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Best Ireland Poems

Below are the all-time best Ireland poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of ireland poems written by PoetrySoup members

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123
Details | Ireland Poem |

My Micke boys

                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


Details | Ireland Poem |

Now that's a Shame

~~~
Tis a gladness found in sadness
mostly pleasure
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
~
Lo
there's homework
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
forceful
clearer
sweeter
stronger
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
Lord
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
new memories
with my wife
I am angered at the sign
that hangs atop ol' Kelsey's door
. . . NO BARFLIES . . .
. . . CASH RESPECTED . . .
~
Sure
His wife now runs the bar
~~~


Details | Ireland Poem |

Finn Mcgee and Me part3

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


Details | Ireland Poem |

The Castle

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


Details | Ireland Poem |

Kingdom Lost

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
was mistaken,
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
 


Details | Ireland Poem |

fork in road

   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


Details | Ireland Poem |

The right hand of the father

Pretty good at hiding it
and you wouldn't know to look at it
the handicap
the disability
an embarrassment worse than bad breath

I must have smacked my head against something
when I was playing good cop, bad cop
and I was the suspect
guilty of something no doubt

Taken downtown
for interrogation
on why we didn't finish everything on the plate

Taken downtown
to the experts
on why this sorta thing keeps happening 

Taken down
to a low spot 
on the carpet
that better get clean right now mister!

Taken down to the D. M. V.
where you flunk the eye test
cos you got a

Permanent
Detached
Something or other

Which explains a lot of things

Like why I left
why I lean left
dress to the left
get left holding the bag
feel left out
but don't see left

Because dad's right handed








Details | Ireland Poem |

Celtic Mist

            CELTIC MIST
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.


Details | Ireland Poem |

Irish Slaves

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!


Details | Ireland Poem |

A PUPPY'S CRY

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.
 


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