Best Ulster Poems
This country United
one can clearly see
only blind hide in truth
Illegally a government seizes power
against the vote with a clear strike
Overthrowing moral grounds
At which point do we say enough
Their soul aim to enforce ill will
against good standing people
It's a mutiny against freedom of choice
using it to kill babies
Exploiting our democracy fact
You bloodless hounds without spines
are only in it for the money
Crawling vermin hidden underneath the table
Fighting for scraps sick agendas
I am a son of David from the clans of ulster
As state assets are freely given away
Without consent their should be a public outcry
Democratic Republic sits on the right side
All the left wing who will hang this nation
Out to dry as they rob ores
from underneath our feets destroying our land
with your greed creating poverty
Selling away our basic rights and commodities
sick reality without virtues
To gain their thirty pieces
We need to stand and defend our constitution
for our children's sake and their dowry
As they sign the pact
One which will weight
heavy on their souls as we are raped
continuesly of our sovereignty
Human rights ignored for no good reason
enough is enough I have a voice
any laws passed by this circus
Undemocraticly elected government
Is not backed or passed by the peoples choice
this needs to be called into order as a state
Crisis of emergency by the judges
They who stand for truth to address
Should judge according to the law laid down
Categories:
ulster, anger, betrayal, conflict, earth,
Form:
Ode
chieftains trade their loyalty behind the clouds
high mountain king Carrantouhil commanding his Macgillycuddy Reeks
men of begotten rank, scheming skulduggery
secrets hide out of sight, Comeragh mystery shrouds Coumshingaun
flighty earls flee from the Lough Swilly shore
priests conspire, a king, a queen, a lord-protectorate exact revenge
imported evil stalks the land and soul of Ireland
near-on half give way, massacre, starvation, transportation and slavery
annexation by stealth, abomination
exposed Shannon artery, remorseless draining through lakes of tears
solidified karst corpses dissolving
into central mireland, ringed by coastal ramparts and remnant towers
turloughs disappear where the ground is leaking
playboys drink from black frothy pools of humour where the craic is good
where sad refrain gives way to rhythmic distraction
where song, stories, poetry, plays and dance merge in murky island brews
native chiefs are stripped of their Ulster lands
to control, anglicise and civilise a rebellious region
the area most resistant to English rule
official and private plantation, top to bottom colonisation
Gaelic hands across the channel disrupted
Scottish and English incomers, presbyterian and church of England
town and country, protestant domination
Irishmen uniting for briefest moments on higher ground
descent into cold depths of history
the Cliffs of Moher plunging from The Burren's bald barren bleakness
disfigured fingers pointing blame, shame and guilt
like the peninsular lands, Beara to Iveragh, Mizen to Dingle
stretching out to a new land of migrating hope
escaping abuse and clutches of long-robed men and women
the stifling heavy hand of implanted culture
two main layers of tradition now overlaying an unfathomable past
Categories:
ulster, community, history, ireland, time,
Form:
Narrative
St Patrick’s Alphabet
A is America land of the free
B is for Beatles as Irish as me
C is the great Cliffs of Moher so pretty
D is for Dublin the capital city
E is for Eire – true name of my land
F is for Fionn and the Fianna his band
G is for Guinness a world-famous name
H is for Hurling a rather rough game
I is my Island and what it creates
J is for Joyce, Stephens, Swift and Jack Yeats
K is King Niall and the old kings at Tara
L is a leprechaun called MacNamara
M is for mise, me fein and me too
N is for Nuala, Naoimh, Nora and crew
O is O’Reilly O’Keefe and their worth
P - Patrick saint in the land of my birth
Q is for quiz, gob, cailin and the rest
R is the River Shannon in the west
S is for Shamrock a flower of three
T is Tramore, Tullamore and Tralee
U is U2 who are still going strong
V is from Ulster – he’s Van Morrison
W – whiskey a very strong drink
X is eXcuse me no word can I think
Y is for You when like me you agree,
Z ’s not in Ireland there no last can be
Categories:
ulster, encouraging, nostalgia, race,
Form:
Rhyme
Grandpa was a Bowie.
A tight-lipped protestant Ulsterman
who drifted into the Poblacht na hÉireann
in search of a cure for his cold heart.
