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absence abuse
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Long Ireland Poems | Long Ireland Poetry

Long Ireland Poems. Below are the most popular long Ireland by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ireland poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Jerry T Curtis | Details |

Finn, Me and McGee

Me un Finn came  'round

In what did we found

The Pub, wid a very large lock

Aye keep the key where no one cann see

Said our find mate, Erik McJock

So, let us awl in, out spurted  Finn

Cus drinkin' is what were intendin' 

Then  McJock with  wide  eyes

Said out with a cry, "Ow much

You intend apon spendin' "

Well don't look at me

Said Wee luck Mcgee

I've been tapped out fur mo than a week

So I looked awl around and instinctively found

No one wanted teh speak

I said "Dats just fine"

And in lew of badd times

I reached  for my purse at my side,

"Bot it 'ad  large 'ole

Wer der money should go

So,I quess I'll be sayin Goodby"

"I say not so fast"

Came MacJocks voice alas

As he magically conjured da key

I'll bye you one drink, an don't be a Fink

"Cause dat awl you'd be gettin' for free

"You're a Lads lad " said Finn

As he barged 'is way in

Leadin' the mob to the bar

MacJock went 'round and set glasses down

Den Produced a very large jar

We all looked at da jar

Und we awl scratched our 'eads

In wonderin' what it moight be

Bot we was unable, for it hadn't a label

And it certainly was"t white tea

Den MacJock took the vessel

Und stringently wrestled 

Da lid dat was on wicked toight

Und as we grew near, we awl shared da fear

Dat it moightn't be enought for da night

Bot MacJock Was agreeing 

Da whot we were seein'

Was aged in an old crock

One of these be, equal to three

Of da best stuff  'e 'ad in stock

So MacJock poured the first

To quench old Finn's thirst

Then he poured one for me and the fellers 

There in my ear he said it quiet clear

"I keep the best stuff down here in the cellar"

Finn was da first

For betta or worst

To shoot down the shot

'E was eye'n

Den Wee luk McGee

Said "As long as it's free

I don't mind a bit dat I'm try'n "

The other lads, now

Pressed a glass to dier brow

In salute to dier Patron MacJock

Dey den knocked dem awl back

Gave the bar a loud whack 

While findin' it to  'ard teh talk

It went down quite easy

Din made us all queazy 

And as soon as I was able teh speak

I ask Ol' MacJock

What da heck's in dat crock

As I stilt felt the flush in me cheeks

MacJock gave a laugh, in his chair he reeled back

And gave a good slap on his knee

Then turned to pour, each member one more

Which almost knocked over McGee

McGee started off

With a wee nervous cough 

Din stuttered out a few words

"As long as you're  buyin' Dere's no use denyin'

I must let a notch out me gird

We all stood there slapin'

McGees back and laughin'

As we slowly lifted our drinks

I'll make a grand toast

Said I to our 'ost

And  gave old MacJock a wink

I said It is true

No utter wid do

Wot MacJock as dun fur us

So let's us salute 

That big tall gallute 

So din pour us another he must

Every time, dat he poured

There appeared a bit more

Of dat nectar, contained by the jar

Bot we didna take notice

Of the chance of sclerosis

There's no way we were leave'in da bar

MacJock kept on serving

Widout need of conserving

Dere seem to be plenty for awl

And he quickly would pour

Not a glass he'd ignored

When one of us lads made the call
.................................................. to be continued


