"enda" poems - Hello Poetry

Default! Default! parties from the left cried! But the people said no, they still had their pride They viewed these parties with some skepticism, and tackled the problem with true stoicism There were no riots, no violent demonstrations, as was evident in many other debt ridden nations We simply put our heads down and got on with the task, answering all of the questions the world had to ask And now through our efforts things seem to have improved, with a deal on the promissory note having just been approved We still owe the money but we have more years to pay, we can only hope our grandchildren will pay it off one day There are green shoots of recovery, all is not lost We learned a valuable lesson, though at a significant cost We have done well though we cannot let down our guard A sentiment echoed recently by one Christine Lagarde We cannot get carried away with president Obama’s praise For Enda Kenny on Paddy’s day, of all the days! though lauded in Europe as a good example to everyone we must not relax, there is a lot more to be done But after all the cost cutting, redundancies, pay cuts, all we get from Europe now is more ifs and buts And I know this is wrong before I’ve even said it; but for all of our hard work, would Europe not give us some credit?

0

Aug 15, 2015

Aug 15, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC

damian-murphy

The Irish Questioned (Part 3)

Default! Default! parties from the left cried! But the people said no, they still had their pride They viewed these parties with some skepticism, and tackled the problem with true stoicism There were no riots, no violent demonstrations, as was evident in many other debt ridden nations We simply put our heads down and got on with the task, answering all of the questions the world had to ask And now through our efforts things seem to have improved, with a deal on the promissory note having just been approved We still owe the money but we have more years to pay, we can only hope our grandchildren will pay it off one day There are green shoots of recovery, all is not lost We learned a valuable lesson, though at a significant cost We have done well though we cannot let down our guard A sentiment echoed recently by one Christine Lagarde We cannot get carried away with president Obama’s praise For Enda Kenny on Paddy’s day, of all the days! though lauded in Europe as a good example to everyone we must not relax, there is a lot more to be done But after all the cost cutting, redundancies, pay cuts, all we get from Europe now is more ifs and buts And I know this is wrong before I’ve even said it; but for all of our hard work, would Europe not give us some credit?

24

When Michael Collins came, first from the courts of England, which in low and lofty Londoun lately were helde, while Thames there with treachery and treasoun did truly ring, was Ireland ill split and beset with ignoble stryfe. Yet there a land lately formed was, where still folk lyve on mydllerde. Though it is not in this warlike time of Dev that we our tale do set, after these tymes of troubling stryfe, contentioun salted still the land. Fine Fail and Fine Gael, then foes many yeres remained till noblest amongst them, in qualities none lacking, did do battle in old Dublin and vanquish the dred enemy. That mon who dreded nought, nightly then held his court in fair Dail Eirinn. Enda was called that man, and everysince has his noble courte endured. There, as Chrystmasse came, was assembled his cabinet fayre: there Sir Wilmore the red, who waited on the grete lorde in readiness. There with grete courtesey, the kings coins to keep, sat Sir Noonan the balde. There Sir Reilly, learned in lore of leach and herb, who on erde had little left to lerne. Eek Sir Varadkar the gaye who granted was, the grete kinges horses to groome. Laste, the lovely layde Burton, who, the rede rose of Wilmore would long after carry. Other knyghtes numerous were there, but of these now, nought will I tell, for fallen to feasting were this fayre companye al and fayne would I not, in tedious trials of descriptioun, your patience for to trye.

