GAA Poetry - post your best poems

[Fear ón Srath Bán]

Here you go TopKat, but warning: can reduce even the hardest of men to snivelling, whimpering wrecks 

The Brantry Boy
By Mickey Coleman

Morning has broken and I hear the news
Phones they are ringing there's people confused
There's news that in Eglish near the village of Moy
That the angels have taken the Brantry Boy

My heart it is breaking as I stand on the shore
For a friend and a leader we'll see you no more
Close to your home where the trout feed on fly
On this dull March morning I ask myself WHY?

Chorus:
The lake it is silent the water is calm
There's no fishing boats and there's no fisherman
The Brantry is quiet in the heart of Tyrone
For a captain, a hero, a legend has gone
A Gael in his short life he gave so much joy
Now I bid farewell to the Brantry Boy

Goodbye God bless as we carry you high
Shoulder to shoulder as the school children cry
The club's guard of honour stand proud and erect
As your teammates mourn their gallant full back

Through the green fields of Ireland you will no longer run
Where you wore the red hand for your county Tyrone
All over Ireland they speak of your name
And the way that you played the beautiful game

Chorus

Time has moved onwards to you now I pray
As I pass by your grave on this autumn day
I turn to a friend with tears in his eyes
Like me he still misses the Brantry Boy

Now around Tullygiven where the Oona runs free
I wander alone but there's someone with me
A swift-footed spirit moves on in my mind
To be part of the beauty that he left behind

Chorus

The lake it is silent the water is calm
There's no fishing boats and there's no fisherman
The Brantry is quiet in the heart of Tyrone
For a captain, a hero, a legend has gone
If I could see him today there's one thing I'd tell him
I miss you dear friend Cormac Mc Anallen

[realredhandfan]

It still breaks the heart.

[ONeill]

They called him Paddy the Great
His All-Star was on the plate
Til he went for the throat
The poor ref, will he quote?
In fear the in-breds await.

[Guillem2]

 

[realredhandfan]

You know Im Brad, Im Brad, You know it!
and the whole world seems to think that Im bad...
fade to finish

[Flat Hedgehog]

Sky TV at night,
Voyeurs delight;
Sky TV in the morning,
Inexorably boring.

[magpie seanie]

They called him Paddy the Great
His All-Star was on the plate
Til he went for the throat
The poor ref, will he quote?
In fear the in-breds await.

You made us wait but it was worth it!

[Bacon]

Referees Prayer

Before we take the field we pray,

Save us from abuse today.

Save us from disgruntled fans,

From bottles, toilet rolls and cans.

Give my legs the speed to keep the pace,

For the middle of the park is a lonely place.

When the game is over if disaster looms,

Guide us safely to the Dressing Rooms.

Protect my linesmen true and tall,

Let their eyes be sharp for the "off the ball."

To the lads in the dug out seething and fumin',

Remember lads we're only human.

Protect my umpires with their coats so bright,

Let their greens be green and their whites be white.

Let their eye and their vision be straight and true,

Let their errors, if any, be small and few.

And when at last our time is o'er.

And we're waiting at St.Peter's door,

He'll say "come in lads" with eyes full of glee,

"For your hell was on earth, you're the Referee.

P.O'Nuallain.

[Armagh4SamAgain]

This ones grate! It wassnt me rote it but we have the same name  Except i say Again.

Armagh For Sam

We left Tyrone amongst the bushes
And Fermanagh in the Lakes
We left Donegal in the hills
And showed Sligo what it takes.

We left Dublin media sickened
I'm sure you will agree
And we left Kerry in the Kingdom
While, Armagh went on the spree.

From two points up to five behind
Made us all feel sick
And just to make matters worse
We missed that penalty kick.

At half time we were in trouble
Sure it was plain to see
But what a change Big Joe made
When he introduced Plan B.

He told us to get out there
And fight for every ball
Then he took his losers medal
And hopped it off the wall.

We stopped them in the middle
We held them on the wings
But the game is never over
'Til the Fat Lady sings.

The forwards played with hunger
They played with heart and soul
And what a roar went around Croke Park
When McConville scored that goal.

Midfield played with passion
Young Toal he was on fire
And then the final whistle blew
We'd won the Sam Maguire.

Jarlath Burns ran from the Press-Box
With the Mic still in his hand
He jumped and cheered and shouted
We have reached the Promised Land.

Barrier gates were open wide
And the crowds began to flock
The last time I such a sight
Was when the pope came to Knock

As I stood up on the Hogan Stand
With John Bosco by my side
We looked down on that Sea of Orange
And with tears of joy, We cried.

Come On Armagh

Vincey O'Connor

[Kerry Mike]

Dúchas

You say tradition counts for naught when two teams take the field,
I fear you are mistaken, lad, but the years will make you yield,
And when your hair's as grey as mine, and time has made you old,
Then you'll invoke the truth I spoke of the Kingdom's green and gold.

You cannot box or bottle it, nor grasp it in your hand,
But pride of race and love of place inspire a love of land
Time honoured is our birthright, we'll never break the mould,
It's deep within the soul of us, who wear the green and gold.

Grey lakes and mountains soaring high, Mount Brandon's holy hill,
The little church at Gallerus, our language living still,
The Skellig Rock, stout football stock, they can't be bought or sold,
For our county's fame, we play the game in the Kingdom's green and gold.

And when the battle's fiercest and the fortunes ebb and flow,
We're still alive, we can survive, we never will let go,
For the spirit of our fathers and of stories yet untold,
Will lead us on to victory, in the Kingdom's green and gold.

