'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
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Sunday, November 07, 2010


Tip-toe through the garden

Though Stan lacks education
  He's been blessed with common sense.
Some believe he's thicker than
  The planks nailed to his fence.

But Stan knows well his ten-foot fence
  Will keep him safe from strife,
Keeping out the leprechaun
  Who travelled here from Fife,

A crazy Scottish cousin of
  A leprechaun called Peter
Who poses as a pint-sized man,
  Drinks whiskey by the litre,

And shows great feats of fortitude
  With night-long jigs on sheds.
The sound of boots on iron roofs
  Wakes flowers from their beds,

And makes them grow with evil thoughts
  And plans to cut down trees,
Schemes for farming beetles and
  Electrocuting bees.

Peter's dance enhanced the place
  In front of Stan's abode,
A beetle-farm-filled wilderness
  Where menace overflowed,

Regarded as a garden by
  Its owner, who was proud.
Stan admired the daisies that
  Released a noxious cloud.

He loved to see the sunlight on
  His apple tree's black branches.
They only make their rotten fruit
  To drop in avalanches,

And land on lawns of neighbours who
  Complained about the briars,
Those ever-roaming tentacles
  That tended to start fires.

Peter's dance made sneezing plants
  Appear in even rows.
They'd wait until they got a chance
  To sneeze on strutting crows,

And smear black clothes with some strange goo
  That sticks to feather coats,
A style that suits the parrots who
  Reside on pirate boats.

When Peter's cousin Cormac came
  To visit for a week,
He spent the first month telling tales
  Of trips to Mozambique,

And felling trees in Canada
  Where children panned for gold,
While grizzly bears grew beards and bowler
  Hats to fight the cold,

And when his stock of tales were told
  He ventured out for air.
He hoped he'd meet the neighbourhood's
  Fedora-growing bear.

Instead he found the wilderness
  Where Stan goes to unwind.
Its strange mystique applied a hold
  On Cormac's funny mind.

He spent three weeks exploring it,
  In search of deadly creatures.
He built sand castles with the stuff
  That flowed from water features.

His never-ceasing researches
  Made Stan feel ill-at-ease.
He'd put up with unwanted guests
  If they paid rent or fees.

To extricate his visitor
  He followed Cormac's route.
Days and nights of daunting jaunts
  Made up this fraught pursuit.

After Cormac's exit Stan
  Built up the fence with planks.
He's seen this added safeguard used
  On all the local banks.

Very Slight Stories

Henry Seaward-Shannon

The East Cork Patents Office

The Tree and the Horse


Words are my favourite noises

Previous Poems

Poems from 2004
Poems from 2005



Gizmo's (Non)sense

Pretty Cunning

The Dossing Times


Cruiskeen Eile
Kevin Myers' blog (sorry, Colonel Kevin Myers).

The Chancer

Sinead Gleeson



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A Walk in the Rain

 | poetry from Ireland

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