"shamrock" poems
Beyond the sea, a white rose stands
outside a vase, away from hands.
Too pretty for a picture frame,
a large bouquet, or window pane.
Still growing, life is hers to gain:
the warmth of sun, the cooling rain,
the water droplets, oxygen;
beauty will flourish best with space.
A trademark warmth she wears so well
like sun rays on a daffodil.
She laughs like shamrock by the well,
as infectious as a breeze among bluebells.
I see the child inside your cries of joy, behind your smiles at boys.
Beneath the skies, above the noise.
You breathe in life, and it's all yours.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
Some Jamie snugly in me hand,
A cause for celebration,
Today, I found me promised land:
The home of Irish nation.
I dyed me hair shamrock green,
I made me teeth look orange,
(A spliff of Carroll's in between)
A sliver of Dutch courage.
I mingle with the leprechauns
(A shamrock on me chest)
Not in a thousand years gone,
I’m messing with the best.
Atop the jolly rainbow,
In hand – a *** of gold,
Revering, till I find me rest,
The stories I’ve been told.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 2:49 AM UTC
I'll have me an Irish Coffee,
make sure the coffee's fresh and stout,
add a dash of dairy cream,
and do NOT leave the whiskey out!
http://beautyineverything.com/4819896887
Here's the ****** recipe:
"Black coffee is poured into the mug. Whiskey and at least one level teaspoon of sugar is stirred in until fully dissolved. The sugar is essential for floating liquid cream on top.[11] Thick cream is carefully poured over the back of a spoon initially held just above the surface of the coffee and gradually raised a little.[12] The layer of cream will float on the coffee without mixing. The coffee is drunk through the layer of cream. To ensure the integrity of the ingredients of Irish Coffee, NSAI, Ireland's national standards body published an Irish Standard, I.S. 417 Irish Coffee in 1988.[13]"
D-NOTE--It doesn't say a ******* THING about adding Bailey's Irish Creme or canned whipped topping and a plastic shamrock to the top of the ********* drink, now does it???
Anyone making Caife Gaelich with trendy ******** add-ons should be beaten with a shillelagh!
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 3:07 AM UTC
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, for you are mine
Never let me go, grip me tight like a vineyard vine.
I love that pretty rose that your garden did grow
Betwixt those long beautiful thighs of strength
Exposing that sea shell pink jewel, I do know.
Your garden is so unique, it’s a one of a kind
Such parts are so delicate, that the slightest touch
Produces tropical showers that fill my mind.
Flowing from your meadow, and dripping from
Those soft sensitive pink rose petals,
Golden rain drops that taste O’ so sweet.
Thy lips O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb:
Honey and milk are under my tongue:
Causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak,
Every time that they meet.
I love all of your natural beauty,
And I love every lock of your hair
Swaying from a beautiful face, worthy of my stare.
How fair and how pleasant art thou. O love, for delights!
Your calm green eyes in my trance suddenly gave me visions,
Of hypnotic pupil shamrock sights!
I love your seductive soft lips,
One kiss upon them, takes me on so many trips.
My precious 1, your body is a wonderland I cannot resist,
I need for this dream to come true
And if so, I will forever do, everything for you.
You are the Garden of Eden, brought back to life
My only thought now is, I must betroth to have you,
As my wife!
Behold, thou art fair, my love:
Behold, thou art fair; thou hast,
Shamrock Eyes!
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
There's spring and there's summer, there's all that's in between
no listless skies of anodyne; now nature flaunts and preens
What beauty fills the hungry eye 'neath a sky of blue, serene
verdant vales soaked in sun, awash in palettes of green
There are pastels that awaken and deep shades that passion brews
created hues that trickle...sprinkled with 'chartreuse'
There's the green of 'asparagus' and that of 'artichokes'
Of 'forest', 'ferns' , of 'moss', a brush of different strokes
Fragrant plants of 'mint', then 'myrtle' and 'green tea'
'Emerald', 'jade' or 'harlequin' and 'malachites' that be
Off creamy shells, just 'pistachio', 'green apples', then of 'pines'
It lies too in 'sap' and 'teal', in 'avocados' and tangy 'lime'
There's green of the 'mantis', in 'jungle', 'hunters' and 'shamrock'
The lithe 'parakeet' fluttering and the lazy sanguine 'croc'
In blessed 'basil', ' pickle', in 'pear', 'olives' in 'bottle green'
'Gourds' and 'peas' that farmers grow in cultivars pristine
'Tis there in 'aqua' and 'seaweed', in the ripple of 'sea green' waves
In 'turtles', 'sea foam', 'anemone' and a 'tropical glistening lake'
From 'laurel green' to an 'army green' , in 'sage' ( a shade of grey )
The color of 'grass' , the murky 'swamp' , hues in array
There's 'neon' and an 'Indian green', a 'Persian' one to mystify
A 'midnight green' to bright 'fluorescent', oh, for green rainbows in the eye
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
Strolling down the dusty road
I reached the path of an abode.
