"craic" poems
It is New Year’s Eve
It is hard to believe
It has come round so fast.
Where did the year go?
No one seems to know,
How quickly it passed!
We got through another one
And what is done is done
we made memories to last.
Things we should not forget
But do not waste time on regret
It now belongs in the past.
There is no better time than this
To get together and reminisce
embrace the opportunity.
Time for a New Years Eve kiss
To contact people you truly miss
Sing Auld Lang Syne maybe.
Get together and celebrate
All the things that went great
And wonder at what might be.
A chance to seriously contemplate
To acknowledge and truly appreciate
Your good friends and family.
Through all your trouble and strife
Find the good things in your life
And concentrate on those.
Learn from any mistakes
Resolve to do what it takes
To make friends of foes.
Do not be afraid to forgive
Be much more positive
Life’s too short, God knows.
Whether woman or man
strive to be the best you can
as the year comes to a close.
For those you lost, shed a tear
cherish those whom you hold dear
love them with all your might.
For your sins seek absolution
Make a New Years resolution
A great chance to make things right.
Decide what you want from next year
Face the future without fear
A brand New Year is in sight.
Look forward don’t look back
make sure you have Mighty Craic
On this New Years Eve night!
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
This is my street
An old street,
In an old Irish town
The people come
And then they go
In the soft rain
Of a short Irish summer
When the mood is on me
I let my feet walk
And they always
Seem to bring me here
The cafe at the end of the street
And sure,
Where else would they go?
Many is a time
I had a hearty steak sandwich
Or fishcakes with potatos
Or just a coffee and scuffin
To beat the cold outside
And it's many the friend
I found in there
Aye, and lovers too.
It's face is green and black
Milanese style
So the owners tell me
With a striped green and white awning
And simple tables and chairs
And all the love in the world
Music has been had there
And poetry, and just craic
Long Scrabble saturdays
Taken very seriously
We even bought the dictionary
To stop the heated
Word exchanges
So I know most of the people
There is always a smile
Headed in my direction
When I am blue
It brings me to life
Somewhat
And needless to say
The food is always good
It is funny, how
Friends and family
Merge sometimes
As happens
In the cafe at the end of the street
Where friends are family
And family are friends
They told me
They are closing in September
A loss like a family bereavement
I can only hope that
I find another place to go
Or maybe a new street to live on
Where I can
Walk out my door, and feel
Home
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
I remember once I farted, in a packed lift,
My two cheeks really parted, if you get my drift
I almost had a heart attack, the sound was so clear,
It was indeed a mighty crack, that everyone could hear.
Now everyone turned red, but I was really blessed
as nothing more was said, I presumed no one had guessed.
Some looked at their feet, others at the wall
But no pair of eyes did meet, no one looked at me at all.
But no one could deny there was an awful hum
And I had to wonder why I was cursed with such a ***
Dear God, it was bad, worse than ever before
Was it the curry I had? I will not eat it any more.
On no! this can’t be happening, I felt my two cheeks part
This one much more sickening, what some would call a “shart”
Though I tried to look innocent, as detached as I could be
I knew what those looks meant and they were directed at me
We all held our breath, no one dared to breathe
We all faced certain death if the smell did not recede
We all wanted the top floor which was thirty stories high.
Would someone open the door or would we all be left to die
Thank God for ventilation, it really saved the day
For in case of flatulation it will take the smell away
Well I was so relieved, it was quite a close call
And I would not have believed what happened next at all
The lift it just stopped dead, a million to one chance
I thought I’d lose my head but instead I filled my pants.
I learned one thing that day, well at least it keeps me happy
I won’t get in a lift, No Way! without first putting on a *****
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 3:43 AM UTC
So many, many moons ago
The gang from St. Brigid's would go
Every single chance we could
Off to local farms to sow spuds.
Each one covered in burning lime
(No health and safety at the time)
Each sown under a foot apart;
If not, you went back to the start.
All for only ten pence a line
(Though 'twas a fortune at the time)
Working mostly long ten hour days;
Kids would not do it nowadays!
Picnic lunches in all weathers,
Sitting in the fields together,
Lemonade bottles for the tea,
Eating with hands filthy *****
It was work that would break your back
But sure we all had mighty craic,
Laughing and joking all day through,
Slagging each other as kids do!
St. Brigid's gang were number one,
Farmers knew the work would be done.
At harvest time back we would drag
To pick spuds for ten pence a bag!
