Best The Irish Poems
You'll not see determination
like it...
this spirit sailed across
seven seas...
even as a child I fondly
recall it...
I knew I was different...
for what I believe...
for instance rich kids
down the road for their
Christmas a trampoline
they received...
they refused me entry...
so I took to hills...
walked off all disharmony...
whilst up there I found a
bog in it a dead cow lodged...
this cow bloated like any
fair ground balloon could be...
so I climbed aboard her and
I bounced all day...
cost me nothing my soul
in tact...
...thinking back...lucky
the old cow didn't burst
or crack...
it's the universe you see
the higher power understands
watches over me...
I often think of that day...
the spirit of the poor...
is rich...
Where there is a will there
is a way.
anyhow those same kids
they got tired of jumpin
up and down...
so they came to our house
we teamed up played rugby
instead...
for I knew from an early age
as young as five it is not t'ings
that bring fulfillment...
it is other people and love that
bring us this full of life...that we
feel inside...
Tis the Irish in me...
this spirit I believe...
the spirit that sailed
seven seas
...the spirit from above
Tis the Irish in me...
THE IRISH INVENTED EVERYTHING
Ireland invented everything; I think it’s fair to say
From the automatic office door, to the LED display
We put the first man on the moon, conceived the mobile phone
Discovered Mars and Pluto, and of course, the twilight zone
Planes and trains and trucks and cars, were all invented here
We even had the concept, of putting twelve months in the year
We invented ships and submarines, and the humble coffee cup
Sure we even made Viagra, just to keep our peckers up
We invented drums and violins, then trumpets and guitars
But playing makes you thirsty, so we invented Irish bars
We developed all the medicine, on which the world depends
Then we gave you love and hatred, and the means to make amends
We discovered beer and cider, we discovered whiskey too
And we started brewing Guinness, which is very good for you
We gave you sweets and chocolate, and all that tasty stuff
And we invented soft pyjamas, plus that bellybutton fluff
We invented roads and pavements, and we introduced the bridge
The cooker and the washing machine, we even claim the fridge
We invented mirth and humour, and we taught the world to sing
Sure you gotta love the Irish ………….. We invented everything……….
Proud fathers and relatives of the past.
Ghost's of thoose first Irish americans.
Eventhough the ignorant tried to kill us
still we did last.
Using are fists and breaking are backs.
from New York to Boston.
Green blood dries in the tracks.
Beautiful Island of green we left yet still
within are souls you stay.
From Belfast to Dublin In croweded streets
were children play.
Some call us paddy the brave few dare say mic.
Hate filled people casting stones
at the weak and sick.
As we viewed a new promise we
were met with a black eye.
But from the church to the pud.
The Irish were to strong to die.
And for all thoose who fought so I my
may talk to you from this stool I sit.
I promise you children of Eran .
I shall never quit.
So may the people dance and sing while the whiskey
does flow.
Let the young carry the torch
so all may know.
from shamrocks to St Patricks day.
Weve come to far.
So we shall never go away.
They are all gone now,
Heaney, Mahon and Longley
the last to go.
Their words speak
to these troubled times
with a lasting humanity.
Thanks be
to poetry's Irish trinity.
Mr. O'Toole in trauma sat in front
Seeking mercy from tax assessor stunt.
His Irish luck grace
Full Blown-in his face.
With distaste pay money in full upfront.
