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Best Ireland Poems | Poetry

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New Ireland Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Ireland poems are below this new poems list.

Eight Amendment in Ireland by Deo, Anil
Old Ireland by Warren, Paul
Ring of Kerry in Ireland by Pandit, Vijay
A love letter to Ireland by Bay, Shelby
A LITTLE TRIBUTE TO IRELAND by Ashton, Darryl
There's So Many Things In Ireland To Make You Smile by Jackson, Mavis
Cold Coffee's Back in Ireland by Mahoney, Donal
IRELAND 2008-2016 by doherty, john
A Piece of My Mother Yet in Green Ireland by Ayyildiz, Judy Light
IRELAND 4 by doherty, john

View all new Ireland Poems

The Best Ireland Poems

Details | Ireland Poem |

Plato and Socrates

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

Details | Ireland Poem |

The Glory of Green

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

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!

© Connie Marcum Wong

Contest: Go Green
Sponsor Poet Destroyer
3-16-2016

Details | Ireland Poem |

The Hanging

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

Details | Ireland Poem |

An Irish Leprechaun

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

Details | Ireland Poem |

Taste of Guinness, Scent of Heather: A Monotetra

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

Details | Ireland Poem |

An Erin Adventure

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 
heritage we both felt akin to that beautiful
country. Our first stop after seeing London
was to take a train ride through charming
Wales with its wet emerald hills glistening
after a light rain. Soon we were at Holyhead
at the Ferry buying our tickets to cross the 
Irish sea to Dun Laoghairie. The ferry was
a pleasant surprise. It was decorated with
intimate tables along side grand glass 
windows for a wonderful view. The center,
where different restaurants lured in hungry
patrons, was akin to the neon lights of the
Las Vegas strip. There was even an inviting
kid friendly area where children were elated
in seeking out adventure. After arriving in
Dun Laoghairie, we were told is pronounced
Dun Laorry, I rented an automatic compact
car and we headed for Galway. I had to keep 
reminding myself to keep on the left side of
the road. We found a lovely bed and breakfast.
Galway was a lovely rural village near the sea
with friendly folks. We each had our own room.
We delighted in hearing the lambs as we went 
to sleep.  After a wonderful full Irish breakfast
the next morning, we were on our way to visit 
the famous Blarney Castle. 

ancient castle walls...
the Blarney stone awaits our
precarious kiss

We arrived in the afternoon and were thrilled 
at the first sight of the castle with bright rust
hued ivy vining its way around the round 
tower that overlooks the River Martin. The 
current keep, a medieval stronghold in Blarney 
near Cork, was built by the MacCarthy of 
Muskerry dynasty, a cadet branch of the Kings 
of Desmond, and dates from 1446. The Blarney 
stone, reputed to gift eloquence of speech, laid
at the end on the top of the roofless keep with 
a line of eager tourists waiting to lie on their 
backs, head first, to kiss the well worn stone. 
I will never forget the ecstatic smile on my 
aunts face as she was helped up after kissing 
the Blarney Stone. I captured her joy with my 
camera.

charming autumn view...
the castle's steep steps were climbed
to kiss the cold stone

Visiting Blarney Castle and it's grounds was 
the highlight of our holiday. The memories and 
photographs still cause a smile and a tear.

8-7-17

Details | Ireland Poem |

The Pub II

Inside pub steins stout magic spoke
‘neath genie wisps of bangle smoke
Brown cone cigars, deep chubby pipes
Aromatic spills to breach the night.
Music calls to muted songs 
Rough knuckles echo Bodhrán drums.
Flute, melodeon, bouzouki*, mandolin
Penny whistles, uilleann pipes, one feisty violin.
Pied piper rhythms, pied piper beats
Bold Celtic persuasions to move proud legs and feet. 

To Daver and friendship, thank you!

* Bouzouki...A stringed instrument that could stand up to the volume and intensity of fiddles, flutes, accordions, and pipes.
*uilleann pipes...Irish bagpipes...melodeon. an Irish accordian

Details | Ireland Poem |

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

Details | Ireland Poem |

I Am So Tired

I am tired of counting the red dwarf stars in the Milky Way.
I am tired of counting the 7 years of grain in Pharaoh's silos.
I am tired of counting the steps to the sacrificial altar of the Chichén Itzá pyramid.
I am tired of counting the people swallowed by the Antioch earthquakes of 115 & 526.
I am tired of counting the victims of the 1737 & 1839 India cyclones.
I am tired of counting the departed from the Influenza Epidemic of 1918.
I am tired of counting the death toll of the 1931 China floods.
I am tired of counting the total military and civilian casualties of WWI and WWII.
I am tired of counting the number of Jews killed at Auschwitz, Belzec and Majdanek.
I am tired of counting the drowned in the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami.
I am tired of counting the biomass of plankton in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.
I am tired of counting the needles on the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center
I am tired of counting the cracked and dirty windows at Riker's Island prison.
I am tired of counting down the clock until the our Sun becomes a red giant and dies.

God help me! I can't sleep. I can't sleep. I can't sleep...
I'm immortal. I have OCD. I'm so tired of counting sheep.

Details | Ireland Poem |

Erins Green Isle 1798

   They live in fear in Ireland.
   Their sin is ' wearing of the green.'
   St. Patricks shamrock is now banned.
   A National Emblem caught between,
   Sweet Erins pride, and Englands stand
   Against the green, and to demean.
   Then rule the Gaels with iron hand.
   Beyond the pale lifes unforseen.
   It's freedom that, life does demand.
   So paradise on earth would mean.
   Sail Westward to a distant land,
   Where Irelands shamrock can be seen
   Those colonists will understand
   Why Irish eyes smile so serene.

Details | Ireland Poem |

Dear Bobby McGee

In a horrible dull monotone

Bobby spoke, and his girlfriend would moan,

“No kisses from me,

dear Bobby McGee

till you first kiss the old Blarney Stone.”


Written March 15, 2017 for
Kim Merryman's Luck of the Irish Limerick Contest

Details | Ireland Poem |

A Winter's Rime

(In a churchyard in Northern Ireland)


Through the broken and barren trees
Winter exhales its coldest breeze
From the wintry breath of northern seas
That can chill the warmest soul.

Thus in the churchyard by the sea
Nigh one broken and barren tree
Lies cold a soul once warm to me
Beneath the winter’s rime.

As the heart of winter doth unfold
I feel its touch, so dark and cold,
For I yearn at night to yet behold
That soul once warm to me.

But in earthen depths doth she lie
E’er below the moon and starlit sky
As yet unto her grave I wander by
And despair the winter’s rime.

O’ the winter wails upon the still
With its bleak and bitter chill
That conjures from the nightly nil
A soul once warm to me!

Details | Ireland Poem |

An Irish Robbery

The Irish bank was ripe and ready
For a hood whose hand was steady
And had a gun, not 'fraid to use it
Bent on living life or lose it
Just out side the door he waited
Put his mask on, hesitated
Then rushed in through, the bank's front doors
While standing on the lobby floor
With gun held high he shot one round
"Now everybody-- best get down"

Laying face down on the floor
A dozen patrons maybe more
And a teller, young in age
Standing frozen in the cage
So the crook with lightening speed
Driven by his lust for greed
Tossed a bag and said to fill it
Got it filled, then turned to split

As he ran, a man quite daring
Grabbed the mask the crook was wearing
At once the man, seamed surprised
Looked the robber in the eyes
Then took a bullet in the head
Now on the marble floor lied dead

The thief now desperate, looked around 
At all the patrons looking down
But saw the teller, see his face
Then walked to him in rapid pace
And put the gun up to his head
Another victim laid there dead


Now the thief to end it all 
Shouted out inside that hall
"Has anyone else, seen my face ?"
Perhaps a glimpse might leave a trace
Then McGee said  "I'm no sneak
But I think me wife , just took a peek"

Details | Ireland Poem |

DON'T GET ME IRISH UP

Don’t Get Me Irish Up

Me glasses were sitting a-top-a me head
the jam I was spreading was next to the bread
my knees were together but me spindly legs spread
I’m either half way in ---or out of the bed

I have to look down when brushing me teeth
and glue them in tight before chewing me meat
and as for the callous that grows wild on my feet
I find sanding them a sensual treat

Me fingers resemble cold, wintering trees
aging icicles hang from my elbows and knees
the slightest of movements puts a scent on the breeze
and to make matters worse I pee when I sneeze

