Best St. Poems
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 |
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
Where forests stretched for miles, and Spirit Lake
lay at its foot, there stood a rebel peak.
One day the earth beneath began to quake.
What havoc Mother Nature was to wreak!
The tremors kept occurring till the day
two craters which had formed began to merge,
erupting ash. Wise folks left right away,
for that volcano soon would surely surge!
Some met their death that eerie Sunday morn
of May eighteenth. The deer began to flee.
Then from the mount, a burst of cloud was born -
a mushroom cloud which bellowed boisterously.
It grumbled and it rumbled, rocketing
for fourteen miles to sky its ice and ash.
Land slid. An avalanche was covering
all things within the path of its mad dash!
By 10:15, a wall of water rushed
down to the river, tearing up the trees
along with boulders as the ash still gushed.
Destruction had been wrought with greatest ease.
The news said Mount St. Helen’s lost her head,
and trees, like matchsticks, lay upon the ground.
Amazingly, despite such loss and dread,
there is new growth of beauty all around!
Written Aug. 13, 2014 for Wordscapes Contest of John Hamilton
writing a limerick
so easy and simple
a little irish humor
give both cheeks a dimple
rainbows and leprechans
have come into season
but really St. Patrick
has given us reason
the three leaf clover
so common to us
settled an argument
a great big fuss
Father, Son, Holy Ghost
one from three?
St. Patrick with one clover
named one for each leaf
so easy so simple
as anyone can see
you can have one God
and He His three leaves
The Mission in Milton Creek, I’ve acquisitioned
Converted into the town’s culinary mecca
Aptly designed and scenically positioned
Inspired from ancient recipes revived Azteca
An enchanting bistro tastes of old Mexicana
To lift spirits, share and warm the hearts
Paintings by Frida Kahlo the valiant Chicana
Every Sunday, an Institute of Culinary Arts
Christened ~ Saint Milt's in his memory
On the adobe walls his poems will be hung
Milt will live on here with love and glory
Mariachi folksong praises shall be sung
Welcome to St. Milt's Culinary Mission
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)
babe
I stumbled home—
drenched in Guinness, soaked in guilt
the apartment crumbles, a shattered ruin
but you—your copper mane ablaze—
my wild Morrigan
a feral Celtic Faerie Queene
waging war against the wreckage.
You told me love was a lie
stitched by leprechauns
but your touch proves
there’s truth in everything
we break and rebuild.
Chased the wail of a banshee tonight
hoping to drown the shame
gulped it down like bottom-shelf whiskey.
Instead I christened the clover—
four leaves or forty—who cares? —
baptizing failures
trembling hands at work.
In this emerald world of lies
forget unicorns rainbows and clovers—
false luck's for fools and drunks.
Luck’s a liar
a Puca’s trick
crumbling when touched.
But you—
wear that emerald dress
like a battle cry.
A storm inside a woman
whiskey-fire eyes dare me
to fall harder
and I do. Every time.
You are my reel—
venomous alive
an unseelie’s song
the one thing that won’t let me escape.
I’ve fed the snakes with my mistakes
but still
I kneel before you—
a fool
drunk on you
more potent than any fairy brew.
We aren’t saints
but we’re still here—
holding on to this wreckage
with blood-stained hands.
Pour another pint, love—
let’s dance on glass fragments
our broken dreams—
our frenzied jig
painting the town green—
two misfits spinning
through this carnival of Fiana fools.
In the chaos
in the ruin
we find each other.
No leprechaun guards our gold
but you—my queen of chaos—
are treasure enough
to keep me alive.
So here's to you, my wild Morrigan—
in your eyes I find my home
the only shelter I’ve ever known.
in your smile, I find sanctuary and storm alike—
for you, are my feral Celtic Faerie Queen.
This was written a few years ago for St. Patty's Day and posted:
If your favorite color is green and of the Emerald Isles you dream,
you might be Irish..
If you believe in leprechauns and fairies and hidden treasures that lay buried,
you might be Irish..
If you like your lasses bawdy and tell jokes a little naughty,
you might be Irish..
If you can dance an Irish jig and at the pubs your whiskey swig,
you might be Irish.
If your mom cooked an Irish stew and you just happened to be Catholic too,
you might be Irish..
If your name is Fitz, Riley, or O'Keefe, your definitely Irish, good grief!!