The Black Shamrock an Irish pub
I stopped inside for a pint mug.
One mug topped off with ale
That next to Guiness Stout
Looked pale, A Pilsner in the glass.
And down the bar a drunken fool
Sat staring with blurred eyes and drool.
A sassy colleen tended the bar.
And if your hands were free,
They wouldn't get far, for
If they reach to the wrong place.
You'ld a bar wenches Slap.
Across your face, and a spot of red
For all to see, that you got the Hand.
Of Molly McGee, a fiddler Bowed.
An Irish Jig, and a penny whistle.
Carried the tune to the drunken crowd
Within the room, a game of darts is made
While cribbage by old farts is played.
And the pints are emptied by the hour.
As the clock rings out in the churches tower
As drunks are Roused, and doors are closed
Old friends will stumble down the road.
All in an Irish night
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
Shamrock Lucky Charm Poem
Four Leaf Clover
One leaf is for success,
One leaf is for being blessed,
One leaf is for your beautiful music,
One leaf is for being charmed. ---
Shamrock,
(S)plendid green clover.
(H)ere lies some fields of four leaf clover.
(A)stonishing *** of the golden coin.
(M)any have never had such luck.
(R)ainbows' end we have reached.
(O)n our lucky way to.
(C)atch a leprechaun we did today.
(K)indness blessed us with luck now.
When, we freed the little green elf.
He passed a lucky golden shamrock.
on to us from his belt.
This has been a lucky.
Saint Patrick's Day that gave us.
a new friend that passed some luck
on to us today...
Copyright © 2015 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC
artful creations
colors, charcoals
paints
stone and clay
wood and paper
bringing life
from
lifeless
form
from
formless
can the artist choose?
~~~
garden creations
shades of green
jade
artichoke
asparagus
fern, forest
and
jungle
mint, moss
and
pine
shamrock
tea, olive
mixed
with
a multitude
of blooming
hues
can the gardener decide on one?
~~~
kitchen creations
sweets and treats
savories and piquants
cakes and pies
meats, stews
casseroles
butter, garlic
lemon
rosemary
and
thyme
parsley
and
saffron
onions caramelized
to sweet
peppercorns
and
cardamon
tamarind, turmeric
nutmeg
combined in
precision
joy and
love
can the chef say which is best?
~~~
and thus
I challenge any poet
can you choose your favorite "child"?
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC
Back in my rebel days (yester)
I sported a spelunking bumper sticker
On my 1972 VW pop-up camper van
That read Free Floyd Collins
Totally apolitical well intentioned humor
Concerning one of my pasttimes that surprisingly
Never maimed or killed me
Whilst reporting for an official call for jury duty
The uptight and obviously a **** (did I just say that?)
Prosecutor enquired during jury selection
As to whether any of us prospectives
Had bumper stickers and if so
What they might say
The NRA sticker guy next to me
And the I'd Rather Be Fishin' and NASCAR
Sticker guy next to him
Passed with smugly flying colors
(red needless to say)
While the 72 year old nun
With the Amnesty International sticker
Didn't fair so well
And was promptly burned at the stake
(I kid you)
Needless to say
The long-haired Harvard educated
Native American
With the Doctors Without Borders
And the Remember Wounded Knee
With a not so discreet AIM sticker thrown in to boot
Also got the boot
Pondering the merits of the court stenographer's
Shapely fingers while judiciously confidently awaiting my turn
It never ocurred to me that Mr. Collins might be
So wrongly accused as to have me
Rejected and summarily ejected
From jury duty
A travesty of justice
I say
If for no other reason than I was so looking forward to
Sticking it to the Man
You can imagine my surprise and disappointment
As I wandered down to the Shamrock
To catch Terry O'Leary do a slam
And raise a glass to
Bobby Sands
r~ 22Feb14
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
oh such few words are minded,
no bravery apart
from the homosexuals
as skeletons in the chronicles of Narnia
being discovered among
the skeletons of tyrannosaurus rex
making a bed with its wheelchair able
paws - and the flag of the Cymru
fire-breathing turtles before excavation
and the myths of the mandarin too;
now tell me the sub-human plot with the
Normans when the anglo-sax reigned
to teach me to unlearn english
to avoid assimilation,
like you taught your former colonial subjects
to integrate and to alievate keeping assimilation:
which you taught to unlearn the mother's
tongue and learn a discrimination
against furthering the multi-cultural project...
which you taught to integrate and
keep at loss a sacred soul of never assimilating
akin to jew...integrate i must,
assimilate i care not for should i be totally
albino or asserting bleached with peace:
albino oder beteuern gebleicht mit frieden.
integrate i must to utilise the coinage
but to assimilate i must turn into a reggae african
with roots in the Caribbean than the Ivory Coast...
and god willing i will not claim to be
an arab's brother to settle karma over
uplifting the curse over Mecca with ibn Saud's
clock-tower; burn!!!
