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Composed on 01:33, 27/02/2017 using Hello Poetry's 'Words' algorithm. We still don't assume this means something.
Damian Murphy Jun 2015
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 *****.
Grahame Jun 2014
The Black Faerie beats her sable wings,
And rises into the dark and midnight sky.
Tonight she needs a ******’s soul to live,
Or else tonight a ****** she must die.

Tonight the dark moon rises in the sky,
’Twill be the time the black arts they hold sway,
And so tonight a ******’s fate is sealed,
If the Black Faerie has her way.

She rises high, unseen by mortal eye,
And casts around, a ******’s scent to find.
She starts, and checks, then starts and checks again,
She’s found a ******’s scent borne on the wind.

Carefully she follows the ætherial trail,
Flying against the wind to trace its source.
She hopes, tonight, successful she will be,
And is determined to stay on her course.

After flying for some time she finds
The scent is getting stronger on the wind,
She’s slowly drawing closer to her prey,
And trusts, soon, the ****** she will find.

When then she sees a hut down in the wood,
Invitingly, a window’s open wide,
The scent is overpoweringly now intense,
So, silently, through the opening she glides.

She spies a truckle bed next to the wall,
A young lady soundly sleeps within.
The Black Faerie hovers o’er the maid,
And senses the dormant ****** power within.

The lady on her back asleep does lie,
Clad only in a white nightgown.
The bedclothes, in night’s warmth pushed aside,
On her breast, the faerie settles down.

She waits a moment listening; all is calm.
And then, before the fay can make a move,
A bright white light enters in the room.
A sparkling fairy’s fluttering above.

“What mischief are you up to now?” she asks.
The Black Faerie’s rooted to the spot.
She’s never seen this beauteous creature before,
And knows not what powers she might have got.

“And who are you?” the black fay asks in turn,
“You cannot be a denizen of the night,
You are much too beautiful for that,
You’re so gracile, and you’re much too bright!”

“Indeed, I am a fairy of the day,
I help the flowers to bud, bloom and blow.
I’d curled up to sleep, inside a rose,
When dark and silent past me you did go.”

“And you, in turn, so vagiley you flew,
Darting through the bosky wood with ease.
My heart stood still, my breath caught in my throat,
I’d never seen such a sight to please.”

“The other fairies of the day I’ve known,
Are bright and gay, and flit from flower to flower.
They idle, and they gossip, and they’re dull,
And I cannot stand them more ower.”

“So when I saw you flying past tonight,
Looking mean and moody dressed in black,
I just knew that I must follow after,
And hoped that you might lead me to the craic.”

The Black Faerie recovers from her fright,
The night’s the time her powers are at their best.
She decides to try to play it cool,
So sits herself down on the ******’s breast.

“Tonight’s the anniversary of my birth,
Which was a year ago at the dark moon.”
The Black Faerie then continued thus,
“And to prevent my death I must act soon.”

“The reason why I am a Faerie Black,
Which I believe is rare in faerykind,
Is because the dark moon was at zenith,
Which caused a problem with my mother’s mind.”

“This caused me, when born, to be jet black,
Which wasn’t any fault of my own.
The day fairies cast us out from them,
And thus, we had to live all alone.”

“Although I tried my best to keep her whole,
Slowly, my dear mother pined away.
And then she told me, something she must tell,
As wasting on her deathbed she lay.”

“If a ******’s life I did live,
Then indeed, a ****** must die.
And before the dark moon’s anniversary,
To get this matter sorted, I should try.”

Because tonight’s the night of the dark moon,
I have traced this ****** to her bed,
Now what my mother told me I must do
I will, and soon this ****** shall be dead.”

“Oh no! Please!” the sparkling fairy said,
“Surely there must be another way!
Instead of sacrificing this lady,
Take my life, I am a ****** fay.”

“Would you freely give your life for hers?”
The Black Fay asked, jumping to her feet.
“To save this lady’s life I surely will,”
The sparkling fairy said, “’Tis only meet.”

“Since her parents died, she’s all alone,
Living in this wild forest drear.
Despite that, she still has many friends,
A lot of wild animals come here.”

“To the sick and injured she gives succour,
And tends the crops and plants round here as well.
In fact, she does more than many fairies,
And has helped the flower’s numbers swell.”

The sparkling fay continued, “Oh Black Faerie,
Please don’t do this vile and evil deed.
As I’ve asked, please take my life instead,
Then, in time, I’m sure you’ll get your meed.”

