Two new poems

[Nathair/|\]

I just posted two new poems on my livejournal. They could use some help, but I don't think they are any worse than Vogon poetry. Here is the first:

Arise.

Throughout this tearful world

In far too many lands;

Opressing Gaia's youngest children

Regimes of polution stand.

Tyranny and slavery

Break too many souls.

Mourn and weep and howl.

All ye whose hearts are sure

Ale ye both brave and true

All ye who cannot allow

These bonds most foul remain:

Now draw thy swords, prepare thy spells,

Petition all thy gods

By Lugh, it's time to stand and fight

And end the tyrant's reign!

[Nathair/|\]

And here is the second:

Beir Saoirse

I invoke the name of Oghma wise:

Sire of eloquence,

De Dannan sage.

May my words be persuasive, beautiful and true.

I invoke the triple name

Banba, Fodhla, Eiru

The matron of our soverignty, the spirit of the land

I invoke the name Manannan,

The sea-lord, just and kind;

Bearing Eire's chidlren

To spread across the world.

I invoke the name of Lugh Lamhfada

Samildanach, the shining one.

Slayer of tyrants, defender of the true

The Spear of the Sun is his to bear

By these gods my song invokes

By root, by branch, by leaf

By standing stone and dolmen arch

By earth and sea and sky

I call all Gael warriors,

Whereever they may bide

Beidh Saoirse in Ulaidh anois!

Edited April 21, 2011 by Nathair

[Bill “Papa” Lee]

I just posted two new poems on my livejournal. They could use some help, but I don't think they are any worse than Vogon poetry. Here is the first:

I like it, could you tell me if it is addressed to all tyrants, or do you have one in mind?

[Nathair/|\]

I like it, could you tell me if it is addressed to all tyrants, or do you have one in mind?

The first one is to all tyrants in general. The second is about the English who still rule over six counties in Ulster under the name Northern Ireland.

[Nathair/|\]

My heart has left me

I am abandoned

For what great sin?

I do not know.

The light I see by;

By which I'm seen

Has hid her face

Away from me.

My sword, my shield,

The chariot I ride;

They all are gone now

Far from my side.

The earth I root in;

The rain I drink;

All gone away now:

I have no strength.

Why can't she tell me

What I did wrong?

What crime so horrid

I may not hope?

[volgadon]

Nathair, do you know this one by McCall?

Follow Me Up to Carlow

Lift MacCahir Og your face brooding o'er the old disgrace

That black FitzWilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern

Grey said victory was sure soon the firebrand he'd secure;

Until he met at Glenmalure with Feach MacHugh O'Byrne.

Ch.: Curse and swear Lord Kildare

Feagh will do what Feach will dare

Now FitzWilliam, have a care

Fallen is your star, low

Up with halberd out with sword

On we'll go, for by the Lord

Feach MacHugh has given the word,

Follow me up to Carlow.

See the swords of Glen Imayle, flashing o'er the English Pale

See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banners

Rooster of the fighting stock, would you let a Saxon ****

Crow out upon an Irish rock, fly up and teach him manners.

From Tassagart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore

Och, great is Rory Oge O'More, sending the loons to Hades.

White is sic and Lane is fled, now for black FitzWilliam's head

We'll send it over, dripping red, to Queen Liza and the ladies.

[mercyngrace]

Rife with poets this message board is

like water o'erflowing a bucket.

The talent skipped me

for my poems, you see,

all begin with a man from Nantucket.

[Nathair/|\]

Nathair, do you know this one by McCall?

Follow Me Up to Carlow

Lift MacCahir Og your face brooding o'er the old disgrace

That black FitzWilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern

Grey said victory was sure soon the firebrand he'd secure;

Until he met at Glenmalure with Feach MacHugh O'Byrne.

Ch.: Curse and swear Lord Kildare

Feagh will do what Feach will dare

Now FitzWilliam, have a care

Fallen is your star, low

Up with halberd out with sword

On we'll go, for by the Lord

Feach MacHugh has given the word,

Follow me up to Carlow.

See the swords of Glen Imayle, flashing o'er the English Pale

See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banners

Rooster of the fighting stock, would you let a Saxon ****

Crow out upon an Irish rock, fly up and teach him manners.

From Tassagart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore

Och, great is Rory Oge O'More, sending the loons to Hades.

White is sic and Lane is fled, now for black FitzWilliam's head

We'll send it over, dripping red, to Queen Liza and the ladies.

No, that's new to me. I really like it. Thank you.

[Nathair/|\]

Rife with poets this message board is

like water o'erflowing a bucket.

The talent skipped me

for my poems, you see,

all begin with a man from Nantucket.

That's awesome. I needed a laugh today, the situation that inspired my most recent poem above got a whole lot worse this morning. You have a gift for knowing when people need soothing. Thank you.

[Garden Girl]

Nathair...

On the lighter side... let me share...

Most on the board know of my love for the sea, walking along the shore feeling the power, seeing the beauty, dancing in the waves as they rush ashore... so here is a favorite poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, from 1908.

A LOVER'S QUARREL...

We two were lovers, the Sea and I;

We plighted our troth 'neath a summer sky.

And all through the riotous, ardent weather

We dreamed, and loved, and rejoiced together.

At times my lover would rage and storm.

I said, No matter, his heart is warm.

Whatever his humor, I loved his ways,

And so we lived through the golden days.

I know not the manner it came about,

But in the autumn we two fell out.

Yet this I know--'twas the fault of the Sea,

And was not my fault, that he changed to me.

I lingered as long as a woman may

To find what her lover will do or say.

But he met my smiles with a sullen frown,

And so I turned to the wooing Town.

Oh, bold was this suitor, and blithe as bold!

His look was as bright as the Sea's was cold.

As the Sea was sullen, the Town was gay;

He made me forget for a winter day.

For a winter day and a winter night

He laughed my sorrow away from sight.

And yet, in spite of his mirth and cheer,

I knew full well he was insincere.

And when the young buds burst on the tree,

The old love woke in my heart for the Sea.

Pride was forgotten--I knew, I knew,

That the soul of the Sea, like my own, was true.

I heard him calling, and lo, I came,

To find him waiting, for ever the same.

And when he saw me, with murmurs sweet

He ran to meet me, and fell at my feet.

And so 'neath a summer sky

We have plighted our troth, the Sea and I.

from the beach... GG

Edited April 28, 2011 by Garden Girl

[Bill “Papa” Lee]

The first one is to all tyrants in general. The second is about the English who still rule over six counties in Ulster under the name Northern Ireland.

Oh political…not my area as far as poetry.

[Anijen]

And here is the second:

My daughters new favorite actor is a young lady named Saoirse, I believe she is from Ireland. I have seen two movies in which she had the lead role Hanna and the Lovely Bones. I thought of this when I read your second poem (all very good BTW).