3/26/2025
Ahhh the luck of the Irish
complete with leprechauns
and pots of gold
The Emerald Isle
God's country
filled with lyrical voice
but no one hears her cry
that fabled luck
truly a fable t'would seem
suffering
the only thing in abundance
it is their only pot
that remains filled
an impoverished relative
showing up late for dinner
tossed a few scraps
from the rich relatives
but not allowed to sit at the table
a history rich with servitude
famine, plaque
and indentured slavery
spit upon by class distinctions
laughed about as uneducated
their brogue common
ahhh yes the curse of the commoner
in a society that rewards
upper class and the deemed
right of birth
drunken happy go lucky louts
that would steal your pants
rather than wash his own
and on and on the prejudice flows
from old days into the new
of drinking and gambling
even in the movies
portrayed as a rogue
these perceptions followed
fine people across the sea
where they built the cities
endured the hardships
and still no one hears their cry
no one gives them their due
they did the jobs
others were to afraid to do
the hard labor
standing on steel skyscrapers
so many descendent's
of this proud people
have formed the foundations
of other countries
and still they do not control their own
now the world frowns
not understanding the religious battle
that dwells within
it's all they have
their faith
it makes perfect sense to me
for yes the Irish
would start a fight in a church
for they are not afraid
to stand up for their beliefs
they are just hollow
for so much
has been taken from them
so much suffering
has been endured
so they cling to their faith
as a man clings to a life preserver
for to lose that last vestige
they will lose themselves
ahhhh the luck of the Irish
maybe they should pass that luck to another
then maybe someone will hear their cries
someday they may follow the rainbow
and will truly find that pot of gold
The Irish may have lost the game,
The other team has won.
But the players feel like winners,
They've still got the Leprechaun!
With him comes the Pot O' Gold,
The Pride O' Wearing Green.
You try to take THAT from them,
And you'll SEE who can be mean!
This poem is dedicated to my nephew, Rob, who is a senior at Notre Dame, and is a trainer on the sidelines at athletic events. His Pot O' Gold is 4.0, and the Pride O' Wearing GREEN.
Uncle RAY
3-10-13
Ireland was suffering a terrible fate
People were dying at an alarming rate
The potato crop failed because of the blight
Little help was given now that wasn't right.
The rich fed their faces with meat so lean
Whilst the poor people starved now I call that obscene
Their fault it was not but you let them die
The horrors they suffered a grown man would cry.
The greed of the landlords they showed no pity
Had to make profits for their masters in the city
They evicted the dying, victims of the blight
How in Gods name did they sleep at night ?.
Men, women and children were dropping down dead
Profits before people that you could have fed
You exported the grain to feed the elite
Whilst the poor people of Ireland were dying at your feet.
"An act of God "said Trevelyan, now that was shocking
To use that as an excuse to do little or nothing
You weren't alone though, Clergy said it too
How simple minded you all were to think that was true.
You all looked away, you all have no shame
Did not do enough, found others to blame
One day you'll be judged though and that is a fact
And you can all tell God why you didn't act.
Written on 17th November 2017
Ah! Here I am then all snug in my seat.
I've plenty of popcorn and candies to eat.
The previews appeared without any glitch,
And I'm loving it here in my own little niche.
If I want, I can use the seat I'm behind
To put up my feet. There's no one to mind,
For finding the one empty seat was my goal,
And I'm sitting behind it. Most others are full.
Oh, no! What is this? Some guy just walked in
Right when the movie is just to begin.
No, not toward the back!! Stay in the middle.
Dang it! He's here, and his head is not little.
Smack dab in front of me; wish I could yell.
My peaceful retreat has just turned to hell
For, or course, he is half a foot taller than I.
That's luck o' me ancestors Irish. Fie!
THE IRISH GARDEN
Created by God but designed by me - my garden (13 syll )
It was intended as Helen’s playground (Name of smb loved)
She wanted space big enough but not expansive (rhyme)
And play equipment dear enough but not expensive (rhyme)
“And no dogs ! ” (3 words)
she said. ( Indeed, ‘n’ I agreed ) (palindrome)
And so we set to work making the Irish garden (title)
The work was extensive as well as intensive (rhyme)
She wanted songbirds, saying, ”a bird in hand is worth two in the bush” (quote)
And in Ireland the birdsong is beautiful (country)
I felt she’d long to belong among song but I was wrong (5 words rhyme)
I found her a blackbird (6 syll )
Which sang “Bye Bye Blackbird “ (song title)
So I responded “Goodbye, farewell, adieu” (synon)
Then it was gone, disappeared, absent, vanished (4 words the same)
So now, where to get music for her? (no A / D / L)
Her happy eyes shone with anticipation of singing birds (happy eyes)
But I was out of ideas, running on empty (run/on/emp)
A mechanical model bird?. . . yes, of such things had I heard (rhymes with 6 syll)
Such cultural perfection sublime ! (poem line)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck
Entered in Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver's Contest Mish-Mash
A leprechaun looking for gold
'neath the shimmering shamrocks of olde
(with the luck of a Gael)
found ten bottles of ale
somewhat green as if covered with mould.
