Jig Poems

The Jig is up

They do it in halls, even farms,
it’s part of an Irishman’s charms;
but the whole world was shook
when Flynn found the lost book:
Irish Dance, Volume Two, The Arms.

The Leprechauns’ Dance

Beneath the emerald hills they hide,
Where shadows stretch and secrets bide,
The leprechauns with hats so green,
Dance where only dreams are seen.

They laugh and twirl in moonlit glow,
Their golden coins they softly throw.
A wink, a jig, a merry sound,
A hidden treasure underground.

With mischief in their sparkling eyes,
They hide their wealth where magic lies.
A rainbow leads, but

The Whistlepig Jig

The Whistlepig Jig

I sat upon my porch one day
my pennywhistle for to play.
When out stepped Mr. Whistle-pig,
I thought to dance a jig.
“I left the comfort of my den,”
says he,”to satisfy my yen.  I hear
this high-pitched trilling noise,
emanating from your little toy.”
“This is no little toy”, says I,
“so what do you imply?”
“I do not like

The Jig of Emotions

Swept away by infatuation's song
and tripped upon its awkward tempo...
we crept behind a tear where passion slept,
longing where dreams lie wide awake
and blind to desires hidden in view, yet
- you look through and see only mistakes.
Like the melody of a love song
when the lyrics are all that will soothe
a broken soul lost for so long
-

The Jig of Emotions

The jig of emotions goes on.
Always our feelings are changing.
We’re happy. When sad, joy is gone.
Life events keep rearranging.

When happy, we kick and we hop.
The jig of emotions goes on.
Life’s tempo is quick; should it slow,
we feel some monotony . . . yawn.

When calm or relaxed, like a swan,
we glide! Some emotions are brief.
The jig

THE JIG OF EMOTIONS

Bursting, breaking free from stress with glee
Thankful heart welcomes joy of gracious worth
Praising God*for granting radiating, vibrant mirth
Ready to bask in hope, then toward glad sharing --- flee.

Cheerful to inspire others along praise delight
Victorious faith soars toward prayer-driven domain
Vanquishing worries, anxieties, and doubts of woeful strain
Triumphant over greed, anger, jealousy, as well as nervous-fright.

As revived

Jiggety Jig

Jiggety jig, my ex. is a pig.
It's much worse since I've been gone..
One could clean every day.
He won't put things away and he even
throws trash on his lawn..
When I go there I shutter at his ability to clutter
and wonder what could he pawn..
He's not yet a hoarder but there's
no sense of order.
I just might throw

Cut and run

Too many lines, cut many times: horse backthoat gasps
Dramatic mimes..looking good yet, actioning bad' no more
Are you the golden lad ' its well past chance,  in such like
Saloons.' A sage might well weep; before your stage' that
Had to come. How could it not? You massage reality 
Really; a lot.' Look.! keep the suits you

I Need a Pig For the St Pat Jig

For a St Patty’s day jig I need a pink pig.
His dog was irritated. His name was Quig.
I can dance a jig, just give me a swig.
His master shook his head, off popped his wig.

I need a jazzy curly-tailed dancer, he said to Quig.
The only one good enough will have to be a pig.
I can

Writing Jig-Saw Puzzles

Writing poems is like a puzzle, we hunt to find words that fit right!

Jig Antic

Goliath stood up straight and tall
But David knew that he would fall
Goliath was stoned
And everyone groaned
His shoelace tripped him after all!

Jiggety-Jig

The sun rose up this morning;
I danced a little jig.
I made sure no one noticed;
It wasn’t very big.
There was no whoop or holler,
Nor even a small screech.
Just a lightness in my step
As I drove off from the beach.

Doing An Irish Jig

Doing an Irish Jig***

(To the music of The Bothy Band)
          ———         ———
So early in the morning,
If you looked, you
Couldn’t tell that I
Was really awake,
With my mind mixing
Through an Irish hornpipe jig
Beside pretty Peg
And Tiddie Dunbar.
After meeting in
What seems

On To Ireland

On to Ireland

Don’t look for me here anymore,
I’m moving on to Ireland
On the morrow, for
I’ve only one voice and
It’s longing to sing!

Henceforth, I’ll work as a seamstress,
Stitching everyone’s wings
To the sides of their hearts…
There in Ireland
Where everyone sings,
You may find me in Dublin dancing
With the ghost of Joyce.  I’ll be
Reciting his words in his

The Jig Is Up

You don’t want to hear his laughter.
When this Father has to come down there
like in don’t make me come downstairs…

When the Lord laughs;
when he scoffs,
all bets are off.

You’ll be dizzy
when you see the hosts of heaven,
the giant scepter…
the crown.

He is enthroned in heaven.
There is no better place.
This kingdom can never be replaced.
You can’t kick @

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