Long Shamrock Poems
Long Shamrock Poems. Below are the most popular long Shamrock by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shamrock poems by poem length and keyword.
Going back over the past years of St. Patrick greenish fun, and
remembering how my Irish mother sure liked that happy shamrock day.
Everything she baked for us was emerald, like sugar cookies and puddings,
even a lime green cake with silly green decorations, drinks of questionable green.
Now, I like an Irish beer in a cold glass, and do a jig- kiss me I'm Irish(but only half).
__________________________
March 16, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/Green
Copyright Protected, ID 16-768-837-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Get Into The Spirit Of Green
sponsor, Poet Destroyer
Fifth Place
Milieu iconography with flashing lights
Smokey gambling rooms—gang wars
Flashy suits and fedora hats in the fights
Neon signs flashing—this world is yours
Hey, get a name with the next phone call
Surely, he can’t really be all that rough
While hanging out in a flower shop stall
Like bowling pins fall he wasn’t tough
Whistling “Chi Me Frena?” surreal assassin
As Shamrock night club they all shot up
Coin flipping henchman hell risky brazen
Bang—he won’t sip St. Peter’s golden cup
Crosses on bodies from iconic gun blast
Even barking dog can’t stop the tragedy
Tony’s sister like a baby’s toy dances at last
Just seems like a wild circle of comedy
Wearing a scar as one from the war
Nation’s shame 1932 gangsters shown
Killing people to take over, what for?
Whistling assassin your life is blown
© Joseph, 5/29/08
© All Rights Reserved
Honorable Mention
Super Slueth Contest
Fun Free verse on Movies
Sponsor: John Heck
As if the grass had leaves
my feet glide freely on the breeze
where a blade is not nearly a leaf
and the shamrock steals my luck like a thief.
The four clovered dreams predict a promise
that love and riches aren't quite that fully honest
and the fields of clover begin to burn yellow
brittle and crushed in stealy love mellowed.
Should the leprechauns appear
to curtail the disappointment clear
can we ask for the golden pot
or just a glass of beer to fill the spot?
Silly shamrock dreams
whispering a tease along the steams
through the field of gold
searching for the wish we hold.
Nonsensical play on words
should the Irish in me be heard.
Trying to do the rhyme time
to poetry once more find
I'm dying
if I'm lying.
Many years ago, I was in a down-heartened funk, after deciding to get a little bit drunk.
Beer guzzling queens won’t tell you, but liquor tastes bad going down and coming back up is truly no joy.
Some will tell you how great drinking liquor makes them feel, happy, and wonderful. But they’re full of bunk
Being wasted, angry, crying, and a bit mean is no way to meet any kind of a man or dating boy
And if you are completely silly, to hug, or touch or god forbid fore take in a sloppy drunk kiss
I must tell you the story of a naïve woman who got herself in a real pickle in St. Croix
If you are already completely wasted, and angry, and mean, this warning you will probably dismiss
This sordid tale of a girl, a boy, a golden pony, a red flute that laughed, and a shiny green Shamrock
The way this tale was told to me, by my gram, it entered my ears totally unbiased and Faultless
There was a pipe, and a honey bee, and a well-intentioned, prettied up edible pink and plump Ham hock
I do remember someone laughing, and a foot being broken, and a yellow three cent postage stamp.
There was a nickel’s worth of lead, and an angry man, and a princess in a lavender and pink Frock
The men crowded around to watch Trixie Lou dance, for she was a well-known, conniving, trickster of a Vamp
In my inebriated state, I can recall but one bit of the story that has any bearing now.
Grandpa’s dream girl was a devious witch of a woman according to Big Ma, a hard-hearted Tramp
Told by Big Ma, Trixie was a flaunter, a floozy, a conniver, a flute-playing nasty old cow,
She had pink cheeks, sky blue eyes, and she wore her red curls pinned with green shamrocks; she was all kinds of pretty.
This information was slipped to me in whispers by Grandpa, who considered Trixie a giant wow.
Seventeenth of March is St Patrick’s Day
Great day for the Irish I can honestly say
Paddies' the world over will want to be seen
Wearing Leprechaun hats and a sprig of green.
Loud colourful parades up and down the lands
Drums, tin whistles and the skirl of pipe bands
Sample some Guinness or a glass of potcheen
Be the best street party you've ever seen.
But if you're not Irish still join in the fun
St Patrick’s day parades are for everyone
But make sure you go, you'll enjoy the craic
And I guarantee that next year you'll be back
It happens once a year so come and have a ball
A very happy St Patrick's day to one and all.