Long poem by liam mcdaid | Details |

Seat of kings

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


Long poem by Julie ann Jones | Details |

Give Ireland back to the Irish

The 
familiar 
sound 
of 
gunshots 
rings 
out 
in 
the 
dead 
of 
night,as 
a 
sniper 
takes 
position 
in 
the 
bushes 
outta 
sight,
Past 
my 
front 
door 
I 
hear 
the 
sound 
of 
many 
marching 
feet,as 
II 
Para 
make 
their 
presence 
felt 
upon 
a 
Belfast 
street,  
Gerry 
Adams 
does 
a 
hard 
days 
graft 
and 
then 
its 
homeward 
bound,as 
a 
British 
soldier 
just 
nineteen 
lays 
bleeding 
on 
the 
ground,
Well 
he 
fought 
for 
Queen 
and 
country 
so 
it 
comes 
as 
no 
surprise,as 
he 
draws 
his 
last 
breath,says 
a 
prayer 
and 
there 
a 
hero 
dies,
So 
many 
slain 
civilians 
they're 
just 
casualties 
of 
war,do 
the 
f*ckers 
even 
realise 
what 
it 
is 
they're 
fighting 
for?
Or 
has 
the 
whole 
point 
of 
it 
got 
lost 
in 
the 
mists 
of 
time,the 
I'R'A 
take 
credit 
for 
their 
latest 
deadly 
crime,
In 
a 
safehouse 
miles 
from 
nowhere 
there's 
three 
loyalists 
lying 
dead,one 
in 
a 
grave 
(he 
was 
buried 
alive)and 
two 
with 
one 
straight 
through 
the 
head,
But 
the 
score 
it 
was 
even 
before 
the 
cock 
crowed,three 
Catholic 
civilians 
were 
slain,  
And 
there's 
rumours 
of 
vengence 
and 
fights 
to 
the 
death,and 
calls 
to 
keep 
calm 
from 
Sinn 
Fein,
As 
politicians 
armed 
with 
pens 
sit 
counting 
up 
lost 
lives,the 
Ulster 
Paramilitary 
sit 
sharpening 
their 
knives,
And 
loading 
slugs 
into 
the 
clip 
of 
some 
dead 
soldiers 
gun,"Come 
on 
now 
lads 
there's 
dirty 
deeds 
still 
waiting 
to 
be 
done,
In 
Londonderry,County 
Down,in 
Belfast,Newry 
too,the 
Catholics 
and 
the 
protestants 
keep 
Ireland 
torn 
in 
two,
As 
children 
grow 
up 
in 
the 
shadow 
of 
fear,there's 
a 
stench 
of 
death 
and 
bloodshed 
here,
So 
you 
with 
the 
power 
to 
give 
us 
the 
chance,lets 
find 
a 
solution 
and 
finish 
the 
dance,
Give 
Ireland 
back 
to 
the 
Irish...please!
or 
bring 
the 
whole 
damned 
nation 
crashing 
down 
to 
its 
knees. 


Long poem by Ian Thomas Phillips | Details |

Song of Saint Patrick - part 2 - flight

II
Flight

One day, Maewyn was in the pasture,
	Tending his master's herds,
		When he heard spoken, clear as a spring,
	These few simple words,
			"Your ship is ready." the voice did say,
				He started then to run		
					And didn't stop to take a break
				'Til long had set the sun.

Maewyn's will was iron strong,
	His faith never fell short,
		It carried him his journey's length,
	Until he found the port,
			Out of which was chosen
				For him, back home, to sail
					-But this is just the beginning
				Of Maewyn Succet's tale.

Maewyn Succet expressed his thanks
	For arriving to the ship,
		"How kind of my creator
	To provide me with this trip!
			I see every situation
				As God's intended test
					And, in everyone that follows,
				I shall serve him at my best."

Young Maewyn Succet obtained his fare
	And boarded the vessel,
		But he was fraught with conflict,
	With which long he would wrestle,
			 But, not many hours effervesced
				After the ship embarked
					When the wind blew in, waters grew rough
				And the sky bloomed dark.

All hands were called upon the deck
	To prepare for the storm;
		The pagan fishermen and merchants
	Saw, from the deep, arise a wicked form.
			Each of them tried to appease its wrath
				With devil witchery
					Only to be swept away
				In the seething surgings of the sea

'Til Maewyn stood upon the deck
	Where others cast a curse
		And, in his heart, recited
	A simple line of verse,
			Then he spoke a loud
				A heartfelt, humble prayer.
					Before he finished giving thanks,
				Warm-winged breezes filled the air.

The ship was saved, the storm dissolved
	As quickly as it came,
		The survivors cast off their idols
	Calling Maewyn by the name,
			Father of the People (Patricus),
				Through whose faith unshaken
					Kept the people of the ship
				From being overtaken.