If not then just for this one day, we'll say your Irish any way..
Happy St. Patty's Day!!
Irish Cream Cake
I stir and mix
rich ingredients in forty shades of green for kicks
inside our T-castle by the bay
shanty sea songs we shall play
he sings along, blare’n A Pair of Brown Eyes and Wellerman
Celtic tea cake zesty
raspberry tea tickles my fancy
energy light and airy
a treat of nostalgic dairy
màireach brings bákús blessings!
Chocolate dallops and drizzles stuck
and four-leaf clovers for good luck
kindly do indulge
each bite pure decadence to divulge!
St Patrick’s Day Eve
3/16/26
St Patrick's Day POTD
3/17/26
On Lindisfarne, they say,
St Cuthbert took a hooded crow,
A jackdaw and a jay,
And on their strident tongues bestowed
The gift of harmony.
No more did ugly croaks and caws
Dispute above the sea,
Or trouble those sequestered shores.
They sang all day, those three;
And as they drew their corvine kin,
The devil wept to see
His shrinking nursery of sin.
Have a Guiness and let’s toast St. Patrick
Whether laddie, lass or old codger geriatric
A bold gent with such clout
All Eire’s snakes he shooed out
Never has there been a saint so theatric!
Robert
I am an old codger geriatric
But I will raise a toast to ST. Patrick
For shooing those snakes
Away for our sakes
He definitely was Saint Fantastic
Beryl
I listen on the beach to the waves cascading,
Slapping, tossing the sand pebbles,
Creating swishing, swashing sounds,
I hear hissing, rustling sounds of the wind.
I see some gliding fishing boats there,
The seagulls soaring, gliding in the air here,
On the horizon floating ships still further,
Surfers trying to get rides on the waves here.
I watch people running strolling and sunning,
The sun is about to set on the horizon,
With a promise to rise anew tomorrow morning,
Like the human ambitions and desires unknown.
I notice the crabs scurry somewhere hiding,
The scooping pelicans with mouthful of fish,
Leaving the smooth bed of sand, water receding,
All sounds now receding to its minimum hiss.
Come, Grace, getting away from the turmoil,
It is the time for us to be in tranquility to coil?
Alive aglow you seem to drip
cascading from the shades and hues of purpleblack
rhinestones sparks among the fluid pulse
of spilt ink we call night
paperpunched pin pricks
so as not to blind weak seeing souls
such as we –
peircings to the Universal right
the cyclonic spin the sandpapersparks fly ignited
by the sons of light
throng, and pulse, sear and burn
endless and eternal is the night
Contest: The Night Sky
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Date: 3/23/14
*St. Catherine's wheel is a firework in the form of a flat coil
that spins when fixed to something solid and lit.
**See about the poem
*** The origin of the device is horrific
Catherine was spun burned and killed on a larger version
Seventeenth of March is St Patrick’s Day
Great day for the Irish I can honestly say
Paddies' the world over will want to be seen
Wearing Leprechaun hats and a sprig of green.
Loud colourful parades up and down the lands
Drums, tin whistles and the skirl of pipe bands
Sample some Guinness or a glass of potcheen
Be the best street party you've ever seen.
But if you're not Irish still join in the fun
St Patrick’s day parades are for everyone
But make sure you go, you'll enjoy the craic
And I guarantee that next year you'll be back
It happens once a year so come and have a ball
A very happy St Patrick's day to one and all.
Written 16/02/2019.
Poitin anglicized as Potcheen
( Irish moonshine )
~
Sprig of green is the shamrock associated
With St Patrick who used it to explain the blessed trinity, God the father, son and holy spirit.
~
The craic is news, gossip, enjoyable conversation and having fun.
We walk alone, towards the sight
There are the fragrant roses bright,
Bees sip nectar, queen kisses drone.
Towards the sight, we walk alone.
In our old age, we hail flowers.
Grown tall after the last showers:
Tulips and bluebells are the rage.
We hail flowers, in our old age.
See the great pond, with insects bright,
As dragonflies fly, what a sight.
Making love for they have a bond.
With insects bright, see the great pond.
In the large pool, swans glide along,
Some cygnets follow growing strong,
Best for them not to play the fool.
Swans glide along, in the large pool.
The small bell rings, it's closing time.
Back home, rickety stairs we climb.
Happy for now we feel like kings.
It's closing time, the small bell rings.