Discovering Ireland Through Poetry: Escape and Exploration
Immerse yourself in the rich tapestry of Irish poetry, where words weave a tapestry of landscapes steeped in myth, magic, and timeless beauty. From the rugged cliffs of the Wild Atlantic Way to the serene lakes of Killarney, Irish poets capture the essence of Ireland’s soul in verses that resonate with history, tradition, and the deep-rooted connections to nature. Whether it’s the haunting melodies of ancient legends or the lyrical descriptions of emerald green landscapes, Irish poetry invites you to embark on a journey of exploration and escape. Let these verses carry you away to a world where every line is a pathway to wonder and reflection, where the echoes of poets past and present linger in the air like whispers from the heart of Ireland itself.
Here are some of our favourite poems that have appeared in the Old Moore’s Almanac over the past few years. Enjoy!
Mother Mayo
by James Gallagher, County Louth
An eerie silence hangs, townland after townland
Stonewalls stand testimony to where houses stood
Now with weeds overgrown, the old folks have passed on
And the birds from the nest have flown
Don’t cry for me on Black Sod Bay
Or in the wet lands ’round the Moy
You dispersed me to the four winds when I was just a boy
I’ll be home soon
But not when the gorse bush is in bloom.
Before we grew up
That great big liner sat out there in the bay
To bring us to America
Or instead we could catch the cattle boat
From North Wall to Liverpool via Birkenhead
Some done well and melted into the tapestry of life
Wherever they went
Others never got past the pillage of their youth
Or loss of their homeland
After a life of hardship and toil
They had one request
To come back and be buried in Irish soil.
I am that homeless man you see
At Shepherds Bush or on the road near Camden town
The business man on the high street
Or the landlord of the crown
You gave us a hard edge, soft centre
And a colourful personality too
With your mountains and lowlands
And the myriads of wild flowers, that grow
In the wet lands, in Spring and Summer
In the end we’re all
Your lost sons and daughters, Mother Mayo
I’m older now and much wiser too
And any bitterness I have for you is done
Like dew after the morning sun I’ll go home soon
And I won’t care if the gorse bush is in bloom
I’d like to be around when the Atlantic spray
Comes up over Achill sound or down in Ballina
To see the salmon leap in my native Swinford
For the Autumn fair, or in Kiltimagh
For the ‘Culchie Come Home’
And I’d like to hear the curlew cry away out in Erris
As she soars into the clear blue Mayo sky
Hold me in your arms, Mother Mayo
I came home to you and beneath your sod, to lie.
Our House Was A Home
by Bernadette Tierney, Killywaum, Co.Cavan
We didn’t have taps, or toilet, or bath,
Outside the house was an old stone path.
There was no television, computer, or phone,
No such luxury graced our home.
A turf burning stove to cook every meal,
But at the time, it was no big deal.
We grew our own veg, we had chickens and sheep,
The mobile shop would call every week.
Each evening the bells would call us to pray,
We all sat together for meals each day.
But through all the years where ere I might roam,
The one thing for sure, our house was a home.
Field Sundays
by Niall McGrath, Co Antrim
The old man stands in the hill field
Looking across the river
Flowing through the valley
As it has done since the Ice Age,
Pines could he have done more
In this incarnation?
He can barely get off the tractor,
Stumbles to the ridge-fencing surrounding
The souterrain under the hill field,
Stares into its cavemouth
In amazement and, for a moment,
Nods.
Winter Warriors
by Clare McAfee, Ballycastle, County Antrim
The snowdrops are mustering their forces,
Green spear tips thrusting through the frozen ground.
They invade the lands that winter captured.
Before they rise, no other flower is found.
They have probed a chink in winter’s armour.
Throughout the barren earth their ranks will grow,
Cleverly brandishing white flags of truce
To camouflage their presence in the snow.
Unnoticed by the foe the allies marshal.
Bright crocus hosts press winter to retreat.
Then proud daffodils’ golden trumpets blow
Triumphantly proclaiming his defeat.
But gallant Gallanthus, I salute you.
You are the vanguard which leads spring’s troops through.
Haikus
by John Jennings, Galway City, Ireland
Summer Haiku
Sun shine on the screen
Sun light on the passer by
No work done today
Weather
The world is changing
Trees and grass and peace are gone
Don’t leave me behind
Traffic
Claustrophobic crawl
Cars obscure my journey’s end
Discourteous traffic
The Wind
by Margaret Boles, Rathgar, Dublin
The wind is like a creature today,
Wily, devious and cunning,
He tries to sneak in, enlarge
The cracks in our old house
Chases clothing on the line,
(He’ll steal them, if he can),
Wreaks havoc with our slates
Does battles with umbrellas,
Turns a cool day into
A cold day,
As he wriggles up my sleeves
And writhes about my ankles!
