Fugue Wa Patiala Decrescendo
___________________________________
she wore nothing but a smile
her skirl and blouse are so fancy
she has a pretty smile
her kisses taste like something dandy
such a sexy smile
her heels clicked she so dancey
ah jaboree that Gal is sexy
a table just for me and you
skimpy bathing suit is perfect
what is a man lefted to do
The skirl of the pipes that echoed through the hills
The scent of purple heather beside the running rills
The view from the mountain top, upon the glen below
A loch that shimmers in the light of the evening’s pearly glow
These memories that crowd my mind…
a time and place I left behind
'The sounds of Earth is the music of my soul.’
I'm scrambling up the crumbling cliffs
the Pacific ocean is raging below
it's heaving about roaring and thumping
then sucking back with strong undertow
It crashes and spits onto the shore
bubbling the sand as the sea sweeps by
high above me the gulls skirl and whirl
in scattered squall of high-pitched cry
close by I hear the white noise wind
whistle past me on route from the sea
blasting through the wild dune grasses
slapping my ears and buffeting me
my ears fully open and body vibrating
I am one with Earth, she thrills my soul
her music sings through me, and I remember -
I am Earth's tuning fork, and I am whole
11 August 2022
Let Your Muse Be Inspired - R Form poetry contest
Sponsor. Constance La France
The parade is marching to the beat of the drum
With the skirl of the pipes with their distinctive hum
Everywhere you look there's bright shades of green
It's the day of the year, that the Irish love to be seen.
During the great famine many were forced to roam
And settled in far away places, that they now call home
But their hearts are in Ireland and there's no better way
To connect with fellow country men on this very special day.
But it's a community event and people from every nation
Join the proud Irish for the craic, in their big celebration
Each county has a banner and folks proudly march behind
Many with green foliage on their lapel, it's shamrock you'll find.
After the parade it continues, with music dancing and song
And if there's celebrations near you, make sure you go along
You'll be given a big welcome, it's the Irish way
And join in the fun celebrations on this St Patrick's day.
Written 17th March 2022
HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY
(Craic- In Ireland it means having a great time)
On the Isle of Skye, water runs down the Cuillin mountains into waterfall streams
It's a beautiful and tranquil place
Where the local fairies live, play and dream
A red-bearded Scotsman walks from his village
He carries his beloved bagpipes in hand
He heads to the magical Fairy Pools
To play for the fairies hiding among the heather stalks growing in the lush green land
Clad in a kilt of dark blue and green
They know it's their friend that's come to play
His emotional bagpipe songs are the only things
That make them emerge from their hideaway
The fairies love the skirl of the bagpipes
It brings their soul delight
Their tiny wings flutter with joy and elation
While they surround him in flight
When he's finished playing, he reaches into his horsehair sporran
Hanging from his waist
To feed the fairies bits of wild-grown raspberries
They absolutely love their taste
He will come back to play for them soon on another day
They love their friend in the blue and green kilt
With his beloved bagpipes and the songs that he will play
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.
Return of The Piper
The skirl of the pipes is carried on the wind
Purple heather moves in time with the sound
Dark clouds move in and cover the sky
His sanctuary the piper has found
Amid the deep lochs and mountains tall
Where the crofter's sheep roam wild
Away from all forms of civilisation
The piper, his vision has dialled
He longs to find a fireside seat
With a dram to warm his heart
If only he could escape the darkness
And recapture his mortal dart
The piper was slain many years ago
Upon a historic battlefield
Leading his clansmen into the fight
For a reason that they'd never yield.
GATESHEAD MUSIC
Not a storybook place of rhymes and chimes of bells
My childhood England was dark and dirty,
And instead of the skirl of bagpipes or the weeping fiddle,
There were factory sirens
And clashing steel loads on trucks to the docks.
Caught between black coal and brown ale,
I searched the streets for music and found nothing.
One day I never returned -
And note by note forgot their tuneless heritage,
Now in the silent moments of creeping age and grown children,
The steep pitch of streets down at the waters of Tyne
Draws my mind and probes the waves
Where the sound of coal dust still echoes -
And always will.
And I hear again the empty places, dark places, the places singing
My name in dialect I have long abandoned.
Somehow their music is not off-key;
And my inner melody
Seems to merge into that blackened score.
I hear its siren song and cannot shake free
Its bass notes from the balladry of my life.
As the sun downs through the trees
Greened leaves bow for the eve
This warrior sits and reflects
Alone he plays, it's his way to grieve
For this is no normal scene
What I view he has brought to our lands
His name "people of the other side"
Whose journey was not of his plans
This man who was once a boy
Was found wandering many years ago
Not far from a burnt out homestead
Where his families blood had flowed
Killed by a Mahican raiding party
This short one escaped their wrath
No tribe has escaped their rampage
Death and destruction is their path
Then came the day of anew
When an elder of the village had died
From a piece of wood he would play
The grieving family responded with cries
When we asked he remembered his past
For in his country this was their way
The pipes accompanied lost souls
Their skirl was their way to say
Today he sits by the stream all alone
This boy who grew into a man
He now lives the Apalachee way
Bringing his past to his future lands
.
Soon, English will be lost as the main language in America.
Sadly, a European language takes over, whilst the true die!
As the sun downs through the trees
Greened leaves bow for the eve
This warrior sits and reflects
Alone he plays, it's his way to grieve
For this is no normal scene
What I view he has brought to our lands
His name "people of the other side"
Whose journey was not of his plans
This man who was once a boy
Was found wandering many years ago
Not far from a burnt out homestead
Where his families blood had flowed
Killed by a Mahican raiding party
This short one escaped their wrath
No tribe has escaped their rampage
Death and destruction is their path
Then came the day of anew
When an elder of the village had died
From a piece of wood he would play
The grieving family responded with cries
When we asked he remembered his past
For in his country this was their way
The pipes accompanied lost souls
Their skirl was their way to say
Today he sits by the stream all alone
This boy who grew into a man
He now lives the Apalachee way
Bringing his past to his future lands
Written by James Fraser for Constance's contest "Tell HIS Story~~"
On this cold winter night
A horror unfurls
As they leave their trenches
Under the Bagpipes skirl
It's Christmas Eve
In World War One
Over the top they leave
The killing has begun
Knee deep in mud
Barbed wire and bodies
The piper laments
Their bravery embodied
To march into battle
With their weapon of pipes
Whilst bullets and bombs
Leave the theatre in strife
Onward they march
Turning men into hero's
The battle of the Somme
Last centuries ground zero
What makes such a man
To enter a war
His weapon of music
That they follow him for
Amongst the men that fall
Others pick up their guns
When the piper falls
Their is no one
On this cold Christmas Day
The horrors have been unfurled
As one looks over the trenches
To a different world
But the very next day
In the distance you will hear
The sound of the Scottish Bagpipes
Leaving their enemy in fear
In memory to all who fell at Christmas time, and especially to the pipers
who used music as their weapon, we will remember them, as all will be remembered
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-5.php
I see my flag unfurl
In the cold North wind it curls
Against the evening backdrop of the Edinburgh sky
So with the skirl of pipes
And the rhythmic beat of drum
Down the Royal mile the loyal Scotsman come
So now we have independence
At dear long last were free
But that don't wash away centuries of tyranny
So as we march on too the future
Lion rampant flying high
Looking back all i see is the dark glaswegian sky
So now the burden lifted
Alba free at last
Now as proud Scotsmen lets forgive the sins of the past
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.