It did none of us any harm
Working such long hours on the farm.
Although the work was onerous
'Twas the making of all of us!
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 4:35 AM UTC
Next week, I’ll be 61 years
working the same 93 acres.
The furthest field back
and the 2 joining Peter Burke’s
always been meadows.
Since before my time —
today it takes just 4 hours
to cut, bale and wrap.
Dad and the men wouldn’t’ve
half the first headland cut in that length.
I’d go back with Mom,
with tea and sandwiches;
brown bread and something sweet.
No more higher than the handle of the scythe —
I would try to swing.
Nearly took my leg off the first time.
When it was done, all saved
that was my favourite bit.
There’d be a gathering in the house.
Food, porter … the craic.
Someone would pull out a fiddle
or a tin whistle, the women would dance
it was beautiful — meaningful.
Friends, neighbours. Thankful.
The closest thing to expressing our feelings.
And us kids allowed to stay up late,
what a treat; a very rich treat.
I never did grow tall enough
to wield the scythe.
When it was my turn,
machines had been invented.
Lucky I was told I was.
They lightened the work
and lessened the men.
Horse followed horsepower.
Bigger, heavier.
But there was time for tea,
there’s always time for tea.
The scythes rotted;
the horses rotted;
kids flown into the city;
neighbours dead, don’t care or are foreign.
It’s just one man now doing all the work.
One man called John Deere
who has no time for tea.
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 5:56 PM UTC
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
~ ~ ~ ~
Singing
Ay, oh…let it all go
safe haven in the wasteland!
Singing
Slainte’…take me away
to the old Irish sounds
of the band!
Sep 23, 2021
Sep 23, 2021 at 11:41 AM UTC
I wonder what this world is coming to
When we have to overcomplicate everything
All I hear on the TV of late
Is ‘bare craic’ as my northern Irish friend would say –
“I can’t understand this credit crunch,” she said
Poignantly, (neither could I) “I think I’ll take
A dander down to the shops.” And so she did
We were out of milk
And living off salami
I picked up the paper
And I realise nothing is without a price
Or a fate
They are the two certainties
So is death
And the price is not so hard to see either.
The American bigwigs sit round a table
Complaining what is to be done about the financial crisis?
Each eating a $16 dollar muffin with their $8.48 coffee
Wondering where oh where can money be saved?
And they’ll get back in their private limos
Drive past their second addresses
Back down to Bel-air
Lock themselves in their villas
Count their bonuses
And sleep happy
After doing jack ****
While Greece is going down the crapper.
I can see the solution
Can you?
Or is it just me?
Or can you see it to?
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 3:06 PM UTC
Cloud gazing, and yet head hung low
Duct workers maintain their pumps
Assumptions of the first red curtain show
Will the Black Lady come up trumps?
Defending she does of a savage blow
Boundaries pass, still have that lump
Fear dissipates fast, you just know
Wet fish slap, touch down bump
Mission seamed so clear at this fresh start
No predictions of a brain confuddulation
Hike, zigzag, spin to the coldest part
Lump no longer lonely, face mutation
Back to back days of kart
Winning is a fictitious temptation
Easy(ish)-flow braced up for the heart
No longer now is there frustration
Excitement and passion, give me a smack
‘Give a **** overtakes fear in a split
Dee Bath bound, spells **** good craic
‘cos you know darlin’, you are fit!
Anticipations of caressing your back
I’ve even tidied up my flat of a pit!
