Irish Joe Lynch

irishjoelynch@gmail.com

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Poetry

The City of New Orleans - by Joe Lynch ©

The reckless moon has strewn his treasure

Out across the Mississippi

Dream-a-fying the Creole Queen

Paddle-wheeling sweet to the bluesy brass beat

Of Steamboat Willy and Maybelline

Wooing the lovers,

The dreamers,

The two drink screamers

The Ghosts of Louis and Ella sailing in our dreams

On a silvery Mississippi by the City of New Orleans

And the devil danced so sweet on Bourbon St

Soft-shoe Jose, in gold la-mae

Delicate fleet little wings to his feet

Last night’s tip jar still misting his veins,

Powering his car

Misty, my eyes are too

As he danced my wild unreachable dreams

On the corner of Bourbon and Voodoo

On a steamy dreamy midnight

In the city of New Orleans

And the moonlight paves a pathway on the silver singing river

A shimmering rue for the angels of the Bayou

Healing old scars, only love mends

Oh! the deep, deep scars

Soothed wound by wound by the Creole/Cajun seraphims

Bridging the years, springing sweet tears

For the old world, and the new

On the streetcars,

In the bars

The sinners, saints and superstars

Cannot, but, be in love in the City of New Orleans

Hallelujah! Revelations 13, Ya‘all

Jesus preached on Frenchmen St, on a cheep and loud PA

While Chico, sleeps in a doorway

And gave his crawfish pie

To a hungrier hombre from the streets

I asked why?

He said, “I like to share”

He said, everyone’s a giver here

The preaching Jesus and the dancing devil too

“We all give Señor, by different means”

On the streets of New Orleans”

As I leave you New Orleans, I know you won’t leave me

You’ll abide all time in that smoky old jazz joint of my mind.

Her nimble black fingers tease the yellowed ivory keys

Singing my pain

Reaching my lonely boy

Setting him free again

She said it ain’t my fault you should cry, white boy

You come to hear the blues!

You come to hear the blues! You come the right place, Monsieur

You get to findin what-it-all means

Right here in New Orleans

In a dim-lit, bluesy old jazz joint,

Round about midnight,

In the City of New Orleans. 

     

 

 

 

Screen Shot 2014 10 11 at 8.16
My World by Joe Lynch 2014 ©


We’re a picky lot, on that little dot
Some pick winners, some do not
Some pick fights with the other fellow
My love picks nasturtiums
And leaves them on my pillow

 

Some sing praises to their Gods
Some sing dirges to their dead
Some, battlesongs to marching boots
And fill the sky with lead

 

My love dozes in my arms
Humming some old rhyme
About old dogs and children
And watermelon wine

 

Some awake to the call for prayer

Plant bombs inside their vests
I awake to the kookaburra,
Plant a kiss on my true love’s breast

 

Some seek jewels, jade and jasper
And strip Earthmother bare
I find treasure in my love’s eyes
And silver in her hair

Some wear Gucci and Obsession
Doir, Chanel, Cologne

My love smells of gardening

And sweet, sweet, subtle Pheromone




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Roisin Dubh     By Joe Lynch 2014 ©

Her Spirit walks with me on the turfy moors
And where the black, shell-encrusted rocks
Endure the ceaseless spray
Enchanted, I wander all the day
Oh! You fierce and bold Atlantic
You call me like an over-confident lover
Beckons a smitten slave
Who cannot but obey
You call the rhythm and my heart thunders in time
While you’re rugged arms entwine
My dreaming place
And every dream within it.
And all the while she walks with me
She walks with me in spirit
I watched the wide-eyed gannet hover on the wing, and sing
An eerie unrequited love song
Mostly song with just a hint of cry, and I
Captivated by his song
In my spirit, sang along
But you, my all-talk Atlantic friend
This eve you’re not so bold
Now the sinking Sun has kissed your brow
Your rage has turned to harmony
As your Silver turns to Gold
And her spirit found my sleeping breast
On a turf reek near Kilkee
With a billion other fiery worlds
Blazing down on me
And the Mass-rocks and the moss
And the ruins and the purple heather
All shared a truth I needed then
“Embrace the gift my wounded friend
Cause nothing lasts forever”
And I was King of the world that night
With nature for a palace
Rich green moss for a sleeping gown
And the fairies gave me for a crownThe Aurora borealis
In sleep I heard her sweetly sing
To the delicate beat of a butterfly wing.

I was asked to perform something for the Tree Planting Ceremony (Woodford 2015). It had to be of a Celtic Theme if possible. I couldn’t find anything close enough so I wrote this instead. I had lots of fun writing it and it worked really well on the night. Hope you like it, Joe

The Planter and the Tree (Woodford, 2015)

Four hundred million years before woman and man, I began. First as a tiny, tiny palm, smaller that the smallest clover.

And a mere twenty million years later I had grown right up to the height of a child’s ankle.