Written 16/02/2019.
Poitin anglicized as Potcheen
( Irish moonshine )
~
Sprig of green is the shamrock associated
With St Patrick who used it to explain the blessed trinity, God the father, son and holy spirit.
~
The craic is news, gossip, enjoyable conversation and having fun.
A coastline laps with glistening waves
Dotted with light from its shore-bed unseen,
While fragrance of air and gull’s trill filter
Through leafy boughs varnished in shamrock green.
How this breathtaking view warms my senses
Where tinted sands like nuggets of a jade,
Beguile dreamy feet to tap, to tiptoe
On lime stones, pebbles, daintily arrayed.
From fibrils of tides the woven moss rides
That gently, evening drapes the isle with ease
Softer the ripples in patterns that hold
A verdant calm between water and trees
Endowing new March a treasure’s delight
That rails this juncture, bright as emerald…
And I, a lucky charm of this fresh luster
Delight in the gush bearing spring’s reward.
(Get into the spirit and Go Green)
Old/ New Poems Contest, PD Linda
Resubmitted: 3/18/2016
Sun is declining, beneath a blue Irish sea
With a fire to warm me' bones, in a cottage by the bay
And the coals to bake me scones,
Where the bracken turns so reddin'
Like a wildfire on the mountain
And wee nanny goats on rocky hillsides, are too many for the countin'
Heather waves in summer breezes...
And harshness bringin' winter's season
Thar' be waving sails upon the blue
And leafy shamrocks on the green
Where the rugged shores, and seagulls cry, and a sunset captures you
Granite stones, and bogs of grass, water gleams like shining glass
Friendly folks bearin' ruddy cheeks, and a colleen, fair thee lass
We'll tip our mug at village pub, and make a toast to St. Patty's kin
Let me sink me' eyes upon the scene of Irish rugged land
Upon the skies, upon the streams, where druid legends live
Upon the land...home of the clan, where me many roots began
Where the ole' pale moon at nightfall, scatters memories a'glowing
Of fair roses of Tralee, over garden gate, a growin'
Charming valleys, greener hillsides, fill thee heart of all 'me clan
Pick ye' a shamrock.... look for gold, shake yer' hands with leprechauns
Kiss ye' a Blarney .....Come to Killarny, come to all that's home to me
Where names of O'Reily, or McDougal where so many Mac' roots began
For Debbie's contest "Over the Rainbow"
Colorful or Chimera Contest 8-30-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Colorful
Separate the tangled tresses of black
Into the colored strands of sheer rainbows,
Release magic of marigold held back,
Mystery of amber lilac in rose.
Let sapphire soar again, where dreams wander,
Free soft amaranth in a bashful blush
Deliver cardinal’s song then ponder
Orange pizazz, crimson inferno’s rush.
Unbind the razzmatazz in raucous red
Unwind evergreen in shamrock dances
Untie amethyst thistles from tight threads
Loosen silk sable’s haunting hues of romance.
Liberate hidden checkmates of darkness
In bursting jubilees, banning starkness.
May is magical,
the garden is an ocean of color climb
every shade of green conceived
circled round the pathways of time,
long ago perceived;
to the right
dark juniper and pine, short and tall,
pickled sage and moss grow low,
seaweed, basil, pear staged for large and small
stepping stones on shamrock rows;
to the back and left
a dip of lime and emerald fern
that opens wide onto another path
clustered together in sunlit berns
bud and flower fading fast;
and in the silky shadowed hues
pistachio, seafoam and mint rise
with olive asparagus forest dues
inspiration and scent for the ear and eyes,
spring greens and all of nature's clues.
Green has an empowering richness of vibrant color,
it evokes those spring meadows beneath bright clouds...
where pretty fair-haired girls pick up emerald shamrocks
for Saint Patrick's Day to adorn their dresses and hair.
Why did the happy Irish pick this dazzling color one asks?
It must be the shamrock that grows wild in the low hills,
among the grass blades flapping in the crispy Nordic breeze...
under the birches, the aspens and the Scots pines in the haze!
Green symbolizes Earth, happiness, stability and boldness
these four elements the conquering Celtic people instilled
in the Irish hearts that celebrate them to remember days of old;
mingle with them: green is not for the Irish only, be their friends!
Wear a green ribbon, a hat or tie: it's Saint Patrick's Day!
Hear the bagpipes, see Irish smiles and flags everywhere!
Everybody can be Irish for a day; stand on Fifth Avenue:
watch girls dancing, boys playing in the band...hurray!