Family Irish Poems | Examples
These Family Irish poems are examples of Irish poems about Family. These are the best examples of Irish Family poems written by international poets.
And so my brain prepared itself for a memory.
It knows how to now.
Instead of waiting for damage to remember along the lines, it just warned.
It warned of what was soon to come.
Death.
Of a grandparent.
Of a piece of gold embroidered into my veins.
A piece of gold that illuminates when the sight of its forebears struck their ever-present view.
Now worn as a ring.
Decorated upon another skin of their own.
Flesh finding its way along time in its own selfish yet amalgamatic way.
And so, here we are, and so we beat on.
The Thing About Flying
David J Walker
Everyone said it was
Okay for you to fly
It was a good day
And what does dying
mean anyway
if you can’t spread your wings
and try
To reach for higher things
Known only in the context of
A clear blue sky
Everyone said it was
Okay for you to die
While I
And thousands
Remain on the dry earth
Contemplating your
Irish Birth
Your Irish brogue
Your boyish grin
Your pale blue Irish eyes
And paler Irish skin
Your dry whit
Your never quit attitude
About everything and
Everyone you touched
You made us believe in
Rainbows and leprechauns
You were the pot of gold
That everyone could touch
But no one could hold
Except God and your family
So fly my friend
That’s the thing about
Flying
And in the end
You bequeath your love
And smile
To us all
We Irish are cute
When wee babes and young pups
But then we grow up!
IRISH GIRL LOVE SONG
Don't love an Irish girl.
She's gonna do you wrong.
She's a hard hearted woman
and she won't stay home.
I got some Irish blood
in my family tree.
But I wouldn't love an Irish girl
For the life of me.
I ain't no leprechan,
but I'm on the run
cause a hard hearted Irish girl
wanted me for fun.
I lived on Irish stew
it was six days old,
cause she wasn't home long enough
to warm it. I ate it cold.
© ron wilson aka ron arbuthnot
aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
My Irish Granddaughter
Me pancakes be green this morning
Me bread at me lunch be too
Me beer may be green this evening
But that’s where the green is through
For me granddaughter nay be with me
The lass is so far away
Though green be the color I’m wearing
Tis blue I be feeling today
3/17/13
I have a bit of Irish in me
From Grandma Mary Halloway.
My German part is quite subdued
On this my grandma's holiday.
The Scotch and English part of Mom
Combined with Irish from Grandma
Make up the whole of half of me.
The rest is German from my pa.
A boiled potato and green beans
Was part of Grandma's daily fare,
But adding cabbage and corned beef
Made up a feast beyond compare.
On St Patrick's of every year,
I think about my family tree.
And wear the green to show my pride
In the quarter Irish part of me.
children emigrate
as Ireland’s cubs journey down
old ancestral paths
Copper shimmering hair
Chartreuse eyes with flecks of grey
Freckles splashed across creamy skin
A wide set jaw so becoming of the Irish
A gap between the front teeth, has become our family trait
Passed from one generation to another
Very dominate personalities and tender caring hearts
Go back to the creator, lovers of the creator
Mischievious to a fault, defender of the weak
Well tilled soil is soft and pleasing in the farmers heart
American farmers' heritage
An Irish Gathering
Thomas said
you can’t go home again
but I did for my sister
and the christening of her first.
Everyone, on folding chairs, against
the whitewashed basement walls, was there
for ham and beef and beer, the better
bourbons, music, argument and talk.
Maura came; she hadn’t married.
Paddy, fist around a beer, declared
I owed my family the sight
of me more often.
Hannah, thickset now,
gray and apronless,
rose beside the furnace,
wolverined me to the coal bin door
and asked me in the face,
with sibilance and spittle,
who or what it was
that kept me anywhere,
everywhere, but there.
Donal Mahoney
Me great, great, great-grand pappy-died
His son, sailed away from fighting Ireland
In the wake of the potato famine, sought land
Farming his love, many sons his pride
Irish potatoes-boiled, mashed, salad and fried
I have a bit of Irish in me
From Grandma Mary Holloway;
My German part is quite subdued
On this, my grandma's holiday.
The Scotch and English part of Mom
Combined with Irish from her ma,
Make up the whole of half of me.
The rest is German from my pa.
A boiled potato on her plate
Was part of Grandma's daily fare;
But adding cabbage and corned beef
Made it a feast beyond compare.
On this grand day of every year,
I think about my family tree
And wear the green to show my pride
In the quarter Irish part of me.
(posted a bit early since I won't be home until after the 17th.)
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