Donegal Poems | Examples

who knocks

Who Knocks

"Who knocks so quietly on the cloister's
port a poor girl from a land afar."
We sang that song at school and always
made me emotional, I could picture this
poor waif seeking shelter 

Now we know what happens to  the poor
and pregnant women seeking shelter at
at a convent run by brainwashed nuns 
The woman from Donegal told us when
She came here at 17   and was pregnant

How was she to know this nunnery of
sexually frustrated who had taken a vow
who, in hatred, had turned this a sin worse 
than death

When the time comes for our girl from Donegal, 
to give birth, she was ill, and they gave her a sedative 
Then, as a child was born, she heard a scream
of one drawing of air for the first time

They told her the baby had died; had she 
dreamt, no, but there was nothing she could
Christianity is a good religion, but why is it
When it becomes an institution, evil enters
through the front door, while saintliness is
out of the back door like a shroud

Pregnant Pause

P erfect afternoon although the
R ain clouds looked ominous over Tory.
E ven still we ventured out as the darkness
G athered behind our foot prints on one of the
N icest beaches in North Donegal.
A nd while the thunder clapped and
N attering seagulls bolted, 
T houghtlessly we dandered on.

P assing time pleasantly chatting
A nd banishing the blood result blues.
U ntil we both were saturated when
S uddenly in unison pregnant clouds
E mptied their ruptured waters upon us.

Vanitas

Lifting my weary an drugged head
"Hey'
Is all that croaked
From a dried throat
As the Irish gals
From Donegal
Those medical Angels
Surely sent
By family past
Dote about
My sickening
Karmic Dragons breath
Did seek me out again
Only so many times
I be lucky
To duck an weave
Its directing
More of
A spray
On the other side
The midnight tree
Wounded Deer
Do run
Till Deaths door
It comes
Laying down
Forest floor
And welcomes
No more runs
They know
As well as I
It ain't over
Till I die
Ozymandias
It shall be
Long after
I fly away
Smiling
Knowing I won
Splitting the Atom
Isn't for thee
You" l have to be satisfied
Surely
You get to keep
Human trafficking
No one
Would suspect
A Copper Head Potato
Well
That's not entirely correct
So I 
Blink
Cause mother, wife, an children
Are in danger
Best I not leak
To much
As fateful paths
Merge
Shared suffering
Isolation
Vanitas

Sceilp Level

They were Lilly Whites from Kildare,
And Boggers from County Clare,
Herring Gutters from Donegal
And Dubliner Jackeens.
They were Goat Suckers, Slaneysiders,
Magpies and Rossies.
They were Kellys, and Murrays, 
O’Carrols, and Moores,
They were Campbells, MacMurphys, and Dunns.
One claimed he’s from the Hill of Tara,
Another, from Tyrone among the brush.
They came for the work on the Schuylkill Canal.
They came for the work on the railway.
They came for the love of those lonesome Colleens
They left at the dockside in Derry.
They worked and they drank,
And they gambled and swore,
And they prayed for the saints’ intercession.
A few sought the balm of a comforting whore,
Then mumbled their sins at confession.
They offered their immigrant muscle and sweat,
Like Hercules hard at his labors,
And carved out the tunnels and fashioned the locks
That helped build their grandchildren’s nation.

Contagious Corona

I'm so happy I could cry.
My eldest child has said goodbye.
To England and that silly Boris,
who mismanaged the threat to us.

She and her fiance caught the ferry.
I'm so pleased it makes me merry.
Here in the wilds of Donegal,
they can isolate until the fall.

That virus has us on our knees.
I'm begging God if you please.
Spare me and mine this awful plight.
I want to be a grandma, if I might.

The world has got so small in ways.
Really in a matter of days,
corona has spread far and wide.
Here's hoping we can turn the tide.

We are only human after all.
Our planet now seems so small.
May this help us put wars behind.
Small island, small planet, small mankind.

Beautiful Donegal Qd

Being from beautiful Donegal
Each day in summer I am enthralled
As soon as I see the sun shining,
Under blue skies I can be pining
To be out and about with top down.
In my little car I whiz around.
Finding back roads leading to the sea,
Undulating hills fly beneath me.
Lucky little local tourist me.



25/09/2019
Queen Of Day 9 x 9 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: charles messina

Only Twenty Years

ONLY TWENTY  YEARS 

Who  can know the future of  twenty years
And discount the dim offerings of Gateshead?
What  12 year old can imagine
The emptiness of prairies in Montana
Or  smell from fifty miles away Russia’s boreal forest  
Or feel the rocky fossils of Donegal
Resisting the Atlantic combers
Or standing on a windswept Gateshead  corner   
Can hear the beauty of old Quebec French
Or collecting coal pieces in cobbled streets of Teams   
Can feel the blueness of flax fields in Alberta
And crossing the Tyne bridge     
Can see over the Roebling bridge 
On the  Ohio at Cincinnati?

How Far November

I'm overtaken
'Tis nigh season of trav'ling
And I alight again, Love
O how I despair 
To wander ancient isles
Alone among the great hordes

How far November
When to our farm, our boys, and
To your arms I return, Love
O sweet Donegal
My home and winter's respite
'Til I alight again, Love

August 18, 2017

Birthplace

The most beautiful birthplace? Why, Donegal of course.
Having travelled the world, I have no remorse,
at returning home.

