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Works of fiction and poetry by friends of Bamboo Ridge Press.

eijiEIJI

"My opinion eh, small teengs make beeg diffrence...heh, heh... ^ ^ ..."

THIS IS A YEAR OF THE HORSE CONTEST ENTRY

The Blue Stone of Blarney

Published by EIJI | Wednesday, March 04, 2015 3:29 PM


poem I wrote with the prompt "something Irish" 388 word count year of the horse contest entry. One of my poems in "Me Light Side" chapter of my life...


On the emerald Isle of Eire
amidst deep blue seas faraway,
A band of naughty leprechauns gather
on the evenin' of St. Paddy's Day.

Wearin' top hats and waistcoats of green
with silver buckled belts and shoes,
Tight stockin's instead of breeches they wear
in colors of their favorite hues.

Naughty eyes wink 'bove rosy cheeked smiles
from statures not high off the ground,
Oglin' women blush and men folk turn green
at the sight of bulgin'- manly mounds.

Prancin' and dancin' around with glee
in Blarney Castle's forest green,
Clickin' heels up high 'round a campfire light
their happy silhouettes can be seen.

Hands on spigots from wooden kegs fill;
hailin' empty pints with their brew,
Fiddlin' hands and laughter fills the night air
a risin' moon show the night's still new.

From a pole a tied maiden cries out
in fear of their naughty intent,
Caught while kissin' the Blarney Stone to cure
her stutterin' speech impediment.

Above the castle's mossy ramparts
eyes from betwixt their merlons peek,
A prince and his knights have come to Blarney
for a cure from its bluestone he seeks.

Vexed by a spell from a wicked witch
since that decade and five he reached,
'Twas mean't for his father the reignin' king
'stead it silenced his own words of speech.

Now a score and a prince of valor
ire fills their hearts at what they see,
Flyin' capes and swords rage down torchlit steps
on armored steeds they'll answer her pleas.

Eyes of mirth now opened wide with fright
as the thunder of hooves draw near,
Pints thrown in the air and top hats fly off
as buckled shoes scatter 'bout with fear.

Driven into a cover of ferns
lashin' whips crack in the night air
As gauntlets reach down 'neath each tremblin' fern
seizin' the napes a-cowerin' there.

In chains torches lead them down a cave
hidden 'neath Blarney Castle deep,
Cries fade as gauntlets roll a stone to seal
forever in its hind they will sleep.

By flickerin' flames a curse is hewn
'neath a clover with leaves of four,
"Whosoever removes this sacred stone
the hands of woe will knock at his door."

A year today, both maiden and prince
facing the Bluestone of Blarney,
In eloquent voices for all to hear
exchanged their vows in matrimony...







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