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Feb 6, 2015

Feb 6, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC

IgnatiusBrabazon

The Tale of Sir Enda, prologue

When Michael Collins came, first from the courts of England, which in low and lofty Londoun lately were helde, while Thames there with treachery and treasoun did truly ring, was Ireland ill split and beset with ignoble stryfe. Yet there a land lately formed was, where still folk lyve on mydllerde. Though it is not in this warlike time of Dev that we our tale do set, after these tymes of troubling stryfe, contentioun salted still the land. Fine Fail and Fine Gael, then foes many yeres remained till noblest amongst them, in qualities none lacking, did do battle in old Dublin and vanquish the dred enemy. That mon who dreded nought, nightly then held his court in fair Dail Eirinn. Enda was called that man, and everysince has his noble courte endured. There, as Chrystmasse came, was assembled his cabinet fayre: there Sir Wilmore the red, who waited on the grete lorde in readiness. There with grete courtesey, the kings coins to keep, sat Sir Noonan the balde. There Sir Reilly, learned in lore of leach and herb, who on erde had little left to lerne. Eek Sir Varadkar the gaye who granted was, the grete kinges horses to groome. Laste, the lovely layde Burton, who, the rede rose of Wilmore would long after carry. Other knyghtes numerous were there, but of these now, nought will I tell, for fallen to feasting were this fayre companye al and fayne would I not, in tedious trials of descriptioun, your patience for to trye.

22

Sit still, now, chil’, While I untangle this mess - You ain’t goin’ swimmin’ ‘til it’s all in braids, The mo’ naps you got, The mo’ hair you lose, I’m ti’ed of strugglin’ With this pick And flat comb, — ‘cause yo hair is too thick, I’m at the enda mah wick, And, mah grays are doin’ Anything - But, fadin’.

0

Aug 3, 2011

Aug 3, 2011 at 9:04 PM UTC

elephants-and-coyotes

Then, I Saw It All Was, Clearly, a Mess -

Sit still, now, chil’, While I untangle this mess - You ain’t goin’ swimmin’ ‘til it’s all in braids, The mo’ naps you got, The mo’ hair you lose, I’m ti’ed of strugglin’ With this pick And flat comb, — ‘cause yo hair is too thick, I’m at the enda mah wick, And, mah grays are doin’ Anything - But, fadin’.

15

All men are born heavy. We do not inherited this weight But seize the heaviness of the earth Upon ourself. Obligations and connections one can not ignore. I am not yet light like you. Floating from place to place. Uncannily light so that you may travel To even the moon and back. Travel refreshes the eyes But it is my heaviness - that prevents lunar travel. To ignore what roots me to the ground would be to act falsely light. But you are truly rootless. Born lighter than a feather - how can you be so unnatural? Unlike you, I will have to earn my lightness. But even then my body will still be heavy But not lightless.

0

Feb 1, 2016

Feb 1, 2016 at 4:23 AM UTC

aar505n

Enda Ta Boka

All men are born heavy. We do not inherited this weight But seize the heaviness of the earth Upon ourself. Obligations and connections one can not ignore. I am not yet light like you. Floating from place to place. Uncannily light so that you may travel To even the moon and back. Travel refreshes the eyes But it is my heaviness - that prevents lunar travel. To ignore what roots me to the ground would be to act falsely light. But you are truly rootless. Born lighter than a feather - how can you be so unnatural? Unlike you, I will have to earn my lightness. But even then my body will still be heavy But not lightless.

20

Lyset på nattbordet kaster lystige skygger utover rommet de leker sammen i en yndig vals oppettet veggen. Lyset slukkes og skyggene forsvinner men valsen pågår enda en absurd vals som fyller tankene mine en yndig vals en vakker vals som dra meg med. Jeg klarer ikke slippe taket . Raskere og raksere går valsen, helt til jeg ikke lenger klarer å holde taket å den den kaster seg utover prøver frebrilsk å fange virkeligheten, men plutslig så er valsen borte og alt som er igjen er meg

0

May 31, 2013

May 31, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC

jonathan-dyhre

Nattbordsvals

Lyset på nattbordet kaster lystige skygger utover rommet de leker sammen i en yndig vals oppettet veggen. Lyset slukkes og skyggene forsvinner men valsen pågår enda en absurd vals som fyller tankene mine en yndig vals en vakker vals som dra meg med. Jeg klarer ikke slippe taket . Raskere og raksere går valsen, helt til jeg ikke lenger klarer å holde taket å den den kaster seg utover prøver frebrilsk å fange virkeligheten, men plutslig så er valsen borte og alt som er igjen er meg

20

Den enda gången han var fräck och djärv var det ingen som förstod honom.

0

Jun 2, 2017

Jun 2, 2017 at 9:33 AM UTC

bn02

BLACK OUT POETRY #3

Den enda gången han var fräck och djärv var det ingen som förstod honom.

5