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…

Music is general

Music is general over Ireland:

There’s a kid with a fiddle

On Grafton Street, and out

In the West, in Ballydehob,

There’s a German couple

In Rosie’s bar, who are playing

Bob Marley. Your parents

Are fox-trotting across the floor

In the golf club, and the army band

Is practicing “Faith of our Fathers”.

In Limerick the pipes, the pipes

Are calling, and in this little church

By the sea, there’s music dancing

Where the altar used to be.

There’s a ceilidh tonight

In the community centre

On Clare Island, and the pipes

Sing like a bad woman

And in Toners there’s a poet

Who suddenly bursts into

“My Lagan Love”, and high

Above Ben Bullen, there’s a

Skylark rising, rising, rising.


For Brendan, over at toads. We are asked to write a poem for St Patrick’s Day. It was hard to narrow it down. Toner’s is a pub in Dublin, if you’re wondering. 

Postcard poem for dVerse

Thank you
for the coastline
you sent me –
headlands reeling west,
land as wild
and laughing as a jig.
I will stick it to
my fridge
and think of you
and the smell
of turf

a little postcard poem for dVersehttps://dversepoets.com/2017/04/18/tuesday-poetics-wish-you-were-here/ where De gives us a gentle little task to soothe our souls during this wild and crazy poetry packed month of April. I pulled out the first postcard I could find – a map of Ireland – and wanted to add a picture, but the technology defeated me. Never mind, next time…