Beautiful Irish Poem

Replies to This Discussion

Permalink Reply by Joe Keane on November 5, 2008 at 14:56

Hello, I am new to this site but thought that I would share a verse. Hope you like it.

Lankill

I wandered the fields in search of destiny,
walked upon a well worn path,
came to a Dolmen standing,
2/3 deep in the ground,
it stands 7 feet upon the mound
to show that they were there.

Next came to me was a monastery,
the 5th century knew their truth
and down below a holy well,
the worn stone they left to tell
that many healed upon their knees,
many cured of their ills
to touch the water deep below
and seek forgivness for thier souls.

Hidden deep beneath the shade
famine graves where they were layed.
A unmarked stone was their saving grace
and now it adds a touch of beauty,
but the hunger that they learned to know,
left so many three feet below.

Now that place it offers peace
to the passer by who walks the fields
an altar stands there all alone
with two crosses carved into stone.
A few more foot steps from the trees,
heavens gate wait at our knees,
so there to kneel upon the grass
and find a peace that grows.

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by Felicia on November 5, 2008 at 17:18

I am so there--I can see it and feel it and I can smeell its sweet remnants!
Joe Keane said:

Hello, I am new to this site but thought that I would share a verse. Hope you like it.

Lankill

I wandered the fields in search of destiny,
walked upon a well worn path,
came to a Dolmen standing,
2/3 deep in the ground,
it stands 7 feet upon the mound
to show that they were there.

Next came to me was a monastery,
the 5th century knew their truth
and down below a holy well,
the worn stone they left to tell
that many healed upon their knees,
many cured of their ills
to touch the water deep below
and seek forgivness for thier souls.

Hidden deep beneath the shade
famine graves where they were layed.
A unmarked stone was their saving grace
and now it adds a touch of beauty,
but the hunger that they learned to know,
left so many three feet below.

Now that place it offers peace
to the passer by who walks the fields
an altar stands there all alone
with two crosses carved into stone.
A few more foot steps from the trees,
heavens gate wait at our knees,
so there to kneel upon the grass
and find a peace that grows.

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by Jeremiah Fay on November 29, 2008 at 15:44

I had a rare day off of work and spent the morning reading through this group correspondence, it was time well spent. I appreciate the insights that you all have shared and it renewed a love of reading poetry that I haven't had since college days. I see the last entry was November 6th so I hope my praise will encourage more discourse, Once again, thanks to all for a most enjoyable morning.

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by Jeremiah Fay on November 30, 2008 at 15:59

I was moved by a poem we studied in College. I beleive it was written by a WW2 veteran who was Irish or Irish American and all I can recall is a partial line "My Cause is Kiltrarton's poor" I googled the partial line and can found nothing. Does anyone have any Idea of the title or who wrote this poem? ? I would love to revisit the times I should have paid better attention at lectures.

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by Walter on December 1, 2008 at 0:54

Jeremiah,

The poem you are looking for was written by William Butler Yeats the Irish poet. I have reproduced it below. Enjoy!

Walter . . .

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death



I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

William Butler Yeats

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Jeremiah Fay said:

I was moved by a poem we studied in College. I beleive it was written by a WW2 veteran who was Irish or Irish American and all I can recall is a partial line "My Cause is Kiltrarton's poor" I googled the partial line and can found nothing. Does anyone have any Idea of the title or who wrote this poem? ? I would love to revisit the times I should have paid better attention at lectures.

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by kubana on January 11, 2009 at 20:26

i do a lot of walking going home from school, and as i walk i think and i listen to music- mostly irish. the other day i tried to explain to one of the many voices in my head what attracts me so to the irish music. the following is approximately what i came up with, though that wasn't in poetic form.

I am a Texas girl,
have been all my life,
but look a little closer at my family tree.

Long before they came to Texas,
Long before they fought that war,
Something sent an Irishman
From the land he loved so dear.

He wrote down his memories,
And sang them as a song,
So that one day his children
May return to his home.

And little did he know, that a Texas girl like me
Would one day hear his song,
And feel his tears and pain,
As she listened to his plea.

And she would hear of the pain of war,
And the happiness of love,
And her feet would tap the rythm
Of that age old reel.

But I listen to his song
For indeed, I have returned
To his land of war, love, pain, and beauty
And I was captured like he by its magic.

Who would have thought a Texas girl like me,
Who says words like, "afixinto" and, "y'all,"
Would listen to this music
And be enraptured in such a mystery?

(please critique if you want, but keep in mind this is hardly fcq!)

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by kubana on January 13, 2009 at 3:57

Pierre,

You have no idea how much it means for me to hear (or rather read) that! I have long been a fan of poetry, and have thought of it as a therapy. In class today, I wrote a page about poetry itself- I thought of this forum, with it's discussions about great poets and the importance of rhyme scheme. And as I wrote I realized that poetry is more than a hidden meaning behind words on a paper or T.P.C.A.S.T.T.-ing some lines of thought. Poetry is what the writer has in his or her heart.

Many thanks,
Kubie

P.S.- The online translators don't have Gaelic, so I'm afraid I'm a little clueless as to what that part of the message said.

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by kubana on January 24, 2009 at 2:38

Having finally read this forum all the way through, I must say I have learned a lot about poetry. I've also been thinking lately, and I remembered something of the lullaby my dad used to sing to my sister and I. I asked him about it, and he doesn't remember the words or the name of the song, but it was Irish I know. Here's what I remember:
-He would put our names, Shannon and Kathleen, into the song. He told me once that the song actually uses one of those names.
-It was about going to war
-I believe part of the chorus involved the singer telling someone not to cry, because he'd be back.
Does anyone have any idea what song this might be?

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by kubana on January 25, 2009 at 20:20

Pierre,

I had been meaning to look that song up for a while, as I have only ever heard the instrumental version. Thanks for your help!
-Kubie

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on February 2, 2009 at 19:50

My Dear LiveIreland Family, especially the singers of poems, during a brief illness I spent some time working on poetry AND listening to LIL (specially our Klara).

Yesterday, in the quiet of a little retreat, I put a poem together about Ireland.

Just wanted to share, since I have been so long away. This is especially for Walter, Pierre, Felicia and Lisa, the hearts and souls of this particular group.

Here is the poem.

I’M FOR STOPPING; BRENDAN’S NOT©

A poem by Frank Daub
January 31, 2008

I’m for stopping; Brendan’s not.
The sea is just down there.
I am anxious for the sight
of stone turned to bread by the wash
of foam and the jetting of the salt water.

I’m for stopping; Brendan’s not.
The spiraling gulls
are sunlighted bright in their play
above the sand,
their startling dive
toward the sea is brief
in time and sight.

I’m for stopping; Brendan’s not.
The freedom of the coast
was eight hundred years
at taking.
One bold county man’s toast
to the awakening water
baptizes the youth
who have forgotten Eire for other lovers.

I’m for stopping; Brendan’s not.
I haven’t heard the all
of every song
or the rise and fall
and rise of every story
that set a mother’s son
free to calculate a career.

I stand for stopping; Brendan says, “too late.”
I want to stay
where the past has gone,
old rebel cries and songs.

Yet,
it’s Brendan through the gate,
and gone
and done
and through with old.

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on February 2, 2009 at 22:02

Good to hear from you, too, Pierre. I am deeply honored, always, by your kindness and the generosity of your comments.

I deeply love Ireland, and poetry and cannot see one ever without the other.

May spring come soon to all of us and may we always be together on Live Ireland.

Your Lower Forty Eight friend,

Frank.

• ▶ Reply

Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on February 3, 2009 at 0:51

Lady Dianne

What a treat and a pleasure to receive a message from so gracious a Lady! yes, Ireland is like this. I have been twice. Have a cousin in Dublin. The poem is meant to display the loss og Irish culture and tradition by today's young people. This, I am afraid, is happening in Ireland. And slo we have the pleasure and joy of LiveIreland.com.

I am honored.

May the peace of God be yours.

Frank in St. louis

• ▶ Reply

• ‹ Previous
• 1
• …
• 8
• 9
• 10
• 11
• 12
• …
• 16
• Next ›
• Page