Long Shamrocks Poems
Long Shamrocks Poems. Below are the most popular long Shamrocks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shamrocks poems by poem length and keyword.
S - Shamrock, graceful, green emblem
T - three heart-shaped leaves, only one stem.
O - On St. Patrick's Day the Irish understand
R - redemption - shamrock's story firsthand.
Y - Youngsters recall what St. Pat taught them.
O - Outline of the Trinity, hereof...
F - Father God in heaven above,
S - Son, Jesus Christ, shows His love.
H - Holy Spirit hovers like a dove.
A - Ancient three leaves, the unforeseen
M - metaphor of the Truth, the Life, the Way.
R - Remembered on March seventeen,
O - official patron, Saint Patrick's death day.
C - Crock pot of cabbage and corned beef
K - keeps stomachs full as spirits pray,
S - shamrock, graceful, green symbol of belief.
written 02-02-2020
Rob Carmack: 'Premiere IV - Open'
Come fill your glasses to the brim with good ole Irish ale
Then listen to my story lads, it’s quite a stirring tale.
Our kith and kin were barbarous when pirates ruled the waves,
They’d terrorize the burly Brits then haul them off as slaves.
Our very own Saint Patrick, lads, hailed not of Irish stock,
And Irish raiders captured him which came as quite a shock!
Whilst forced to herd a flock of sheep for years on Irish sod
His life would change forever as he heard the voice of God.
And though he fled his master on a vessel homeward bound,
A vision brought him back to preach and Gospel truths expound.
So when ye wear your shamrocks, lads and hear the fiddlers play
A-drinking of your pint of stout upon Saint Patrick’s day,
And when ye dance an Irish jig and Gaelic pride do boast,
Remember dear old Paddy, boys, and drink to him a toast.
16.02.19
'March Poems, Old Or New For Prizes Part 3 Of Easter Series Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Carolyn Devonshire
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.
In the hills of Ireland
where shamrocks sway
lived a leprechauness
in her quiet way.
With a pot on the stove
and a shoe needle in hand,
she cooked, she cleaned,
in her magical land.
Across green valleys
where rivers run wild
roamed a Clurichaun
with a mischievous smile.
In a bacchus of wine,
amidst whispered
tales of chance
and fragrant scents
he found delight,
till her laughter and wit
caught him one starry night.
She challenged his whims
with a playful jest
and slowly but surely
she won his interest.
Through banter and laughter
their voices entwined,
in each song and piano night
two hearts aligned.
Through the magic of music
their love came alive
in sweet melodies
they found their thrive.
Hearts found solace
in each tender glance
in the harmony of love.
they found their first dance.
A Clurichaun is like a Leprechaun.He leads a capricious life,iindulging in wine and fancy.
The Leprechauness (The female version of a Leprechaun).A mythical creature from Irish tales known for making shoes and the guardian of her pots of gold .
Ireland; coast and bits which aren’t
the Irish; ephemeral stuff of books
words to-ing and fro-ing
chieftains, crooks, priests, poets, playwrights
and ejitts
no more reigning, pontificating
breaking rules or playing the fool
but dark drink somehow surviving
somewhere in special, nurtured nooks
stained by the land
phrases blown and scattered in the wind
remnants here and there
or else off-planet
the island of collisions is heading
for the Arctic when the west will face north
troubles lie behind and beyond the headland
icebergs may congregate along the shore
oscillating to the warming, cooling dance
stump of mountain still surrounding
depleted bog and the sinking flora floor
still hiding lump of ancient wood and men
land bridges may reform
snakes may return
wee shamrocks still appearing
between the craic remembering
Limericks written for St. Patrick's Day
Celebrate the Irish in ev'ry way
It's said in tales of old
Leprechauns buried gold
At the rainbow's end it was meant to stay
It's a day for dancing and wearin' green
Shamrocks in the hair of each colleen
To Erin Go Bragh, a toast
A holiday loved by most
But kissin' the Blarney Stone's not my scene
The Emerald Isle's heathered hills are lush
where on a Bonnie lass you'll have a crush
Walking on Dublin's shore
Or on the grassy moor
You can steal a wee kiss to make her blush
The seventeenth of March will soon be here
St. Patrick's Day arrives every year
Jameson~ take a swig
Then dance an Irish jig
Or imbibe Guiness with lots of good cheer
The time will come when this holiday ends
And I'll wish my days here I could extend
Irish blood flows in my veins
Here, part of my heart remains
I'll just sing Molly Malone and pretend.
Northern Ireland, it was a peaceful Saturday of August 15,
1998. There were many people shopping in the center of
Omagh, in Tyrone. Then, at 3:10 p.m., the car bomb
exploded close to the junction of Market Street and the
Dublin Road. The bomb, the murderous bomb, the
life taker ripped into the flesh, the existence of 29 people,
men, women, children, including 2 unborn babies. It
injured 220.
