"liffey" poems
"That there
That's not me
I go
Where I please
I walk through walls
I float down the Liffey
I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here
In a little while
I'll be gone
The moment's already passed
Yeah it's gone
And I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here
Strobe lights and blown speakers
Fireworks and hurricanes
I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here."
- Radiohead, How to Disappear Completely, Kid A (2000).
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
I remember it well
As if it were yesterday
We geared up and set sail
And embarked upon unfamiliar waves
It was I captaining the vessel
With One-eyed Sven my quarter master
He could cut throats and roll pretzels
His weapon of choice was his bow caster
This wasn't a mission of plundering
That alone left the crew in a state of wondering
No, we weren't looking for buried treasure
But for sheep skin seat covers and Scandinavian leather
My first mate Mr. Obanion said to me
"Captain are we off course?"
Then my boatswain , Wiley asked sheepishly
"Aren't we going for *** and ******
I looked them in the eye at the same time
"Gentlemen, this ship is headed to Dublin"
"We're going to see a good friend of mine"
"Now get back to your swabbing and scrubbing"
This was an order of business not some sort of cruise
I'm sailing with a ship of one track minded fools
We didn't set out on a vacation of leisure
Were on the hunt for sheep skin seat covers and Scandinavian leather
I did not mean to keep them in the dark
But they would think less of me
I needed these things
For the women I married
You see we'd been on the rocks
And I know she wanted these items
So I went over the sea with a fine tooth comb
Until I had finally found them
My men had sailed endlessly for months
They were worn down and ragged
Waterlogged and exhausted
While I always came up empty handed
But I had to save my marriage
Salvage my relationship
I knew it would work
If I gave my love these gifts
We reached the golden, calling shore
Of the beautiful Dublin
From the River Liffey and headed north
My friend Seamus let me come in
I came out shaking his hand
I was satisfied with my purchase
Until I was questioned by my men
What it was we came for in our searches
I had to show them, I was under scrutiny
I pulled out two stagecoach seat covers and a pair of pants
They were enraged and called mutiny
They blindfolded me and bound my hands
Now I'm marooned on some unmapped island
And I see my ship riding that horizon
This will sadden my wife, oh how it will upset her
She will never receive her sheep skin seat covers or her Scandinavian leather
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
A wild cow defecates in the waters of the fledgling Liffey,
as it eeks oozes and seeps from the sheep **** of a Wicklow Vale,
running to the loo through the coronation plantation.
The descendant of the brown bull of Cuailnge moves on to the next waterway of Ireland. What fun.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
should she have
thrown her wish at the stars
or down a well?
her hair in cigar smoke ringlets
her eyes were the guinness
the journey, her passion
the boy, her poison
the liffey winked with antidotes
black glass with white lights
why do rivers mock the sky?
her hair in her vision
her voice in a bird cage
a swan on a sailboat
not a soul on the ferry
on another coast
amid the day before
and the one that followed
seafoam clashed with clouds
came full circle
as her favorite dead end
she raised
then rolled
her eyes
blue waves with gray wisps
why do skies mock the river?
she didn't go over
nor to the end
she just went against the grain
of the rainbow
only she could spot
and then
she stuffed her hands into her pockets
and
she threw her wish
away
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 11:01 PM UTC
A great many people cross the Liffey and dance on the shore,
At Ringsend the Pigeon House falls to earth, the dust settles,
Cuchulain leaps from Bull to Bull and retreats into the mountains.
I linger for some time watching the waters pass beneath ha’penny bridge.
I’ll find me a garret, and in that garret,
Curse in undertones Windows Vista,
********** to the **** stanzas of Homer,
Drink cold coffee with the blood of a nation,
Finally, say with surety,
Here is a poem which has taken everything, and given nothing,
Here is everything that meant something to somebody at some time.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
On the river Liffey
I walk the same streets,
The same steps,
Familiar faces and similar sounds,
The same buildings and surroundings,
The same noises and recognisable faces.
Deja vu,
As the days go by,
Nothing seems to change in this town,
But that's not necessarily true,
If only they knew what others have been through.
To get to today.
I know that smell and I've seen that smile before.
