#irish poems on Hello Poetry

Francie Lynch Mar 2015

Papa,
Had you held her,
She'd be the death
Of you.
We see it
In her lineage,
Which we
Ascribed to you.
Eons of Irish tribes
Coverge in her
Blood lines;
She is like
The ripening fruit
That cures and makes
Fine wine.

My grandaughter, Aine.
My father, Papa.

#wine #grandfather #irish #grandaughter

Francie Lynch Mar 2015

'Tis Grand Being Irish

'Tis true what they say,
May your glass be half-full,
I discovered the same
In a quaint Irish pub.

On leaving that evening
I pulled on my mac,
The wind was wet
And pushing my back.

Pushing surely
An understatement,
It pushed so hard
My face met the pavement.
And I could hear Molly singing:
And the road rose up to meet me.

There was no sun
To blame for my face,
The burn on my skin
Was a shameless disgrace.

The road home that night
Was all downhill,
But the hard rain that night
Made it all seem uphill.

There's plenty
Of work
For this man's hands,
For the luck of the Irish
Is a tourism scam.

As for being in heaven
A half hour ahead
Of Ole Lucifer knowing
That I'm ten minutes dead;
I'm sure he'll be keening
At the foot of my bed.

Dad always said
Being Irish was grand,
If you're in North America
And not Ireland.

"Keening" is a cry of grief at an Irish wake.

#irish #irishsayings #irishproverbs

Sam Hain Mar 2015

Irish Luck

I stubbed my toe and yelled out, "****!"
But blessèd be that Irish luck!
For had I not an Irish root,
I would've surely lost the foot!

#thoughts #luck #irish #ireland #st-patricks-day #saint-patricks-day

oni Feb 2015

CLADDAGH

hold my
heart
with both
hands

#love #heart #relationships #irish #ireland #claddagh

Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015

Bogman

Ruddy and worn,
Dusted by turf and salt,
Sun rose cheeked and blue
Clouded eye spurt in a gait
Ended by mute journeys and toil.
He breaks the long day with a shove
As the old pocked door is waiting to be
Opened. At the crowning stand of the bar
He orders his Craic, some froth of tar, his black
Medicinal and when the tales of tall pints grow, sinking,
Live, flickering light slows and smoulders, shoulders with moist
Embers of smoke trailing by with an impromptu céilí and all is brilliant,
Blind, awful and right, cast in the sprite, spirited dance of the verbal swirlings.

"Craic", or "crack", is a term for news, gossip, fun, entertainment, and enjoyable conversation, particularly prominent in Ireland. It is often used with the definite article – the craic. The word has an unusual history; the English crack was borrowed into Irish as craic in the mid-20th century and the Irish spelling was then reborrowed into English. Under either spelling, the term has great cultural currency and significance in Ireland.

In modern usage, a céilidh or ceilidh ( pronounced: kay-lee ) is a traditional Gaelic social gathering, which usually involves playing Gaelic folk music and dancing. It originated in Ireland and Scotland, but is now common throughout the Irish and Scottish diasporas. In Irish it is spelt céilí.

#alive #music #wonder #magical #irish #enchanting #mystic #celtic #earthy

aar505n Feb 2015

Bíonn An Fhírinne Searbh.

Tá mé codladh orm
Ag iarraidh codladh
Ach gan aon toradh
dom-ádh

Rugadh agus tógadh
leis dearcadh difriúil
lá i ndiadh lae
An grá mícheart

Is é mo chroí ag craoladh,
faoi grá
Ag muineadh dom nach,
faoi mná

Rachainn mé go dti an trá.
an alainn trá
Déarfainn mé Dia duit ar an buachaillín.
an alainn buachaillín
Mo muirnín.

Dhéanfainn mé seo, ach
Nuair a fháil i go dtí an trá,
Ní bheidh tú in ann.
Beidh mé san áit mícheart
ag an am mícheart.

