to throttle
The closest poor sod in his way
And this caused a ruckus
McGee was so luckless
It certainly wasn't his day
But when Macjock hit McGee
He went flying you see
And busted MacJock's new table
Then McGee tossed a chair
Clear through the air
Hoping MacJock to disable
The others ensued
In this Hullaballoo
Until, all I could see was the brawl
There were glasses and mugs
Bottles and jugs
Smashing against every wall
The place was a mess
I sure can attest
When the fightin' came to its end
Not an eye was still blinking
So I started thinking
Dat its tyme to go 'ome un mend
Just one more part will end it
Poem | |
Tis a gladness found in sadness
wince of pain
From an odor round the barroom
none the boys could e'er explain
Like a billowed line of washin'
after gentle fallen rain
Tis the wail of spring befallin'
on a barfly
oh ... the shame
I'm the tender
to a list of things that broke
Ere the boss be sharing surely
words no poet ever spoke
Lazy good for nothing boozer
paint the fence and fix the gate
You want a pint ... you must be kidding
Plow the forty ... 'fore it's late
Down the misty path of memories
thoughts of Kelsey's brew appears
In a vision almost godly
round a table rests my peers
And no memory tarries longer
than ol' Kelsey pouring liquor at the bar
I sheds a tear
Summer sadness tans bare shoulders
to replace the winter's shun
And the kids each day
they greet me ... Morning Dad
YOUR IT ... then run
I never knew that Heaven
'twas the place beyond my wall
Till I heard my children laugh
while toasting mallows in the fall
Though breath of Heaven
washed the aftertaste
of Kelsey's from my life
And forever I'll be holding ... dear
with my wife
I am angered at the sign
that hangs atop ol' Kelsey's door
. . . NO BARFLIES . . .
. . . CASH RESPECTED . . .
His wife now runs the bar
Poem | |
In the green countryside of Wales,
A castle sits, dark and decaying,
It holds many ghostly tales,
That the locals keep relaying.
Surrounded by majestic, rolling hillsides,
Covered by a gray, misty shroud,
And cliffs high above the blue sea tides,
Where voices still ring out loud.
What was once a beautiful garden,
Where all the children used to play,
Has been left to whither and harden,
Just as the castle was left to decay.
Long cobwebs hang like curtains of lace,
In windows that remain dark and cold,
Someone still walks the crumbling staircase,
Just as they did in the days of old.
They walk the towers and through the halls,
Making the dusty, wooden floors creak,
Their portraits still hang on the walls,
Where the voices of the dead still speak.
The empty rooms will never make a sound,
But, if you listen hard enough to their history,
Stories of romance and love still abound,
Along with secrets of murders and mystery.
Written by: Kelly Deschler - August 8th, 2013
Giorgio V's contest - "In The Faraway" - the theme is gothic
Poem | |
I lost my old bucket so sadly,
And felt oh so terribly badly;
Then lo and behold
A pot full of gold!
I'd lose me another and gladly.
Poem | |
I sauntered out of an Irish Pub
Basted in booze and Irish smooze
The whiskeys sure didn’t cover the blues
Me, I knew this wasn’t good news
As a crossed the street
I met a bus, Full of nuns, all in a fuss
There was no contest, the bus sure won
I was run over and ready for a place with no sun
I arrived in hell, this surly no surprise
At least I was drunk, or so Satan surmised
He looked confused and asked who am I?
A Lawyer? a Dictator? or maybe I was both?
I apologized profusely for I surely was not
Any of those professions, I'm no in their lot
He asked if I was expecting 72 virgins?
As drunk as I was, I said I was not
He was angry and mad, there was doubt
What could the Devil do? He seemed in a stew
So he gave me a degree, in Law and Justice
So I could live in hell among all the others untrusted!
Notes: No Lawyers were hurt or maimed in the writing of this poem, and I apologize for that!
Poem | |
Finn and Mcgee
went fishing once more
With the money they saved up all year
They rented a cabin
up by the lake
And filled it with fish bate and beer
For two weeks of fishing
They made it their mission
To wake up and start at first light
With poles in their hands
They hardly could wait
For a big fish to come up and bit
Day after day
They fished and they fished
but barely got even a nibble
Then on the last day
McGee caught a trout
That apparently wasn't so fickle
Now on the way Home
Finn said to McGee
"You Know what this fish, has cost you...