His thin lips wed a soft Catholic girl.
He joined the Garda Síochána settling down
to breed Kerry Blue’s. After he retired, he still
wore his uniform, his neck as stiff as ever.
Grandma wrote letters to the Pope
begging for Papal forgiveness
for her heathen husband.
I have not been to Hidalgo County,
but if I were one day to go, I might try
to convince the Daughters of the Alamo
of my credentials to be worshiped
in a mild, concessionary way.
A complimentary burger, a free pass
to the museum, a photograph
of myself brandishing a big knife
at a picture of Generalissimo Santa Anna
that would suffice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Poblacht na hÉireann" = Republic of Ireland (Éire).
"Ulster' (Northern Ireland).
"Garda Síochána" Is the Police Force of the Republic of Ireland.
Categories:
ulster, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
PEACE ?
There’s peace in Northern Ireland, a smile comes to my face
Some well worn media phrasing, there’s no peace in this place
The hatred still is palpable, the twain shall never meet
Divisions that are influenced, by the political elite
Opposing ideologies, with religion at its core
Struggling for supremacy, in a bitter cultural war
With two tier education, so the children cannot mix
An antiquated system, which they’ll never ever fix
The undercurrent of savagery is rarely far away
It’s been that way from ancient times, until the present day
That murky world of politics, where they always try and fail
Where deals are done in private, behind the secret veil
Held up as a precedent, for all the world to see
How little Ulster saved itself, from a life of misery
We listen to the sound bites; each day’s a brand new start
Yet our celebrated peace walls, keep communities apart
Categories:
ulster, political,
Form:
Political Verse
From Andover to Anaheim
Bangor to Boise
People speak up
Come on, get noisy
From Carteret in Jersey
To Cameroon far away
Speak up everyone
If just for one day
From Detroit to Dallas
Eaton to Ecuador
Come on everyone
Speak up some more
From France and to Finland
Ghana to Greece
People speak up
To bring about peace
From Halifax to Haiti
Indiana to Iraq
If we all scream up
Peace might just come back
Jerusalem to Jersey
Killarney to Kildare
Peace can resurface
If together we share
Lisbon to Lima
Michigan to Maine
Let’s make one voice
For peace is the gain
Netherlands to New England
Oahu to Oslo
Come on everyone
Let’s give it a go
Poland to Pittsburgh
Queens to Qatar
With peace in our pockets
We all can go far
Roxbury to Riverhead
Salisbury to Siam
We’ll acquire the peace
Just as we plan
Togo and Tobago
Uruguay to Ulster
It can all come true
If we’re ready to muster
Venezuela to Venice
Wyoming to Whales
Keep peace in our sights
Our plan will not fail
To get to our Xanadu
We just cannot stop
Keep screaming for peace
We’ll soon see the top
Yugoslavia to Yemen
Zimbabwe to Zaire
Once peace has been gotten
We’ll have nothing to fear
Come on everyone! Scream!
Categories:
ulster, funny, peace, places, peace,
Form:
Free verse
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.
Categories:
ulster, political
Form:
Acrostic
coming out enchanting
a harp playing
bewitching music
from an irish sea
from the mist of hibernia
entering a cold mystical island
a lonely teddy bear out in an ocean
dressed in her forty shades of green
her lush finery
from the land of the leprechaun
king of the fairies
tales of a land of forever young in the fianna
magical blossoms shades her beauty
classical in her name eire
modern irish emerald green
jewel of her color
arising from the land
of eternal winter
geographers strabo
pomponius melba
quoting describes a cold chilling land
inhabitated by a bunch
of wild savages
who feast on the flesh
of their dead fathers
despite the cold
the grazing was so tasty
very lush sweet
that cattle exploded fat
if allowed to eat unchecked
in a new kingdom
penunnular broach
used to fasten her shawl
son of the high king
fiacha finnfolaidh
his father was overthrown
killed in a revolt
by the king of ulster
tutathal's mother
who was daughter
of king of alba
britian at the time
because alba became
the name for scotland
later on fled to britain
with her son 20 years later
he returns to eire
defeating his father's enemies
turns in history
subduing the
entire country
he became the high king
of tara
there he conveyed
in a conference
were he established
himself law in the land
he annexed territory
for each four provinces
creating central control
in the province of meath
four fortresses where built
one for each our green fields
span an irish republic
Categories:
ulster, patriotic,
Form:
Free verse
Twitching limply atop an Ulster lamppost
Like a hung man, legs kicking in spasm at the last seconds of life
Its bigoted purpose now spent and now abandoned to the elements
No longer recognisable as the flag of union, a rag, a disgrace
Its fate summarises the fall of a culture that once honoured it
A proud nation of proud men, of starched collars and stiff upper lip
Colonially pink maps on schoolroom walls bore testament to empire
An empire won and lost when the map turned from pink to red
Up and at ’em lads! For King and country! Hold the banner high!
Ypres and the Somme, regiments of the brave under one colour
The twitching curtains of multi-culture now fearful of the emblem
The emblem of abhorrence uncased by those not qualified to fly it
Patriotism, a narrow path parting pride from prejudice
Defined by a flag, one duplicitous fluttering cloth, a split personality
Now the badge of hooligan, xenophobe and pop diva
Courage now gone, bleached by sun, washed by rain…atop an Ulster lamp post
Categories:
ulster, history, nostalgia, political, social,
Form:
Free verse
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 II Para make thier presence felt upon a Belfast street,
Gerry Adams does a hard days graft and then it's homeward bound,as a British soldier just nineteen lays wounded on the ground,
Well he fought for Queen and country so it comes as no surprise,as he drew his last breath,said a prayer and there a hero dies,
So many slain civilians there just casualties of war,do these people even realise what it is they're fighting for?
Or has the whole point of it got lost in the mists of time,the I.R.A take credit for thier latest deadly crime,
In a safe-house miles from nowhere ther'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 vengence 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 thier knives,
And loading slugs into the clip of someone elses gun,cpme on now lads there's dirty deeds awaitin to be done,
In Londonderry,County Down,in Belfast,newry too,the catholics and the protestants keep Ireland torn into,
as our children grow up in the shadow of fear,there's a stench of death and bloodshen here,
So you with the power to give us a chance,let's find a solution and finish the dance,
give Ireland back to the Irish....please,or bring the whole damned nation crashing down to its knees.
Categories:
ulster, conflict, environment, history, ireland,
Form:
Acrostic
The
familiar
sound
of
gunshots
rings
out
in
the
dead
of
night,as
a
sniper
takes
position
in
the
bushes
outta
sight,
Past
my
front
door
I
hear
the
sound
of
many
marching
feet,as
II
Para
make
their
presence
felt
upon
a
Belfast
street,
Gerry
Adams
does
a
hard
days
graft
and
then
its
homeward
bound,as
a
British
soldier
just
nineteen
lays
bleeding
on
the
ground,
Well
he
fought
for
Queen
and
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
I'R'A
take
credit
for
their
latest
deadly
crime,
In
a
safehouse
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
even
before
the
cock
crowed,three
Catholic
civilians
were
slain,
And
there's
rumours
of
vengence
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
some
dead
soldiers
gun,"Come
on
now
lads
there's
dirty
deeds
still
waiting
to
be
done,
In
Londonderry,County
Down,in
Belfast,Newry
too,the
Catholics
and
the
protestants
keep
Ireland
torn
in
two,
As
children
grow
up
in
the
shadow
of
fear,there's
a
stench
of
death
and
bloodshed
here,
So
you
with
the
power
to
give
us
the
chance,lets
find
a
solution
and
finish
the
dance,
Give
Ireland
back
to
the
Irish...please!
or
bring
the
whole
damned
nation
crashing
down
to
its
knees.
Categories:
ulster, conflict, death, discrimination, environment,
Form:
Free verse
On the Easter weekend after WW I began,
When the religious Irish had their mind on god,
They concluded that life and death, the ban,
Was not the British’s, but theirs to span or fraud.
It was an armed insurrection against the gov,
Of the Irish Republican Brotherhood Military Council,
Made of the Irish Volunteers intending to shove,
The Ulster Volunteers who objected to home rule.
