Eire Poems - Poems about Eire

On Fridays, we go to the pub Like spokes of a wheel to an hub A whiskey or two May turn the air blue So we drink pale ale by the tub...

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Ulster in Eire, has a legend in song' a son of honour Who has struck the gong! Gave it out true, cause he's long on strong! Other greats have covered his songs! I'm talking bout Van- Morrison.' sync and method Decades long, yet new as green grass, I hear he's Called to court; by a Mr Swan,.? maybe in...

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When Jesus was out planting seeds His Garden was bursting with weeds He said one "Hail Mary" And up popped a fairy Selling Jack-in-the-Beanstalk beads...

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A young Irish lass with no man Danced in the Moulin Rouge Can-Can In Dublin again She joined with Sinn Fein And bombed as Republican Anne...

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All the fighting Irish see stars Over pints of Guinness in bars But Jan has a plan To transport each man Its called, "Cork, Uranus to Mars"...

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My country is Ireland so green. I am it's poetry queen. So much to admire, my muse is on fire. Inspired by beautiful scenes. Today we celebrate St Pat. I'll be wearing green for that. Like it always would, the craic will be good. With my shillelagh and crooked hat. 17/03/2019 Green Humor Rhymes, Old or New for Prizes Poetry Contest for Carolyn Devonshire....

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The Pope came to Eire And found millions there But they did not care For priests anywhere He dealt with the nuns And all of the puns Regarding bare buns And Irish squirt guns But what of "The Church" And those who besmirch The rap of a birch For those in the lurch? The Pope says, "We're fine And now toe the line To forgive is divine…" God damn filthy...

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The Amadawn 'ave played the joker for the Good folks fairy Coort 'T was they 'ave egged the paper birches an’ touch’d the scare crow’s stalks. They 'ave given leerin pumpkin 'eads to Dullahan's black 'eadless 'orse. Tied the liein' Leprechain’s tongues changed the dread Pooka's course. Stolen the noble Banshees keen moan an 'idden 'er bone white comb. They 'ave lured two changeling...

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Within the land of clover O’er the fields of green Wanders, a bagpipe player Just blending to the scene He breathes the air of the hills Into the plaid bagpipe sack That keeps me as a visitor Always coming back The land and all its legend The Castles on the hills The Rose of Shannon’s aroma It does all give me fill But yet my mind there...

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When I looked across the moor I knew that I was home, the rolling dusk setting upon my sea, I looked down the cliff and saw the crashing waves, and I knew that it was mine. I felt the vagrant breezes, touching my cheek in jest, and I knew that I was the wind's. The moon rose silkily above my meandering streams, and...

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