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
Another year, another Paddies day,
Here in New York, hope for sun to play.
So the Irish celebration, takes winged flight,
Green is the color in everyone's sight.
Parade in the street, down fifth avenue.
The master of ceremony, we don't know who?
But the master this day, stands as St. Pat,
Clad in green, with a leprechaun's hat.
Hear the bagpipes, the drums pounding loud,
This is the Irish day, to stand and be proud!
A Catholic holiday, dietary sanctions they lift,
Eat meat and drink alcohol, is the Popes gift.
What are we celebrating? Let's take a closer look,
Power up the computer or crack open a book.
St. Patrick was born under English rule,
His family was clergy, formally educated in school.
Kidnapped by the Irish, and held as a slave,
To journey back to England he must be brave.
He returned one day to the Irish shore,
About the eternal Trinity, the Irish learned more.
A bishop now, native clove he did use,
To teach the Irish, about celestial clues.
About the father and son and the holy ghost,
The three leaves on a shamrock, they will forever toast!
The three leaves of a shamrock, and it's circular shape,
Are the same as God's Trinity, the logic you can't escape.
This is why the shamrock is so highly revered,
Wear one on your vest, or tucked into your beard.
Enjoy the day, celebrate with family and friend,
Toast to St. Patrick, may his legacy never end!
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
I plucked a shamrock for him,
Beautified with the glamour of the green,
Mystified with the aroma of the wild.
I am keeping it for him to give,
May love & luck shall be his,
With all the shamrock blessings.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 3:57 PM UTC
*Faith in the tempered evening , for the Friday night reverberation -
of hometowns just over the Shamrock green horizon
For the day end Amber-glow of well kept -
Summer gardens
Blessed is the power of tonights Harvest Moon
The Suns early dedication to the Chattahoochee flora of the coming June
For morning dew prisms that ignite rolling hayfields
For talking Indian rivers , Railroad townships and period Flour Mills*
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
Alight me Paddies! Today the world is Green;
I am in a mood, alas, to gnaw crubeen,
To kiss my Irish lass, and cuddle her awhile,
To hear the Irish Rovers sing their bonny Isle,
To wear a shamrock, laboring o'er a stout:
Murphy or Guinness, to me it matters naught.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
Not sure why yard sales didn’t make the Stress Scale ‘cause the uptick in adrenaline, the ramped-up apprehension of letting stuff go, especially stuff that's been around for a while, the feeling of loss, picturing someone with your old stuffed pony, it’s painful.
This saying goodbye to things brings an emotional dilemma, a mixed-up sense of knowing it's high time for the thing-a-ma-bob with no actual relevance, to be dumped while some queasy feeling of unexpected meaning to the thing erupts.
And an inner kid sputters, "No, please not my wacha-ma-call-it, no, I’m not ready yet.” or your favorite uncle's favorite chipped ashtray along with the obnoxious bric-a-brac, knick-knack, from; who was it again, suddenly becomes the Hope Diamond.
Yep, yard sales are tough, your private junk out for all the world, to ****** to turn upside down and sour-faced putting it down, as you breathe a sigh of relief the bozo didn’t take home your treasured, dusty paper weight with the faded shamrock inside.
Seriously, yard sales are like putting your whole life on the front page, exposed to strangers, because friends with your best interest in mind, tell you to simplify, clean out, move on, start anew after they’ve witnessed your life fly apart…
Like a paper napkin flies up into a gust of wind, swirls upwards catches forever on a branch and these self-same, well-meaning pals are incapable of your need to keep the rusty tea kettle, the one you boiled water in to make tea for your sweetheart every day.
Then, when finally you’ve sorted through it all and it’s laid out defenseless in the grass, beside the “House for Sale” sign, you spot some **** fool, your dead mother's "Old Faithful" trivet held high, the one she got on the only vacation she ever had, yelling, "Hey sis, will ya take a dime for this?"
And the raindrops begin to fall.
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 10:26 AM UTC
Today is a day when we celebrate
GREEN....
whether we're IRISH or not
It just seems like the thing to do...
It is my favorite color.
Where ever you go
You see people who hauled out that
GREEN shirt with a large
leprechaun drinking beer on it.
Once a year they wear that shirt
It will last forever
Some dye their hair GREEN
And drink GREEN Beer
Jigs dinner....now I do love that
I wonder why... Its not GREEN.
But tomorrow I will take my
Shamrock off my front door
And my crazy profile picture
along with the shamrock banner,
down on f/b....