Panic not of spending a whack
Fly when cheapest, I’ll see you in a bit…
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:46 AM UTC
*an onslaught of words
a stampede of wit
the mundane trampled
the futile escaped
shouts absorbed
idiocy exchanged
insanity tempered
reality revealed
bent elbows flowing
pints of clarity instilled
brief release of balance
falling through the craic*
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
Touring the cities of England and the UK
Back of a transit van, rocking up to anywhere that paid
The brothers Grimm and their trusty cohorts
Bonehead on rhythm, McCarroll on drums, Guigsy up to all sorts
That gig at the Wah Wah, King Tuts to be precise
Glasgow you beauty, **** the next show up in Fife
The man that found them, a mister Alan McGee
A Britpop revolution, all great memories
They came and most failed, that one gig on Top of The Pops
Menswear to Mansun and an array of rank haircuts where the seagulls did flock
We had the trendies in Camden all hanging around on their scooters with parka’s
Noel or Liam and that fella from Echobelly, anything to be famous and get on the telly
But then the times must end and it all turned a little sour
A few trudged on with an album or two, the Manics to Cast and the lyrics from John Power
Patsy and Liam had that cover on the front of Vanity Fair
Draped in Britannia, divorce on the cards, strange how no-one now cares
Good times they were without a worry in the world and a now gone era
Euro 96, Southgate’s miss and those goals from Teddy and Shearer
A time well remembered and days I’d love to see back
If not only for the music but for the not caring and the unforeseen great craic
Not to hate the now as times move on
But a day in the past, served at seventeen and to claim you were the one
Not to be asked I.D. and sneakily drink that Stella
laughing at the bar, king of the blaggers, not to be served again by that same fella
Before the phone and the apps, we used to meet face to face
Girl at the bar, a bit of blarney and a home number to suit, always up for the chase
Do you ring tomorrow and who’s going to answer
Her mum might be alright, but her dad could be a ******
I couldn’t imagine doing it all again now
Swipe left to say no or right to give it a go
Seems inhuman to me not to spark up a chat
But maybe that’s just me, stuck in past, I’m just old hat.
JJB
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
In the stillness of the night
We see the stars shining bright,
Gentle winds blowing
Making the flowers go dancing.
Up in the hill we run
Seeking nothing but fun,
Seeing through the moonlight
Together, lets be blithe.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
Any man can drink 'til he drops,
Never know the right time to stop;
Can get out of his mind on drink,
So drunk he can no longer think!
It takes a real man to say No,
I've had enough, I have to go;
To be able to have a drink,
To enjoy the craic ... but still think!
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
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.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
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.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
A hoppin' head though self inflicted,
Seems just rewards for the night before,
When dance and Craic took centre stage
We drank and drank and drank some more!
Conversation flowed and ebbed and weaved,
From God to Goals and all between,
Would seem not so immaculately conceived
And Messi's three defy belief.
Club bound strolls turn to canter
With thoughts of chasing tail and skirts,
Greetings to all with friendly banter,
Decked out in shoes and pants and shirts.
Through goggled eyes we viewed the night
Where dog was fox and frog was prince
Awakened by a nasty fright
Post Haste! Not seen or heard from since.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
My wife and I went down to the pub
Just the other day
We thought we’d have a drink and a bit of grub
It was such a beautiful day
Everyone there was in great form
Having a laugh and the craic
But one man did not seem to fit the norm
My dear wife seemed taken aback!
He certainly seemed to be full of the joys,
But looked like he had one too many
he seemed a lot drunker than the rest of the guys
though appeared much happier than any!
I wondered why this was bugging my wife so
She seemed more than a little upset
I asked her “Is he someone you know”
Never expecting the answer I’d get!
She explained he was her ex boyfriend
From about eighteen years ago.
She brought the relationship to an end,
had not seen him for twelve years or so
At the time he was absolutely devastated
He seemed to take the break up badly
She felt guilty about his whole life being wasted
She told me ever so sadly
She heard many stories after they parted
About him out partying every night
She felt guilty he was so broken hearted
But felt she had to do what was right
She heard he took heavily to the drink
Friends told her he went quite mad
But not for one minute did she ever think
Things had got quite so bad.
Friends told her he never really settled down
Went through one woman after another
He seemed overly fond of being out on the town
Always in one pub or the other
Be God says I, after deliberating
Because she was almost in tears
“Are you telling me he’s been celebrating
For nigh on eighteen years”?
Well it got so quiet you could hear a pin drop
The atmosphere suddenly got much colder
I started laughing, I just could not stop
For six weeks I got the cold shoulder!
The day proved a valuable life lesson for me
I have since learned to keep my mouth shut
The only problem with that, unfortunately
Is that now I have nowhere to put my foot!
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
The dork just stood there, Man!
Peeling back his mask
Then folding it back down again.
What a chancer!
Breaking in klangers;
Tip toeing through hoops;
Belching on tap;
Crapping on sand paper;
Bleaching hot tap,
With water-eye presentation
Flown from afar
In the cargo hold for Mr. Black,
Mount Nero;
Cnoc Dubh.
What's the fuzz?
what's the craic?
Let him have it
In 2's and 3's
End of:
'Life's a breeze'
Corporate jingomuggery
Daylight shrubbery
Catchall quantum thuggery
"Put him back in the hold"
Goodbye Mr.Black,
Mount Nero;
Cnoc Dubh.