...A thousand Quid"
"Well Finn, if it did
Then I glad I didn't catch two"
Poem | |
In summertime, the ivy climbs,
and hides the castle wall.
The king dreams of late,
that the sea is so great,
and yet - his boat is so small.
As swift as a fox and
dark as a raven on wing,
seven hundred soldiers march
into the valley of the king.
Long overdue, a battle ensues
flanking the powers that be.
Children cry, and good men die,
the monarch is now on his knee…
Soon the horsemen alone
try to maintain the throne.
But the long way around
is the shortest way home.
The evening is filled
with chaos and smoke,
and the kingdom is
stunned by it all…
Soon the sun will go down,
and in spite of his crown,
the king will undoubtedly fall…
His rival’s strength
by a king overtaken,
his life is now but a pawn.
His authority lifted,
the power has shifted –
an era of glory is gone…
Copyright © 2013
Poem | |
CELTIC LUNAR SACRIFICE
That night, the dead, rose up into the dark of night,
to make their way led by the Druids' burning light;
there's buried many soul they chained and bound
deep in the mother earth, their mournful sound
is wailing through the dark of this, their dreaded night.
The bonfires burned and brightly through the land of Gaul
the dead of plants, and dying life, they burned them all
as sacrifice to help ones through the cold
of coming months of misery untold
but prophesied to be, throughout the land of Gaul.
And there beneath the Celtic moon to lead them on
all madness of the times prevailed from dark to dawn
The mid of ev'nin brought the earthly fear
of death to all who looked--their death was near,
a blessing that would keep the others living on.
And so the lord of death would pass them by that night
they stretched some maiden's arms, and bound them tight,
who might have shown a bit too much desire
and set their souls adrift that night a'fire,
and some say we still hear them screaming out tonight.
© Ron Wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Poem | |
mixing words and rhyme , devote passion designed,
colors and shades blend , my vision I send ,a path
a mystic Irish presence , calming senses ,
whispers in ear to follow stay near, a path
all pain considered wisdom is delivered,
making the changes needed to live yet give, a path
past ,present, future fate, open the gate,
presently undecided the road divided, a path
the long destination refuse to show desperation, a path
my soul on fire my love desired, a path
Poem | |
The paths we take under the eye of god
and universe, but some consider odd
Great mother Dana, knowing everything,
help us to grow, into a birth of spring,
and know from where our lonely feet have trod.
In Celtic roots, from shores of Normandy
we came from long ago, a time called history,
made weary from the Roman and his sword
in seeking vengance, as if they were lord,
and Ireland is the place we chose to be.
They layed to waste all things we'd ever known
spared not one child--their hearts were solid stone
and Caeser put us out to where we choose to be
here in our emerald upon the sea,
to where, great mother, only you had known.
The Wicca way, so deep out of our past
now comes of age, as if a spell were cast
to love all things, and have you at my side,
the only place where two in love can hide,
here in the only dream to ever last.
You'll be as much a part of all of me
as anything in life could ever be,
and we shall honor all and everything,
each to it's own, our destiny might bring,
and everything in life we'll ever see.
Forget my name, remember just my way
of loving you both every night and day
We'll have it all, if we can realize,
that all we want is here before our eyes,
and all we need is here, and on our way.
© Ron Wilson
Poem | |
Through mists of time and legends lore,
a Celtic mist invades our core.
Haunts our soul, stirs our mind,
looks through eyes forever blind.
To ancient times, lost along the way,
like an orphaned prodigal prodigy.
Mark the thought and slip back in time,
where honor reigned and stood sublime.
The year stirs awake from its icy wonder,
animals rouse from hides buried under.
Life buds swell, grow and start to bloom,
resurrected life, fresh ready to consume.
The livestock loose from shelters shell,
and pass through Beltain's fire like hell.
The bright time season as was once known,
of new born lambs and crops fresh sown.
A time of fertility when wars would rage,
of invasions passed from Druid’s sage.
The May Queen glares on the fires of Bel,
flowers freshly picked, decked the holy well .
The great Elk wanders, crunching under foot,
waving his antlers that from his crown did jut.
Like Cernunnos, god of the underworld dire,
feared by man, yet seduced by its desire.
To tame a land, too harvest its seed,
but sows the grain yet reaps the weed.
The Pooka stares, with its evil eagle eye,
harries the innocent, destroys with a sigh.