The sparkling fairy then fell down sobbing,
In between the sleeping lady’s breast,
While the Black Faerie stood there sternly,
Considering the sparkling fay’s request.

The sparkling fairy’s sobbing soon grew louder,
And with her hands and feet she beat the maid.
She’d forgotten whereabouts they were,
She was at once both sad and afraid.

The Black Faerie’s voice also grew louder,
The sparkling fay to cow, and make shut up,
When suddenly, to both of their surprises,
The ****** maid awoke, and then sat up.

Both the fairies froze, and tumbled downwards,
And came to rest in the lady’s lap.
She grasped the Black Faerie very firmly,
Her hand, round the Black Fay’s arms, did wrap.

Sitting straight, the lady then spake thus,
“For a Faerie Black, you’re not too bright.
Although you heard what your mother said,
I don’t believe you understood her right.”

The lady’s other hand was much more gentle,
She held the sparkling fairy to her breast,
And softly said, “Don’t worry, it’s now over,
Try to calm yourself, and have a rest.”

“I have been awake for some time now,
Woken by your voices in my ear.
However I kept my eyes tightly closed,
So your conversation I should hear.”

To the sparkling fairy then she spoke,
“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
I heard you offer yourself in my place,
I appreciate you trying to take my part.”

“As for you, you wretched little faerie,
I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry
When I heard the evil you intended,
And knew, you’d got wrong, the reason why.”

“I am a pagan, as it happens,
And know about the phases of the moon.
And so, though you were born in darkness,
You actually were also born at noon.”

“This probably is what confused your mother,
The reason that it was dark for your birth,
The moon caused a total eclipse of the sun,
And thus darkness descended over the earth.”

The lady put the Black Fay on her lap,
A tear of sympathy fell from her eye,
“And so, poor thing, you lost your friends and mother,
And now, you know the real reason why.”

“Your mother didn’t know what had happened,
At noon, expecting to give birth to you,
Which is why she slowly lost her reason,
And the day fairies did you both eschew.”

The Black Faerie then started sobbing,
And curled up in a ball upon the bed.
“I always felt that I was unfairly treated,
And knowing that, I wish that I was dead!”

At that, the sparkling fairy gave a wriggle,
And asked the maid if she would put her down.
Then, slowly, she went to the Black Faerie,
And gave a gentle tug on her black gown.

The Black Faerie raised a tear-stained face,
And looked the sparkling fairy in the eye,
Who lifted the crying Faerie to her feet,
And chokingly said, “Please try not to cry.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” she told the Faerie,
“You have had to put up with a lot.
Though now you know that you are normal,
I hope, perhaps, you’ll stop your murderous plot.”

The sparkling fay then smiled at the Black Faerie,
Who, through her tears, smiled also,
They then both tightly hugged each other,
And looked like they’d ne’er let each other go.

The Black Faerie turned to face the ******,
And said, “I am quite prepared to die.
I really didn’t want to have to **** you,
I don’t know why my mother said to try.”

The lady said, “You misunderstood her,
She didn’t want you to live all alone.
She wanted you to find a special person,
To be with you, after she had gone.”

“She tried to say, if you lived as a ******,
Then, as a ******, you would die.
Though she left out the personal pronoun,
So on a futile mission you did fly.”

“I don’t know if you really could have killed me,
Though to try, you’d go out of your way.
And I suspect your mother’s time-limit,
Was to make you find a friend without delay.”

“I don’t think that tonight you will die,
On the anniversary of your dark moon.
And now, perhaps, you’ve found a special friend,
So your quest here has granted you a boon.”

Seeing them looking completely right together,
The lady, down upon them both, did smile.
She hoped that they might soon get together,
And to help them, she might have to use some guile.

“You really both do make a lovely couple,
You complement each other in all ways,
Though I suspect, you courageous sparkling fairy,
You won’t be able to both live with your fays.”

“Round my hut I’ve planted many flowers,
Perhaps you two, near them, your home could make.
I would love for you to live here near me,
Won’t you please think on it, for my sake?”

“And now, I am afraid I’m getting tired,
We’ve been awake for most of the night,
And I would like to try and get some sleep,
Before the sun comes up and it gets light.”

“Next to my bed I’ll lay a pillow,
Which you both may use as a bed.
And now I’ll lie down and close my eyes,
I think, by me, enough has been said”

The lady placed a pillow on the floor,
And slowly re-laid down in her bed,
While the fairies, holding hands, flew aloft,
And settled on the pillow, head by head.

