28 Sept 2022

Greener Pastures - a poem for St Patrick's Day

Gerry Moran Kilkenny

Happy St Patrick's Day! Picture: RODNAE Productions/Pexels

Happy St Patrick's Day everyone! Here's a poem penned in honour of our patron saint....

Greener Pastures

‘Twas Paddy’s Day in Heaven

And the craic was something fierce

Fionn MacCumhaill was there and Granuaile

James Joyce and Patrick Pearse

There were saints and scholars everywhere

Sure the likes was never seen

While God Himself, to honour the day

Was decked out all in green

With banners aloft the march set off

Down Heaven’s Main Avenue

Led by the hero of Clontarf

The legendary Brian Ború

Brian forced a smile as he limped along

He was obviously in pain

Sure the man was never quite the same

Since that sceilp he got from the Dane

(It killed him!)

Cúchulainn followed on his heels

With Lory Meagher in tow

Their solo runs and hurling skills

Damn near stole the show

Oscar Wilde was up on stilts

His foppish hair dyed green

Oscar was merely pointing out

The Importance of being seen!

Mac Liammóir and Edwards

Were marching in the line

Even up here, at Heaven’s Gate

Their acting was “divine”

John McCormack belted out

With flair and fluency

A spirited rendition of that favourite:

 “Mother Mo Chroí”

Michael Collins marched along

To a loud and rousing cheer

“Thank God”, said Mick, ‘no Brexit

Or Border to bother us here”

George Bernard Shaw ambled by

Quite willing to share his views

About his latest comedy:

“How to Trump Fake News”

DeValera, tall and straight

Kept up with the pace

Had a mask of luminous, emerald green

Wrapped around his face

‘There’s no Covid here’, said Collins

‘No need to worry, fret’

Said Dev in that strange voice of his:

‘Mee-hawl, I would not bet.’

Daniel O’Connell bounced along

Full of the joys was he

As he whistled at the top of his lungs

What else but –‘The Rose of Tralee’

Parnell followed on his heels

Sporting a large shamrock spray

Arm-in-arm with his one true love

The lovely Kitty O’Shea.

WB strutted his stuff

Decked out in his best

Had his Nobel Prize for Literature

Strapped proudly on his chest

Samuel Becket trudged behind

Looking sad and just so-so

When asked about his glumness, said:

‘I’m STILL waiting for God-ot’

Our own St. Canice joined the march

But to green he did not pander

He wore instead the unique stripes

Of the famous black and amber

And then a very special guest:

The King of rock & roll blues

Swivelling his hips to shrieks and screams

And wearing GREEN suede shoes.

The poet Paddy Kavanagh

Ignored the whole affair

Instead himself and Brendan Behan

Had gone off on a “tare”

Cantankerous as ever

Paddy argued often with God

Saying Heaven was far too middle-class

And sainthood all a cod

Adding to the festive cheer

And sounding something grand

Was the famous, one and only:

McNamara’s Band

While there in all her splendour

The Parade’s symbolic ‘queen’

The enchanting and inspiring: 

Ní Uallacháin, Kathleen

St Patrick spritely strode along

Chest out, proud as punch

He’d zoom Joe Biden later

For a chat and virtual lunch

When Joe asks about the afterlife

He’ll reply with gusto, pride:

“Joe, the grass IS actually greener

On the other side”.

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