Animal House
In the dining room
I found a cat.
Another cat,
There are too many cats

I have fallen to pieces.

In the kitchen
I found a dog.
Another dog,
There are too many dogs
I am falling to pieces

In the scullery
I found a giraffe
Now, that was a first!
By John Moore

Sonnet 54
My love, like the spectator, idly sits;
Beholding me, that all the pageants play,
Disguising diversely my troubled wits.
Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits,
And mask in mirth like to a comedy:
Soon after, when my joy to sorrow flits,
I wail, and make my woes a tragedy.
Yet she, beholding me with constant eye,
Delights not in my mirth, nor rues my smart:
But, when I laugh, she mocks; and, when I cry,
She laughs, and hardens evermore her heart.
What then can move her? if nor mirth nor moan,
She is no woman, but a senseless stone.
By Edmund Spenser

Love on The D.A.R.T.
The D.A.R.T. didn’t go any further,
Just enough to be discreet
Away from the nosey neighbours
And the patter of parental feet.

It was cold; it was wet; it was windy
As the sun set over Bray Head
But for these two lusty young lovers
Their Valentine’s night lay ahead.

They stopped in the shop for provisions
No champagne and caviar here,
But coke and crisps and 10 cigarettes
No money for vodka and beer

As they walked past the lights and the laughter
To the last B&B on the pier,
They disappeared into the darkness,
To a world of passion, not fear.
By Dave Fleming

Memories
He sits in the window that looks onto the street,
Watching the people and traffic pass by,
He is now old and his life is restricted,
And Heíll be the last of his pals to die.
As he lights up his pipe his thoughts wander back,
To the days when he was a healthy young man,
A few sad tears run down his wrinkled old face,
As he remembers as much as he can.
His memory is failing, its just not the same,
All those past years have taken their toll,
He remembers the day when he played his first match,
the day when he scored his first goal.
He remembers his friends and the good times they had
When they went everywhere together.
To partys and dances and holidays too.
Always together whatever the weather.
He remembers the day when he first met the girl
Whose charm he will never forget.
And the day that he married the love of his life,
The one day he will never regret.
Many years have gone by, now he lives all alone
And the window is his world of the past.
Then he pulls the blind down and shut out the light
on a world that has gone by much too fast.
By Sonny Kinsella

The World Cup
The World Cup is here,
It will be celebrated
From Soweto townships to
Johannesberg. All nations
Will congregate in sportsmanship
and friendship. They have come
from all over the world, by train,
by plane, by sea. South Africa,
Spain, Slovenia ñ they will all
be trying to claim the Jules
Rimet trophy. The World Cup is
being held in the Rainbow Nation.
Where every possible nationality
comes together in colourful harmony,
leading to fulfilling unity.
By Derek Sandford

Greed
Grovel, growl, Greek, geek.
Money grab; NAMA seek,
Banks in trouble, give them more;
People worry, let them roar.

Rogues, raiders, inside-traders,
Rags-to-riches, wealthy bitches,
Rakes of money, loose it quick,
Bankers bonkers; rich men flip.

Election promises, vaouous words,
Exceptional profits, now absurd,
Property bought, mainly abroad
Live a life, paid by fraud.

Done deal, dirty dealing,
Clever planning, it’s not stealing.
Dig the dirt, it’s not worth
Palatial palace, paint all peeling.

Celtic roar, septic tigers,
Not much use to insiders.
Those outside can only wait
To hear the outcome of their faith.
By Dave Fleming

Róisín Dubh
A Róisín ná bíodh brón ort fé’r éirigh dhuit:
Tá na bráithre ‘teacht thar sáile ‘s iad ag triall ar muir,
Tiocfaidh do phárdún ón bPápa is ón Róimh anoir
‘S ní spárálfar fíon Spáinneach ar mo Róisín Dubh.

Is fada an réim a léig mé léi ó inné ‘dtí inniu,
Trasna sléibhte go ndeachas léi, fé sheolta ar muir;
An éirne is chaith mé ‘léim í, cé gur mór é an sruth;
‘S bhí ceol téad ar gach taobh díom is mo Róisín Dubh.

Mhairbh tú mé, a bhrídeach, is nárbh fhearrde dhuit,
Is go bhfuil m’anam istigh i ngean ort ‘s ní inné ná inniu;
D’fhág tú lag anbhfann mé i ngné is i gcruth-
Ná feall orm is mé i ngean ort, a Róisín Dubh.

Shiubhalfainn féin an drúcht leat is fásaigh ghuirt,
Mar shúil go bhfaighinn rún uait nó páirt dem thoil.
A chraoibhín chumhra, gheallais domhsa go raibh grá agat dom
-’S gurab í fíor-scoth na Mumhan í, mo Róisín Dubh.

Dá mbeadh seisreach agam threabhfainn in aghaidh na gcnoc,
is dhéanfainn soiscéal i lár an aifrinn do mo Róisín Dubh,
bhéarfainn póg don chailín óg a bhéarfadh a hóighe dhom,
is dhéanfainn cleas ar chúl an leasa le mo Róisín Dubh.

Beidh an éirne ‘na tuiltibh tréana is réabfar cnoic,
Beidh an fharraige ‘na tonntaibh dearga is doirtfear fuil,
Beidh gach gleann sléibhe ar fud Èireann is móinte ar crith,
Lá éigin sul a n-éagfaidh mo Róisín Dubh.
Tradisiúnta

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The Poetry Place, which can be sent to the
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Ringsend, Dublin 4.