She heard them quietly talking to each other,
Though not the actual words that they said,
Then she drifted off to sleep, and dreamed of fairies,
Lying stilly and quiescent in her bed.

She awoke late the next morning,
And wondered what the misplaced pillow meant.
She vaguely remembered something about fairies,
Though put it down to what she had dreamt.

Then stretching and yawning she arose,
Drew back her window curtains and looked out,
When, what she then saw in the garden,
Quite caused her, her senses to doubt.

Every single flower in her garden,
Seemed to have bloomed overnight,
With larger than normal efflorescences,
And overhead, two fairies in full flight.

To her window sill they flew together,
And stood together, standing side by side.
Then told the lady they would like to live here,
While she stared at them with eyes open wide.

It hadn’t been a dream after all,
What happened in the night had been real.
After many years on her own,
She now had two friends who would be leal.

And so, together they all settled down,
The fairies living with her in her home.
She kept a careful eye upon them both
Though sometimes the fays would go and roam

They helped the wild creatures in the wood,
And kept the garden looking nice and neat.
They’d be out by day and by night,
And almost worked themselves off their feet.

Then one day they said to the maid,
That both of them were ever so sorry,
They had to go away for some time,
Though would be coming back, so do not worry.

Every day the lady looked for them,
And kept hoping that they were both all right.
Somehow, she made it through the day,
Then cried herself to sleep every night.

She very nearly gave up hope,
What kept her going was they’d said they’d be back.
She tried her best to keep things going right,
Though to her, things were looking black.

Late one night, she roused from her sleep.
The window ope’d, she thought it was the wind.
Then, irrupting through her casement came,
Her two fays, with two more close behind.

The Black and sparkling fairies lead the way,
Followed by two fairies, very small.
The lady sat, and looked at them in wonder,
From her truckle bed set by the wall.

The Black Faerie settled on her bed,
The sparkling fairy followed close behind.
“We’re sorry to have stayed away so long,
We’ve brought our children with us, please don’t mind.”

At that, the lady looked quite astounded,
“Have you been off with fairy men to dally?”
The two fairies laughed with amusement,
“There are no male fairies, you big wally!”

“We thought, as a pagan, you’d have known
How we maintain our fairy nation.
Female with female fairies manage,
By a process of adosculation.”

The Black Faerie lifted one small fay.
“This lovely dark child is mine.
We’ve decided that we’ll call her Midnight,
To remind us of what’s passed this syne.”

The sparkling fairy lifted up the other.
“And for this blonde beauty I’m to blame.
We could not decide what to call her,
And hoped that you might choose for her a name.”

The lady just sat there in stunned silence,
Quite unable to make any sound.
Oh so happy they had come back to her,
With evidence of the love they’d found.

Once more overcome with emotion,
She let her happy tears flow,
And said, “Please let me think about it,
As soon as I’ve got a name, you’ll know.”

“I’m so very glad you’ve returned,
It was lonely being on my own,
Now you’re back here with your children,
I won’t ever have to feel alone.”

The lady dried her tears, and then smiled,
“I should never have felt so forlorn,
This is a new start for us all,
So I think your child should be named....Dawn.”

Then they all started to laugh and cry together,
Each fairy contented with her child,
And they all lived happily ever after,
In the middle of the forest wild.
*
Grahame Upham
February 2014.
Damian Murphy May 2015
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!
#happynewyear to one and all. Sincere thanks for all the likes comments shares throughout the year. All the very best to you and yours for 2019. Keep writing!
blythe Apr 2015
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.
It's been a while since I last posted a poem. Thanks for reading :)
Edna Sweetlove Dec 2014
People think that Dublin, Ireland's fair capital city
Is a place of merriment, overflowing with craic and whiskey,
Whose narrow streets are filled with poets and singers and also
Pretty girls with wheelbarrows selling cockles and mussels;
A city redolent with history, whose gutters run with half-digested Guinness
After closing time, and the drinkers have been hurled into the gutter
By jovial bouncers who can recite "Ulysses" from start to finish
From memory, and where the Liffey, sweet Anna Liffey, flows peacefully,
With only an occasional splash when a pedestrian topples gaily in.
                  
