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Walking the streets of Dalkey
So beautiful so bright
As the birds sing at night
As the stars shine bright
The people come
Out at Tonight
And the people think that Dublin's Ireland's fair city
It's a place of over flowing with laughter drinking, whiskey, and wine, And
Dancing the night away
And the narrow streets are filled with poets and singers
Singing Dublin's fair city
Is so beautiful today..
Ireland Dublin
Dean Shallow Apr 30
The bench squeaks as I rest, weary from the walk but only in body. My mind races, absorbing the movements of people never to be seen again.
The warm breeze sweeping the willows over the canal carries with it the bustling sounds of the city.
To some, the word"city" forces images of glass clad monuments and dull grey skys.
Not my city.
Red brick laid by men who likely knew my father,
paths stained by the countless spilled pints, Each one missed,
Streets that twist and turn like wrinkles from a smile
No, my City isn't some cold,  harsh statue to solitude,
it's the warmth of a fire after a bitter winter storm.
My city, My home
Sat by the banks of the grand Canal just passed lessons street is a bench overlooking charlemont place. Sitting there on a warm summers evening during the week is something everyone should experience at least once
You and me, and Molly Malone
In Dublin city, so far from home
Looking over the Liffey
That's when it hit me
My love for you, had only grown

In Galway Bay, we couldn't stay
The loyalty, love, and friendship day
Rainbows at the Cliffs of Moher
The Blarney Stone we can't ignore
Waterford Crystal and...Cabernet

You and me, and Molly Malone
Is the memory, that I've carved in stone
Dancing in Dublin
You've got my heart bublin'
My love for you, had only grown

Guinness, whiskey, cider
I got sick on chowder
Hanging out with Wilde
Don't forget that child
Ten thousand years and...no they're not

You and me, and Molly Malone
Here comes the time, for us to go home
Even though we're leavin'
We will leave here knowin'
My love for you, had only grown
(My love for you, had only grown)
In memory of my 2017 trip to Ireland!
Most of it is self explanatory. one memory was of me and my boyfriend looking at a famine statue. a local Irish dad and two of his sons were passing by, when the youngest son (~8) shout out "those statues have been here for ten thousand years" the older brother (11) playfully pushes and quickly correct his younger brother and informs us that "no they're not"

I suppose we stuck out as tourists!
Anne Molony Mar 2019
A blue morning on the 46a to Stillorgan.
I get emotional gliding past the little orange town house. I've passed it every day for two years but this time it feels different.

I can smell your walls and furniture.
Can taste the breakfast you'd surprise me with after a long night of dancing and love making.
Can feel your head on my shoulder as you hold me at the kitchen counter. You were begging me to make you stay and the sky cries for you.

You kiss my stomach.

We drive silently. Me, eating nutella and banana toast and you watching the roads too carefully. You had just gotten your license. Fionn Regan played softly. It was our last morning, you had driven me to college.
Alex Jan 2019
On the hills of old Dublin the wind blows from the east
On the hills of old Dublin we gather for a feast
On the hill of old Dublin stands a village with ladies so fair
On the hills of old Dublin the priest stands in prayer
For we are the chosen...
For we hold the crest
For the solders of old Dublin will always be oppressed
On the hills of old Dublin we lay them to rest
On the hills of old Dublin forever will they be blessed
The brave sons of Dublin whose voices are gone
The brave sons of Dublin with battle lines drawn
The brave sons of Dublin whose courage is known
The brave sons of Dublin who stand as stone
A cheer to the fallen...a cheer to their name...for the solders of England is who are to blame. A sip of old whisky... a sting in the throat...for every glass emptied is another line wrote.
Walking down the bustling street
Stopping, listening
An old man playing spoons
Kurt Carman Oct 2018
i peer through this looking glass,
and watch the high tide fill the arigideen river.
quickly, i walk the path, as i try to catch,
the dusk light over the estuary.

its where the gannet perches to find warmth,
i start a fire to do the same.
in this place, by the sea, i find an all-embracing refuge,
and my eyes converge on the beach below.

bitter-vetch flowers line the path where she walks,
its when my eyes lay sight of her,
i feel that this might well be irelands most beautiful wild flower,
and I think to myself...every day is like Sunday when I see her walk by.
Missing the coast of Ireland and the B&B by the estuary.
Kay Ireland Oct 2016
He asked me why.
It wasn’t the kind of thing that had
An explanation, or needed one.
Still, he asked why.
It was intrinsic.
I had never thought it through before.

It has something that home doesn’t.
He asked what.
It has you. That’s important.
He asked why it mattered, why he mattered.
Everyone else is gone and you’re here with me.

He asked why it meant so much.
Home has no culture of its own.
We are a melting ***.
Our history has us playing a part.
Our countries share a common villain.
The difference is, we became ours.
You didn’t.


He asked why here, why now.
You view this place like I view my own.
You’ll never see it the way I do.
There is no conversation in bars,
Just fingers and tongues and fake names.

You look at me when I speak.


He asked if that was all.
No, of course not.

Those uilleann pipes make me cry.
I have no nation,
No reason for pride.
My songs and stories
Do not hold the same depth.
You tell me who you are
And it means something.


He touched my arm and the universe swallowed me whole.

Do you want to go home? he asked.
Absolutely not.
Do you want to leave? he asked.
*With you, absolutely.
Kay Ireland Aug 2016
The rose petals in my cocktail
Somehow found a way
To colour your romantic young lips;
I longed to match them with mine,
Bloom a field of thorned kisses between us.
Between the half pints, the martini, and the free shot,
The rest of your face is a blur
But I cannot forget the right side of those thin lips
Curving upward as you spoke,
As you listened to my stories
About a land far away,
With your blue eyes locked on mine.
I rambled and you smiled.
You couldn’t understand my love for the city,
But you were glad I chose Dublin that night.
You asked questions and I didn’t understand
The implications until
The morning when I was sober.
The more I drank the more I wanted you,
But they closed down the bar
And your friends disappeared
And my mouth grew dry as we spoke.
The last ones in,
I’d lost track of time and we were out on the street.
I waited for you to ask me along
But they took me by the arm
And I slept in the bathtub of my hotel room,
Never knowing more than your name,
Never remembering more than your charming drunken smile
And the heat of your breath on my neck,
Inches away,
But never touching.
Written the morning after a drunken night in Dublin that I spent with three local lads, one of whom I quite fancied. The night could have ended so very differently but circumstances prevented it.
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