Best Erin Poems

Erin Go Bragh 

At Ben Bulben’s feet Sligo stands,
The home of such creative hands
Where poet William Yeats did grow.
The Nobel Prize his poems did know.

On my trip to this emerald isle,
I yearned to visit a long while.
As sun poured through the misty sky,
Shedding warmth with...

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It was an autumn day, fresh and crisp,
with a slight breeze blowing that made 
our cheeks rosy.  My Aunt Trix and I were
on the trip of a lifetime, one in which she
had been making plans for almost all
of her seventy-five years. Being of Irish...

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At Ben Bulben’s feet Sligo stands
The home of such creative hands

Where poet William Yeats did grow.
The Nobel Prize his poems did know.

On my trip to this emerald isle,
I yearned to visit a long while.

As sun poured through the misty sky
Shedding warmth with its golden eye,

I...

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Erin Moran has died at the age of fifty-six.
She was special and a credit to all chicks.
She was adorable when she starred as Joanie Cunningham.
When a person dies that young, it's always hard to understand.
I learned about her death on Facebook and it made me...

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From tiny gals with itty-bitty bippies
to larger ladies with super-dooper droopers,
we curse the “men” who design underwire iron maidens.

My “pointers” don’t bounce
(as a friend observed),
so why submit to torturous braziers?

I’m glad they don’t droop –
makes body surfing easier,
though surfboard owners argue, “Rudders help."

Despite chidings from...

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I think that new bras
Are actually made of
Barbed wire and razors...

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'Tis said Saint Patrick rid Erin of snakes

   If such is true what a great tale it makes

      Skeptics claim it ain't true

         Others haven't a clue

   ...

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Erin go Bragh

We celebrate Saint Patrick.
He brought Christianity.
The patron saint of Ireland.
Bake soda bread and wear green today.

3-17-22 

~Tenth Place Premiere Contest~
LIND30SU Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day Everyone! 


*Saint Patrick, who lived during the fifth century, is the patron saint of...

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At some Sweet Point in Your Youth
Through Travel Guides beguiled
Searching for Existential Truth
You dreamt of Erin Isles

You longed a quite, simple life
Away form Hectic Glances
Attempt to be Free from Your Strife
For Introspective Chances

To visit the Ancestral home
Or even to Inhabit
Away, In Solitude, Alone
And Keep the...

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Erin

Erin, seeing you last night brought back a bunch of old feelings, feelings I thought were long gone.

You're a beautiful as ever, and, if you were her right now, I'd tell you that.

I realized that I still have feelings for you, and, I'm still a...

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Erin, for a girl who embodies Ireland
by Michael R. Burch

All that’s left of Ireland is her hair—
bright carrot—and her milkmaid-pallid skin,
her brilliant air of cavalier despair,
her train of children—some conceived in sin,
the others to avoid it. For nowhere
is evidence of thought. Devout, pale, thin,
gay, nonchalant,...

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BACK TO ERIN

I want to go back
to Erin. I want
to see that green
isle again.

I want to drink a pint
of the Guiness and a
shot of the Jamesons.  On
that green isle again.

I want to pick the lucky shamrock
and feel the soft summer rain
back, on that green
isle...

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Can we talk about this real quick?
I'm never going to leave Erin.
She...she is my anchor to the center of the universe.
Without her I would fly off into oblivion.
She's is my life.
I live for her.
I live because of her.
My life is hers.
Without her I would lose...

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Oh Mick McGrath, man of daring do
What will the family make of you?
A forgotten ghost from the past,
Standing trapped in a die well cast.

Oh Mick McGrath, will they hear your name?

Born to peasants in a land of famine
You sailed the terrible seas from Erin.
A southern...

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Erin’s face looks like a map of Ireland, I was told.
She had ginger hair with slivers of dashing gold.
Her eyes were as green as the Emerald Isle.
And she lit up Dublin with her darling smile.

Many chased her in a merry happy fun-loving way.
She was gorgeous,...

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