But there is a darker side to famous Baile Atha Cliath, oh yes,
And the following anecdote is a sad but true indictment of the evil,
The omnipresent evil, which lurks in the black soul of the city.
I was trolling along the banks of the old Royal Canal one summer's evening
With my drinking companion, my Afro cousin, Black Paddy McSpigot,
Pausing only to glance briefly at the copulating couples on the towpath
(We were slightly amused by the small crowd watching one couple
who were engaged in the athletic congress of the ****-backed whale
underneath the bridge by Rose Street, a favourite spot for young lovers),
When a terrible shriek rent the air and a horde of renegade drunken nuns
Poured out of a late night underground folk-music drinking den
(the hugely amplified noise of the massed uilléan pipes was deafening
and had probably driven the poor dears into a religious frenzy).

Seeing Black Paddy, and mistaking his gay rendition of "Skibereen"
For an excerpt from the Satanic Mass, they yelled out polyphonically
"Tis the divil himself, so it is, an' all, an' all, let's get the focker",
And without further ado they leaped on him and ripped him to shreds,
Hurling lumps of his poor, poor body into the crocodile infested canal,
Where they were immediately masticated by the terrifying reptiles
(the mighty creatures had been stolen from the Zoological Gardens
by a group of drunken Animal Rights campaigners out on a ******,
and were the toast of the town in every gay bar in the vibrant city).
I cowered in terror at the horrific spectacle, thanking my lucky stars
I was wearing my archibishop's fancy dress uniform that evening
(it was the only way to jump the queue to get into Davy Byrne's Bar).
Dear God, I'll not visit the dear Emerald Isle again in a hurry, to be sure.
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
Damian Murphy Mar 2016
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!
We'll sing of the sesh, our heads' song,
With cheering rousing bants,
As 'round a blazing joint we throng,
The starry heavens clothe us,
Impatient for thy coming line,
To shtall off tha morning's ****-light,
Hear our tchoons pulse thru the night,
We'll chant a sesh-head's song.

Sesh-heads are we
whose lives are pledged to sessioning,
People have come
to us from places all over,
Sworn to rave,
No more our ancient seshland
shall shelter the anti-craic of the state.
Tonight we house the gap of danger,
In session's cause, comedown or ****,
Bass cannon's roar as we dance,
We'll chant a session's song.
Sinne Fianna Seis,
atá faoi gheall ag Seisiún,
Daoine dár slua
thar ó áiteanna do ráinig chugainn,
Faoi mhóid bheith rave,
Seistír ár sinsear feasta
ní fhágfar faoin frith-chraic ar an stáit.
Anocht a teach sa bhearna baoil,
Le gean ar Seis, chun báis nó saoil,
Le balla de dord romhainn, agus muid ag damhsa,
Seo libh canaídh amhrán na tseisiún.
jinjahman Jul 2010
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?
perhaps a hint of disdain for Chancers, though we've all been there in one form or another, so a sliver of respect at the same time!!
Miceal Kearney Sep 2010
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.
comments, feedback?
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2017
The seventeenth of March
Is like our own little Christmas,
Thanksgiving, Independence Day,
And Fourth of July
All drunkenly rolled into one

When us Irish and wannabe Irish,
Sing our same old songs
Will repeat our tired mantra,
And do just what
The Irish are expected to do.

To watch nice green parades,
While sipping on nice green milkshakes.
To be drunkards and happy-go-lucky,
Doing our best Riverdance impression to fiddles,
Because everyone wants to be Irish.

Today we'll act like we only drink Guinness.
Where in a place full of craic and merriment,
There's still so much blood and tears.
Where the only snakes are pets or in zoos,
There's still so much venom.

Of course, there was never any snakes
Only metaphors for Pagans and Druidic priests,
And St. Pat wasn't even an Irishman,
Just a boy made into a slave by Irish pirates.
But everything always gets covered up nicely.

Stories get changed and sensitized,
Until the truth becomes a theory,
And fabrication becomes fact.
The truth begins to wear a veil,
Because it's considered so ugly.

The truth is also a beacon.
A flashlight against the dark.

Dark as the confessionals
Where a child's innocence was
Crippled by
The lukewarmness of the priest's
Hand over their mouth.

A flashlight against the dark.

Dark as a septic tank in Galway,
Filled with eight hundred dead babies,
Throw away,
Like ****, because they were
Equally unwanted.

A flashlight against the dark.

Dark as a night flight
To an English abortion clinic,
Because here it's not your body,
The righteous all knowing say
"That's not how it works here".

So drink your Guinness,
Sing The Dubliners,
Watch the parade go by,
Have the craic and
Turn off your flashlight.
Liam Mar 2017
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
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…
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

~ ~ ~ ~

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!
dan hinton Nov 2011
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?
Damian Murphy Apr 2015
Memories of times long past
Memories that seem to last
One thing I remember, it was special to me
Is the hideout known as The Loose Tooth Tree.