3/15/2017
The luck of the Irish has always been
St Patrick did not preach for men to preen
in great lewdness and less love
but for friends to look above...
with gratitude garnished with touch of green.
Written 02/4/ 2017
No other man could say with pride
How honored t’was to be
That though they suffered hunger
And through their poverty
They still stood tall, to fight them all
The rest… is history
Now, turn the pages back some time
On an island far from here
Where English Lords forced a nation
To sea or to live with fear
They pushed away, even still today
But, the Irish pride is clear
Through all the outward signs of hate
Too, in Boston, where they fled
All of the Beacon Hill residents
Just wished the Irish dead
But, they prevailed, as soon they hailed
The pride of Irish bred
Despite their constant struggles
They never chose to hide
For they knew just who they were
And wore it then with pride
As years went on, the Irish son
In America did reside
They were soon to hold their office
Also Police in New York blue
For they were of the people, proud
That held the laws then true
Enforcing rules and teachers at schools
As the Irish got their due
Yet, still they’re given just one day
While a month unto another
But, yet the Irish smile with pride
Not standing under cover
They’d never duck, with their Irish luck
To share with non-Irish brothers
Cian careen into Quigley's Pub
for a little Irish whiskey and sub
before long dancing
an Irish jig romancing
the wee fawning lassies lap club
lassies hooting and flapping being bold
with blarney about his pot of gold
money he was countin
while lassies were mountin
full of craic, pole dancing, and few handholds
much Irish brew a sot Cian became
I'm takin my money you can't blame
when he got to his lair
pot did he held bare
shame he did claim but himself to blame
3/26/2017
The familiar sound of gunshots
rings out in the dead of night,
As a sniper takes position in the
bushes out of sight,
Past my front door I hear the
sound of many marching feet,
As 2 Para make their presence
felt upon a Belfast street,
Gerry Adams does a hard days
graft 'n' then it's homeward
bound,
As a British soldier just
nineteen lays bleeding on the
ground,
Well he fought for queen 'n'
country so it comes as no
surprise,
As he draws his last
breath,says a prayer and there
a hero dies,
So many slain civilians(they're
just casualties of war,
Do the f*ckers even realise
what it is they're fighting for?
Or has the whole point of it got
lost in the mists of time?
The Ira take credit for their
latest deadly crime,
In a safe house miles from
nowhere there's three loyalists
lying dead,
One in a grave (he was buried
alive) and two with one straight
through the head,
But the score it was evened
before the cock crowed,three
catholic civilians were slain,
And there's rumours of
vengeance and fights to the
death and calls to keep calm
from Sinn Fein,
As politicians armed with pens
sit counting up lost lives,
The Ulster Paramilitary sit
sharpening their knives,
And loading slugs into the clip
of someone else's gun,
"Come on now lads there's dirty
deeds awaiting to be done"
In Londonderry,County Down,in
Belfast,Newry too,
The Catholics and the
Protestants keep Ireland torn in
two,
As our children grow in the
shadow of fear,
There's a stench of death and
bloodshed here,
So you with the power please
give us the chance,
To find a solution and finish the
dance,
Give Ireland back to the Irish
pleeaasssse!
Or bring the whole damned
nation crashing down to its
knees.