Monday, October 9, 2006

Essences of Erin

Notes on Ireland

Erin Countryside From On High

Magpies soar over the fields,
Patchwork shades of green 
Here and there, tiny yellow blooms 
Of a bramble called gorse 
Can be seen.

Ireland’s Side Of The Story

Henry of England did decree
That Ireland have no king but he
And all erstwhile Irish kings
Mere lords should thenceforth be.

Later Cromwell, just to be cruel, 
Made roof-less churches Erin's rule
And left her Catholics in the lurch
Praying in a rain-filled church.

Language Lesson

For the word storyteller 
The Irish say chantakee,
Which, you see,
Every Irishman just for fun
Is one.

On Erin’s Shores

The Wolf of lore is no longer there. 
The Golden Eagle, too, did disappear. 
While the Fox and wild Mink, I think, 
Remain in abundance galore.
But the Rabbit, alas, is no more. 

If the facts above should prove untrue, 
What would you have me do? 
I am not to blame, you see 
For they were told to me
By an Irish chantakee. 

Magpie Alert

If just one magpie you spy,
Straight away home
To your bed you must hie,
There to pray the livelong day
That sorrow not come your way

However, if it rather be
Two magpies you should see,
With joyful voice rejoice
For luck and love
Will surely come to thee.

Whereas, permit me to say
If you are in a family way,
Try to spy four, or three,
According to whatever
Your preference may be.

For concerning the magpie, 
Irish legend doth decry:

        One for sorrow
        Two for joy  
        Three for a girl
        Four for a boy

Rx For The Common Cold 

Potcheen, that potent Irish brew,
Cures the common cold, 'tis true. 
Ofttimes it's used as liniment, too, 
And tends to befuddle the likes of you. 

So instead of the usual whiskey,
Take potcheen if you dare.
Most scandalously frisky
It will render you, I swear,