Summer sunshine? I go and explore.
Sea with a sheen of blue. Forty shades of green.
Forest, mountain, stream.

All alone I meander, leaving footprints in the sand.
As if I am Eve, in a magical mystical land.
Searching for Adam.

Back roads with hedgerows, brushing against my car.
Like I had gone too far. Sheep obstructing my way.
Black one in the middle.

Old local on his fiddle, at end of day, in random pub.
Lost in his repertoire. Still I am not far
from my own hearth.

I wish the peace it gives me to all in cityscapes.
Thank God I escaped, back to Ireland and
my kith and kin.

Finding love within.

An Irish State of Mind

An Irish State of Mind July 20, 2013

In a New York bar, pretty far, with Donegal on my mind
 Missing my country, miss my friends, in an Irish state of mind
 Donegal town, Bundoran, Killybegs to Malin Head
 I miss them all that’s for sure, that’s what an old man said
 This is my new town; don’t know if I’ll stay
 The Donegal feeling is with me every other day
 I left sweet Gweedore behind me on that Irish shore
 Sometimes I dream I’m home, who could ask for anything more
 Just for a little while to walk an Irish mile
 To be with them all, that brings a smile
 Some future day I’ll be on my way to kiss that Blarney stone
 When that day comes I’ll know for sure I’m home
 In a New York bar, pretty far, with Donegal on my mind
 Missing my country, miss my friends, in an Irish state of mind


Gerrard McGeachy

My Irish Jewel

My Irish Jewel             May 15, 2016
 
They took a piece of my land, six of thirty two
They came with might and stole it, England shame on you 

You took a piece of my land, you stole my Irish jewel

You divided my land, You treated us so cruel

Our people suffered, your religion and your laws

United together, We'll die for the Irish cause

From Cork to the little streets of Ireland

We remember and make our stand

A united nation together for me and you

Twenty six plus six, we want our thirty two

From every part of Ireland all the way to Donegal

We'll unite our land, we'll answer Ireland's call

Return my Irish jewel you stole, let Ireland live in peace

A nation again of thirty two with everlasting peace

They took a piece of my land, six of thirty two

They came with might and stole it, England shame on you

 

Gerrard McGeachy

My Flame-Haired Gypsy Maid

On Summers eve-you danced by night
On sweet-scented breeze by the campfires light
Your flaming hair-locks swirling wild-
desires and passion you did rile.
My Gypsy maid from Clare's sweet paths
from Donegal to Dublin's streets-
and a brothel there called Clancy's Meat.
You tease me wildly my Gypsy flame-
you enthral my being with your game-
You tempted the man-of another's wife
Into his heart you plunged your knife-
my Gypsy Maid from Clare's sweet paths.
There was a Galway lass so fine
but you stole me away from her-
then broke my heart my Gipsy maid.
My money so-you so freely took-
left me poor-as poor could be
my Galway lass so far from me.
Where are you now my Gypsy maid-
are you dancing round another's fire
as you fill his heart with false desire
Or are you back in Clancy's Meat-
charming those you choose to greet.
a poem/song by john scott

The Shepherd

A misty morning in Donegal.
My sheep are scattered over bog.
Must wipe the sand man from sleepy eyes.
Put on the kettle when I rise.

Rex is already outside half door.
He senses mist may rise some more.
No delay on this most Irish day.
Drink my cup and let's be away.

The little windey road ahead
leads to bridge then gap in hedge.
Where they escaped once before.
Those silly sheep now over Barnesmore.

At brow of hill I see Lough Eske.
The view always takes my breath.
Away Rex, lets get started.
At the escape hatch through which they parted.

Staff in hand I guide them in
Whistle to Rex what a good dog he's been.
This time ensure gap is closed.
Home in time to enjoy repose.

Donegal

A line of stones;
the threat of so much space,
a fallen horizon.

Salt grass
coarse with rain,
nights heavy with tides

and the battered story
of the sea,the broken gong
of the moon, strange friends.

Then,I knew not what to call
the rough curves of peat,
slight of the sea,

a bodhran wind over the rocks.
When I am no more;
let me melt in the rain

of this cold coast,
its own name shaped,
the seagull`s call.

Homesick

From the Faughan river valley
To Binevenaghs mighty brow
I love these roads to travel
Wish I could tread them now

To in an instant be propelled
Landing on that grassy slope
That overlooks Magilligan strand
Would be my greatest hope

To take the road to Donnybrewer
And walk down by the Foyle
To see the fields of Kerrs Pinks
Where my father used to toil

To listen to the Corncrake call
As it hides in the long hay
How many happy times were spent
Trying to glimpse her on my way

When you’ve walked up Kilnappy brae
You’ll hear your legs complain
Saying don’t you ever try to
Bring us up this way again

The walking up can wear us out
But when we turn around
The view that lays before us
Will never fail to us astound

The beauty of the patchwork quilt
Of fields enclosed with stone
The distant hills of Donegal
That was my parents’ home

I miss not just the countryside
My family I miss dear
Many times I’ve spent just wishing
I was there or they were here

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