Best Famous Munster Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Munster poems. This is a select list of the best famous Munster poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Munster poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of munster poems.
Search and read the best famous Munster poems, articles about Munster poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Munster poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
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Written by
Ruth Padel |
Flamingo silk. New ruff,
the ivory ghost
of a halter. Chestnut curls,
*
commas behind the ear.
"Taller, by half a head,
than my Lord Walsingham."
*
His Devon-cream brogue,
malt eyes. New cloak
mussed in her mud.
*
The Queen leans forward,
a rosy envelope of civet.
A cleavage
*
whispering seed pearls.
Her own sleeve
rubs that speck of dirt
*
on his cheek. Three thousand
ornamental fruit baskets
swing in the smoke.
*
"It is our pleasure
to have our servant trained
some longer time
*
in Ireland." Stamp out
marks of the Irish.
Their saffron smocks.
*
All curroughs, bards
and rhymers. Desmonds
and Fitzgeralds
*
stuck on low spikes,
an avenue of heads to
the war tent.
*
Kerry timber
sold to the Canaries.
Pregnant girls
*
hung in their own hair
on city walls. Plague
crumpling gargoyles
*
through Munster. "They spoke
like ghosts crying
out of their graves."
|
Written by
William Butler Yeats |
There was a green branch hung with many a bell
When her own people ruled this tragic Eire;
And from its murmuring greenness, calm of Faery,
A Druid kindness, on all hearers fell.
It charmed away the merchant from his guile,
And turned the farmer's memory from his cattle,
And hushed in sleep the roaring ranks of battle:
And all grew friendly for a little while.
Ah, Exiles wandering over lands and seas,
And planning, plotting always that some morrow
May set a stone upon ancestral Sorrow!
I also bear a bell-branch full of ease.
I tore it from green boughs winds tore and tossed
Until the sap of summer had grown weary!
I tore it from the barren boughs of Eire,
That country where a man can be so crossed;
Can be so battered, badgered and destroyed
That he's a loveless man: gay bells bring laughter
That shakes a mouldering cobweb from the rafter;
And yet the saddest chimes are best enjoyed.
Gay bells or sad, they bring you memories
Of half-forgotten innocent old places:
We and our bitterness have left no traces
On Munster grass and Connemara skies.
|