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Ireland Prose Poems

These Ireland Prose poems are examples of Prose poems about Ireland. These are the best examples of Prose Ireland poems written by international poets.


Tuatha De Danann
 She heals the trees, Goddess Danu,
she is the keeper of Spring.
She’s been seen by very few,
regenerating plant beings.

Oh, the power she possesses,
this goddess of...

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Categories: environment, fairy, myth, nature,



Premium Member Churriana
  something stirred in this place, long long ago
  presence lingering
  half-hidden haven on the crowding hillside
  enchanted enclave
  Iberian...

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© Ian Love  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: prose, allegory, imagery, ireland, places,

Premium Member Seeking Sanctuary
Diaspora Dwellings

On my way into our sanctuary
this past Sunday morning
a woman I had met in choir
was strangely inclined
to share her family history.

Her dad came over...

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Categories: prose, earth, family, green, health,

Premium Member MAKE PLANET EARTH GREAT AGAIN
 
As Families, Back When God was the head.
We'd huddle together fearing a storm, powerless in the cellar crouching in the dark, We children were...

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Categories: prose, dark, fear, planet,

Redacted Heritage

Being culturally erased is a painless procedure,
take away the native tongue 
and communication cease
Unable to give expression of a horrific new reality
to another kindred soul...

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Categories: prose, culture, perspective, slavery, truth,



Call a Priest, My Father Said
My father never talked much about religion but he went to Mass every Sunday, the 6:30 Mass where few people would be and he wouldn’t...

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Categories: christian,

McGillicuddy's Wake
Two new crutches and two double shots of Bushmills Irish Whiskey enabled Joe Faherty to move from the back seat of Moira Murphy's 1976 Buick...

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Categories: death of a friend,

A Trick My Father Learned in Prison
I’m not saying my father hated the English, God forbid. If he were still alive, he’d hate to hear me say that. He’d correct me...

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Categories: ireland, prison, war,

Patsy Foley Was Roly-Poly in 1947
It may have been the devil himself who prompted the kids in my schoolyard back in 1947 to chant "Patsy Foley's roly-poly from eating too...

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Categories: memory,

My Parents Were Illegal Immigrants in the United States
In 1920, my father, 16, was a guest of the British government. He was a prisoner of their forces occupying Ireland at the time, a...

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Categories: america, immigration,

Premium Member THE WHISTLE
Rural Ireland 1964.
First day of school.
Little brown school case.
School overlooking beautiful bay.

Miss Mc Cloon, elderly teacher.
Good friend of my Dad.
Looks up on hearing loud whistle.
"You...

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Categories: prose, car, child, dad,

Premium Member Love Need Not Be Tested
	She was such a wee thing, bouncing when she walked.  You could hear Ireland in her voice.  Countless days and nights she waited,...

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Categories: marriage,

A Winter's Rime
(In a churchyard in Northern Ireland)


Through the broken and barren trees
Winter exhales its coldest breeze
From the wintry breath of northern seas
That can chill the warmest...

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Categories: prose, bereavement, death, grave, ireland,

Premium Member He Didn't Leave Much
                 He Didn’t Leave Much


He didn’t  leave much,...

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Categories: prose, fathers day,

Fertile Crescent, i
Fertile Crescent
The feeling of the sun, overshadowing
My morality, my righteousness
That sun over my left should,
Threatening to tinge me if
I pontificate platitudes that
Fail to connect me...

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© Jen Franks  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: war,

Encompassed in Memory
Cool mountain streams reflect the cobalt blues and greys of sky 		   
Restful twilight with stars scattered as if on a canvas 		...

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Categories: prose, faith, hope, life, music,

A visit to an old church in Ireland
A visit to an old church in Ireland

Stone upon stone
I see fields of green 
Swaying to the east
Where the sun will greet
Those who visit
Early in...

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Categories: prose, devotionprayer,

Grandfathers Church
Grandfather’s Church

A visit to an old church in Ireland,
Built by dirty hands, their will never tiring

Green lightly stroked, God’s fingers the wind
My eyes, refracted light...

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Categories: prose, faithlonging,

Mocking The Raven
When I was young, I would mock the raven,
Never dreaming her harsh call was a cry
Across the water to the castle of her brother
King Bram,...

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© deb radke  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: prose, history, imagination, loss, war,