Reflections caught in the glass,
Perpendicular to the way the river flows towards the sea.
That's where I'm heading without breakfast,
To break this mould and cycle,
Just to see you again.
Something that's real and something new.
Something beautiful and something true.
I can't tell you how much I wish that something or someone was you.
I've been here before,
But not without you by my side,
I'd walk away in foreign directions and you'd come long for the ride.
Forbidden and forgotten we miss the sites usually spotted,
By those a little less in love than us.
For some reason, today,
It was so important see the sea.
I walk for miles with swollen toes and bruised and battered metersal bones,
Just to see as far as my eyes could.
Just to see a new combination of waves before they break again.
Never in the same place again.
Ever again.
I think about the notion obessively,
The ocean holds me close indefinitely,
But it's still not the same.
The same place and the same time,
The same me but slightly different mind,
Eroded in time.
I walked a long way to see the sea today,
I walked along way to see the sea.
Even though I remain true,
And the sea remains blue,
It's could never be the same without you x
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
The sun isn't even cooking me
it's just not raining,
the brown Liffey is dipping and lapping
the bus windows are all open.
"What think ye of Christ"
asks the poster by the driver.
"Not much," but if he's real
I'll thank him for the blue of the sky.
Is this what happiness feels like?
Because it's pretty ******* good.
The silver lines on my arms
tease me about years ago.
I remember
tightening a belt around my neck
and wondering how it felt to die.
But I was silly back then.
Look at the blue of the sky.
Look at the wispy clouds.
Look at my friends saying
"Go outside and look at the moon."
Life is strung up by a rope.
I miss the boy who I love
but not too much.
One day I'll find a prince for myself
in Rome or America
in a land far away on the sea.
I'll sail away in a couple of days
life's going good for me.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
Four hundred of us pour out
from the lights turned on,
girls in bare feet in the rain and the wind
to see Christmas lights on Grafton street.
Trinity’s beautiful, but not where the heart is,
the grass is muddy on college green
a cold breeze is whipping off the Liffey,
and everyone’s singing, low lie the fields.
The guards are milling, we’re trudging,
some holding hands or kissing –
bring me back to Stillorgan for ten euro?
**** off! No come on sir, I’m freezing.
It’s grey, it’s wet and it’s cloudy.
I want Burdock’s or some dodgy chippy,
I want to hear the song of a boy from Ballymun
and live forever young in Dublin’s fair city.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
SUCH A SUNNY DAY
the objects
in his pocket
have lost
their identity
their significance
to anyone but him
a hairy comb
photo of an unknown
woman
who can she be
a torn-in-two
train ticket
chewing gum
much masticated
yet put back
in his blazer's breast pocket
small change
a penny and a sixpence and
a button
from the cuff
no clue as to who
he had been
before the water claimed him
as its own
the disgust and fascination
of those
passersby who continue
to pass by
it such
a sunny day
for death to
intrude this way
the miscellany of objects
ownerless now
the waters of the Liffey
calm and unmoved
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
At the crack of dawn the city is slowly waking up,
walking through these big streets, the cold breeze has become my friend
A beautiful scenery is in front of me, like a living painting, I’m amazed by this city
I have to stop in order to capture those precious moments
My heart is filled with joy, and in my ear a cheerful song is playing
I don’t want it to stop, I want to live here forever!
Following the same path every morning,
This precious path where I’m surrounded by all kind of people
I can hear this beautiful language spoken through the streets
The liffey river is waving at me, I’m almost there,
Finally, I have reached it, Trinity College
Towards the front gate, I have to press pause
Students are rushing around me, but I stand still
Time stops for a brief moment
Taking a deep breath, it is now my turn to run through the buildings
At last, I belong somewhere…
I hope to see you again, beautiful Dublin, you gave me so much
It is a goodbye for now
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
The mist lifts slowly,
like the darkness outside.
Light then returns,
bringing sight to the eyes.
The flow of the Liffey,
calm like the breeze.
That runs with my thoughts,
out into the sea.
Into the bay,
out past Howth Head.
Thinking of people,
some breathing, some dead.
The heroes, the villains,
the loved and the scorned.
In Dublin city,
all have been born.
