Poetry | Thurles Information

“Christmas” By Tom Ryan

“Christmas“

Courtesy of Thurles Author & Poet Tom Ryan ©

It was still that night
Great things are born in stillness
And beginnings are of stillness born.
Nature held her breath in awe of a strange and beautiful thing.
Even then in other parts
The struggle of life and man raged,
And men wept and cowered in their dark thoughts .
But some dreamed
And a dream for eternity was born in Bethlehem.
Hope stole into the world
In a rustic stable,
And the light stole over the earth,
And dreamers saw it,
And it shone in their hearts.
END

Tom Ryan,“Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co Tipperary

Halloween Poem – My Creepy Costume.

‘My Creepy Costume’ – Courtesy Kenn Nesbitt

I came across this little video gem during the week, written by children’s Poet Laureate, Kenn Nesbitt.

Mr Nesbitt introduces his poem by stating, “For those of you who are looking forward to Halloween at the end of the month, I decided to release a brand new video, along with my newest poem, ‘My Creepy Costume.’ I hope you enjoy”.

So, was Mr Nesbitt really writing for just children in this case I ask myself or had he those more senior in mind? You decide.

Kenn Nesbitt is an American children’s poet. On June 11th, 2013, he was named Children’s Poet Laureate by the Poetry Foundation.

You Don’t Get To Be Racist & Irish – Imelda May

Here is a powerful response to the recent historic events, which brought about large demonstrations in the Irish cities of Dublin, Galway and Cork, in the wake of George Floyd’s death caused by police in the US.

You Don’t Get To Be Racist and Irish

Poem by Irish singer, songwriter poet and multi-instrumentalist Ms Imelda May.

You don’t get to be racist and Irish
You don’t get to be proud of your heritage,
Plights and fights for freedom
While kneeling on the neck of another!
You’re not entitled to sing
Songs of heroes and martyrs
Mothers and fathers who cried
As they starved in a famine
Or of brave hearted
Soft spoken
Poets and artists
Lined up in a yard
Blindfolded and bound
Waiting for Godot
And point blank to sound
We emigrated
We immigrated
We took refuge
So cannot refuse
When it’s our time
To return the favour
Land stolen
Spirits broken
Bodies crushed and swollen
Unholy tokens of Christ, nailed to a tree
(That) You hang around your neck
Like a noose of the free
Our colour pasty
Our accents thick
Hands like shovels
From mortar and bricklaying
Foundation of cities
You now stand upon
Our suffering seeps from every stone
Your opportunities arise from
Outstanding on the shoulders
Of our forefathers and foremother’s
Who bore your mother’s mother
Our music is for the righteous
Our joys have been earned
Well deserved and serve
To remind us to remember
More Blacks
More Dogs
More Irish.
Still labelled leprechauns, Micks, Paddy’s, louts
We’re shouting to tell you
Our land, our laws
Are progressively out there
We’re in a chrysalis
State of emerging into a new
And more beautiful Eire/era
40 Shades Better
Unanimous in our rainbow vote
We’ve found our stereotypical pot of gold
And my God it’s good.
So join us.. ’cause
You Don’t Get To Be Racist And Irish.

End

“The Queens Of Littleton Show” – By Tom Ryan

The Queens Of Littleton Show

In all their fairest finery,
Silk and lace embroidery,
Frills – petticoat and jewellery
Beauts flock to the show at Littleton.
Lipsticked, rouged ideally,
Competitive to cruelty,
Eyes flashing like rich royalty,
The Queens of Littleton Show.
From Killenaule and Brumminjam
From every village, town they come
To see their maidens now become
The raging beauts of Littleton.
Charming, multi-colourful,
Fair and very beautiful,
Ruby cheeked and jovial
In Littleton to win.
Factory girl and farmerette,
Every beauty’s in a fret,
Palpitating, who will get
The title – “Queen of Littleton?”
War may rage on foreign field,
Armies conquer or may yield,
But the crowning glory is believed
To be the test at Littleton.
Families,cousins, children too,
Attired in every single hue,
To cheer the beaut that wins the “Blue”
The belle of all at Littleton.
“Star” scribe and flashing camera man
Attempt to capture, if they can
The mighty splendour of the one
That takes the sash in Littleton.
Dress, deportment, if you please,
Never mind your hunky knees,
‘Tis surely hard the judge to please
At the show in Littleton.
And when the judge the winner gives
Nigh all but one right then believes
That judges all are bat-blind thieves
For the show at Littleton.
I’ll dance and drink the cuppa tea
I’ll kiss the Queen, just wait and see,
“Prince Charming” may just envy me
At the show in Littleton.
END

Tom Ryan ,”Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co Tipperary

Requiem

Requiem

Oh, you who loved all living things,
‘Tis not in a clay garden
With marble monuments or beautiful flowers,
I see you now.
Nor in decay of any form,
But alive in a beautiful memory
Of times forever green and lovely.
When the sun engoldened
Your laughing face and hair,
Standing by the kitchen window there,
In a summer, floral printed dress.
Or in winter in the chair in the corner,
Warm with merriment in the peat fire’s glow.
Oh, I see you young and beautiful,
And warm, alive,
And your thoughts and feelings,
And all you were to me,
Will forever be
Mine
In my memory.

END