"ITS NOT EASY BEING GREEN"
By judy
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
7 o'clock
a light summertime dream
just before dark
unfolding it's scheme
painted in sandals
clovered kissed toes
lovely green shamrocks
are standing in prose
a fierce looking cat
Amber eyes
silver fur
bunting her leg
and giving a purrrr
getting back home
nearly hour gone by
look to the tree
playing ball in the sky
it looks like the moon
nearly 3 quarter size
outlined in countries
is neatly disguised
it's actually a ball
playing with leaves
That thing called the moon
has some tricks up its sleeves
she saw it glide down
and bounce off of a cloud
tipping it's hat
and bowing to town
See you tomorrow
her group of new friends
this just the beginning
we're far from the end
No need for luck
with her beau in the sky
a 3 quartered boy
with love in his eyes
she bows to the moon
as her Gypsy skirt flows
silver cat walking
wherever she goes
shamrock tipped pom poms
will twinkle her toes
Another summer time walk
with his dearest of Maidens
her toes and her eyes
are moon dipped and ladden
Goodnight Moon.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
Satin-textured shamrock flower,
whose eyes chrome the seas
of the faded cushioned theatre seats,
with their sparkling, piercing power--
You,
saunter sprightly up and down,
lyrical laughter over-bounds,
in quick-timing
to the taste
of your Irish school-girl ways.
We take time enough to see,
those livid, lush-red cheeks,
*(ripe, rose-blushed every time
as you savour sweet the wine)*
that sanctifies
your softly senses,
sans pretenses,
whereon your wings of
wonder float and fly.
Scented, tactile spirit-showers,
all the joy we need,
as the stage-light's haunting beam,
Sheers the magic of this hour--
You,
lightly lift us off the ground,
set us oh, so softly down
upon those rhyming wisps of air
that caress your auburn hair.
Now, I, a poor poet,
upon this paper
play
pleasing poetics of your praise,
whilst the ink upon these lines,
dries far faster than the tears
falling
from my wistful, yearning eyes
in exaltation of
your Wings of Wonder Ways.
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 2:20 AM UTC
i was walking through the dell has happy as can be
there in the middle i saw a shamrock tree
it had leaves of gold shining very bright
shining in the sun reflecting off the light
there were lots of flowers they pure and white
blooming on the tree so very very bright
in between the branches there sat a little dove
sitting there so sweetly as he sang his song of love
it was very lovely a nice sweet melody
i wont forget his song or the shamrock tree
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 6:47 AM UTC
Go into town, call every Tom, Harry, and Nick
tell them to wear green and come out quick
today is saint Patrick's day
no chasing leprechaun today.
Only drowning shamrock in beer like we'e freak
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 11:23 AM UTC
The agnostics have gone
Cuckoo.
They have carefully lost their minds!
The profound and the loyal:
God among men.
The citizens and patriots
Are fighting the Devil in Dixie.
And in this world of
Sustained images of hope,
The shamrock and the
Sun-kissed face.
Oh the Sun, that purifies all that it touches
Damns all that it doesn't.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
i tiptoed through the shamrock one bright and sunny daythere i saw the fairies as they began to playwith there little wings that glistened in the sunhappy and content having lots of funplaying in the shamrock in the valley greenoh i loved this fantasy fairy scenewaving there magic wands as happy as can bethen they came over and began to play with mewhen they finished playing the fairies flew awayand i thought about my fantasy every single day.
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 1:44 AM UTC
I’ve heard that pupils
dilate when looking at
something you love.
After 116 days you
called and I didn’t
want to talk but
you insisted so
I interrupted and
asked what color
my eyes are.
I even told you I wish
I had my mother’s green
eyes envious of my sister
for getting to wear them,
and that on a lucky day a bit of
shamrock can be found in
the muck of my eyes.
After that I’d widen my eyes,
and ask what color they were
that day. You’d always say
green, telling me exactly what
I wanted to hear.
I could never forget
the icebergs you call eyes
because they never did
change in size.
So a week later
I called and told you
exactly what you didn’t
want to hear.
And I no longer mark
days lucky or unlucky
based on what I see
others seeing in me.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
Great Shamrock specials
walk around town with a sandwich board ringing a bell-
if music be the food of love -
PLAY BACK!
Alex Pike
Free Camping
A half price indulgence now open
plant identification skill for
another wet weekend of cricket.
"Hi, I'm Steve your carpet care man!"
"Well the skies cleared and the game started,
didn't look good early, but that is what happens in Dorrigo."
Last week the Eastern Wall of the Catholic Church was vandalised.
Chan's Chinese Resteraunt
beyond the rainbow.
Loving partner of Lance (Dec.) Aged 91 years.
The complete lifestyle package.
FREE!
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC