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Missing in Ireland

by Kristina Woodhill

Elusive, her limericks fled her
Romped free through green moors kissed by heather
Glazed eyes, half asleep
Flicking rhymes at the sheep
Chewing cud, flirting words with wild weather

I'm sick that I can't find a word wedge
To poke in and pry through this blocked hedge
And so I'll just prune
At my limerick moon
Bite dreams from the wax of each cheese wedge

So sad rests this day without rhyming
Of Guinness or darts thrown or climbing
Those grand cliffs of Moher
Or Cashel's rock tower
Where ghost bells still charm with faint chiming

03/17/2015

Author's Note: Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Posted on 03/17/2015
Copyright © 2022 Kristina Woodhill

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Ken Harnisch on 03/17/15 at 08:27 PM

Ay, sure and begorrah, a delightful romp through the meadowlands of limericks that bless the land where they were invented!

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/17/15 at 08:52 PM

Appeals strongly to my own Irish (mother's) side. I like how you've included various images from Ireland also (Heather, Guinness, darts, etc.) Happy St. Patty's Day, Kristina. :)

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 03/26/15 at 05:42 PM

Kristina, these are three wonderful stanzas.,rich and colorful and varied with sound. the third of these simply dazzles the aye. aye, what is a day without rhyming and downing brew and scaling cliffs? tis a day in which we've been given carte blanche but not the imagination to fill it in not with numerals but with our image.

Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 04/01/15 at 07:14 PM

Makes me want to click my heels.

Posted by Laura Doom on 04/04/15 at 06:47 PM

So this is what I'm missing--gorging on pure green whilst riding a triple decker.

Posted by Johanna May on 06/08/15 at 11:37 AM

Charming, the words are so chewy. Love it.

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