Best Ireland Poems
Oliver and Grace were planning to wed
At a church in Dublin on Easter day
They put on hold and chose to fight instead
For the fight for freedom was under way .
Oliver had signed a proclamation
He was charged with treason against the state
His dream crushed of a free Irish nation
Death by a firing squad would be his fate.
On the third of may in Kilmainham jail
Grace wed Oliver and became his wife
The man she married now ill and quite frail
Dawn next day the British ended his life.
A marriage together they never knew
Tragedy cut short a love that was true.
Written 20th September 2019.
Writing Challenge 2, November - A Poem Meaningful.
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wisshkobi Ode.
The Glory of Green
Green hues denote the healing of our earth,
That special season of springtime’s rebirth.
Green grasses growing o’er the hillside's 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!
Happy Saint Patrick's Day!
March Poems, Old or New for Prizes Part 3 of Easter Series~Second Place~
Contest Judged: 2/19/2019 4:01:00 PM
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire |
Irelands' famine, England chose to ignore
The potato blight caused devastation
Michael stole corn from a granary store
To stop loved ones dying from starvation.
Arrested and charged with theft from the crown
Judge passed sentence and he got twenty years
Outside prison walls in old Galway town
His wife Mary and family shed tears.
Ne'er again see the fields of Athenry
Sent to prison thousands of miles away
He would ne'er again see the free birds fly
From that harsh prison in Botany Bay.
The ship sailed that day on the evening tide
His dreams for the future had all but died.
Written July 26th 2019.
Inspired by the song 'The Fields of Athenry ' The music and lyrics were composed by a Dublin folk singer Pete St John.
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 its golden eye,
I stood beside the lough in awe
At dancing diamonds that I saw
Near Connemara’s tall twelve bens
O’er lands of ancient souls that wends.
I sense their haunting watchful eyes
And feel my roots where rivers rise.
I hear their voices lost at sea,
They echo on eternally;
As with the thousands who took flight
During the worst potato blight.
Their sadness streams across the seas
Where most souls died with unheard pleas.
Those sad and tragic days long past,
And Erin’s joys returned at last
To verdant Lee and sandy shores,
To music heard across the moors,
To people with the kindest hearts,
Is what this isle to me imparts.
Repost from © 2013
*Erin go bragh means "Ireland Forever"
*lough means a lake
*Ben means Irish, a mountain peak
Happy St. Patrick's Day Everyone!
My thanks to this wonderful website:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAviOxkIhXE
The Titanic set sail from Queens Town in Cork
on her maiden voyage to the city of New York.
Its sinking cost lives that they couldn't save
now those poor souls lie in a watery grave.
Written 27th July 2020
For four lines poetry contest
Sponsored by Constance La France.
Where hills lay barren, and bedrock’s stripped bare
let me take you away to county Clare
Huge cliffs climb sheer, dwarfing waves underneath
atop the Burren my heart skips a beat
With nothing to see, apart from the view
all makes perfect sense, rain comes right on cue
And whatever I feel, it’s in the air
desolation yes, but without a care
Where fields seed pebbles, and pastures reap stones
through Clare’s vast rawness, I trek on my own
A whitewashed lighthouse, beckons away
scouring heavy seas, beneath clouds of grey
Gulls are crying, as they happily do
rising and falling, going nowhere too
Still makes me wonder, where I’d rather be
than here by Clare’s dolmens in reverie
Later I take in, what nature left out
my pipe, tobacco, and bottle of stout
Hms
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
There was once an elf who learnt how to brew
a full-bodied beer and cook Irish stew.
He mixed them both together
with whisky for good measure.
When BANG went the pot a tantrum he threw!
-- --- --- - -- --- - - - - --
Contest: Luck of the Irish
Sponsor: Kim Merryman
Placed 5th
© 15th March 2017
The jury was unanimous
Twelve cried out justice
Guilty
It was just before the changing hour
The hanging planned for quarter past midnight or so
The moon was full, the shining light exposing deaths dance
The grim reaper was ready, one more for his collection
I was ready for this moment
Ready to face my freedom and my death
Long ago, a mirror shattered into twelve pieces
Twelve faces who said I have to go
Twelve past the midnight hour
Sacred ghosts haunting twilight hours
Whiskey filling the soul soon to be departed
The hangman at the ready with a somber face
For his duties he did not so much embrace
This evening he knew the hanging would take all effort
Of spirit and determination
To send this one of to his eternal damnation
He was shivering and I sensed in fear
As I stared at him solemnly in the mirror
We both eye to eye knew this day would come
The hangman and me, conscious of the sum
So the note was neatly written
The whiskey bottle all alone, empty on the floor
I stood bravely or maybe cowardly
Upon the wooden chair
The rope I wrapped around I my neck
As the hangman in the mirror was in despair
I patted him on the back and said no worries my friend
This, you see is the end of it all
All that we ever both wished or dreamed
A week or two later
They found the hangman
A rope around his neck
Staring blanking in the mirror
A note on the bedside table
Told this story as you hear
A man with a broken heart
Hanged because of his own mutilated reflection
Sunlit days I spent on the moor
Sweet Summer heather scents allure
Bathing in waves on Dublin's shore
Aye, Irish lore Aye, Irish lore
Crumbling castles on exhibit
Pricey ticket; warm day visit
Guinness stout without a limit
Tastes exquisite Tastes exquisite
Stung by wild bees in clover leaves
Winded, needed the help of sheaves
Love for Ireland my heart now weaves
And soon it grieves And soon it grieves
Time has come for vacation's end
And Summer's days with Autumn's blend
When I close my eyes and pretend
In dreams I wend In dreams I wend
Irish accents quake my female southland.
