Dublin – for dVerse

My True Love is a Dublin man
And Dublin is his city,
So sing a song of Dublin
Where the girls are all so pretty

There’s a poet in each cafe
And the streets are paved with gold,
The pubs are full of music
And the gurriers are bold

Some men give you diamonds
Or a dozen roses red
My Love gave me the Long Hall
And the Palace Bar instead.

My True Love has grown older
And he’s watched his city growing –
The Celtic Tiger roared and then
The money started flowing,

You can buy a frappuccino
Where the poets used to sing,
And strut your stuff on Grafton Street,
With cocktails and with bling,

The nightclubs bang til 4 am
So have another jar,
And watch out for the stag dos
Throwing up in Temple Bar

My True Love comes from Dublin,
A memory of a city,
Where the Guinness flows like water
And the barmen all are witty.

Some men give you chocolates,
Some men give you flowers,
My love gave me a city
Of tenements and towers

My True Love is a Dublin Man
And Dublin is his city,
So sing a song of Dublin
Where the girls are all so pretty.


Welcome, Jilly, to dVerse, where the words flow like Guinness! This is for your first solo prompt – be inspired by a city.

I was lucky enough to see Andy Irvine the other night,so I’ve had some rhythms bouncing around in my head for a few days. My mother in law is unwell, so my husband’s been heading over to Dublin a lot recently, and, I guess, we’ve both been reflecting on changing times, mortality, getting older. A heavy load for a lightweight little number. The more musical among you may find a tune for it stored away in your brains somewhere…

Gurrier? a bad, bold boy…

Advent Day 3

Dublin, December 2010

We pulled into Dublin
As if it was a foreign city,
A dream city,
A nutcracker city, woven together
From sugar and ice,

and the snow was soft
and heavy as a broody hen
on all the roofs in Dun Laoghaire.

We had brought Christmas with us,
stuffed into bags,
crammed into gaps and cracks,
spilling out of our pockets,
all red and gold and green,

but Christmas had arrived
before us.

A wreath on every door.

We don’t often get a white Christmas. This is the last one I can remember, and we travelled to Ireland for it. It was glorious!