In Dublin's fair city.
Alive, alive-O!
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
You and me, and Molly Malone
In Dublin city, so far from home
Looking over the Liffey
That's when it hit me
My love for you, had only grown
In Galway Bay, we couldn't stay
The loyalty, love, and friendship day
Rainbows at the Cliffs of Moher
The Blarney Stone we can't ignore
Waterford Crystal and...Cabernet
You and me, and Molly Malone
Is the memory, that I've carved in stone
Dancing in Dublin
You've got my heart bublin'
My love for you, had only grown
Guinness, whiskey, cider
I got sick on chowder
Hanging out with Wilde
Don't forget that child
Ten thousand years and...no they're not
You and me, and Molly Malone
Here comes the time, for us to go home
Even though we're leavin'
We will leave here knowin'
My love for you, had only grown
(My love for you, had only grown)
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
In the heart of Dublin's misty embrace,
Where cobbled streets whisper ancient secrets,
I stand, a pilgrim seeking solace,
And weave my tale of love, redemption, and forgiveness.
TheThird Key, a relic of our shared past,
Lies dormant, waiting for its turn to unlock,
Not a door of wood or iron, but the chambers within,
Where echoes of hurt and healing intertwine.
He, the wanderer, once lost in shadows,
His footsteps faltered, love's path obscured,
Yet now, with courage forged through trials,
He approaches the threshold anew.
I know you are sorry, whispered by the wind,
Carried across the Liffey's silver ripples,
A melody of remorse, soft as the harp's strings,
And I, the listener, attuned to its bittersweet refrain.
Patience, a virtue etched into my bones,
For time dances differently in Dublin's alleys,
And forgiveness blooms like wildflowers,
Resilient, despite the scars etched upon our souls.
He, the alchemist of his own transformation,
Brewing potions of self-awareness and growth,
Each drop a testament to his inner aliveness,
As he raises his vibrational frequency, inch by sacred inch.
Undying love, a tapestry woven with threads of hope,
Stitched by moonlight and whispered promises,
I hold it close, this fragile gift, and offer it freely,
For love, once kindled, burns eternal.
And so, my Love, as the third time approaches,
Know that I stand here, arms open wide,
Compassion flowing like the River Dodder,
And forgiveness, a beacon guiding us home.
Third time's a charm, they say,
But ours transcends mere superstition,
For in this Dublin twilight, hearts entwined,
We rewrite our story—a symphony of grace.
Let the third key turn, unlocking not just doors,
But the chambers where love heals and forgives,
And may our souls dance, unburdened,
As we step into the charm of forevermore. 🗝️💕
Dec 22, 2023
Dec 22, 2023 at 4:08 PM UTC
You're coming back.
For eight days.
In September.
I don't know where I'll be then.
Obviously with you.
But I don't know if I'll be at school.
Or have a job.
Or just trying to find ways to fill the days.
All I know is you're coming back.
And you're staying in a ****** apartment.
And I'm going to be with you.
And I kind of want to take you to Dublin zoo..
Just for some fun.
But I guess we'll see where it goes.
Youre gonna busk on grafton street.
Then we can have the day.
In stephens green park.
Along the river Liffey.
Wherever.
One thing I'm sure about is that they all disapprove.
I know you two days they say.
That's not long enough.
He could be a serial killer.
A kidnapper.
Love.
They say.
You're a child.
You know nothing of love.
Crazy girl.
But I know for a fact that I love you.
And I know for a fact that fate has something planned for us.
I can feel it.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
In Dublin's mist-kissed streets, we wander,
Two souls entwined, hearts aflame,
Anam cara, whispered by ancient stones,
A love deeper than the Liffey's flow.
I. Dawn's Embrace
At sunrise, we meet by Ha'penny Bridge,
Where copper pennies shimmer on water,
Your eyes, twin pools of mossy green,
Hold secrets only Dublin's cobbles know.
II. Whispers in Temple Bar
In Temple Bar's lively hum, we dance,
Fiddles and laughter weave our tale,
Your laughter, a melody of joy,
Echoes through centuries of poets' dreams.
