Ode to Irish Poets by Simonetta Martella2

(for Julie)

Absinthe for green fairies
on St. Patrick’s Day, 2013
passed out in Second Life,
from a cocktail a poet sent
and the fairies swam out
around my avatar
and suddenly in brogue
the Irish Poem
came to me!

Ireland, Erin, Emerald Isles
green fairies are out to play
a poem for Irish poets today
it’s the annual wearing of the green
it’s everywhere that might be seen!
Irish eyes are smilin’.

And half-mad Julie curled over her wine
crying Tura Lura for Daddy’s Lullabye.

So if you know not to go gentle
into that good night but rage
against the dying of the light

remember Dylan Thomas
or Rosedrop Rust
or Dickens or Klannex.
Dylan Thomas on a subway car
to a perfect harmony
to the beat of the poet
rhyming on the City streets
Walt Whitman, or William Wordsworth,
in NYC or Dublin or London
on Grafton Street
in Shannon or Galway
in Celtic or Gaelic.

Ceade Mille Failte
A thousand welcomes.

a Shillelagh, a Jameson,
a Finnegan’s Rainbow,
a leprechaun,
a pot of gold.
in potatoes,
on American shores
in jams and stew,
I knew a Belique or
a Waterford
Crystal.

an Irish Blessing
tells the wind
to always be
at my back
and I sang along the sea:
Until we meet
again
Till we meet again,
may
God hold you
in the palm
of His hand.

On St. Patrick’s,
on his Catholic Feast
Day, of reveries and rivers
green in Boston, and Tampa too
and green bagels, and lox
for the Jew and Irish too,

Black Irish of Barack Obama
son of Danny Boy,
the pipes are calllin’.

Emeralds
glittering like a dream
of the Isle of Ireland,
green pastures of Eternal Isle,
Verdant Hills of Zion.
mountains and sea
where we can say,
we are all Irish today,
or Viking or Norman,
pagans or druids,
Sisters of Mercy,
or clan.
an Epic Poem,
In the Kingdom
of Joyce, and Bloom,
I wandered on that Dublin Day in June,
Singing an Irish tune, Bono and U2
Seamus, and Shannon.

William Butler Yeats,
Easter 1916,
Finnegan Rising,
Leader of the Poets
and the Politics
of his era,
with passion and style
politically informed the
Celtic Isle.

And Oscar Wilde,
martyr for his sex,
Earnest at best,
and the poet who knew
to play the Sapphic tune,
Portrait of the Artist
Kelly and
Bardcraft
and Colleen
and the dream.

Irish Bards,
of Gaelic wit, wisdom, and war,
and in Irish said, and in English
as a second language,
foresight,
do not go gentle
into that that good night.

once I toured the British Library
and the director said,
we keep the Irish Poets over here,
cause everyone knows,
she said in a tone
the best poets of the English
language are Irish
and who says that
it would seem
and I wonder
why I had that dream?

in a survey he said,
my favorite poet is
Edward Gorey
mockery and parody.
Mariner
would face
death speaking
from the tomb
in a limerick
from the doom.

when Dylan Thomas
said to rage
at close of day
in that good night
against the
dying of the light.

so I can hallucinate
in a surreal
place in my imagination
while I am awake

Absinthe for St. Patrick’s Day
Baudelaire’s reverie
and Poe’s drink of choice
it’s not what they drank
those Absinthe poets
that now we drink
a sanitized version
for sanity
it’s green
Absinthe
on St. Patrick’s Day.

And now some words from Yeats:
Irish Poets learn your trade,
Sing whatever is well made!

~oOo~

SimonettaMartella2 has been reading at various poetry open mics across the metaverse in Second Life and on Vimeo.

She loves to use nature, virtual life and introspection in her poetry, but this diverse artist has many other talents. She is a machinima filmmaker and both hosted and produced the End of Days Party as well as making the films shown. She speaks five languages and is a delight to hear in any of them! She is working on her first novel.

One Response to Ode to Irish Poets by Simonetta Martella2

  1. julie says:

    Love this! Of course I am delighted this poem was dedicated to me, but Simone is a first-rate talent… and a darned nice lady to boot.

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