Males 'neath Newsboy Caps stimulate dreamland.
Irish yearns may want touch,
Did not seek to feel such.
Ireland trips could stimulate mate's backhand.
The Emerald Isle lies misty green,
an ocean's gem, a land between
the water's edge and blue of sky,
her magic wonders seldom seen.
For those who know her can't deny
although, in truth, they wonder why
the Irish spin their wondrous tales
to friends and strangers, stopping by.
An Irish story never fails,
in all its glorious details,
to weave a world of fae and sprite
who hide amongst the woodland trails.
The little folks keep far from sight,
but if you're very still, you might
just catch one dancing, unaware,
when day is slipping into night.
As songs of evening fill the air,
listen close and tread with care,
with little folks about somewhere—
with little folks about somewhere.
Without doubt a small isle but one of natural beauty
Such a tranquil emerald place, the Isle of Innisfree
Set in Irelands Lough Gill in the County of Sligo
And holds for me fond memories of so long ago.
I met my first love at the loughs shore, a pretty colleen
Grace Ann was her name and she was just sixteen
And that first long hot summer that we spent together
Still plays on my mind and the love we had for each other.
We'd row across to the Isle often and stay all day long
And spent many hours talking and singing our song
A pact we both made, that we'd be together for life
I as her loving husband and she as my loving wife.
We'd dream of building a house there, just her and me
And later we'd have children, our very own family
We would have a laugh about that, it was just fantasy
But I knew that we'd be happy wherever we'd be.
We finished school in September and were waiting to see
If we'd been successful in our application, for Dublin Uni
Sadly, some of our friends, had their application's rejected
But Grace and I'd been lucky because we'd been accepted.
The week before our departure , she went with some friends to town
And as they crossed a busy road, a drunk driver mowed them down
Two of her friends were slightly injured but Grace died at the scene
Her young life taken from her; she'd just turned seventeen.
I became very withdrawn and just wished it'd been me
And lost interest in everything and even a place at uni
I went to the funeral home to see, one last time her pretty face
And there in a white coffin lay an angel; my beautiful Grace.
I blamed myself for her death; she'd wanted to stay in with me
But I said "Go out with your friends and have a farewell party"
After her funeral I left for England and joined the merchant navy
In the hope I'd leave behind memories of that awful tragedy.
I couldn't face going back home and its now been thirty years
Just the thought of going back there would fill my eyes with tears
In my free time I'd go up on deck and just stare out to sea
And my mind would drift back to that summer, with Grace and Innisfree.
Written 11th December 2020.
Inspired by The Lake Isle Of Innisfree by Irish Poet W. B. Yeats
The parade is marching to the beat of the drum
With the skirl of the pipes with their distinctive hum
Everywhere you look there's bright shades of green
It's the day of the year, that the Irish love to be seen.
During the great famine many were forced to roam
And settled in far away places, that they now call home
But their hearts are in Ireland and there's no better way
To connect with fellow country men on this very special day.
But it's a community event and people from every nation
Join the proud Irish for the craic, in their big celebration
Each county has a banner and folks proudly march behind
Many with green foliage on their lapel, it's shamrock you'll find.
After the parade it continues, with music dancing and song
And if there's celebrations near you, make sure you go along
You'll be given a big welcome, it's the Irish way
And join in the fun celebrations on this St Patrick's day.
Written 17th March 2022
HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY
(Craic- In Ireland it means having a great time)
Located in the country town of Ennis, in the Banner County of Clare
Is the ivy clad Old Ground Hotel, and to enter mice wouldn't dare
Because OG is in residence, who wears a fur coat and has green eyes
And the last little mouse to try his luck there, was taken by surprise.
T'was one cold December night, that this mouse decided that he'd raid
And wasn't until he was in the dining room, realised the error that he'd made
He'd heard a loud hiss and seized with terror, ran all the way to Poets Bar
But he was certainly no match for OG's speed, and alas didn't get very far.
OG put out a statement, via the press office at the Old Ground Hotel
To all the mice in Ennis I'm warning you, stay away and all will be well
I move like a bullet at lighting speed and prisoners I will never take
If you come within one mile of here, you'd better organise your wake.
Word quickly spread in the mousey world, the Old Ground is out of bounds
Because faithful OG is forever vigilant, he's always patrolling the grounds
So if you want a mouse free stay, then I recommend the Old Ground Hotel
And for you it will be like paradise and for our mousey friends living hell.
He will welcome you when purring, as if to say "what have you got a for me"?
But don't fall for for his tricks, because he's treated well with caviar and brie
We have adopted him as our mascot for our family reunion in twenty three
And we all can't wait to meet that friendly feline, that cute bundle they call OG.
written on 26th October 2022