#irishpoem

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#saintpatricksday #irish #irishpoem #saintpatrick #patronsaint #ireland “Corned beef and cabbage and leprechaun men. Colorful rainbows hide gold at their end. Shamrocks and clovers with three leaves plus one. Dress up in green—add a top hat for fun. Steal a quick kiss from the lasses in red. A tin whistle tune off the top of my head. Friends, raise a goblet and offer this toast— 'The luck of the Irish and health to our host!'” Richelle E. Goodrich , Making Wishes. (at San Francisco, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9dTYQgBTg7/?igshid=hzej34t6n9hg

[fingalpoetryday]

Cantaireacht na Murúch

Chualathas cantaireacht chiúin na murúch

mar gholtraí os cionn chrónán na dtonn,

sular nocht siad ar an tsnámh

fá bhruach an chladaigh is fá bhéal na trá.

Chonacthas iad ag folcadh sa tsáile

is ag cíoradh a gcuacha cuanna,

ag lupadán lapadán sa lán mhara,

is ag meidhir i measc muranáin maranáin.

Bhí cuid acu a scoith a gcuid lanntracha,

is a d’éalaigh as an duibheagán,

is a mhair tráth os cionn uisce,

amhail leannán agus máithreacha.

Chualathas cantaireacht chaoinbhinn na murúch

á maolú ag fraoch na farraige,

a nglórtha ag meathlú le gach marbhshruth  

is an taoide á dtointeáil idir muir is tír.

By Máire Dinny Wren

Category: 18+

Responding to: ‘Ceol’ le Gearóid MacLochlainn

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We disagree to disagree, we divide, we differ; Yet each night as I lie in bed beside you And you are faraway curled up in sleep I array the moonlit ceiling with a mosaic of question-marks; How was it I was so lucky to have ever met you? I am no brave pagan proud of my mortality Yet gladly on this changeling earth I should live for ever If it were with you, my sleeping friend. I have my troubles, and I shall always have them But I should rather live with you for ever Than exchange my troubles for a changeless kingdom. But I do not put you on a pedestal or throne; You must have your faults but I do not see them. If it were with you. I should live for ever.

Paul Durcan, "The Difficulty That is Marriage"

[uneffaced]

D’imigh na daoine Amach chun na míntíre; Tá’n Blascaod Mór ciúin anois, Leis féin os cionn na taoide. Is cuimhin leis na páistí beaga Ag súgradh ar an trá, Is naomhóga ag iascaireacht Amuigh go domhain sa bhá. Daoine ag insint scéalta Cois tine, mall san oíche, Ceol a sheinnt ar veidhlín - Ní chloisfear arís é choíche. Ach b’fhéidir go bhfuil taibhsí Ag insint scéal nó dhó Cois tine ar an mBlascaod, Faoin saol ‘bhí ann fadó.

Máire Áine NicGearailt