III. Trinity's Library of Love
Beneath Trinity's ancient arches,
We read love letters etched in oak,
Your touch, a parchment of longing,
Pages turned by winds from distant shores.
IV. Stolen Kisses on Grafton Street
Grafton Street, where buskers serenade,
Our stolen kisses taste of rain and tea,
Your lips, like Dublin's cobblestone alleys,
Hold the promise of forevermore.
V. Cliffs of Howth, Our Sacred Cliff
On Howth's cliffs, we stand as one,
Wind-whipped and salt-kissed,
Your heartbeat, a rhythm of tides,
Pulls me closer to the edge of eternity.
VI. Guinness Pints and Shared Dreams
In snug pubs, we raise our Guinness pints,
To love, to laughter, to Dublin's magic,
Your whispers, like foam on stout,
Intoxicate my senses, leave me spellbound.
Feb 17, 2024
Feb 17, 2024 at 10:47 AM UTC
Life along the Liffey
Riverruns and keeps on running
In this misty musical city
I keep playing, praying, punning
Post-modernity arrives
I reJoyce and am not shunning
Though much is taken, much abides
Including silence, exile, and cunning
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
CROSSING THE RIVER
I, a mere scrap
of a young fella
watching father and mother
argue the toss
about something or other
making me wonder whether
the really love
one another.
He always "Boss" to her.
She to him forever "Mother."
And him always giving in
with an "Alright...yer always right!"
Still see myself
messing about on the river
with the Hammer Hannon
Wiki Warner and the Rue Murray
great pals all
when
the Ma and Da
appear out of nowhere.
I seeing them
them not seeing me.
He, shotgun under an oxter
his arm about her waist.
Four rabbits nonchalantly
thrown over a shoulder.
No longer mother and father
but Jim and Kathleen.
They just themselves
their love and laughter.
Sticks two Woodbines
between his lips
the scratch of a match
as he lights up
places one between her lips
both puffing happily.
Sunlight madly in love
with water.
The Liffey here
lies gently at their feet
tamed with time.
Trousers rolled up to his knees
a breeze flirts with her dress.
Quick as a flash
she jumps on his back
her legs sticking out
between his elbows
all as easy
as you please.
He ferrying himself and herself
along with a load of rabbits
across the hurrying waters of
the moment.
A heron watches
this strange human behaviour.
Shifts from one leg
to the other.
Saying nothing.
My question answered
in a flash of kingfisher blue.
My mind all
water and light.
Water...and..light.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:30 PM UTC
Soft as poached yolk,
nightlights dot the Liffey -
you are a snow dream
in a black gallery.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 8:45 PM UTC
April in Dublin signifies not only a time and place, yet a feeling. A feeling of the brisk morning air, woven into the intricacy of light, sparse rainfall; enough to coat the blooming leaves on Ailesbury Road in droplets of dew. Tiny puddles form in between the cracks of the ancient cobblestone road, drowning the lush moss – basil in colour – that once grew in its place. As dawn makes her presence, the radiant sunlight peeks through the branches of the Sycamore trees, originally sheltering the lane from the indecisiveness of Irish weather. The earthy scent of petrichor emanates from St. Stephen’s Green, while the putrid scent of damp cigarette stubs race to reach the nostrils first. Petals of blush cherry blossoms gracefully fall to the asphalt path, with some caressing tender skin with its velvet touch. In the afternoon, St. Patrick’s Cathedral echoes in Church Latin, whilst the cars pass – with their bellowing engines – on The Coombe, pacifying the hum of pedestrian chatter that cohabitate simultaneously. As cloudy skies fade to a blue dusk, the lights jig the River Liffey; its yellow reflection moving with the waves. Crowds drunkenly skip along the quay, singing old Celtic hymns off key, while also digesting the sweet, caramelized, mild bitterness of Guinness – the finest of Irish stout beer. At the end of the day, the night retires to her slumber, anticipating newer ordinary, yet sensational experiences that May will bring along.
Oct 4, 2021
Oct 4, 2021 at 9:56 PM UTC
On another long *** haul flight,
just thinking about my life.
Or one of them at least,
don't wanna confuse this write.
I get to my late night hotel
and throw my bags on the bed.