Britain's PM Tony Blair, Marjorie Mowlam, the Secretary
of State Northern Ireland, Mary McAleese, President of
the Republic of Ireland, Bernie Aherne, the taoiseach
Irish PM, all condemned this slaughter of humanity.
The Irish National Liberation Army called itself the "real"
IRA, claimed responsibility. They had slain God's own.
I dreamt of the Troubles, as mournful Celtic music
slowly played in my sorrowed psyche. Blood on the
shamrocks as the bombing victims still tell their story.
In my daydreams, children's choirs sing-
"When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" in many other areas of
the world, in the merriment of children's goodness.
Death should not collect especially the young, the hopes
of all of Ireland's youth, including Northern Ireland.
These days gang violence has made more shamrocks
bleed, as the gangs murder each other's dreams.
All of the emerald beauty's Troubles cannot fade into
history without the names of the innocents, and their
blood will not disappear. The tears of generations of
her people, her mourners, in every one of her rainfalls.
And I, an American of both Irish and British heritage,
grieve for her too. ~
SILENCE SURROUNDED ME CARRYING ONLY
DATA FROM SPECIAL FORCES I'D RELEASED
MY SOUL BEFORE THEE ENTRY MY THOUGHTS
COVERED IN SURVIVAL SKILL
BECAUSE OF YOUR NAME
AN YET THERE WAS NO WAY OF SURVIVING
THEE ULTIMATE ASSASINATION THREAT
THAT BESTOWED ME UPON THIS DAY
CAREFULLY PLANNED I MUST SAY
BECAUSE OF YOUR NAME
ASSAULT RIFLES LEANING AGAINST
THE COMPLEX WALLS FRIENDS AND FOE
GATHERED FROM BERLIN TO BERUIT
A SINGLE SHOT MOUNTED
BECAUSE OF YOUR NAME
OVER MY TEMPORAL LOBE BACK UP
CLEAVERLY PLANTED ABOVE MY FRONTAL LOBE
AN ANGEL GABRIELLE WEARING A PASTEL ROBE
THE JEST OF DEATH IS WHAT I PROPOSED
BECAUSE OF YOUR NAME
ON THIS FINE DAY THE SUN BEAMED BRIGHTLY
OF LEFT OVER AUTUMN HINTS OF INDIAN SUMMER
GREENWICH BESEECHED MY WITHERED SOUL
CARDINIAL NUNNS RABI'S INSISTED WHITE CLOTH
BECAUSE OF YOUR NAME
TAMPERED WITHIN AN INFALLIBLE HUSH
WHEN ALL I EMPLOYED WAS A TANGLIBLE SCREAM
I SO DESPERATELY COVENANT THOUGH OUT DI VATICAN
A KNIGHTS OWN SPHERE OVER LOOKING MORTALITY
BECAUSE OF YOUR NAME
THE HAMPTONS CAMEBRIDGE IN VIEW A SIGHING COO
WE'D MASTERED TRUTH AND FAILED AT LAUGHTER
CREATING A MELANCHOLY SOLACE WHY CENTERED
BENEATH A PAIR OF BLOOD SOAKED BAILEY'S
BECAUSE OF YOUR NAME
EMPTY AN YET OVER FLOWING WITH BITTER FRET
CONFUSION WRATH A SORTED BIAS TO THE NOTION
THAT FROM NOW ON EVERY SINGLE DAY WOULD BE
NOVEMBER TWENTY SECOND NINETEEN SIXTY THREE
BECAUSE OF YOUR NAME
THE DAY SHAMROCKS WELPT OVER ST PATRICKS CATHEDRAL
THAT FINE DAY CAMELOT SLEPT IN NEVER READING
THE MORNING PAPER LEFT FOREVER DANGLING UPON
AN UNDIVIDED GRASSY KNOLL HENCE THE SAME
SIMPLY DONE BECAUSE OF YOUR NAME
YOU MUST BE IRISH
March on into the greenness of March!
Charming and idyllic — shamrocks shaped
with four leaves, sprinkled with luck by a charming
leprechaun. Sliding off the rainbow sluice, the leprechaun
giddy with Irish pranks and limericks, causes me to giddy
fall off my rocker. I’m foolish enough to fall
for his map leading to a pot of gold ...a legend for
everyone in my generation. What this pipe smoker
doesn’t tell me is that it can’t be found by everyone.
“You must be Irish! Fooled you!”
2/22/2018
This form repeats words: beginning/end on same line
or next line or on the same line with some separation
between the two words.
~Very Happy St. Patrick's Day~
(Free Style)
St. Patrick's Day
we're celebrating today
folks wear color green
They drink green beer and dance
and throw parades everywhere
people wear shamrocks
St. Patrick's Day
is a day of magic
merry and laughter
people celebrate
drink eat, have fun with family friends
some also dance, have a ball
Might see a Leprechaun
or a pot just filled of gold
at the end of a rainbow
I wish you the best
may you enjoy this fun fare
all the entire day.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2010
March.17.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain
Wishing You And Yours a Very Happy And Safe St. Patrick's Day!