Emigration in the 1980s
It’s very sad to see and hear,
Of all the folks that’s leaving,
Every county through out Ireland,
From Monday to Friday evening.
I sometimes have to stop and think,
Is there a reason why,
That these folk just pack up their bags,
And to far lands they fly.
It’s dismal and depressing,
To see them emigrate,
The country’s in the doldrums,
But for some it’s just too late.
Oh my oh my what have they done,
To the rare old times we knew?
It will never ever be the same,
But what else is there to do?
The rare old times have come and gone,
Things may never be the same,
The cutback and the taxes
Will drive us all insane.
And because of all the cutbacks,
We all end up looneys
We wot even have the will
To join up with the moonies.
So good luck to all you lucky folk
Who leave for distant places,
Your troubles will be cast aside,
And you’ll end up with smiling faces.
Now once again my parting friends
I wish you fond farewell,
You are moving towards Heaven,
And leaving us in Hell.

Written in 1982 when there was a job crisis in Ireland
And now it’s repeating itself all over again
By Sonny Kinsella

Down by the Shelly Banks (for Pato)
Down by the Shelly Banks here in Ringsend
I was always sure to meet my friend
When the sun was out and the tide was in
Pato was there with a big wide grin
Now his spirit is here down by the sea
Where he and Mary loved to be
Down at the Shelliers beside the sea.

By George Humphries

Natural high
Through winter chill or searing summer heat,
You cannot hope to know until you try,
A dwindling world below your weary feet,
Another summer night you’ll someday fly,

Your life is small; the endless sky is vast,
You soar above red sand and blue-white ice,
Vanish in rising wind, all sorrows past,
You soar above red sand and blue-white ice,

Now leave behind a life that’s closing in,
To distant mountain heights you cannot gauge,
Rise from your bed, worn body, and frayed skin,
To distant mountain heights you cannot gauge,

Your silver feathers sparkle diamond bright,
Someday in a blue heaven you’ll alight.

By Kevin Collins

Feeding the Fowl
Her aunt said
“Don’t let the ducks out
Until the hens have eaten”
Hens spindly legged, highheeled
Picked at the food daintily.

Fluffy chicks threw their heads back
Beaks in the air
The better to imbibe the water.

The cockerel shook himself like a belly dancer
Stretched his neck and crowed
Proud fellow.
The hens started to meander off, chuckling
Leaving angled imprints in the damp soil.

Time to let the ducks out
They moved in a column
Short legs, flat heels, closer to the ground
Their feet splattered muck
A racket of quack quacking.
Straight for the food

The remaining hens moved away
Toughies had arrived.
Her aunt was right, ducks were greedy.

By Carmel Mc Carthy © 2009

The Big Bang
Banker, speculators and developers fall,
The singularity of the black hole
Pulverises their treasures of greed
And everything turns to dust in their hands.

The string effect stretches their gold
As they hurtle into the nothingness,
They are now in the zone of ruination
And I laugh, welcome to the breadline boys.

By Derek Murphy

Feet Free
I walk in bare feet
where cool green grass
massages thirsty skin.

My clogged head sheds
peelings, leftovers
gathered from the daily
grind of winter months.

Addicted to spongy earth,
later, I lie in cut meadow
infusing rattling herbs
dried out with summer sun

By Mary Guckian

Snowing
Opening doors to sleet showers
seeing footpaths covered with snow
air is chilled and refreshing
as germs die by the score.

Cold bites into our bodies
freeing us from sweaty pores
a starched white landscape
shifts pollution from our streets

Squashing through slop and slush
global warming disturbs us,
while we continue to leave
our heating systems turned on high.

By Mary Guckian

Seagulls of the Liffey Boardwalk
White breasted seagulls
form an army of drummers
on the painted handrails
of the Liffey Boardwalk.
They gaze around, then fly off,
leave behind drops of guano
that form graffiti patterns
on shining wood.

Stepping on to firm flooring
cuts out abiding blare from traffic.
Firm banisters save energetic
children from tottering
into the dark pulsating water.
Ethnic groups bring glamour
as they eat snacks, drink coffee,
roll cigarettes, lick ice cream.

Scent from the river Liffey
tangles with perfume gushing
from purple and pink petunias,
shrubs plough through green
foliage that hangs over
the edge of flower pots.
With the faint breeze

fuschia bells dance gently
for backpackers who read books,
study maps, write diaries.

Rowers paddle lanky oars
seated close to the water
the coxswain drills, words
bursting from the loud hailer
they stay in tune with the great river
as it slides towards the Irish Sea.

By Mary Guckian

And finally folks… some random haikus:
1
dreary horseradish
diminishes crankily
birds dreaming, proudly

2
canoes palpitate
flames lingering moist boulder
fantasizes, pink

3
white harpsichord shines
relentless barracudas
defecate feebly

generate your own at www.everypoet.com

As always, we welcome contributions to
The Poetry Place, which can be sent to the
‘NewsFour’ offices at 15 Fitzwilliam Street,
Ringsend, Dublin 4.

Or email:
newsfour@gmail.com