Long Seamus Poems
Long Seamus Poems. Below are the most popular long Seamus by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seamus poems by poem length and keyword.
"Lose the acent Mister, I know it's you!"
What accent I say's, what accent?
The Altermate Red, yeah it's you!"
What you talking about Mister, Mi name is
Nuala, Seamus, Seamus being mi first, Nuala being
mi last: why do you say I have an accent?"
What's your Paw's last name< mi paw's Hondell:(interupting)
You heard me what's your paw's hondell?
Mi paw's is Hondell it's his name I tell ya!"
Cén blas atá ann? Is é mo fhíorghlór é agus a leithéid.
Is drong mianadóirí scrungaí muid
déanaimid mianadóireacht sna huaimheanna
agus treabhadh na bpáirceanna.
Whatever Mister, lose the accent when I'm holling at you.
Yes sir, but you sure are ignorant.
In referance to mi accent,
what accent it's mi real voice.
AD CAMPGAIN FOR ACCENT COLA BRAND
"WHAT ARE YOU DRINKING?"
It was a winter evening, the sun had to go early.
I could hear the cry of our dear cat, his sunken eyes wished
to tell a pathetic story, steps tattered and wished to
say-''I am too exhausted to walk''.
His broken voice
reminded me the broken string of my heart that
I played oneday,
he hid the thick tears
behind the curtain of his patheic joy as the
water hides itself into the ice.
I remember
I fed him that last evening but
who knew he would run
away on a secrect way
from the sweet garden of paradise to the world of Pluto.
In the morning I did see the cat lying on the
comfortable
bed of ruthless death.
I fetched milk to drink him.
He drank unconsciously I supposed.
When I called a divine call, the cat left his last breath
Lifting his right leg as if blessed me that was
incredible but credible.
I paused for a while like a dead tree.
It seemed the air lost its way, the sky lost
its beauty,
the sun forgot to shine up, oh, how pathetic it was!
Today I can hear the sound of the spade and the ground
they made a little room together for our dear cat,
my father digged.
I made his bed under the ground with my own hands.
But I couldn't provide a single lamp
for his dark room.
He looked like Seamus Heaney's the tollund man.
Often I dream our dear cat is alive and cheery, but
Oh, in reality he is no more.
Although he speaks a lot today
such as a silent portrait hanging on the white wall.
Ah, my heart aches!
The universal yearning to be famous
or heap together masses of monedes
mean zip to me. My id’s an ignoramus.
So own your games of thrones, your maravedis.
Your Florida is Phobos, Denver, Deimos:
your Aspen’s asinine, your Hamptons, Hades.
The rutting writ no longer runs, to tame us:
Pam Blondie you can keep, and likewise ladies
who once manipulated that mandamus -
your Slinky Susies and your Sultry Sadies.
So what remains? It needs no Nostradamus!
The three of us, and Guinness, in O’Grady’s -
my friend and brother, Fighting Irish Seamus:
my little Spanish missus, named Mercedes.
Mary was from Tipperary
She was an Irish Coleen
She dreamt of wealth and riches
While keeping the house clean
She was a housemaid,
She worked for an old man
She despised her job
And life was not going to plan
Mary had a room in the local pub.
It took most of her wages
Leaving not too much for grub,
The little she ate came out of a tin.
Which made Mary very worn and thin
She was envious of the girls she saw in the streets.
They looked happy as they waited,
For the boys, they planned to meet.
She had never had a boyfriend,
And never thought she might
What boy would want to walk out
With a girl that looked a sight.
She kept herself clean,
And as tidy as she could
But never in her wildest dreams
Did she ever think she would
Meet a boy who liked her
Or wanted to know her name
She had given up
On this selfish love game.
Until one day walking home
After what seemed a very long day
Mary's life would change
Fate had come into play.
As she walked, a young man passed by
Said "Hello Mary" and winked his eye.
How do you know my name? I do not know you.
Mary was embarrassed and did not know what to do.
I see you every day, said this pleasant young man.
Finding out your name was part of my plan,
I asked your employer if he could give it to me
He is my grandfather and gave it willingly.
Seamus is my name,
And I would like to take this chance
To ask if I can escort you to the local dance
Do not worry if you have no dance dress to wear,
My Uncle will buy all you need to wear there,
When I asked him for your name.
He was more than impressed,
He said that he would make sure you had a beautiful dress.
Mary felt happier than she had ever done before
With Seamus beside her, how could she want for more?
How did she know when she met the older man?
That man was the instrument that started her life plan.
GUTTURAL MUSE by SEAMUS HEANEY
A classic piece of observation from a hotel window ,in just three five liners .A view of universal everyday scenes from a 'detached 'poetic viewpoint with imaginative ,yet wistful digressions of the older observer 'poet'*
*Ulster poet Seamus Heaney
ever a favourite with me
In which nostalgic childhood shines through
to become a Nobel winner too
Lyrical in beauty,dug from
the depths of the past.
A storyteller, articulate in
elegaic stanza writing words
to last.Of farm life and childhood,
deep in Irish terra firma in
which he and his poetry stood.
A delightful imagist quality
of 'as is moments' once
frozen in memory,and now
released for our delight .His
triplet,quatrain and quintain form
brings a succinctness of thought
combined with the commonplace
A Tribute to Seamus Heaney 1939-2013