So that i can curl up on the floor
and try to sleep once more.
Waking at 3, take to my phone
to stream free **** till i ***
Throw those same bags on the floor
and somehow sleep on till morn.
Rising in the bed next to the door
unruly, unkempt and disheveled.
Oh New Orleans, how i expected
a promise of so much more.
And back in dear Dublin
at St. Michans' protestant church.
Some **** just gone stole the head
of an ancient Knights Templar.
Mummified by the limestone
or from some methane gas there.
800 years he's been laid to rest,
greeting tourists and locals alike.
2019, taken on a last crusade
by some thieving dublinian scobe.
Sent floating down the manky Liffey
a river that stinks like a vikings robe.
Dublins' archbishop Michael Jackson
tells the papers that he's shocked.
Thats' right, Michael ******* Jackson
how weird and steaming is that.
This story i heard from a
blind boy with a bag on his head.
And he said he wanted to cry
for he so often visited that crypt.
Well i guess i've never been
and had never really planned.
But christ it still makes me sad
another switch I guess just tripped.
But hey, whats it got to do with you
and whats it all got to do with me.
Well me, i'm back on this hotel floor
trying to keep my own head.
And as for you, well you go right on
cry me a river to float me on dreams.
For me, for you and for above all,
that Templar Knight of New Orleans.
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 11:43 AM UTC
_Deoch Bhleth - the fourth drink of the morning, taken while the morning oats are being ground_
The heart is drowned in dream
as the body motions towards coffee,
whisky, water, pills.
November slouches in slowly,
all sharp shoulders
& muscular knees.
The black circle turns and screams,
the beacon spits morning news,
an island of misery emerges from the salt-froth.
The wet streets are slicked to a shine;
I've gained weight. The day moon
is pregnant with blue.
Blood is thin and slippery in the vein.
The razor leaves fine lines all across my face.
My arm is singing. Psalms drop from the sleek
yellow womb of the ****** sun.
Alcohol climbs within me: I fall back on the bed,
thinking of her again. Where is she?
Is she staring out at the magpies
that gather on the wet lunch-branch?
Is she by the Liffey, watching the slate glint?
I am trapped in this plaster tomb,
my head a bridge between past and present;
somewhere a chain is being broken.
Oct 29, 2021
Oct 29, 2021 at 11:04 PM UTC
Annaliffey
Stalling for time
Along St James
Anna Liffey looks back,
Noting down names
At Old Dublin's walls
The wind sighs in regret
Calling to her softly
Lest Anna forget
Her tears take in salt
With each challenged wave
As she melts in the sea
Domain of the brave
She finds final peace
Seeking her rest
In the arms of Britannia
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC
Night-time looking
over the Liffey,
slate grey artery,
flurry of merry music
like a band of castanets
still in our ears.
The cèilidh at Shannon’s,
man with a bodhrán
and a pint of tar
at his elbow,
girls in skirts
a blizzard of colours.
Róisín’s at UCD
but tonight, here,
the silky lilt
of English
pouring from her
emerald throat,
her hand in mine
as a crew of mangled gobshites
stumble home.
We swim in our jollity,
BYOC (bring your own craic)
in the city
where three times
in the 90’s we were kings
of the castle.
You say your father remembers ’62,
when I look in your eyes
you say coinnigh mé anois.
What’s that mean? I ask.
Hold me now.
And I do.
Your lips taste of Guinness,
my head foggy
with you.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 11:22 AM UTC
Bring me a poem. You can find them anywhere –
In the Aer Lingus, sitting next to you
And sometimes scattered among the summer leaves
Misplaced in gutters or floating in the air
Strolling along Bachelors’ Walk, or maybe
Adrift upon the Liffey-water, where once
The gunboats roared like dinosaurs, their years
Passing like smoke, like burning, falling walls
Poems everywhere –
Beside the fire, drinking a cup of tea
Or talking with a friend – poems everywhere!
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
The river at night looks beautiful
Thick almost one
With the light on it it looks like paint
Like ***** Wonka's chocolate factory
If I fell in it looks like it'd be soft
But I won't
Not because I have any regard for my own life
But because it would be a pity to disturb it
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 4:14 PM UTC