Poems about Dublin


№ 1119616

Poetically Reproducing A Dublin Fling

Dublin is soaking,
Ink running on sentences, churning on the page.
America is splintering,
(the suburbs specifically, not the nation)
Into leftovers of Ticonderoga No 2.

These streets breathe in and out and
Up to clouds illuminated by the Temple Bar,
As people stream through Dublin's narrow straights,
Running thick and bright and damp
Soaked with the scent of amber,
Brimming with warm words like barley and hops,
The world reflected through the half-empty glasses
Abandoned to rest stale at the bar.

This boy is a livewire to a madness,
Quivering gasps flying to spark on her tongue when
She finds the kiss in the corner of his mouth is
Tightly stitched in with the sound of each smile.
Her hand still clings to the smells of sweat and beer
With miles of backtracking ahead.

dublin,  fling,  poetically.

Author: Liz
Date: 16/01/2020

№ 1055953


There's a trail
Of discarded clothes
From staircase
To bedroom floor.

Curtains drawn
To shut out light
And sight of others.

Brian's never
Done this,
Nuala says,
Never made me
Wet so and hot
As if I'd showered.

He's not my skill,
Una says.

They lie beside
Each other
In the double bed,
Eye gazing.

You've explored
Each part of my body,
Nuala says.

Each part twice
Or more,
Una says.

Kisses breast nearest.

Lips kiss skin.

What'd Brian say
If he could see this?
Una asks.

Don't ask.

Mind boggling
To even think such.

I've a mind to give you
To make him jealous,
Una says.

He gives them
If he remembers
While shagging.

Do you have
The stop-watch on?
Time him?

No need the hand'd
Not repeat itself
On the face piece.

They laugh.

Kiss lips.

How's he start?
Una says.

Soon as he's in bed.

But how?

Kisses my neck.

Like this?
Una kisses.

Near so.

Kisses again.

Not so good
As you do.

Where then?

Nuala looks
At Una's eyes.

He fumbles
With me.

How so?

Nuala fumbles
Una's thighs.

Like so.

Here, too.

Seen dogs in the park
More killed,
Una says.

Nuala smiles.
First time he was done
In the time
I could sneeze.

Did you wipe
Your nose?

Giggles both.

What time have
You to go?
Una says.

Soon or I'll not
Get dinner on time.

Miss you
Being here,
Una says.

Miss being
Here with you.

What to do?

Do this.

They kiss.

dublin,  kisses.

Author: Terry Collett
Date: 19/11/2019

№ 1055245

Dear Dublin

Beckett bridge in beauty
Book of Kells at Trinity
Young Irishman singing Guthrie
("this machine kills fascists")...

Thanks a million from you to me.

dear,  dublin.

Author: Todd Witherell
Date: 18/11/2019

№ 913233

Reflecting on an aged Dublin man of literature.

Injured to mutter in mad ways
(a town's sneer won't let him scream)
His eyes settle for blind sights drawn
From painless but poisonous prods -

Their targets a scrapbook of wheat and chaff
In this womb where no one watches
The self-embraced death of desire
That blocks hidden tears from surging
To a valley tomb.

aged,  dublin,  literature,  man,  reflecting.

Author: john oconnell
Date: 12/07/2019

№ 908364

To A Wealthy Man Who Promised A Second Subscription To The Dublin Municipal Gallery If It Were Proved The People Wanted Pictures

YOU gave, but will not give again
Until enough of paudeen's pence
By Biddy's halfpennies have lain
To be "some sort of evidence',
Before you'll put your guineas down,
That things it were a pride to give
Are what the blind and ignorant town
Imagines best to make it thrive.
What cared Duke Ercole, that bid
His mummers to the market-place,
What th' onion-sellers thought or did
So that his plautus set the pace
For the Italian comedies?
And Guidobaldo, when he made
That grammar school of courtesies
Where wit and beauty learned their trade
Upon Urbino's windy hill,
Had sent no runners to and fro
That he might learn the shepherds' will
And when they drove out Cosimo,
Indifferent how the rancour ran,
He gave the hours they had set free
To Michelozzo's latest plan
For the San Marco Library,
Whence turbulent Italy should draw
Delight in Art whoSe end is peace,
In logic and in natural law
By sucking at the dugs of Greece.
Your open hand but shows our loss,
For he knew better how to live.
Let paudeens play at pitch and toss,
Look up in the sun's eye and give
What the exultant heart calls good
That some new day may breed the best
Because you gave, not what they would,
But the right twigs for an eagle's nest!

dublin,  gallery,  man,  people,  pictures,  promised.

Author: William Butler Yeats
Date: 08/07/2019

№ 873041

From dublin to cork

Give me quiet music and quiet people any day
Stop saying 'I think', it's obvious, isn't it, that you think
We all think, and that's why we're speaking, or not,
Depending on the mood, give me a soft bed and warm food any day
I used to throttle myself on rollercoasters, I used to want
To run dry and smoke, and fester in the sun
Follow your heart, they say, but what they don't realize
Is that your heart changes directions- it is no compass
Pointing towards your destiny- it is a tour guide
Gently leading you along the scenic route this way and that
So follow it, maybe it won't lead you where you think
And it for sure won't leave you there for long
Before you embark on another journey.

cork,  dublin.

Author: M
Date: 06/06/2019

№ 845851

Dublin Tanka

Light taps upon pane.
Snow again. Flakes, silver dark.
Now the time has come.
Dark mutinous Shannon waves.
His soul soared slowly, last end.

dublin,  tanka.

Author: George Cheese
Date: 12/05/2019

№ 818774

Aeneas in Dublin

So, was this Aeneas, who called on Jove to strike him dead, or else end his wanderings? Was this Aeneas who wept on the deck of his ship?

Malcontent breads poetry as flies circle dungheaps and lay their larvae within.

This was Aeneas, the cheerful man who wept on board his ship.

Somewhere between College Park and Westland Row I sank for a moment into the earth.

This was Aeneas, the good.

So, with the chimneys of the city as rosary beads, I shake my fist at Jove, and repeat the words of Aeneas.


Author: Ignatius Brabazon
Date: 18/04/2019