Members Who Read Most Number Of Poems

Live Scores

Click here to see the rest of the list

(5/18/38 / Covington Kentucky)

What do you think this poem is about?

For Example: love, art, fashion, friendship and etc.

Springtime and Old Irishmen

As an Irishman,
tis my prerogative
To be an authority on all things
Great and small

As an "old" Irishman
it's my fate
Of late (and as always)
To simply know it all

As an old Irishman of visage worn
Of craggy face, rheumy blue eyes
With clothing crudely rent and worn
Prone to ale, stout and whisky sighs

As an old wise, wizened Irishman
Who loves the winter as a wondrous thing
But as sure it is, I'm an old Irishman
I treasure most…the Irish Spring

As a wise, wizened, oft inebriated Irishman
Given well to know that one's only given so many things
I relish the pleasure of the Springs I have left
Until this old wrinkled Irishman takes wing

As when this old Irishman
leaves the moor and the glen
There's but a few things I'll rue
To not see nor to hear once again

ne'er again see na' more The hind end of Winters…
ne'er hear "Danny boy" pluck again at me heartstrings…
And Na' more to smell the cold Irish sea
Nor know the fresh faces of fine Irish Springs

Submitted: Sunday, March 18, 2012


Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (A freudian slip (who nose?) by David Whalen )

Enter the verification code :

  • Kathleen West (7/10/2012 8:42:00 AM)

    Loved your poem. The irish have a special way of telling a tale. Life can be bittersweet, but the irish embrace it all, and feel humbled and blessed.

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Karen Deeks (3/18/2012 4:28:00 PM)

    Hello David this is just pure and harmonious as the words which leave an Irish mans Tongue. My best friends dads a 93 yr old Irish man and his stories and atmosphere that fill the room when this charismatic soul tell of the black and tans nearly a century ago when he was a small lad hiding in the ditches with his ma and baby brother (hushed) is a haunting memory that stays solid in my mind, . No one tells it like they/you do... Wonderful poem of truth (warts and all) thanks for sharing words of harmonious wisdom... Karen.

Read all 2 comments »
[Hata Bildir]