It’s no day to be about!
A January Garden
by Margaret Boles, Rathgar, Dublin
Out in the January garden
Damp cloying clay underfoot,
And yet robin and his friends
Are daily singing, busy with
Their courtship rituals as
They promise to soon be busy
Building, creating, renewing,
Spring with its memories
Of past struggles with
Death’s Angels, is yet
A time of lightness,
When spirits can lift
Once again.
Thank You Flowers
by Joe Staunton, Kinvara, Galway
The fine flowers grow,
Show
Us their colour
Smell and grow
But not all in a row
Some of them grow fast
Some of them slow
But none of them last.
Flowers, fine flowers,
Are nourished,
By rainy showers.
Beautiful full flowers
Are Nirvanic
Are nowers.
Beautiful and undull
Full flowers.
A Lament for Gerry
by Rita McDonnell, Glasnevin, Dublin
Oh! It may be someday I’ll go back to Ireland
If it’s only at the closing of my day.
Oh! Sure I was only a slip of a girl when I left my native home
Attracted by the bright lights of London Town
And sure I was even more foolish beguiled by an Italian boy
Who took me even further from my home.
Every year I would journey home with my children two
And sure they love the blessed place
Especially John, as if it was their own.
As long as I have breath in my body,
I’ll ferry to and fro, no foreign land can hold me
When my heart is in Ireland Mother Ireland.
Or watch the sun go down on Galway Bay
Oh its maybe someday I’ll go back to Ireland.
Remembrance
by Brigid Smith, Co Cavan
Forever you will remain young
In our memory, Connie
Untouched by age,
Not growing old
That treasured memory
Ever in our hearts
To hold.
With your good friend Philip
The love of nature
You did share.
Enjoying all its beauty
On your travels everywhere
May you be now in heaven above
Where partings are no more
We hope to meet you
When life is done
Upon that golden shore.
Bright Day
by Mary Guckian, Ringsend, Dublin
Glad winter has passed
And spring is here again
As bright evenings give
New life to our projects.
Colour spurts from corners
Of our gardens and patios
While hedges hide movement
Of birds building nests.
Leaving our heavy coats
At home, we are embraced
By warm air, celebrate
The slow withering of
Another winter season.
The Barn Owl
by Marie Howden, Bawnboy, Cavan
I catch a mouse every day
The barn is full of straw and hay
I live alone on an ancient beam,
Where once there was a party scene.
I grow wiser and wiser with every day
I hope I’ll live to see the day
When the horse and cart
Will bring home the hay.
To A Bee
by Joe Staunton, Kinvara, Galway
Bee, leave that money alone.
Your job/task is making pure honey,
Which you give to us in a honeycomb.
The hive – that is your home,
That’s where you jive, and feel alive.
Flowers too, are good for you.
Bee, leave that money alone,
Your job/task is making pure honey,
Which we get from your pure honey comb.
The Rookery
by Irene Caswell, Mallow, Co. Cork
Rooks to me are precious:
They soar on high, beneath the distant clouds,
Then gliding down, alight upon our world;
In iridescent plumage,
With beady darting eyes
And an age-old wisdom in their parchment faces.
Crows flock together in dusky waves
Eerily like wise old sages,
Clucking and chattering as they peck;
Doting parents of their toddling chicks,
With touch as gentle as a silky feather,
Their caw a cosy murmur.
They guard our sheltered skies,
By night reposing
Among the plumes of lofty ancient trees,
Between this earth and Heaven;
If only I could share their timeless dreams
And sleep beneath their wings!
Many Times a Child
by John Brett, Tallaght, Dublin
I sat upon the river’s bank and watched its restless waters flow,
And I thought of its rocky voyage this far,
And the long miles it still must go,
I watched while life like shapes emerged,
And hurriedly passed along,
Like dreams that crowd our minds at night,
So real and then they are gone.
And as I sat and gazed and mused,
I didn’t realise, that those rushing laughing waters,
Had the power to hypnotize.
My head was full of future plans.
My imagination bulging at the seams.
But my mind instead went sifting,
Through the cinders of old dreams.
Though I never moved from where I sat, beside the river wild.
My soul went wandering back in time, to where once I was a child.
I saw familiar hills and fields, as I rambled down the lane.
And I met old Jip who made it clear, how glad he was I came.
It was like he had waited for me all this time,
Faithful to the end.
Through salty tears, I rolled back the years, and hugged my playful friend.
I saw the countryside covered in snow just like a Christmas card,
I heard my uncle curse the cows, as he drove them through the yard,
I heard the cuckoo’s joyful chant in the merry month of May,
And I helped my father make sugans, to secure the cocks of hay.
I saw the rabbits scurry, and I heard the corncrake,
I saw my mother’s healing smile, and I smelt the apple cake.
I recognised each birch tree by the path, as I make my way to school.
The thought of lessons, discipline, and class, depressed me as a rule.
I heard the music from the band, on a Sunday afternoon.
As I walked to the dance floor by the metal bridge,
Where folk danced beneath the moon.
I admired all the pretty colleens, like I used to do before,
When each night I fell in love again, with one or two or more.
Then suddenly reality returned, I was no longer hypnotized.
I scrambled slowly to my feet, and wiped my tear-filled eyes,
Some children had come to the river bank, I presume to fish or play,
And I wondered if one day they too would sit and dream
Just as I had done today.
Because if I had learned one thing today, as I sat by the river wild,
It’s that I would be a man just once, but many times a child.
Spies in the Sky
by Marie Tully
There are spies in the network
There are worms in the room
They’re on our computers
All over our schools
They’re high on the buildings
They’re inside our shops
They’re protecting our assets
While marking out plots
There are lots on our transport
Buses and planes
They’re on red lights you run
They’re on top of street names
They’re are spies in the sky
That computers compute
Mechanical minds
Built to suit.
Pals
by Teddy McGrath, Kilmallock, Co Limerick
The old man he wanders, on down the street
He pauses in the hope, that old pals he may meet
Lonely he stands, as his pals are all gone
So he hopes now himself, that his time won’t be long
Many years have gone by, since he lost his dear wife
Bruno his dog, is his friend now for life.
Their days are all filled, with a walk to the park
Where Bruno is let loose, to run and to bark
On a bench the old man sits, and lights up a fag
While Bruno looks on, as his tail he does wag
Time to get up, and make their way home
And call to the butcher, for some meat and a bone
The old man he worries, as they wander along
What will happen to Bruno, if God calls him on.
Home for the night, he cooks up a feast
Food for the old man, and food for the beast
The day has been long, they have both stood the test
Night darkens in, so it’s time for to rest
Daylight then comes to banish the dark
The old man is up, just like the lark.
He struggles down stairs, and his spirits do sag
No Bruno to greet him with a bark and a wag.
The faithful old dog, has gone from this world
The old man stays in, as his grief does unfold
He pauses in thought, no more reason to live
He has used all the care, in life he could give
He has lived his best, and played out his role
Then quietly he sighs, and gives up his soul
The day passed onward, and then comes the night
Neighbours then notice, in the house there’s no light
Police are called on, the doctor comes too
When it is God’s will, there is nought one can do.
I rambled by, this house in the dark
My memories ran back, to the days in the park
Where the dog and his master, went for fresh air
I walk in the park now, and I miss them there
That vacant space will never be the same.
The dog I knew Bruno, but not his master’s name
The space will be vacant, I suppose for some time
Maybe some fine day, I will make it mine
If the time comes, that I take up that space
I will know in my heart, that I have run the good race.
Mallards
by Margaret Boles, Rathgar, Dublin
In mortal combat
Skin and feathers
Iron gripped
Each breast locked firmly
In the other’s bill
Oblivious to anything
Even the less colourful lady
The fight was presumably about.
The mother in me
Sought to separate
These colourful warriors
But if for a second
Bill and chest unlocked
It was only momentary
My efforts to separate
These fighting boy drakes
Unsuccessful in anything
Except scaring away
Their lady!
Little Sister and Brothers
by Gráinne Lawlor
What are little sisters made of?
What are little sisters made of?
Soothers and mischief
Not always the plaintiff
That’s what little sisters are made of!
What are little brothers made of?
What are little brothers made of?
Lions and monkeys
Who act funky
That’s what little brothers are made of!
A Piper Strange
by Brigid Smith, Kilnaleck, Co Cavan
A piper played on the street,
Enthralling all with music sweet.
He may come from far away,
But from where, no one could say.
The townsfolk they did feel so sure,
The blithe songbirds
He could allure.
With his melodic tunes so sweet,
A striking figure in dress so bold,
He could have been the Pied Piper of old.
His playing captured one and all,
Even the children, he did enthral.
Then, as shades of night came down
That piper strange, he left the town.
Each wondering as he went his way
Would return another day.
Ireland
Anonymous
The grey skies, so heavy with drips
Time for a pint, to dry the lips
Irish people, they talk so much
Lucky they have a verbal touch
Irish people always so late
Even when meeting a mate
They dilly, they dally
They twist and joke
They really wish they didn’t smoke.
They spent too much money last year
And can’t pay off their cards I fear
Never mind, let’s have a drink
Quickly before we start to think
Oh look at the lovely baby
I could have four more, maybe.
Anyway we going for a quick break
Forget the mortgage, fun’s at stake!
To Lanzarote, Spain and Mallorca
Lucky we are such good talkers
Cos when we get back we face the bill
Is the bank manager my mate still.
Never mind, let’s go for a drink
Quickly before we start to think!
