Best Isle Poems
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.
Categories:
isle, fairy, ireland,
Form:
Rhyme
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I became very withdrawn and just wished it'd been me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
Categories:
isle, death, girlfriend, ireland, love,
Form:
Narrative
Our sleepy little Island in the middle of the Irish Sea
Opens its eyes slowly for the Isle of Man TT
The Island bursts into life with bikers everywhere
You need to keep alert and take extra care
The Grandstand is buzzing with colour and noise
You have to admire the bravery of the biker boys
Tearing round the course at a million miles an hour
The machines that they ride have an awesome power
They line up on the grid; the adrenalin flows
The starter counts them down and then the rider goes
Tearing around the circuit at a tremendous pace
Trying to be the winner of the TT race
A dangerous sport racing can be
You don’t want to be a casualty
We cheer and shout when they cross the line
Then the Island goes back to sleep until the next TT time
~ This poem is to be featured in a book called 'Bringing it home' ~
Categories:
isle, home, sports,
Form:
Rhyme
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.
Categories:
isle, ireland,
Form:
Rhyme
I feel so proud when I see our national flag raised
and sing our Anthem ‘Oh land of our birth’
This island is not the place where I was born
but there’s no place on earth I’d rather be
with mountains and hills, a patchwork of fields
and the ocean which caresses our shores
I love eating Manx kippers, see cats with no tails
view the famous TT races, and ride horse trams on rails
We do not bow down to ’the Adjacent Isle’
that’s how England is known to the Manx
Our Tynwald parliament's made laws for over 600 years
Elizabeth’s our Sovereign and long may she reign
I’m not Manx but the Island’s my forever home
and my final resting place overlooks the blue sea
Whitman-Inspired Uplifting Poetry, old or new Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
1/6/20
Categories:
isle, home, how i feel,
Form:
Ode
A lady with a weak bladder*
Thought nothing could make her madder
But Heaven knows
Her pantyhose
Revealed a soaking-wet ladder!
*Weight gain stretches bladder muscle causing
leakage. The French strengthen bladder muscle by
blowing up balloons. The Japanese prefer sitting on
a wooden stool and repetitiously lifting their legs level
to the floor, but the quickest results are achieved by
the Manx Method developed by avid researcher Jan
Allison, which consists of standing on one's head
and farting along with the 1812 Overature!
Categories:
isle, health, women,
Form:
Limerick
Damn this isle of mine...
solitary awkwardness surrounds
stifles, and strangles, and estranges
deranges, debases, encases, entraps
...singing this song lonely crazy
Damn this isle of mine...
coast eroding on every side
an intense sunshine serves to blind...
surrounded by sea, yet cruelly dry
squinting eyes and palate dies
Damn this isle of mine...
Mind gone aimless wander
condemned goner
seeing life that flashed reckless past
and gone...tone deaf swan song
beats on with insensitive rhythm
Damn this isle of mine...
Ever lacking human amenities
conflicting identities murky and sly
my own private Hyde sleuths like private eyes
questioning my reason with childish perspective
this madman my sole companion
this isle will kill me before I die
Categories:
isle, people
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
The Amadawn ‘ave played the joker
for the Good folks fairy Coort
‘T was they ‘ave egged the paper birches
an’ touch’d the scare crow’s stalks.
They ‘ave giv'n leerin pumpkin ‘eads
to Dullahan black ‘eadless ‘orse.
Tied the liein’ Leprechain’s tongues.
Changed the dread Pooka’s course.
Stol'n the noble Banshees keen moan.
an ‘idden ‘er bone white comb.
They ‘ave lured two changeling lovers
to Red Man’s bloody ‘ome.
N’er free since June, the jesters play
their brash tricks on Samhain’s eve.
Stealin’ all the gifts left fur the dead
‘neath mournin’ mortals trees.
N’t till the sunrise will they lave off
wid ‘ the Leprechauns in toe.
And sadly scurry ‘omeward bound
sure laven us all alone!