The Brotherhood won in 1922 when South Ireland,
Became independent from Britain very completely,
With 26 counties becoming ruled by their own hand,
And not Westminster of London city very distantly.
Categories:
ulster, death, freedom, inspirational, murder,
Form:
Quatrain
On the Beeb this morning, on the flagship radio news show, that the grocer's daughter
always listened to but didn't like at all, the National Poet of 'Land of Song' sang the
praises of an American poet who now wears the laurel of that Un-American American
so justly admired for his poetry if not his politics, giving me the urge to enquire, why do
not we English, full eighty-five percent of the population of this kingdom of the sea, like
the other nations of divided Britannia, do not have a National Poet, on grounds of
equity?
I could bore you with a long list of the great, good, indifferent, and poor like and unlike
me of the poets of old Albion and this New England, ours and the world's poet the Bard
of Stratford - Super Avon. And while we are about it, what about having the Cross of
Saint George flown on public buildings as the Saltire of Scotland and the Red Dragon of
Cymru? As for Red Hand of Ulster, and its other flag disputes that seem this side of the
water to almost make us want to puke - well - words do not fail me!
One day, perhaps, we will have our own Parliament back, as it and the States General
of the northern Netherlands were the only ones to stand for Liberty against Europe's
tyrants all.
Are these dreams walking or nightmares stalking ?
Categories:
ulster, political, red,
Form:
Free verse
There is a castle standing still.
Where blood was shed
to protect our free will.
When foreign foes
dared trespass,
we kicked their ass.
There is castle standing still.
Where wine flowed free
and pigs were killed.
To celebrate our victory.
Music and dance all night long.
Loud bursts of song.
There is a castle standing still.
Named Dun na nGall.
Where Maeve was thrilled
to wed the high chief Fegal.
Ulster and Connacht
united as one.
Slan agus beannacht.
There is a castle standing still.
Not derelict or overgrown.
Where visitors can mill.
See steps worn down
by passing feet.
Soldiers on the beat.
Forever now asleep.
Categories:
ulster, courage, eulogy, family,
Form:
Rhyme
EDDIE MARS AND THE SOLAR WINDS
The biggest band in Lisburn and fronted by Eddie Mars
A guy who could play anything, on his collection of guitars
On vocals, Charlie Venus, who was the joker in the pack
He played his fender tele' through a great big marshall stack
On bass was Johnny Neptune, with his yellow platform shoes
He harmonized on vocal, a disciple of the blues
The keyboards were delivered, by Hector Mothership
He worshipped things electrical, and loved the microchip
Ray Uranus kept the beat and he wore a bowler hat
Sure only a crazy drummer, would adopt a name like that
They played all over Britain, with their rockin lunar style
They sold out gigs in Wigan, they were lauded in Millisle
Their stage show was fantastic, with a massive lighting rig
A spaceship and some planets, lit the stage at every gig
That grew a loyal fan base, as they played across the land
They lived a life of excess, just like any touring band
Success soon followed in their wake, awards came thick and fast
And very soon the space machine, had an ever growing cast
Five young lads from Lisburn, fifty people in their crew
An entourage of strangers that they never even knew
Five big trucks, a fleet of cars, a chopper and two planes
A man to do the finance, who didn't even know their names,
Still, fashions change, the sales dried up, the audience died away
And soon there were no big crowds, to watch the five lads play
Their last gig at the Ulster hall, was an evening to forget
Out of tune, and full of beer, as they stumbled through the set
And things got pretty messy when accountants came to call
They had no cash, they had no rights, seems their manager had it all
Their luck ran out, the band where broke, they had to end the show
They had to sell up everything, the spaceship had to go
Ray could never come to terms, with all the hurt and pain
He took some drugs and alcohol, he just never woke again
Hector went to college and he earned a top degree
And now he is the I.T guy in a light bulb factory
Johnny is the local star, who likes to talk about his fame
He tries to pull the young girls, and dine out on his name
Charlie lost his family, when the alcohol took hold
He shelters in the hostels when the weather gets too cold
Eddie left the country, when it all became too much
He now lives in Australia, but he never kept in touch
Categories:
ulster, art, creation, friendship, music,
Form:
Rhyme