#Irish poet

[vox-anglosphere]

Oscar Wilde was full of witticisms until the very end..

[lepetitdragonvert]

The Fairies, a Child’s Song written by William Allingham

1883

Artist : Emily Gertrude Thomson

[katies-poesy]

Hollywood

The boulevard is flooded with

so much artificial light that they had to

wrangle the stars and trap them in concrete

under feet to ensure they'd be seen

[odelia-i]

A blessing For Absence by John O'Donoghue. May you know that absence is full of tender presence and that nothing is ever lost or forgotten. May the absences in your life be full of eternal echo. May you sense around you the secret Elsewhere which holds the presences that have left your life. May you be generous in your embrace of loss. May the sore of your grief turn into a well of seamless presence. May your compassion reach out to the ones we never hear from and may you have the courage to speak out for the excluded ones. May you become the gracious and passionate subject of your own life. May you not disrespect your mystery through brittle words or false belonging. May you be embraced by God in whom dawn and twilight are one and may your longing inhabit its deepest dreams within the shelter of the Great Belonging. O’Donohue, John. Eternal Echos: Exploring Our Hunger to Belong. 1998

[hanssloane]

Life is a dream, of course, as

we all know,

but one to be dreamt in

earnest even so.

from The Cloud Ceiling by Derek Mahon

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

Awareness of the sound of our own footsteps,

Of open air, and the life behind those words

"Open' and 'air'.

Seamus Heaney ~ The Lift

[goneahead]

For St. Patricks Day, I thought I would post some of Eavand Boland’s poems. Enjoy☘️☘️☘️!

[collectingforgottenpoetry]

Oh! what cares Love for a sunburnt skin? Love laughs and sighs for it all the same; Love seeks a blush that is far within From the glow of his asking eyes that came— Oh! what cares Love for untidy hair? He sleeps where never a comb has passed, And holds his breath in the tiny snare Of a curl his kiss shall undo at last— Oh! what cares Love for a tender heart? His eyes are filled to their glorious brim; On tears, on tears from a shining start Love bears it gently away with him. Oh! what cares Love for a wounded breast? Love shows his own with a broader scar: 'Tis only those who have loved the best Can say where the wounds of loving are.

Love’s Cares, by Roger Casement. As featured in Some Poems of Roger Casement, 1918 edition.

[papa-osmubal-artworks]

Oscar Fingal O'Fflahertie Wills Wilde- an Irish poet and playwright. (art: papercutting)

[sadbhkellett]

New poem in Tower Vol I: End out May 15th!

[oscarwilde-scholar]

St. Patrick's Day, 1882

“A PRIDE I CANNOT PROPERLY ACKNOWLEDGE” [REPOSTED] On St. Patrick’s Day 1882, during his lecture tour of north America, Oscar Wilde happened to be in St. Paul, Minnesota. He had lectured the previous evening at the Opera House on The Decorative Arts, and, on the following evening, he returned to the same venue to attended a St.Patrick’s Day gathering. St. Paul was a city with a large Irish…

[pd-lyons]

new from osprey journal #4 come walk with me in 2009 ~

by pd lyons Poetry From The Edge maybe if I stayed paid my dues drunken disorder home town wives possession with intent liberal arts and all that shit reading at the button wood tree slams at the museum out for macrobiotic afterwards with students and faculty but I didn’t’t instead carrying with me every step of the way bones broke by horses planes to airports languages I couldn’t’t say waited…

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"THE LAND OF FAIRY, WHERE NOBODY GETS OLD AND GODLY AND GRAVE..."

PIC INFO: Resolution at 928×1232 -- Spotlight on unnamed Fairy A.I.-generated artwork by "Nho Eskape," published on September 15, 2024.

"The land of fairy, where nobody gets old and godly and grave, where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.”

– WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS (Irish poet & writer, 1865-1939)

Sources: https://x.com/nhoeskape/status/1835546246561378596 & About a Mom (blogspot).

[gildedbearediting]

Bad Poetry Day

For a day celebrating bad poetry, I’d like to indulge in writing on the worst poet in the world. A title given to William McGonnagal who wrote ‘The Tay Bridge Disaster’. A poem that had once been praised by a very ornate gentleman, Marzials. He lived in Dundee for the bulk of his life. His title as Worst Poet has been long-withstanding with few prospects of being dethroned. A considerable feat…

[damadelocaso]

Ven, descansa sobre este pecho

Ven, descansa sobre este pecho, mi venado herido,

aunque la manada te abandone tu casa sigue aquí;

aquí está la sonrisa, que ninguna nube empañará,

y un corazón y unas manos que siempre te acompañarán.

¡Oh! ¿para qué sirve el amor si no es igual

en la dicha y en el tormento, en la gloria y en la desgracia?

No sé, no quiero saber si este corazón es culpable,

solo sé que te amo, quienquiera que seas.

Me llamaste tu Ángel en los ratos de legría

y seré también tu Ángel cuando solo haya tristeza,-

seguiré tus pasos sin miedo a los peligros

para defenderte y salvarte, ¡o bien morir contigo!

Thomas Moore (1820)

[hanssloane]