What's the craic?
What the fuzz?
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 3:12 AM UTC
They've gathered at his daughter's house,
I passed cars pulling to the curb;
The patriarch has been replaced,
His chair now sits usurped.
Will someone raise a glass to toast him,
Recount some craic to roast him?
Praise his assets,
Shush his regrets,
Strum his unplayed guitar.
They'll share feasts on his bench,
Conceive on handmade beds,
Take down a book from his many shelves,
And talk as though he's there,
Sleeping, unaware.
*What was it that he said?
He talked of love a lot.
Did he get it right?
He shared what he got.
Did well for a sot.
He could turn a *****
Write a verse,
Right a wrong,
Could dialogue with who knows what,
And if he couldn't fix it,
We knew we were *******
They just might go to sleep tonight,
And dream as though he's there,
Still sitting in his chair.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
From my chin a hair is sprouting
My cracks need a bit of grouting
I’m often seen plastered
This ladylike thing I haven’t quite mastered
But I’m good for a bit of craic
Of laughter there is no lack
I’ve been told I’m incorrigible
But I think I’m loveable
I’m always going to be a rogue
Peoples Achilles heel I have to poke
Sensitive souls mightn’t like my humour
But that might be a nasty rumour
Then again I’m a bit of a divil-may-care
So if you don’t like it stay outta my hair
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
Hawthorn hedgerows separated their fields.
Alice often found Towser lapping
From Jim's cupped hand,
At his hill well.
Her brothers fished Jim's salmon-rich creek.
To get her animal she walked through the bushes,
Drank his water.
They decided to wed.
He poured a new kitchen floor;
Chickens and sows,
Sons and daughters arrived,
Through famine and taxes
They prospered, survived.
Over the evening pint,
The lads grumbled about the Travellers
Camped off the road to Jim's.
They're gypsies, spilled Jim,
No different than him, pointing to Frank, beneath a tin:
Guinness is good for you.
*I passed them at tea, they were eating my fish.
I nodded Okay, and they sang, "Make a wish!*"
How comes it to pass,
Is anyone's guess.
Jim left walking for home,
A dark journey, alone.
The night sky was clear,
Jim loved the fresh air.
In his line he saw
The gypsy's red fire.
He was offered a drink,
Being a purveyor of craic,
The stars glided eastward,
Alice watched them that night,
Waiting for Jim to come back.
He rose with a scratch,
And a Guiness-stained yawn,
And the smell of a smokey,
Fire-haired woman.
For seventeen years no words were spoken,
Alice was redolent,
The holy of holies lay open,
The body's been stolen.
In the stillness of night,
Alone in her bed,
Jim lay beside her;
Her man was dead.
One fish, one wish,
And all was unsaid,
An unspeakable silence
Envelope the dead.
A wish is a fish,
Alive in deep water;
If you hook it, release it,
It'll swim to another.
Jim died alone
In his house, not his home;
His wish transpired
By fish and his fire.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
No frills tonight,I'll tell you why we hold so tight,
to yesteryear and yesterday and...and last fuckin' night...
before the sky broke open,
lately I'd been vaguely sorta hopin'(not doin shit,just hopin')...
that we'd get the magic back,that we'd bring back all the craic
when it was you for me and me for you again' the world,
I'm starin at the wall my mind aswirl,
Then I'm starin' thru a window to the past
when we KNEW that we would last
forever,never ever fall apart,
never ever pulled apart,
by life and time and fuckin' work,
we knew we were the ones to make it work!,
and now I'm staring through that window to the past,
like trying to piece a champagne glass,
back together when it's smashed,
*I'm kneelin' here with ****** fingers,
tryin' to make these memories linger*
REALISIN' how you'll linger there,
your scent...your smile...your shedded hair(seriously I find it EVERYWHERE!)
sorry hon I lost it there(but seriously your frickin' hair!)
your company was past compare,
I close my eyes and see you there,
I pound my fist against the glass
praying that you'll see the danger see the future Nuclear blast,
but you're just blissfully gracefully strolling past,
holding me,enfolding me
emboldening me like nobody past or present ever did or will,
the thrill begat the skill begat the quill of you so deep in me,
thought we were our Destiny.
you're under my skin like a Sinatra tattoo,
but enough bout me...how bout you?
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 10:38 PM UTC
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.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC