Limerick was, Dublin is, and Cork shall be the finest city of the three.
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Christy Ring
I'll tell you about a great hurler he hurled his way into renown
And his fame spread distant from Cork City through many a village and town
He inspired the poets to write of him and the song writers his praises did sing
And he was the hurler of all Seasons the one and only Christy Ring.
He was born in the year nineteen twenty and he died in nineteen seventy nine
And he played from the thirties until the late sixties and as he aged he matured like good wine
He won eighteen Railway cup medals a record that will never be beat
Yet he was a down to earth fellow a man who was free of conceit.
Of him there has been many stories his imprint in hurling he made
As long as hurling is played he will be remembered for the many great games that he played
In Cork, Limerick, Thurles and Killarney and in Dublin in famed Croke Park
In his three marvellous decades of hurling the wizard from Cloyne left his mark.
When I was a boy in the fifties Christy Ring in his mid thirties then
Yet still one of Ireland's best hurlers he helped Cork and Glen Rovers to many a win
He revelled in fierce competition and even in his forties played against the best
And he always worried his opponents the hurler who always impressed.
The Cork and the Glen Rovers wizard his fame spread beyond Ireland's shore
his name will live as long as the game of hurling and that will be forever more
He inspired the poets to write of him and the song writers of him did sing
And he was the hurler of all Seasons the legendary Christy Ring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Dublin
After our affair
I swore that Id leave dublin
And in that line Id left behind
The years, the tears, the memories and you
In dublin
At the quays friends come and say farewell
Wed laugh and joke and smoke
And later on the boat
Id cry over you
In dublin
How can I leave the town that brings me down
That has no jobs
Is blessed by god
And makes me cry
Dublin
And at sea with flowing hair
Id think of dublin
Of grafton street and derby square
And those for whom I really care and you
In dublin
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dublin
After our affair
I swore that Id leave dublin
And in that line Id left behind
The years, the tears, the memories and you
In dublin
At the quays friends come and say farewell
Wed laugh and joke and smoke
And later on the boat
Id cry over you
In dublin
How can I leave the town that brings me down
That has no jobs
Is blessed by god
And makes me cry
Dublin
And at sea with flowing hair
Id think of dublin
Of grafton street and derby square
And those for whom I really care and you
In dublin
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas In Dublin
The sky is blue
And the day is cod with sone sun
But everybody is running in the city of dublin to do their christmas shopping
And I say let snow let snow let snow in Dublin
Because christmas without any snow is not fun
And we would love to have a whie christmas
Also the chuch bells ring while they walk in the streets of dublin
poem by Aldo Kraas
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A poet composing a Limerick
Said finding a rhyme gave him quite a kick.
He rhymed Clever with Ever
And Weather with Whether
And found that he'd written a Cork(Er)
quote by by Janice Windle
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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On The Cork Hurlers Strike
The best hurlers will not be playing for the Rebel County this year
At least not under coach Gerald McCarthy for Cork fans such sad news to hear
The Liam McCarthy Cup this year won't be coming to the hurling City by the Lee
Without Cork's best hurling only half dressed as hurling fans all would agree
Cork hurling fans not very happy to them hurling more than a game
Some blame the hurlers and others blame Gerald and others the County Board blame
Gerald has no notion of resigning and Cork's best under him will not play
And the loser is the game of hurling and that does seem a sad thing to say
Cork will have a hurling team in the League and All Ireland Championship but their best the red jersey will not wear
And for any hope of sporting success as we do know a team would need every top player
And in 2009 Cork will only make up the numbers though the game of hurling will go on
For hurling does live on in Ireland though great players to and from the game have come and gone
In 2009 Cork will not have their best team at least now it's looking that way
In a sad time for Cork and for hurling in Ireland and that seems a sad thing to say.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On The 09 All Ireland Football Final
For the Cork Gaelic Footballers another humbling defeat
By their neighbours Kerry in Croke Park once more they've been beat
In Gaelic Football in Ireland Kerry to the fore
With 36 All Ireland titles and their fans hoping for more.
My mum was from Kerry that I cannot deny
But why it aches me when Cork lose a big game I do wonder why?
Though long absent from Ireland a sense of parochialism I do retain
Some-things from our past always with us do remain.
But Kerry fans with their 09 All Ireland victory need not get carried away
As their hurlers are quite poor though that does seem a sad thing for to have to say
Like Kilkenny Ireland's premier hurling County Kerry G A A rankings low
The lowest even in Munster as all G A A fans do know.
For the Liam Mcarthy Cup Kerry Hurlers never allowed for to play
For that not deemed to be good enough by the administrators of the G A A
Like the Kilkenny Footballers Kerry Hurlers amongst the lowly rate
Though their many Football victories their fans have to celebrate.
Kerry are 09 All Ireland Senior Football Champions their neighbours Cork they did outplay
In Croke Park in Dublin Ireland on September's third sunday
But Cork the only winners of the Hurling and Football double for them an amazing feat
With Ireland best Football and Hurling Counties at the highest level do compete.
poem by Francis Duggan
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This limerick goes in reverse
Unless I'm remiss
The neat thing is this:
If you start from the bottom-most verse
This limerick's not any worse.
by Zach Weiner from Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Rue Family
April makes no difference
to the Lavalle cork tree
imported from central Japan;
to the Sakhalin cork,
its diamond bark
rising into branches
from a trunk of plated sand.
In the city park, this family of trees
wears its rue as buds
traveled into leaf each year—
predictably, invisibly,
as your sister wears hers
on a South Dakota highway:
there behind her knee, tempering
the air above her hand.
poem by Christina Pugh
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Swans and Chimney Stacks
Only in Dublin
would two swans
crossing the docks
greet you in March
Light reflecting
refracting the image
of urban life
and city living
hazy sun and
smokey stacks
a tall ship mast
and two wild swans
Welcome to my city
cosmopolitan
21st century
metropolis
Welcome to my city
Viking terrority
mystical land
mysterious port.
poem by Geraldine Moorkens Byrne
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Poems
Homework is always boring for me,
Im sure most of you can see.
''Can you write onomatopoeia? ''
The sadness of Ethan,
The Geek of Argintena
Is that even onamatopoeia?
''Can you do a limerick? ''
The bang of the thunder,
The creek of the stair,
The ticking of the clock,
And the squeak of the chair.
Is That even a limerick?
I DON'T KNOW! ! ! .....
poem by Azeem AbdulRahim
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But one of the most fantastic things about Ireland and Dublin is that the pubs are like Paris and the cafe culture. And Dublin, in many ways, is a pub culture.
quote by Hugh Dancy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fabulous place, Dublin is. The trouble is, you work hard and in Dublin you play hard as well.
quote by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Limerick?
A poem presenting with rhyme
and which follows a rhythm in time
need not be what we call
a true Limerick at all
like a lemon, the cousin of lime.
Yet a limerick a lemon can be,
you could use a small slice for your tea.
Do not use it in fudge
and respect that the judge
is the man with no writing degree.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Tale of Three Cities
New York blasted London blasted
Singapore -
Ripped off each other's metaphoric balls,
Crumbling walls.
Priapic city monoliths -
Blue-sky scraping bastards -
Shout about their height (but really length) .
V8 arseholes didn't care -
Pumping shit into the air,
So long as they were always there to
Fart aloud a smoggy cloud,
Laughing at the weak asthmatic,
Humoured that it seems traumatic.
Watch the greedy cities oozing
Chair-bound fat committees, though they
Look a bunch of titties as they
Waffle on about the pound.
Ever thought to look around and see
That they were dead?
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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On Being Told That There Is No Rhyme For The Word “Limerick”
After I heard Harry’s limerick,
I found that my mind set to simmer. “Rick, ”
I said to myself,
“One might write it itself, ”
But I answered, “You’re chances are slimmer, Rick! ”
So I can’t find a good rhyme for Limerick.
Told myself, “ You are just a beginner, Rick
And though there’s no reason
You can’t write something decent,
I fancy your chances get grimmer, Rick! ”
He said that it might rhyme with turmeric
But I thought, “You’re not that fast a learner, Rick:
Ditch your thoughts wasting time
Finding suitable rhyme;
Let your plans, man, stand on the back burner, Rick.”
But the cogwheels had started to turn a bit
As I guessed I had started to learn a bit
And I might find a line
That rhymes Limerick fine
And might win me a prize, so I earn a bit.
But I thought, “Though there was just a glimmer, Rick.
You will think till you’re needing a zimmer, Rick,
Since the muse isn’t kind,
I am sure you’ll will find
Not a word that will rhyme fine with Limerick.”
poem by C. Richard Miles
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The Connaughtman Returning
There's a grey fog over Dublin of the curses,
It blinds my eyes, mavrone, and stops my breath;
And I travel slow that once could run the swiftest,
And I fear ere I meet Mauryeen I'll meet Death.
There's a grey fog over Dublin of the curses,
And a grey fog dogs my footsteps as they go,
And it's long and sore to tread, the road to Connaught.
Is it fault of brogues or feet I fare so slow?
There's a grey fog over Dublin of the curses,
But the Connaught wind will blow it from my way,
And a Connaught girl will kiss it from my memory,
If the Death that walks beside me will delay.
(There's a grey fog over Dublin of the curses,
And no wind comes to break its stillness deep;
And a Connaughtman lies on the road to Connaught,
And Mauryeen will not kiss him from his sleep-Ululu!)
poem by Nora Jane Hopper Chesson
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Cormac Dinneen
They wanted him in Kerry to play with their football team
But Cormac he loved Millstreet and he wore their famous green
And he too wore the red Cork jersey with passion and with pride
A legend in his playing days and he was known far and wide.
I watched him play as a veteran when he was past his prime
Way back in the late fifties some forty years in time
Against one ten years younger he more than held his own
A marvellous defender then one of the finest known.
The Millstreet fans they loved him a player they did revere
He never shirked a challenge a stranger to all fear
He never was found wanting when he was put to the test
And in the Cork County colours he played against the best.
When Millstreet's elder gaelic football fans talk of the Millstreet greats they've seen
A player they always mention is the great Cormac Dinneen
To them he was one of Millstreet's best and they still heap upon him praise
For he was one of their heroes in Millstreet's glory days.
And though time catch up on everyone and the years have made him slow
He was a Cork and Millstreet great some fity years ago
And in forty eight when Millstreet won the County he lived up to his name
As one of Ireland's best defenders then in the Gaelic football game.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Mick Cashman
In the Cork County Senior Football Championship Final of 1957 I still recall the day
The last time I see Mick Cashman for his home club Millstreet Play
At the Cork Athletic grounds that day the Duhallow men were beat
The City Club St Finbarrs proved too good for Millstreet.
The Barrs fans celebrated the victory was sweet
But Mick Cashman played a great game he was gallant in defeat
In the biggest day in Cork County for the game of Gaelic Football
And though Millstreet lost to go that far they did well overall.
Mick Cashman was ordained a priest and for New Zealand he was bound
Far from Millstreet in Duhallow and Tullig his home ground
In the green and gold of Millstreet he was never seen again
But what was a loss to Ireland was surely New Zealand's gain.
Mick Cashman was a gentleman and of him 'twould be fair to say
That to help out other people he went out of his way
A Parish Priest in New Zealand where he was known far and wide
And his success in his adopted Country to Millstreet a sense of pride.
He is buried in New Zealand far south and far away
From Tullig above Millstreet Town where he first saw light of day
Last saw him in a Cork County Final for Millstreet playing Gaelic Football
A good memory till my own end that I surely will recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Fortunes
Every morning a woman comes and hand picks her rubbish -
Gems discarded by the elite of the city.
She takes them to an interesting shop;
There she exchanges them for a meal ticket (money)
She chooses her meal as if fine combing a menu in elegant Paris,
In the finest eatery, along the finest strip.
Her meal is that of which they (the elite)
would never consider to chew.
Her enjoyment in consuming such a meal is one which
They can never realise.
poem by Anthony Dawson
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