Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
CK Baker Sep 2021
Well we jumped on the wing
for a good Irish fling
kicked off the week
with a boiler

The banter was high
as we took to the sky
nothing in sight
was a spoiler

And the red eye at night
was a captain’s delight
we spread on the seat
of the liner

Arrived just in time
for a whale of a time
at the Temple Bar
and Diner

Well the Dublin scene
in the Old College Green
was wired and alive
on the corner

Where me and me' mates
paired in at the gates
there were welcoming arms
to us foreigners

And we sang through the night
and grinned in delight
with banjos, pipes
and lasses

Drinking whiskey and beer
in a boatload of cheer
the rooster got lost
in the masses

The **** in the walk
was out on the stalk
a wee little flute
on display

His shoulders were pinned
with a great big grin
they were such
peculiar ways!

Well we found em next day
(in a sauntering way)
got tossed in
all the commotion

What happened to you?
said he hadn’t a clue
or any
baldy notion!

Hit the road to Howth
little east, little south
the seaside town
was groovin

Found the Cobblestone Pub
for a jar and a scrub
the seabird sounds
were soothin

Then we jumped a train
in the lashing rain
the Belfast craic
was mighty

Hit the Thirsty Goat
with a parching throat
some Tullamore Dew
for a nighty

In the Crumlin jail
the spirits set sail
the IRA
was gaffin

There was Bobby Sands
in celestial lands
alive and proud
and laughin

The Griffin dance
was the final chance
the evening closed
in nigh

And we made our way
through the Chelsea lanes
to say our
final good bye

~ ~ ~ ~

Ay, oh…let it all go
safe haven in the wasteland!

Slainte’…take me away
to the old Irish sounds
of the band!
Man Aug 2021
Longing for the land of my lineage
I am dying here, in Beggar Country
Here, where fools act the wise
Pseudo Intellectualism steadily on the rise
Where the disease celebritism has took hold
Forced out the tried and true for the shiny yet old
Where the idiom
The more things that change, the more remains the same
Is unquestionably fact
I long for Ireland
I long to go back

Give me land that's green
And rolling countryside
Give me tide to rival hell's fury
And people that mean well, amid gales so dreary
I miss fog
Like that kicked up by the mire

Give me land that's hungry
Give me people that's tired
One day I sat alone drinking a pint,
My a mhuirnin arriving this mornin'
I said I'd greet her and then spend the day
Stroll'an' watch all the ships come to harbor

Her ship was due in from Dublin today,
She'd gone home for to bury her father,
And though she loved him she weren't feelin' grey,
He'd left her mom alone at the alter,

So there I sat, her ship taking its time,
A little red lark sung above me,
And then it landed, much to my surprise,
On my shoulder just ever so gently

I didn't move I just marveled in place,
The small clever lark sung on my shoulder,
And then from tweets to words slowly I heard
My dear love's voice come out of the small bird

My dear I don't have time
To ask how you are
God gave me but only a moment
To say I love you and don't waste your time
My ship won't ever make it to harbor.

I didnt know just quite what I should say
I was feeling a mix of emotions
I had no reason to doubt this small bird
But if so then my heart surely'd be broke,

My dear I can see you
Can't quite understand
I've died and I've gone on to heaven
In time you'll see
I've done all that I can
And have found yourself a new a mhuirnin

Then back to songs that bird's beak did return,
I couldn't help but shaking and bawling,
But as it flew off It left me a plume,
And I still keep that feather right on me.

In time I found love again,
Calling my name,
And boy did he say it so sweetly,
But every morning I still hear her song
My little red lark singing above me.
a mhuirnin - My dear love

This poem was written as lyrics to the Irish traditional song "Little Red Lark" from the perspective of an American-Irish person.
Nicole Bataclan Jul 2021
I see my book on your shelf
And yours on mine,

I would take our afterthoughts
And turn them into rhyme.

Every love story starts with
A blank page.
Take note,

People still write letters
Left for others to quote.

Each day with you
Leaves a poet at a loss for words.

I love you, Darragh.

A time for us,

A private bookcase
Sealed with kisses.
Thomas W Case Mar 2021
I'm just a lonely
a vagrant out at sea.
My vagabond spirit
knows home is where
I need to be.

Through the fog,
I can't see you.
I'm as blind as I can be.
You're my lighthouse in the darkness,
and your heart is where I long to be.
Abigail Hoeniges Apr 2019
Might I go to Ireland Mother?
Where the shamrock
Spends his days

Where the snakes went have gone away
And after came St. Patty's day

Oh how I long to see those green hills
With bright yellow daffodils
Blossoming in the sun  
Reflecting its rays with a golden shine
Until falls the night

Only a fool would deny her beauty
made of the hills and grass
whose color lasts
with water cool and blue
Oh Ireland’s beauty lies
In her gorgeous eyes
That are green but not from envy
glisten without tears
and are wise beyond years

Like the castles built long ago
That keep mysteries
Stored in stone walls
That are still holding their heads high
Even after years passing them by
And they let out a gentle sigh
As it’s not yet time
For them to crumble
And not yet time
For them to die

A calm sweet breeze
Rustles the leaves and flutters by ears
Whispers the secrets
We wish we could clearly hear

So might I go to Ireland mother
To sit upon those hills
Behold mighty castles
That have yet to say goodbye
Behold her in all her beauty
and hear the all the secrets
the wind wishes oh so desperately to hide

How I'm hoping
How I'm longing
To go
To indulge in such delight for mine eyes
Will I though?
That I do not know
For I asked mother,
And she has yet to say "no"
but also has not said that it is so.
for that reason the answer I will assumed
Is maybe.
leprechaun land my friends!
Brian Turner Sep 2020
O'er the Causway road
To the lands of the giants
We smile as the Atlantic roars below
The path is green, our hearts says go

Past the rope bridge we sidle on
The skerries frighten us with their brawn
Careful o' oncomers
Breath in,  they're vaughn

The architect's house
Provides little shelter
The harbour fights
The seaweed felters

Near the hill, the Scots and Rathlin anew
No time to stop, no time for a brew
The waters rage
No traffic, no queue

We reach the beach
'n cross the stream
The weather draws in
The water's sea beam

Back home via Bushmills
The Inn is a stop
Guinness and mussels
The head, what a top

On reflection we drop our pace
For this happy journey is not but a race
What a joy those places are for me
What a joy for you to see
The beautiful causeway coast road from Portrush to  Ballycastle in Northern Ireland. Home to the Giants Causway, Bushmills whisky, Rathlin island a view of Scotland .'Vaughn meaning youth, felters is the German for gather or mat".
Pockets Aug 2020
Dreaming of Ireland
Dreaming of freedom
The kind of freedom America only promises
Green Fields
Red headed women
Dutch gold Dublin dew
Wrapped in a brown paper bag
I wish I was there with you
but the world had other plans
My love
My home
Ill see you soon
Or die trying
Brian Turner Aug 2020
Copter blades awaken me
I start the march to the bus stop
The soldiers march to the safety of the barracks gap

Storytellers abound
The craic is good
We knew, he knew, she knows
Did you hear?

Weather draws in
Wet rain again
Patience is tested
Staring out again

Will it clear?
We have some work to do
Bullocks to dose
Lamb to stew
Memories of growing up in Aughnacloy (It means 'Field of stone' in Irish)
Next page