We savour Kerry victories, we salute a gallant foe
And when we lose, there's no excuse, we pick up our bags and go,
So raise your glass each lad and lass to our warriors brave and bold,
Who again aspire to the Sam Maguire in the Kingdom's green and gold

[Kerry Mike]

Our Gooch who art a Legend
Hallowed be thy name
Thy Kingdom come
Cork will be done in Croker as they were in Killarney
Give us this day our yearly Sam.
And forgive them their begrugery,
as we forgive those rebels who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation of 4-in-a-rows,
but deliver us from evil Billy. 

[uselessfootballer]

As today is national poetry a  wee memory from 2003


WHEN PETER MET SAM

No, this is not a romantic comedy, definitely no fake orgasm scene here.
Simply a story of aspiration, determination and effort,
Ordinary people facing their ultimate challenge.
A cast of thousands, over a time-scale of innumerable years,
Will Peter ever meet Sam?

The colour, the flags and bunting,
As a warm-up act we painted sheep and dressed statues.
What will happen on the day? All of a sudden everybody is an expert.
Roll on the big day, 'til then we will dream,
We all dream that Peter will meet Sam!

The day of destiny has arrived,
A mass migration south.
Glimpses of an Orange Santa and a Paisley look-alike, in a sea of painted faces. 
Anxiety riddled people hiding behind masks of false smiles and bravado.
Maybe, just maybe, Peter might meet Sam!

The action has started, the tension unbearable.
We can't bear to watch, but feel we can't, not watch
A classic encounter, the irresistible force V's the immovable object.
Please let it be over! Please let it be over! PLEASE GOD LET IT BE OVER!
Oh God! Maybe it won't happen; maybe Peter isn't going to meet Sam.

I can see it now; I'm standing nearby on hallowed ground,
They're both there, but not alone.
It has finally happened, but for them it's not a private scene.
As they embrace, we watch on in our thousands.
It has really happened, Peter has met Sam

He describes the moment, how it feels, what it means, all the while smiling at Sam.
As he smiles we smile, we share the emotion as he fights back a tear.
As we clap and cheer, our minds wander to memories of heartbreak and false dawns.
Although at times lost in our own emotions, there is an overwhelming sense of unity,
That day, when Peter finally met Sam, We all met Sam!

Next day in Omagh, they're still together, entwined in each others arms
We laugh and sing and chant their names
Banished forever now the jagged memories of Kerry and Dublin, Meath and Sligo
Replaced with images of success, celebration, unbreakable smiles and homecomings.
I for one will never forget the day, when Peter met Sam.

[Frank Casey]

The full forwards prayer

Before I lay me down to sleep
I give my soul to god to keep
A prayer to St Anthony to keep it straight
And a nod to the devil so the keeper twil bate.

[Guillem2]

Give It Up?

Yesterday morning on your way to work you as counted up this month's rent,
Some feen on the radio mentioned he was given up the fags for Lent.

You can't believe its here already – feels like Christmas was just last week.
You'll have to give up something now and suddenly the month looks bleak.

Just when the evenings were stretching out and getting somewhat brighter,
Here comes the guilt to take away your tobacco, skins, fags and lighter,

Fast and abstinence is good for the soul they say and will get you into Heaven,
But that's the last thing you need to know when the alarm rings at half past seven

The cold winter mornings cut you deep, right into your soul,
You dip your face into your coat as off to work you stroll,

As the icy rain forces you to take a short cut through some alley,
The freezing wind numbs your hands as it blows east through Lee Valley,

What keeps you going is not thought of the heat of where you work,
But the simple pleasures of a fag and coffee – to some degree its a perk.

The simple things can motivate and get you through the day,
Especially if you hate your job but are pretending its okay.

Now just when you thought you were coping with all those winter mornings,
The mind goes into overload and starts giving out those warnings,

What are the things you can give up this year that won't make you feel too bad?
And you have to have some pleasures cos in the morning you're just so flahed.

If you don't give up something big then you might be racked with guilt,
Like staying in bed all day with an electric blanket and a quilt.

What about your favourite sports – could you give up following the GAA?
Ignore the Sunday papers and from all Cork matches stay away?

T'would be tough alright, a sacrifice, especially for the year that's in it,
With Kerry already beaten in the league it looks like Cork will probably win it,

And you couldn't watch highlights either cos that really would be cheating,
Even if you hear by accident that the Rebels gave the Dubs a beating,

Tell yourself your task is tough – you're not known for exaggeration
The thought of watching John Allen's team is nothing but pure temptation

So now you get to keep the smokes in the canteen you won't have to grieve,
Except when Deano's goals are discussed you must promise that you'll leave,

Even though you've got opinions on the new rules you must be strong,
Even if when what Pat Spillane keeps saying always seems to be so wrong.

Radio shows and sports bulletins - you'll have to cut out all that caper,
The media blackout includes our site and the back pages of "de paper",

This will be tough, its no mean feat, and the air about you will tense,
But when you finally emerge on Easter Sunday the satisfaction will be immense,

When the championship comes 'round you'll appreciate it all the more,
You can revel in the very fact that you simply know the score.

Watch as Cork make their way towards a record breaking double,
To honour the city's culture while all the others are reduced to rubble,

So there's your excuse to stay on the fags and some reason to stay on the booze,
Its up to you for the next six weeks which Lenten fast you choose!

One last thing, you might have forgot, it might catch you by the short and curlies,
Next Monday is a special day so remember to save some lovin' for all the girlies....

John Paul Valentino

[timmyot501]

An Ode to Maurice Fitz

Hail Maurice, full of grace
When the ball is with thee
Brilliant art thou amongst kerrymen
And brilliant are your feet in croke park, Jaysus!
Holy Moly what a score
We all pray for another
Now and at the games death
Eamonn