Dublin Poems

Green Wet Dream

There was a lad from Dublin
So sad he wanted some lovin’
He fell asleep in class
Woke up to deep laughs
His wanker tall hot as an oven

Dublin Rain

Ah, the Irish city of Dublin!
Sure 'tis always bustlin' and rumblin'!
And, at times, when it rains,
folks try not to complain,
in spite of the puddlin' and bubblin'!

there was a jolly old man from Dublin

there was a jolly old man from Dublin
drank way too much and home he went stublin`
a river he tried to cross 
only to slipped on the moss
now laughter never stops from the ducklin`

Untitled

there was a young lady named Fanny
who expected to marry her fiancé Danny
she found him one day
kissing young Fay
and kicked his butt from Dublin to Killarney

A Night Out in Dublin

I went for a night out in Dublin,
The amount of Oasis being played was troublin',
We drank one after t'other
Till we stopped hearing those brothers,
But in the morning our stomachs were bubblin'

If You Get To Dublin

If you get to Dublin, do the Literary Pub Crawl
Visit the Bailey, The Bachelor, McDaids, Mulligans
Places journalists used to congregate after work
in the 1920’s, when Dublin had three newspapers

James Joyce, Samuel Beckett and Flann O’Brien might appear
They would be ghosts of course, but you might catch a glimpse
They were known to frequent these pubs, being

All the Way To Dublin Town

Ribbet Snibbet Cribbet all the way down to Dublin Town
There hopped a chubby dotted frog who never wore a frown
He was excited to be invited to sup Gray tea with Saint Pat
Who gave him a thump on his arm so dotted and phat

I like you a lot, St. Pat said to the corpulent frog.
You are

Colleen Is Riding a Pipe To Dublin

Colleen is riding a pipe to Dublin town.
She’s dressed in the greens, wearing a gown.
I wonder if she will ride the pipe to me? Asked a clown.
The rest of us stared at him, one gave him a frown.

The news went through the pub, to everyone around.
Colleen is riding a pipe to Dublin, is she quite

A Favorite In Dublin Town

Scottish Highland calf was a favorite in Dublin Town.
We loved his temperament, he was up, never down.
He bathed in roses, daisies, and autumn leaves, so brown.
King of kindness was his title, given along with a crown.

In Dublin

My son’s in Dublin, now, for work.
Irish travel – what a perk!
He’ll only be there for a week
But he’s allowed a little peek.

Shooting snooker ‘stead of pool;
Watching rugby played – how cool!
Drinking Guinness in a pub,
Like a local at a club.

He’ll be back the day before
We come knocking at his door
For Turkey Day with what

Ode To Google

hostel life
you never know with whom
you'll share a room
a cappuccino 
or 
a piece of life

Fatima is not her name 
just what she goes by
in Turkey if you're Kurdish
it's safer to be a Fatima
in Dublin  she can be (her Kurdish name)
it's just something she doesn't
want to get used to

in Venice, Kaldoun asks in Arabic
what I

In Dublin Gaol

‘Tis lucky me father lies in the grave,
Than t’see the havoc I have wreaked
In the name of actin’ bold and brave,
My misadventures dastardly peaked.

In this musky gaol I am wasting away
While me life passes before me eyes
Chaplains teaching me how to pray,
Give up with their lugubrious sighs.

Long since I no longer wish for home
Before the

Dublin Night

It’s 1:30am and we were at a cute little dance club in Dublin called “The Sugar Club.” It’s a converted movie theater with tables in stadium seating rows. That night was Salsa themed, and the regulars were stylin’ - the men dressed in white Havana or Colima, Italian Linen and women in bright salsa dresses.

The

A Drunk Goblin

From a dark pumpkin snarled out a goblin,
Hobbling, wobbling, said he flew from Dublin
And thundered me to gobble 
A blended red scotch double
And demanded a bottle, wrapped in poplin.


Syllabic count: 10/10/7/7/10   (Poetry Soup)
Rhyme scheme: A/A/B/B/A

*A 4th Place* in the following contest (judged on Oct. 19, 2020)

Oct. 10, 2020
Halloween Inspired Limerick Poetry Contest
Tania Kitchin

May 1974

May 1974

Why do you need to waste your time today
Writing an elegy no one will read?

Add the half-cent to the cent
And text to shivering text
For you were born to text
And save-

But let her be 
She’s dead and gone 
She’s with her baby in the grave

Yet they were of a different kind
They didn’t text
Their lives they

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