Me back’s slightly bent, me forehead is wrinkled
when reading a menu, me eyes, yes – they’re crinkled
when I fall asleep they say  “ the old boy’s Van Winkled”
and me stories they say are all “Blarney sprinkled”

Me slippers are worn, me legs freshly shorn
the skin of me cheeks soft as the day I was born
but when they break out the corned beef and stout
all of me parts start to dancing about


John G. Lawless
© 3/6/2017

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 |

Where I Live

7/18/02

In a tropical place the climate
becomes a way of being
Fruits and flowers on shirts and dresses,
Breakfasts of bananas.
Pineapple flavoured passions
of afternoon,
Pathways to the moon
on evening seas
Coconut milk tipped waves at dawn
Palms tilting horizons, gulls gliding
the edge of time 

Yet- where I live does not define me 

Not like the timeless, Irish dairymen who,
rain or shine, milk cows, they
 could easily set their clocks by.
 
Here on this perfect stretch of sand- 
I am rootless - envious
of those who have never moved. 
I feel puppet-ized by modern life
A little schizoid - liking where I am,
hearing the voices, while 
a part of me pines
for pastoral beginnings. 

© Suzanne Delaney

Details | Ireland Poem |

drink guinness

St Patrick’s day is great
to drink Guinness and relate
how great the Irish are
at falling out of bar
in a highly drunken state


penned 14 March 2017

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 |

Goddess of the Teddybear

Eriu Queen of our green land 
enveloped within your Emerald eyes 
Shining one lantern within a flaming torch 

Spirit burning with fire escapes through the oceans whisper 
Ruling sovereign turning over your earth lays foundations stone
breath of centuries gone bye building blocks 

From the land of abundance we are your sons and daughters so to speak 
your Reverence long live the republic of Eire under the gold harp and green 
The true flag when our nation once knew freedom

Details | Ireland Poem |

A love letter to Ireland

 They told me Paris was the city of love.

 Never did they mention you.

 They told me red was the color of admiration.

 Never did they mention green.

 I know you have experienced loss.

 I walked onto your loss

 I know you carry plenty of love

 I watched the love through your motions

 Your beauty is timeless

 Your build is ageless

 They said you never stopped crying

 Your rivers will never run dry

 Your tears are only mere love for the soil you feed

 I know the rich dark red hops you pride yourself on

 I have tasted the malty sensation

 I know your humor is apparent

 I heard it like I heard your strong Gaelic words last night

 Now, all I think about is you

 All I crave is you

 You, the one who whispered in my ear

 “I’ll marry you one day”

 Ireland, you’ve got me.

Details | Ireland Poem |

Silver Jubilee

Celtic courtship ended
nineteen eighty-two.
Marriage nuptials blended
"us" from me and you.

Seaside lovers heading 
to the Irish Sea
showcase Christmas wedding, 
silver jubilee.  

Touring without hassle -
Isle of Man’s ferry,
Dublin, Blarney Castle,
Cobh Cork, and Kerry.

Guinness, china, mincemeat
pricey souvenirs;
homespun sweaters compete
lamb’s wool profiteers.


written February 19, 2018
contest:  88 syllables hosted by Joseph May

Details | Ireland Poem |

The Green

Emerald seems the primo choice 
With kelly right behind.
Hunter, mint or jade might also
Be the shades you'll find.

Army, jungle and chartreuse 
Would certainly suffice.
Forest, olive, lime and spring 
Would also look quite nice.

Leaf and teal and sea and moss
And all the hues between
Will tell the world you're taking part
In wearin' o' the green.

Details | Ireland Poem |

Celtic Nightfall

On the crest of the sky
Where blue Irish mountains lye
Lightning strikes and greenery starts to die
Through thick, misty clouds like those from dry ice
The full moon peaks through, ideal for a pagan sacrifice

Through the mountains you walk further
And you hear from the water an unsettling murmur
The water ripples, dark and clear
But instead beauty, all you think is fear
And that something else is here
Finally a dark, snake-like tail begins to appear

The Loch Ness lifts her shimmering, scaly head
Now you feel awe instead
From a distance, she looks like an elegant, overgrown swan
But before you can blink twice, she is gone

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 |

My Old Bucket

I lost my old bucket so sadly,
And felt oh so terribly badly;
Then lo and behold
A pot full of gold!
I'd lose me another and gladly.