The passengers had a pleasant voyage
	And made it back to home,
		But Patrick had hundreds of miles,
	He still would have to roam
			Before he reached his homeland,
				With his family to reunite-
					He still had many dangers
				He yet would have to fight.


Long poem by Ian Thomas Phillips | Details |

Song of Saint Patrick - part 5 - deeds

VI
Deeds

Patrick traveled lightly, 
	He carried but his needed load
		And made himself as useful 
	As he could along the road.
			He aided all who asked him,
				Offering a hand where'er he went
					And they, pagan or not, knew in his form
				A blessing had been sent.

He made it, at last, to Ireland
	And saw that he was needed there,
		For, by the tribal rulers,
	Hope in life had been made bare;
			In his Creator's will for him,
				Patrick was most sure--
					That in his steadfast faith in God
				Would lay any problem's cure.

Patrick was a foreigner, 
	He had no wordly protection
		As he wandered through the Counties,
	Which were then tribal sections.
			Gifts and money, Patrick refused,
				For conversion God did send
					Him among the tribes and chieftains, 
				this rarely made a friend.

(Patrick never knew 
	That by the Druids long before
		A vision had been prophesied,
	A piece of their fathers' lore
			About a harsh reformer,
				From whose table would fly impiety	
					And those, who chose to follow him,
				In blindness would agree.)

Patrick preached the gospel,
	Forgiveness and mercy
		And taught the Irish people
	Of the soul lasting eternity,
			Though some would not hear or objected,
				Some could not resist-
					There were so many converts
				With no need to insist.

The people told that Patrick
	Truly loved to teach
		And time flew from his awareness
	When he started to preach,
		(He carried a gnarled staff of Ash
			Where ever he went)
				One night he preached so long,
			The stick, roots into the ground, had sent!

Once Patrick lit a fire
	Upon Slane hill in County Meath.
		Billows of smoke filled the air
	And rose above the heath,
			He did this in defiance
				Of Leoghary, who was king
					And through Patricks brave resistance,
				Christ's teachings, through, did ring:

Many pagans hauled up buckets,
	The whole hillside they drenched,
		But Patrick's Paschal fire
	But by him could be quenched.
			It was upon this hillside
				Patrick dispelled pagan divinity
					By plucking the trefoil shamrock
				To illustrate the Trinity.


Long poem by Ian Thomas Phillips | Details |

Song of Saint Patrick - part 3 - return

III
Return

Patrick had to deter the robbers 
	And thieves he met along the road,
		Ward off viscious creatures,
	Yet steadily he strode
			Until, at last, he came upon
				A landmark he well knew
					And saw that he had triumphed over
				Obstacles not a few.

He made it back to his family,
	Into the arms of his mom and dad
		(No tongue can express the emotion
	The three of them then had),
			"I made it through great hardship
				And I only have to say:
					The Lord who freely giveth
				Doth also take away."

Patrick stayed in Britain,
	But his heart started to burn
		Not after adventure,
	But for greater things he yearned.
			One night his mission came to him
				As he sat in meditative trance:
					He was called to monastic studies,
				To study with the church in France,

But something was not settled,
	Nor was his conscience still,
		He felt that there was some obligation
	Yet to be fulfilled.
			But then he knew for certain
				His duty burned brightly as a flame-
					He must return to his former master
				And pay the ransome on his name.

Patrick wandered back to Ireland
	To pay his freedom's fare
		And on his journey, travelers he met
	Going to and from there,
			Confused with tribal teachings
				And pagan rite belief;
					Though this was their religion
				They had but small relief.

When, at last, Patrick arrived
	On his old master's land
		He was met by men on horseback,
	-A formidable band-
			They knew, at once who Patrick was 
				And using undue force,
					They beat and bound the runaway
				And set him on a horse.

He was brought to his old master,
	The men seeking a reward,
		"And now it comes that you must die!"
	He said, drawing his sword.
			"I have come to buy my freedom!"
				Patrick, from his own neck, tore
					A sack of gold, his life's ransome
				And threw it on the floor. 

Patrick was loosed from what bonds 
	Of debt he felt he owed
		And to his former master,
	Duty and right he showed.
			Patrick stayed a week or so
				Teaching Christianity
					And before Patrick left for home,
				The men could clearer see.


