Ronnie McGinn's Poetry Page
| If you have a poem you'd like to see published in The Irish Examiner then send it to:
The Poetry Corner
The Irish Examiner USA
305 Madison Avenue, Suite 1462
New York
NY 10165
or, preferably, you can email it direct to
ronniemcginn@eircom.net.
If possible keep your poem to 20 lines. You may choose any subject you like, in any form you like as long as it's original. We look forward to hearing from you. |
The author of this week's poem, who hails from Co. Derry, asked if it "cut the Mustard." At first glance it reminded me of that well known Irish ballad 'The Old Bog Road' and I immediately felt it contained a dated sentiment that in this modern word of instant communication no longer applied. On reflection I realised I was totally wrong. There are a great many people out there who due to circumstances not of their making suffer the same longings and pains as did their predecessors a hundred years ago.
The Dear Old Sod
An Irishman in a festive pub,
Far, far away,
As he sits on his stool,
He dreams of Derry in the good old day.
"They've torn the place down now",
He said to me as I joined him at the bar,
But as I listened I wondered,
Was it to me or anyone in particular?
'Tis twenty years more or less,
Since I've seen the dear old shore,
As a tear fell from his eye,
And my heart broke to the core.
"Make sure you go home son",
He said with a tear in his eye,
"Cause all my life I said
I'd return to the emerald isle".
He never got to see the sod,
Before he had to go,
And only a few of us ex pats,
Were at his funeral in Colorado.
And as I reminisce,
Of that chat from long ago,
I realised I should have listened,
As I long for my own shore.
© Annette McLoughlin
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