I wear a shamrock on my arm,
high up near my freckled shoulder,
it's been there since 1984,
from those days when I was bolder.
It's not so very fancy, my dear,
but it means so much to me,
for it takes me back to my Auld Eire,
that land I love of emerald green.
10 august 2010
i was walking through the dell has happy as can be
there in the middle i saw a shamrock tree
it had leaves of gold shining very bright
shining in the sun reflecting off the light
there were lots of flowers they pure and white
blooming on the tree so very very bright
in between the branches there sat a little dove
sitting there so sweetly as he sang his song of love
it was very lovely a nice sweet melody
i wont forget his song or the shamrock tree
O Patrick, you told many a tale
with shamrock you taught the masses
you ventured far and beyond the pale
reaching out to lads and lasses
O Patrick, you didn't need a smart phone
you coped without Instagram and Snapchat
you worked your wonders alone
you were Ireland's first Postman Pat
O Patrick, you look so grand in green
you make other saints seem fake
we need you now to banish Roy Keane
you know how to wrestle a snake
O Patrick, we need your divine intervention
Irish future success looks faint
we thought it worth a mention
after all you have the patience of a saint
a light summertime dream
just before dark
unfolding it's scheme
painted in sandals
clovered kissed toes
lovely green shamrocks
are standing in prose
a fierce looking cat
bunting her leg
and giving a purrrr
getting back home
nearly hour gone by
look to the tree
playing ball in the sky
it looks like the moon
nearly 3 quarter size
outlined in countries
is neatly disguised
it's actually a ball
playing with leaves
That thing called the moon
has some tricks up its sleeves
she saw it glide down
and bounce off of a cloud
tipping it's hat
and bowing to town
See you tomorrow
her group of new friends
this just the beginning
we're far from the end
No need for luck
with her beau in the sky
a 3 quartered boy
with love in his eyes
she bows to the moon
as her Gypsy skirt flows
silver cat walking
wherever she goes
shamrock tipped pom poms
will twinkle her toes
Another summer time walk
with his dearest of Maidens
her toes and her eyes
are moon dipped and ladden
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Another year, another Paddies day,
Here in New York, hope for sun to play.
So the Irish celebration, takes winged flight,
Green is the color in everyone's sight.
Parade in the street, down fifth avenue.
The master of ceremony, we don't know who?
But the master this day, stands as St. Pat,
Clad in green, with a leprechaun's hat.
Hear the bagpipes, the drums pounding loud,
This is the Irish day, to stand and be proud!
A Catholic holiday, dietary sanctions they lift,
Eat meat and drink alcohol, is the Popes gift.
What are we celebrating? Let's take a closer look,
Power up the computer or crack open a book.
St. Patrick was born under English rule,
His family was clergy, formally educated in school.
Kidnapped by the Irish, and held as a slave,
To journey back to England he must be brave.
He returned one day to the Irish shore,
About the eternal Trinity, the Irish learned more.
A bishop now, native clove he did use,
To teach the Irish, about celestial clues.
About the father and son and the holy ghost,
The three leaves on a shamrock, they will forever toast!
The three leaves of a shamrock, and it's circular shape,
Are the same as God's Trinity, the logic you can't escape.
This is why the shamrock is so highly revered,
Wear one on your vest, or tucked into your beard.
Enjoy the day, celebrate with family and friend,
Toast to St. Patrick, may his legacy never end!
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, for you are mine
Never let me go, grip me tight like a vineyard vine.
I love that pretty rose that your garden did grow
Betwixt those long beautiful thighs of strength
Exposing that sea shell pink jewel, I do know.
Your garden is so unique, it’s a one of a kind
Such parts are so delicate, that the slightest touch
Produces tropical showers that fill my mind.
Flowing from your meadow, and dripping from
Those soft sensitive pink rose petals,
Golden rain drops that taste O’ so sweet.
Thy lips O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb:
Honey and milk are under my tongue:
Causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak,
Every time that they meet.
I love all of your natural beauty,
And I love every lock of your hair
Swaying from a beautiful face, worthy of my stare.
How fair and how pleasant art thou. O love, for delights!
Your calm green eyes in my trance suddenly gave me visions,
Of hypnotic pupil shamrock sights!
I love your seductive soft lips,
One kiss upon them, takes me on so many trips.
My precious 1, your body is a wonderland I cannot resist,
I need for this dream to come true
And if so, I will forever do, everything for you.
You are the Garden of Eden, brought back to life
My only thought now is, I must betroth to have you,
As my wife!
Behold, thou art fair, my love:
Behold, thou art fair; thou hast,
oh such few words are minded,
no bravery apart
from the homosexuals
as skeletons in the chronicles of Narnia
being discovered among
the skeletons of tyrannosaurus rex
making a bed with its wheelchair able
paws - and the flag of the Cymru
fire-breathing turtles before excavation
and the myths of the mandarin too;
now tell me the sub-human plot with the
Normans when the anglo-sax reigned
to teach me to unlearn english
to avoid assimilation,
like you taught your former colonial subjects
to integrate and to alievate keeping assimilation:
which you taught to unlearn the mother's
tongue and learn a discrimination
against furthering the multi-cultural project...
which you taught to integrate and
keep at loss a sacred soul of never assimilating
akin to jew...integrate i must,
assimilate i care not for should i be totally
albino or asserting bleached with peace:
albino oder beteuern gebleicht mit frieden.
integrate i must to utilise the coinage
but to assimilate i must turn into a reggae african
with roots in the Caribbean than the Ivory Coast...
and god willing i will not claim to be
an arab's brother to settle karma over
uplifting the curse over Mecca with ibn Saud's