It was in a hedge where many trees did grow
It looked nothing special if you didn’t know
But for me and my pals it was something just ours
where we could escape for hours and hours.

It was completely covered with dark green ivy
Though the roots were loose, making it quite shaky
But once inside you were impossible to see
Ideal for a hideout we named the Loose Tooth Tree.

Though you could see out cross the fields everywhere
If you were quiet no one knew you were there.
Keeping it secret was just half the fun
An oath of secrecy was sworn by everyone.

Bits and bobs from everywhere made it our own
A great place to be, with the gang or alone
Jokes and stories were told, there was great laughter
And yes we discussed girls, and the ones we were after.

We had blackjacks, fruitsalads and bullseyes too
Time bars and curly wurlys that took ages to chew
A place to relax where there was no sense of hurry
We were so young sure we didn’t have a worry

We used it for cowboys and indians, hide and seek
The rare risqué mag there did we peek
Indeed it is where I tried my first smoke
When my pals were convinced I was going to choke.

We ambushed the boys from Clongowes when they came to town
Yes us boys from the Terrace gained some renown
It was all good clean fun, just fisticuffs back then
And didn’t it help us all on our journey from boys to men

We were Smiths and Nevins, Murphys and Callans
Dorans and Behans, Delaneys and Ryans
All from St Brigids and so proud of the fact
“No outsiders allowed” was a part of the pact

We had bags of crisps that cost only two pence
Wore platform shoes so high they didn’t make sense
Flared collars so wide we were in danger of flight
We had hair so long it often interfered with sight.

We listened to the Osmonds, the Monkees and Status Quo
We loved Abba and Gary Glitter (how were we to know)
We loved the Waltons, Top Cat and the Flintstones, yabadabadoo
Little House on the Prairie, Shirley Temple, and the Little Rascals too

Yes The Loose Tooth Tree belonged to St. Brigid’s Terrace
But as more houses went up other kids proved a menace
Two bits of wood and a nail, we all had a sword to fight
and peg guns proved effective if the aim was right.

We decided to make up a language all of our own
What we were saying others had no way of knowing
Not parents nor priests, not teachers or anyone
And we had such mighty craic, it was so much fun.

It was an innocent time, we were all boys growing
Our lives were changing without us really knowing
In the Loose Tooth Tree we were all good friends together
Making memories that would stay with each of us forever

It was during the seventies in my home town of Clane
Upon leaving ‘twas two decades ‘til I saw it again
To my dismay the Loose Tooth Tree was no more
But it will live on in my memory for evermore.
Damian Murphy Dec 2016
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!
Damian Murphy Mar 2016
I am one very lucky Son of a Gun,
one of the worlds privileged few,
For I happen to be an Irish Mammies son;
An absolute blessing it is true!
She treats me like I am the “Chosen One”,
my Da thinks the whole thing is a farce!
She is absolutely convinced that the sun
shines out of her darling sons ****!
She tells everyone I am her pride and joy,
about all the happiness I bring,
Tells me I will always be her baby boy;
She treats me just like a king

For in her eyes I can do no wrong,
It has been that way from the start,
I have no choice but to play along,
I would not like to break her heart!
She will not hear a bad word said about me,
She always leaps to my defence!
When she looks at me all she can see
Is a true picture of innocence!
Should I ever get into any difficulty
(Obviously through no fault of my own),
My Ma is quick to sort it out for me
taking my problems on as her own.

I never have to do one thing
because she does everything for me'
Cooking and laundry and ironing
Almost anything really!
Though sometimes she loses her patience
(It happens, but very rarely),
it’s never long ‘til she sees some sense;
gets it done after apologising to me.
She is always picking up after me,
(how does my stuff end up on the ground)
but she always does it so quietly,
never wakes me, I don’t hear a sound.

I would help if she would let me,
That would be really immense!
But she takes her role of mother so seriously,
I would not like to cause her any offence!
Now I am not one to put on a poor mouth,
but can’t always afford the latest gadgetry.
But my Ma really hates to see me go without
and always ends up buying it for me.
She is forever handing me money,
tells me to go out and have some craic.
Gets me to swear an oath of secrecy
and will hear no talk of me paying her back!