Long poem by Dorine R Spruill | Details |

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!


Long poem by Ian Thomas Phillips | Details |

Song of Saint Patrick - part 4 - Matriculation

IV
Matriculation

Back to home, Patrick did go,
	For in his heart he knew
		It was time to study with the church,
	That this he had to do.
			He told his parents when he got home
				That he must go to France
					And with great strength, he again departed,
				Tears filling this last glance.

Patrick studied his Latin
	And the dogma in Lorraine
		And in his learning of the scripture, 
	He did not have to strain,
			His past with his present learning
				Melded with great coordination
					And before year 428,
				Hehad earned his ordination.

Patrick journeyed back to home,
	His familiy held a feast
		To celebrate his return
	And his becoming a priest-
			He followed in the footsteps
				Of his father and grandpa,
					Patrick measured up an equal
				To the hope, in him, they saw.

One late summer evening, 
	Patrick had this dream:
		Near the Woods of Foccult
	Within a mist shrouding a stream
			Came the voice of the Irish people
				-Together something tremendous-
					Asking him to return there,
				To, "Come and walk among us!"

Patrick became aware
	That in order to play his part
		That God had assigned to him,
	He would have to depart
			Forever from his homeland
				So as to proselytize
					The heathen Irish pagans,
				Though sorrow filled his eyes.


He knew there would be no return,
	He would not see home again
		Or sit among his family
	In their home upon the fenn,
			But this was understood by all,
				His parents exuded joy
					About this wonderful mission--
				They were proud of their boy. 

So, for the last time from Britain
	Patrick traveled North on foot
		To find where he was needed,
	Where he was to be put.
			This time, his journey was as if
				He had never seen
					The beauty of the glenns and hollocks
				Of the richest, deepest green.

Patrick journeyed long and far
	Making camp in the twilight
		And as the distance grew
	He knew that he was right,
			"To help my fellow man 
				Is why, from home, I've gone."
					And every day, his camp was broke
				Before the light of dawn.


Long poem by liam mcdaid | Details |

poisonously enchanted mushrooms so luscious rare

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)


Long poem by Eileen R. Kelly | Details |

All Blacks 27 Ireland 17...its a try!

they're looking cool, 
the haka, with passion lots 
of aggression, 

All blacks looking to disrupt, 
opening minutes of the game, 

hands on the ball, 
first out of the line outs 
lovely little chip 

chip it's on... 
playing advantage 
it's hosing down 

it's pretty solid-gone blind side 
solid scrum, "engage"! 
set ball 

collapse far side 
cross and hold 
away from the tackle 
10 out from the 22 

broken tackle 
17 minutes gone, 7-0 
straight off the top 

good burst, quick hands 
chase cross kick 
wasted opportunity 

solid hit 
knocked on! 
quick turnover 
All blacks turn this one... 

kicked into touch 
bind up! bind up! 
engage! 

loose ball, hit the rack hard- 
drives around the fringe 
two players off side 

just out from the 22 
keen to keep it alive 
5 metre mark all blacks looking 
strong 

looking for the gap 
on the charge 
Ireland broken through All black 
defense 
easy try, ...bounced away 

back on the attack 
good drive 
launch the attack 

here comes the bullet 
closing the gap 
come on, put it in! 

crunch and hold 
stepping his way through 
Bit of an Oscar there! 

take it right to the limit 
squeezed at the line outs 
going for drop goal-...wide, 

lapse of concentration 
cost Ireland many metres 
great pressure 

scrum feed 
sits up well 
test match on knife edge 

drills another behind 
Ireland on the attack 
All black bench, very active 

absorbing stuff 
good delivery 
running hard past a couple 

All blacks snap it up 
to the charge 
Irish defense holding 

All blacks surviving off Irish errors 
5 metres out 
2 players off side 

interfering with presentation 
going for the push over 
looking for a better hit 
best on the blind side 

All blacks between the posts 
got the momentum 
He's having a big game 

Big moment 
the flag is up 

All blacks heading for the line... 
All blacks respond when the 
squeeze in on...It's a TRY! 

All blacks 27 Ireland 17 


Long Poems