Erin Poems - Poems about Erin

Erin’s face looks like a map of Ireland, I was told. She had ginger hair with slivers of dashing gold. Her eyes were as green as the Emerald Isle. And she lit up Dublin with her darling smile. Many...Read the rest...

Erin go Bragh We celebrate Saint Patrick. He brought Christianity. The patron saint of Ireland. Bake soda bread and wear green today. 3-17-22 ~Tenth Place Premiere Contest~ LIND30SU Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke Happy Saint Patrick’s Day Everyone! *Saint Patrick, who...Read the rest...

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...Read the rest...

'Tis said Saint Patrick rid Erin of snakes If such is true what a great tale it makes Skeptics claim it ain't true ...Read the rest...

Erin, for a girl who embodies Ireland by Michael R. Burch All that’s left of Ireland is her hair— bright carrot—and her milkmaid-pallid skin, her brilliant air of cavalier despair, her train of children—some conceived in sin, the others to avoid...Read the rest...

BACK TO ERIN I want to go back to Erin. I want to see that green isle again. I want to drink a pint of the Guiness and a shot of the Jamesons. On that green isle again. I want to pick the...Read the rest...

It was an autumn day, fresh and crisp, with a slight breeze blowing that made our cheeks rosy. My Aunt Trix and I were on the trip of a lifetime, one in which she had been making...Read the rest...

Erin Moran has died at the age of fifty-six. She was special and a credit to all chicks. She was adorable when she starred as Joanie Cunningham. When a person dies that young, it's always hard to understand. I...Read the rest...

Can we talk about this real quick? I'm never going to leave Erin. She...she is my anchor to the center of the universe. Without her I would fly off into oblivion. She's is my life. I live for her. I live...Read the rest...

I think that new bras Are actually made of Barbed wire and razors...Read the rest...

At some Sweet Point in Your Youth Through Travel Guides beguiled Searching for Existential Truth You dreamt of Erin Isles You longed a quite, simple life Away form Hectic Glances Attempt to be Free from Your Strife For Introspective Chances To visit the...Read the rest...

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...Read the rest...

Erin Erin, seeing you last night brought back a bunch of old feelings, feelings I thought were long gone. You're a beautiful as ever, and, if you were her right now, I'd tell you that. I realized that...Read the rest...

Oh Mick McGrath, man of daring do What will the family make of you? A forgotten ghost from the past, Standing trapped in a die well cast. Oh Mick McGrath, will they hear your name? Born to peasants in a...Read the rest...

From tiny gals with itty-bitty bippies to larger ladies with super-dooper droopers, we curse the “men” who design underwire iron maidens. My “pointers” don’t bounce (as a friend observed), so why submit to torturous braziers? I’m glad they don’t droop – makes...Read the rest...