They were Lilly Whites from Kildare,
And Boggers from County Clare,
Herring Gutters from Donegal
And Dubliner Jackeens.
They were Goat Suckers, Slaneysiders,
Magpies and Rossies.
They were Kellys, and Murrays,
O’Carrols, and Moores,
They were Campbells, MacMurphys, and Dunns.
One claimed he’s from the Hill of Tara,
Another, from Tyrone among the brush.
They came for the work on the Schuylkill Canal.
They came for the work on the railway.
They came for the love of those lonesome Colleens
They left at the dockside in Derry.
They worked and they drank,
And they gambled and swore,
And they prayed for the saints’ intercession.
A few sought the balm of a comforting whore,
Then mumbled their sins at confession.
They offered their immigrant muscle and sweat,
Like Hercules hard at his labors,
And carved out the tunnels and fashioned the locks
That helped build their grandchildren’s nation.
Categories:
moores, america, history, ireland,
Form: Lyric
Aaron comes from Trowbridge in Wiltshire,
But recently moved his training to Swansea,
At London 2012 for backstroke he won silver,
He has a learning disability, so swims S14.
In 2013 he won bronze in Montreal, Canada,
At the IPC Swimming World Championships,
And 2014 in the Glasgow International Meets,
Twice he set a WR in the 100m breaststroke.
So at Rio in the men’s S14 100 breaststroke,
Aaron collected a very well deserved gold,
With a time of 1:06.67, second to Scott Quin,
Although he missed a good backstroke win.
Categories:
moores, sports, strength,
Form: Blank verse
the father sees a neighbor
screaming with child as she runs
out the front door to shelter
he hustles his own to shelter
and turns to see other neighbors
with their two dogs come running behind
the shelter's too small to hold everyone,
the father says climb in but we can't fit the dogs
the neighbors hesitate - then pull the dogs
back to their house as father shuts shelter door
in a few seconds jets and trains and
bombs overhead shiver into steel and
time stops or stretches to infinity
as flotsam shoots through cracks
father opens shelter door sure he will
witness haunting fears he knows
and runs to the pile that was
minutes ago, the neighbors house
throwing pieces of piles aside
he digs to the small space that
two hundred and ten miles per hour
had enclosed to free friends and dogs
both men shudder at their fortunes
the father, immensely glad to not
have to bear witness and grief,
the owner, who couldn't
do that to his beloved dogs
© Goode Guy 2013-12-26
http://www.npr.org/2013/12/26/257255801/after-moores-f5-tornado-storm-shelter-interest-increases
Categories:
moores, courage, death, dog, family,
Form: Narrative
Whispering winds whistle softly through amber moores. Babbling brooks of billowing blue dreams folded back on timeless quanderings. Refreshing swirls of waters quench my very soul. Light ponders the darkness, a foe to each neither has known. Sparkling golden sphere has thou shined upon a dark so dismal drear. To a sullen peace you find your place to the comfort of thine eyes. Wrap me in your blessed blues. Fill me with your sunlit shine. Do I know not my place in your schemes?
Categories:
moores, confusion, introspection, journey, life,
Form: Blank verse
solve em.dissolve em.we walled em off and called em
the f.b.i. done cleared my eye
and the floor be done be crawled em
lawed em,in 54
saw em,when we wore
baldin,and the moores
taller than they were
shot em
to a store
Categories:
moores, angst,
Form: Prose Poetry
Here I love you, the seas so calm.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorus on the still waters.
Seasons, all of a different kind, go chasing each other.
The snow unfurls on the shores like dancing figures.
A silver gull soars down from the skies,
sometimes like a sail open and graceful…
Sailing high, high up to the skies.
Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone, sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the Sea sounds, and resounds.
In the far distance, a port off the still waters.
Here I love you, the horizon hides you in vain.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels,
they cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moores there.
My life grows tired, hungry with no purpose.
I love what I do not have.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights,
the night comes and the stars sing to me.
The moon turns it's clockwork dreams.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes,
as the pines in the wind want to sing your name,
with their leaves of wire.
Categories:
moores, lost love, mystery, sea,
Form: Free verse