And then just 20 million years after that, I had truly hit my hobbles. Shooting up 30 meters into the sky, the first freestanding flora in the entire universe, complete with timber, bark and branches.

I covered the earth. I varied my shape and structure to suit all environments. I purified the air, ridding the planet of poisonous gases and when I died I rotted into the hard volcanic ground, creating soil for more trees, and for food plants and for flowers to grow.


Over the next 100 million years, I saw creatures from the sea adapt to land.

They thrived on the nutritious foods my friends and I produced.

I watched them grow and grow and grow. I watched them come and I watched them go.

And just 65 million years ago I withstood the great impact I saw the world turn black, covered with ash a meter deep for many, many years, And yet I survived.

The large creatures died away, never to come again. They had had their day.

But other life forms replaced them, a new day had dawned, some climbing gleefully upon my form, swinging free from limb to limb, 
Birds were flying overhead,
Love was in the air. 
Some nested upon my branches bringing forth their kin.
Yes indeed! Love was in the air
Life was in full swing.

I inspired poets and artists of every kind.
I inspired lovers and dreamers of dreams.
And the Shamen came 
And the Seers came
And the Weavers of Enchantment 
And the Celtic Bards and Druids came

And one day the Druid
To the Oak and the Elm and the Wildwood spoke

What kind of being do we have in thee, oh great and mighty tree?

I am the Elder of all flora
I am the steadfast strength in the oak 
I am the flexibility in the ash, bending by the creek to caress your wet and trembling cheek. 
I am the shade in the dreamy Summer that hugs your warm heart
I am a poem, that earth has written upon the sky
I am the sweetness in the violin
I am the question WHY? in the EYE, of the orangutan
I am history 
I am Karma
I am peace
I am the fulcrum in the great balance
Home to millions of creatures, the giver of life, 
And yet one day I shall cry, 
Where is MY savior?

And the Druid then warned his fellows saying 
“Thou shalt not destroy a living tree
Therefore, By placing an axe against her
For the tree of the field is the storehouse of life
For she sustains us with her fruits, and shelter
And she revives our weary spirit with her breath.


And the ancient poet reminisced

Of climbing as a child on his beloved oak
This tired old poet in the woodland spoke
And asked the angels of the ages 
And the harsh unyielding gods of time
Was there ever joy so sweet
Was there ever bliss so fine


Then spoke the mighty King unto to the humble tree.

What on earth can you teach me?
Replied the tree, --- I can teach you the art of humility. 
Look at my diverse forests, and learn how to SHARE YOUR world. 
Look into my woods you’ll see perfect harmony 
Where the blackthorn blooms happily next to the white. 
Look at the majestic Elm standing rugged, proud and strong 
And yet in peaceful contrast 
To the splendor of the gentle Cherry blossom.

Taste the sweetness of the pink-lady apple 
Listen to the melodic chimes of the bamboo at midnight.
Breathe deep my refreshing forest air and remember!

Your Majesty gives the world it’s laws,
But I, -- the world it’s oxygen.
Rejoice with the poplars 
Grieve amongst the willows
Intoxicate to the sweet scent of the lemon myrtle 
Fascinate, at the luminous blaze of a flame tree, trying to outshine the sun
And all, living in a unified forest
Sharing their world as one
And YOUR royal treasure Squire, pales so dull and dumb, 
When set against the abundant gold strewn around my feet In Autumn.
So forsake your fickle conquests, 
And learn, to love in the forest
Beneath the stars, beneath the Sun

Meanwhile, my numbers are growing few, 
My hour is getting late,
And for my savior I must wait


And I can see my savior now
I can see from where I stand
It’s you, with the seed and the saplings 
And the shovel in your hand
For my Deity comes not to me 
With robes, nor cross nor books nor beads
But soily hands 
And a willing heart
And a cart of life and love and dreams
And a will to toil and plant the soil 
With a kind and loving heart
A kind and loving heart

Because you are the movers and the shakers of life
And the dreamers of dreams
Of all who live upon the earth
For each tree is a dream that is dying 
But each seed in a planter’s hand is one that is coming to birth.

Then spoke the Planter to his fellows
Whatever you have sown, be it love peace or scorn. 
That – shall be your bread. 
So lets go and plant a tree my friend, 
Lets plant a tree instead.

Lets paint a future masterpiece of green, green, yes, all forty shades, bursting at the seams and watch them turn as the seasons turn.
Golden yellows, brownie burn, red and amber 
Twisting and turning in the Fall
Like swallows weaving the Autumnal dawn, 
Awakening your dreams
In natures colour schemes

And we’ll bask in the shade of a big old tree
Just you and me
And shelter from the noonday sun 
And realize
That trees and peace and You and I are one


Go raibh mile math agat anois
Agus phlanta shona duit

Thank you very much and happy planting

By Joe Lynch 2015 ©

 

 

 

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