To mysterious waters, brine coloured despair,
lost to elder’s cries within Balors dripping lair.
Sidhe flit’s across the mind, a spirit of the dead,
arousing hidden memories lost within your head.
Morgana calls, the Queen of the fortunate isles,
prompting you awake, as you step the Celtic stiles.
Poem | |
Once a year, it's the season, I fear
That lures us three, to the loch
Were we rent a boat, in earnest we hope
To catch all the fish, that they stock
McGee, he was rowing, I told him, "Start Slowing"
For here, looks like a good spot
The anchor cast in, by our big strong friend, Finn
I'm just glad he remembered the knot
It didn't take long, we were hit by a throng
Seemed like, every dam fish in the lake
We all wore a grin, while we pulled them all in
'Cause we didn't have time to use bait
When the Day was done, so was our fun
As our boat was filled to the brim
I fumbled about, and pull up some stout
As the Sun was now getting dim
As we sat their all drinking, Finn started thinking
I wish we could find our way here
Or mark this grand hole, so we would all know
The place we should fish, come next year
That's when McGee, said "I know the key"
Then produced a piece of white chalk
"I'll mark on the bow, the place we are now
So next year we'll know we ought !
Finn then gave in, as he said with a grin
'It's your Genius, McGee that I fear
But how do you know, as rentals will go
We'll be getting the same boat next year"
Poem | |
GIRL OF DUNLOE GAP
She in her father's jaunting car,
an eyefull sight to see,
with smoky blond and flowing hair
she smiled as if, 'twas just for me.
And how she stole my heart away
when first we locked our eyes,
all Irish eyes, and I should say
she made my heart to realize
I'd been for much too long alone
her eyes, they promised me,
here is the love I'd never known,
the way a love is meant to be.
I watched them disappear into,
the Gap of Dunloe's road,
I'd see this sight, again, I knew,
the jaunting car--its precious load.
And when we wed in summer rain
the world was at my feet,
now mine but less of all the pain,
that made my life so incomplete.
© Ron Arbuthnot
Poem | |
Once upon a time we all used to live together. By we I mean blacks and whites. The people from Ireland 'Irish" lived with black Caribbeans. They were shipped from Ireland as slaves to west indian masters. they settled in a place called Montserrat. None of the were freed from slavery. They never had a law passed to free Irish slaves. However, after they finished their work of their masters they eventually were set free.
Blacks lived with some Irish whites and British whites. They had to travel to Africa to gather people who knew nothing about slaves or slavery. They couldn't capture west indian people because that's where they came from. They used the money collected from their masters to buy their new slaves. African slaves were indeed freed by president Abraham Lincoln. Who wrote and signed the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863.
Even after slavery blacks and whites continued to live and work together. Some even had children by their masters. Things were this way for years. All they had was each other. All they knew was each other. The only two races forced to live together. Can't get along today in today's society. These facts maybe be a harsh reality, but oh so true.
They only two races of people that were not slaves were the Spanish and Italians. They were never owned, sold, or brought by a black or white man. They fought for their belief and freedom. Also demanded respect so they would not have to bow down to any master. They never got captured and beat. They did the beatings and never got beat. They also lived in black neighborhoods. Which sometimes caused riots. rivalries, and many fights. Due to they fact that both races are very similar in alot of ways.
Overall, blacks and whites both endured slavery to some extreme. Our ancestors would, protest, march, died, and sacrificed for our freedom today. So I don't understand why there is so much hate in the world today. If you don't know your past;you won't be able to handle your future. You will be without understanding. History does repeat itself. Thank You!
Poem | |
TEARS OF AN IRISH GIRL
( Impression From Grandmother 3x Esther Louise Arbuthnot's Photograph 1876)
While the rain is falling gently on the roof it makes the sound
of a time that's long forgotten though it seems to hang around
I can hear you breathing lightly from an Irish dream I've known
it has come to Pennsylvania where you've found me here alone
and I can feel you when you cry.
So far from home, you wonder why,
and it makes me want to die.
All the way from County Down there was a dream you had to find
you were long ago and far away, but always on my mind,
in your photograph your eyes are reaching out perhaps for me,
I can feel you when I see you but I never really see,
what makes you think you have to cry?
You must have known I'd wonder why,
it still makes me want to die.
