Home   Home

The Walk (an Irish poem)

by Johnny Crimson

The solace of moring
has drowned out the noise
from the neighborhood children
and their blinking city toys.
There's a path in the garden
if you follow it true
for your luck be a changin'
with fresh clovers a new.
There's some chairs made of stone
at the end of the line
where the green rest their heads
with whiskey and wine.
We raise our hard chins
and look towards our brains
as the Leprechauns dance
we smile back through the haze.
This trip we have taken
is surely the life
away from sin and civilization
far away from the wife.
Speaking of she'll give chase
after 4 in the noon
after all me supper awaits
like my cold cottage view.
Then as love has been finished
with red-hair in my teeth
I roll over still spinning
this Irish lad welcomes sleep.
For the day just beginning
as exact as the last
after work on me building
I'll head back down the path.


Author's Note: It used to be O'Rooney but the folks in the Boston port thought just plain Rooney would be better.

Posted on 03/17/2011
Copyright © 2022 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 03/17/11 at 07:39 PM

I think it's a pretty badass name either way, sir. Awesome, awesome work.

Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 03/18/11 at 03:43 AM

It's a fine name you have sir, either way,and this is a fine,and absolutely very fine poem. I really love it and it is going in my Favorites.

Posted by Kristine Briese on 03/19/11 at 03:32 AM

Wonderful piece of writing.

Posted by Don Matley on 03/19/11 at 10:52 PM

a most enjoyable read....we all need our place of solace to discuss and touch our inner selves...thanks

Posted by Lucia Haselhorst on 02/05/12 at 07:35 PM

I enjoyed reading the poem. Thank you for your words.

Return to the Previous Page

pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online
All works Copyright © 2022 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)