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Francie Lynch Dec 2014
In Wexford
I saw Superstar;
An Irish Jesus
That well pleased us,
But you may think that dross.
In retrospect,
We might agree,
They hung long
On that cross.
Carrying that cross.
Mark Ball Nov 2014
Ag an mbuaicphointe
na coimhlinte
Ní raibh siad cinnte.
An chéad dán trí ghaeilge.
Bridget Allyson Sep 2014
Eyes of new and old,
As deep as the sea,
Golden eyes as cold,
As eyes that watch over me.


Meet me there.
Run across the track.
I never watch you leave,
Please, come back.
Brigitte's poem about Aiden. This is the first poem in my book Eternal.
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2014
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.
the white deer Jun 2014
every summer, your freckles come out like a broad Irish galaxy.
the planets are summer days that I wish I could waste with you.
and there is a star for every single dance I wish I'd have had with you.
an asteroid belt of insults and haphazard tweets.
but I slide on, a lonely astronaut,
skimming your freckled universe.
Leonard Sine Jun 2014
In a past life she was a mermaid.
Her eyes seaweed green;
bright watery globes,
flecks of aquamarine.

Bones made of coral,
and skin from wet sands.
She devoured lost sailors
and made treasure their hands.

She rolled with the waves
of the great Celtic Sea,
and pulled with the undertow
‘round County Kerry.

I know this quite well,
‘cause in my past life
I was a drunk Irishman --
she was my wife.
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