Can you hear the raindrops falling? County Down's so far away,
or perhaps it's just forgotten, like a dreary Irish day,
I can feel it when you're smiling, and I see it in your eyes
love is gone before you know it, and it's then I realize,
it's made you think you have to cry.
And through it all, not wonder why,
it still makes me want to die.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Poem | |
Come all ye, kiss that blarney stone
Join in the legend and be known
For the gift of gab
Ye come kiss the slab
Eloquence and luck shall be shown
Poem | |
I know it is not ‘nothing’ but white men in Ireland and the few niggers (on the up and up) that come from Scotland to party in those Pubs. My ancestors on my great great great grandmother side were from the immigrant Irish clan; therefore, Haley, Creek Indian, married a white man. She had Cherokee and Blackhawk blood to. Her family flourished in lineage and the skin comes in all colors. Note this! We are called the colored Sexton’s because Haley’s great granddaughter married a Guinea. The story became we are the colors of the United States of America. O’ jealousy manifested and now, I am the structure of the colored Sextons! Our story will be told. Therefore, our belief and faith is transcendent via the Holy Scripture,
In God We Trust!
PENNED ON AUGUST 31, 2014!
Poem | |
Irene went for her usual morning walk around six;
the August breeze was dry and fragrantly crisp,
one could tell she was injured as her aching hips
made her miss a step as she bit on her weathered lips.
Not far from her stone cottage, there was a cave never hit by sun rays,
it was hidden from sight by shrubs and weeds that almost
covered her cavity and at nighttime it seemed a ghost;
wasn't it the refuge of persecuted Christians when Celts were pagans?
The streets were very narrow and cracked cobblestones
made her slow down...using caution could have prevented a serious sprain;
an athlete is known for strength and endurance and she fought pain
by looking down and running downhill towards the treeless hills.
Irene had two wonderful kids: one was a gorgeous boy and the other a pretty girl,
and they both had hair as golden wheat and eyes as the wild Irish Sea;
and whispering to herself, " I will miss my walks in the Fall with Kelly and Bill...
and after the baby is born, wouldn't I stare out of the window with melancholy?"
While pondering that thought, she heard a puppy's cry coming out of the dark cave
that gave her goose bumps and searching carefully she saw the pitiless animal
struggling on three legs, but the forth leg was badly injured or broken by the fall;
rapidly she grabbed the long rope and started her descend as a coffin into a grave.
Helen hit ground hard and that startled the poor puppy laying on a plate of chrome,
" You are safe with me and because I've found you in this cave, I'm going to
name you Cavy, lucky pooch! This bad accident was a turning point for you!"
And he barked for approval, being happy to have survived and found a new home.
Poem | |
one fine sunny morning dazzling golden sunrise
dancing with rays of magical sunshine
dewdrops on silver webs glistening drops
he began whistling and dancing
picking wild mushrooms on the forest floor
to make magic wonder and happenings occur
he begins building and stoking the fire
throwing turf on until red hot
sticks the pot over the flicking flames
stirring emotions inside bubble and steam
throws in a mountain of carrots, peas, herbs
with lots of other sorts of raw veggies
adding a rare drop of mountain spirits . . .
next freeing a soul adding an alchemic fuel so rare
making himself a most magical and delicious stew
as he cooked he began devouring the stew more and more
then slowly he felt himself floating high so high
in a bubble so wonderful and dear and so clear
picked up by a pocket of air and floating even more
when . . .
a lovely fairy princess appears gossamer wings your light
and then appearing again under a radiant rainbow bridge
and with one cherished and most special romantic kiss
he began waltzing with her to a melody so haunting yet pretty
and while lost in this mystical trancelike moment of splendor
the fairy princess stole his heart that was pure gold
and when he came around alone—so alone
an icy cold shiver then ran down his very spine
it was just a silly old leprechaun dream and all he thought
as I see her magic sparkling potions cast on someone else too
the big ethereal and mystical bubble of fairy elves just burst
wide open for him and all others to see while the elves
laughed raucously so hard with little warm tears running down
their little rosy cheeks . . .
the leprechaun pondered—next time Me thinks Me be more
careful with them mushrooms Me happily picks on the forest floor—
and stick to drinkin’ the old mountain forest dew with some
lovely luscious shots of the oldest Irish whiskey with a stout nip o’ gin . . . .
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright ©
All Rights Reserved (December 3, 2014)