My breakfast ready each morning,
a packed lunch and everything!
My dinner on the table every evening;
she will not see me want for a single thing!
Every single day she makes my bed,
Leaves my room absolutely spotless!
“You need somewhere nice to lay your head”
she says, “I will not have you sleep in that mess”.
She always tells me to have the lads over,
she likes to see me have a good party
The following day should I have a hangover
she is always especially good to me!

She vets every one of my girlfriends
which I think is really quite nice,
Any of those whom she thinks offends
get dumped by me in a thrice!
She tells me I should not worry;
That I really am quite a catch!
Tells me I need not be in any hurry,
How important it is to find the right match!
No one so far has been good enough for me,
she has not approved of a single one yet!
She says any woman should be glad to have me
but those so far she says, seemed so desperate!

Now some accuse me of taking advantage;
I do not know what all the fuss is about!
As far as I know there is no definite age
when a son should have to move out!
It is getting to the point where I know I should,
but for my Ma it will be a terrible blow,
and honestly if you had it half as good;
Would you be in any hurry to go?
I know it cannot stay like this forever,
one day I will have to move out and marry!
But it’s impossible to see how I will ever...
find a woman half as good as my Mammy!
All hail Irish Mammies!!
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.
Damian Murphy Apr 2015
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!
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
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.
Eoin J Griffin Sep 2014
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.
John Bartholomew Feb 2018
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
A sphincter says what? - Wayne's World
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
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.
Death is usurper.
The rain and the wind, ragged and wet weather
unlike any other out in the forlorn West.
We go at it all the same, buzzin'
in the soaking precipitation.

That night I saw a man realize he'd spent years of his life
wasting around G-town, and'd naught to show for it.
The lure of endless craic and perpetual sessioning
had ensnared him and he'd lost himself to this place,
Became a character in the local scene that recited his lines
and acted out his part.
What was all that he felt?
Were it at the behest of his
town, the jester himself
knows this place well.
Artsy-types, buskers,
Hippies and jugglers,
Crusties, line-backers
Shams and knackers,
Sesh-heads all.
Passing students, wanna-be teens.
All pretending they're larger than life
or whatever, in this way they almost are
but in-keeping their company you'd easily

become a fixture of the town. Ah,
You can't blame the city for its nature,
Though you may certainly curse it some.
After all you're the changeable one, being.
Susan O'Reilly Apr 2013
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
Francie Lynch Mar 2017
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.
"Up the 'RA!" It means
'be yourself' in Irish.
Up the 'RA? It means
'beat us up' in Irish.

Can't leave it alone
so we skin up a spliff.
Spark it, have a ****, pass it
and occasionally tip the ashes
of modernity into an empty can
of druids. Leave House and be done
with it, fly away/emigrate, the craic lives on
agus tiocfaidh ar lá.
Inspired by Humans of The Sesh.

Reference to Leave House by Caribou
and Modernity by Brain Taylor.
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2013
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.
Damian Murphy May 2015
At last they are away off on holiday
We thought the day would never come
A free gaff for two weeks, Hip Hip Hooray
We are going to party and then some!!

Two weeks with no rules or regulations
Gone are the mind-numbing routines
Let the party begin, bring on the celebrations
Let’s live it up like proper teens!

There was a sermon about responsibility
But was anyone listening at all?
As for all that talk about maturity;
One might as well talk to the wall!

We can have our friends over for parties
Oh we are going to have mighty craic
Yes, we can do just as we please
At least until those two come back.

No more checking over our shoulder
To see who’s in and who’s out
Yes we can be just that little bit bolder
Knowing they are not lurking about

We can get up whenever we choose
Eat at any old time of the day
Maybe overdo it a bit on the *****
They cannot wreck our heads the next day

It will be two weeks of take-aways
No more being forced to eat healthily
We can have friends over for overnight stays
Ah God bless freedom and liberty

We can forget about washing and ironing
They are always are on our backs
Thank God to be free of constant nagging
We can chill out, really relax.

For there is always something they want done
Keeping up with their demands is tough
It’s never ending, it’s not much fun
It seems we can never do enough

But now for two weeks all that will desist
Absolutely nothing will be done
And though they left a “To Do” list
They have two chances; “Slim and None”

Two weeks without judgement and criticism
About everything we do and say
Two weeks of pure hedonism
Doing just what we want every day.

But all good things must come to an end
And though we really love them dearly
Their two weeks holidays will soon end
and our kids will have to come home, clearly!
Free gaff is a slang term used by teenagers to describe those times when parents are away and they have the house to themselves
Susan O'Reilly Apr 2013
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
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2016
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 End —