Categories:
isle, adventure, fantasy, funny
Form:
Quatrain
They called him the phantom of the sky
On the wings of a huge raptor, he flew high
Moving speedily through the air
As he faded into the clouds and disappeared
He was on a dangerous mission
To find the legendary golden sword
which could be found on Dragons isle
protected by creatures strange and vile
He arrived on the isle on the wings
of his white eagle named Snowwhite
To battle cyclopses with venomous bites
And giant scorpions that dealt painful stings
But they were up to the task
As Snowwhite ripped the scorpions apart
And he had the cyclopses beat from the start
As he thrust his sword into their hearts
The golden sword was guarded by a two headed dragon
That breathed fire night and day
But with his spear the dragon he did slay
And retrieving the golden sword, went his way
Then into the clouds he disappeared
As he headed to his mountain lair
contest name: fantasy
contest by: Mystic Rose
Categories:
isle, adventure,
Form:
Free verse
seagulls surf the wind
my escorts home
across the waves
streamlined gannets
sacred isle in view
saffron tints
ocean flower breezes
with scents of heather mingled
island essence
rites of spring
frolicking hares
scattering morning dew
eagles flying high
above the pagodas
sharing with angels
spectral in shadows
castle walls in moonlight
white stag foraging
eloquent landscape
shrouded in mists of time
stones with stories
ears pricked on full alert
deer transfixed in morning mist
ice cracks the silence
snow on distant hills
wind in ancient rowans
new stars twinkling
melting ice
slips down stippled bark
weeping cherry
beyond the twisted gate
flag irises bedeck the shore
beloved playground
fragile and fleeting
foxgloves in summertime
granite enfolded
exotic rhododendrons
sumptuous and alluring
bumblebees besotted
by the waterfall
dippers watching
trickle or torrent?
rhythmic shoreline
ageless slumbering hills
touching paradise
music for the soul
the lilting of the seasons
an Arran symphony
home again, my soul refreshed,
pilgrimage complete.
with Arran heath beneath my feet,
content- and feeling blessed.
Categories:
isle, mountains, ocean, peace, sea,
Form:
Free verse
There’s something magical about an island on a lake
A transient mooring, free to float adrift in space and time
To these small worlds we’re drawn to solitude from deep heart-ache
Where peace rings soft and clear as from a distant belfry chime
Taken from Lake Isle of Dreams
27 May 2019
Arbitrium Divisa Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Gregory Barden
Categories:
isle, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
A young lady from the Isle of man
Writes limericks fresh from the pan
Queen of poetry Soup
She shares her poop
Watching the s..t hit the fan.
Your Blogs.
Dear Jan, place your Blog in the fire
Sit back and watch it burn.
You might attract one or two snowflakes
But that is of little concern.
Stay calm, stay cool, say nothing
Let them have their say.
For in the end like all snowflakes
They'll gradually just melt away.
Categories:
isle, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Isle Of Man
I-Interesting
S-Sight
L-Land
E-Exquisite
O-Of
F-Families
M-Many
A-Arrived
N-Naturally
Categories:
isle, friend,
Form:
Acrostic
There are 84,287 people on The Isle of Man
There is only one poet on Soup who lives on this Isle of Man
Her name is JAN famous in her own right
Her new name shall be: The lone wolf
But we still shall call her, JAN
Categories:
isle, poetess,
Form:
Free verse
There I was.
Inside a crowded Toys R Us
On a mid-Winter’s evening
Abrasively loud 5 year olds
And depressed fathers
Ready to throw their “angelic” brethren
Into life-size Nerf basketball hoop
(Because it was on Clearance)
To embrace sanity’s madness
I was simply here to search for a porcelain doll
For my darling 8 year old angel
To match her serene complexion
But, toddler stomps & red-faced pouts
Equivalent to octaves of Hell’s 5th circle
Could not stop the strut that suddenly coated my foggy nerd glasses
There she was.
Her 5 foot, 10 inch majestic walk
Performing exorcisms on corrupted tile floors
With each
New
Step
My ear canals
Swimming in the serenity of
Her olive-coated curves
And violet-auburn shaded, shoulder-length curly locks
Left
Right
Left
Sensual witchcraft was placed upon my resilience
Chipped away by her Hazel ribboning pupils
My heart’s atrium, flat lining, with laughing hyena smile
Frozen by igloo’s revenge upon madness
“Excuse me, sir”, she vehemently moaned
(At least, in my head)
“Hi”, I expressed with pre-pubescent coarseness.
“I’m looking for a porcelain doll.
But, I’m a tad lost in this maze.
Could you help me find my way?”, she whispered with demure smile
With my tongue pressed against seconds’ icy arm,
Locked for dear life,
I inhaled with Olympic stature
“It’s 9 isles this way. May I show you?”, I confidently declared on sanity’s edge.
With constellations aligned by blue moon signatures,
“Yes, please”.
As crux of evening’s audible stresses
Faded into final curtain’s epileptic sunset,
The winds of Yahweh curtailed all foggy affirmations
Into palms of bliss
Because
On this night
I proudly took the long route
Slow dancing with magnificent silence
To the isle
That was only 2 steps to our left
I believe we both discovered our porcelain dolls on this night.
©Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
isle, fun, heart, life,
Form:
Prose Poetry