Ní haon ionadh é mar
Ní féidir leat a shéanadh go bhfuil
mo chroí,
i gcónaí mícheart

Is dán beag as Gaeilge. Tá roinnt earráidí ach cosúil leis an seanfhocal:
Is fearr Gaeilge briste, na Bearla cliste.
Bain sult as!

#love #heartbreak #depression #thoughts #deep #irish #ireland #languages #gaelige

Seán Mac Falls Jan 2015

Rua ( Red )

Rua
Dearg,
Rua, roselet,
Gruaige na fíniúna agus scarlet
Fíonchaora, drown me i do deoch
As liopaí, fíona, Ruby, flesh an paisean
Torthaí agus adharc de neart,
Earthen meirge de pebbled cré
Tarraing mé mar uisce seeping
Isteach uiscígh ársa, ualaithe, i bhfolach
Faoi vastness Sahára
Sands. Tá mé scamall de aisling
Drifting, itching, edging chomh maith do chothromú
Hills. Do ******* sruthán mé mar gaile,
Tá do chluasa le haghaidh doves neadaithe
Agus do shúile, tá an spéir ag fanacht, cogaíochta
Le farraige, le haghaidh a dath,
Is é an ghrian wandering strainséir
Mar a thiteann sé, dar críoch gach lá, faded
Mar an fathach gásach de Antares faint,
Eclipsed ag do heavenly
Foirm, do lasair Vulcan
An tsolais.

Rua ( Red )

Red,
Rua, roselet,
Hair of vine and scarlet
Grapes, drown me in your drink
Of lips, of wine, ruby, flesh of passion
Fruit and horn of plenty,
Earthen rust of pebbled clay
Draw me in as the water seeping
Into ancient aquifers, laden, hidden
Under the vastness of Sahara
Sands. I am a cloud of dream
Drifting, itching, edging along your rounded
Hills. Your ******* burn as I steam,
Your ears are for nesting doves
And your eyes, the sky is waiting, warring
With ocean, for its colour,
The wandering sun is a stranger
As it falls, ending each day, faded
As the gaseous giant of faint Antares,
Eclipsed by your heavenly
Form, your Vulcan flame
Of lumen rouge light.

#love #passion #beauty #lovers #irish #fable #gaelic

Ignatius Brabazon Sep 2014

Honest Love Pome

It would tie your brain up in a knot,
the clink of glasses on the barman's grate,
and the tones of creaky Dublin croaking,
In darkness, mourning the death, of the daytime light.

It would I say, to grasp the slender neck,
and to lift it, smiling, glancing beyond the glass,
at winking eyes and clinking pints of plain,
My brain is in a knot, when I think of you.

I held you on the banks, of the  royal canal,
knew then what all the bards and lovers mean,
say it was the light reflected in their eye,
I never did hear tell, of eyes to rival glass

Yet confound revealing daytime light,
you are liquid of the night, stout and dark,
rebuke me not, till your own brain too,
Has been left in knots, by the dark slender boy.

In me line of work you could get in trouble for publishing this saart of thing. It's a kind of extended meta(what)phor? I understand that is a popular and devilish class of device.

#love #drink #irish #guinness

C H Watson Dec 2014

Hibernian Honey Child

Oh, Hibernian Honey Child

How my hand yearns to brush your cheek

To feel the warmth of your hair, to rest on your shoulder

    An itinerary of joy, how I would delight in my travels

    To arrive in your arms as my frail heart unravels

Oh, Little Face

How your wry little smile delights my senses

The sweep of your gait, your delicate aroma

    Your impertinent laughter; it's nectar to me

    Like a clear crystal fountain 'neath sacred oak tree

Oh, Emerald Daughter

Lustrous princess of the realm of Beauty

Silkier than a mouthful of fresh cream

    How thrilling it would be to pull off both your socks

    Little Feet, oh Little Feet, human music box

#love #poem #poetry #romance #infatuation #irish #ireland