Bard of Armagh Minutes of the Finals ( in poetic form, 1st revision. ) Armagh Nov 20th 2009
‘Twas winter in old Armagh town When Ireland's poets gathered round To see who might, by dint of wit Delight the crowd and all in it Reciting the most witty ditty To brighten good St. Patrick's city
The Makem boys had set the stage And lit the lights and turned the page To set before the poets, all A crowd they could with verse enthrall A thousand souls were soon enraptured By tales poetically captured
"To order" soon the crowd was called By Pearse Mcbride in that great hall A gracious welcome then he gave To all who winter storms did brave To lend support on this cold night And keep poetic flames alight.
Upon that Armagh City stage Poetic wars did soon engage The travails of the country life Age, youth, the drink, a problem wife All grist for these poetic mills ‘Neath Pat's cathedrals on two hills.
The first contestant, Wexford Bob Warned of the way a girl could rob A man of freedom and could alter His life with the "Matrimonial Halter"
Martine O'Callaghan then spoke Of dangers, now, of going broke And how you might eat grass for lunch If you're caught in the credit crunch
Jo Kelly from Dungiven followed To warn that small men could be swallowed By women who, at first a treasure Can soon become too big to measure
Rose Twohig's "Poteen Well" appealed To all who've from this liquor reeled Her auld Da never got a sip But, happily, got a poteen drip.
Sean Lyons' problems buying britches Soon had the crowd in mirthful stitches Though thoughts of Sean in silken thong Sent squirming shock waves through the throng.
From Keady Don McKenna hailed And expertly the crowd regaled With rhymes concerning growing old "Too many birthdays" he'd been told
Joan Rooney's energetic ode Had poteen drunk upon the road By Paddy on his way to town And how that liquor brought him down
Not from his bed, but from below Ettie Kilbride brought Packie's " po" Which told us of poor Packie's trouble When single life ended in double.
(This talk of functions biological Meant that it was, at this point, logical For all to take a "bio-break" So for the doors we swift did make.) When play resumed, wee Loughgall man Jim Rafferty came to the stand And tried his title to regain Describing people on the train A video from Van Diemen's land Was blighted by the gremlin's hand So Peter Mace's photo story Was no threat to " commuter glory" .
Collette, from Keady, told us why The revolution passed her by So she and all her worldwide sisters Are still in chains, slaves of their "misters"
The 08 bard , Liam NcNally Then rhymed a very hum'rous tally Of fifteen souls and how they fed And cabbage sangwiches in bed
Last up, the elder, Pat McGinn Admitted to his life of sin And warned us that we'd pay for all When "Golden Years" became our stall.
The judges rose and left the scene To argue about who had been The master poet on the night Which one had really "got it right"? It wasn't long ‘til they returned The top two bards were then confirmed ‘Twas Jim and Liam at the top But Liam took the winner's spot.
By this, I hope that you can tell The Bard of Armagh's doing well There's talent here for many years To keep you laughing through your tears.
John Allen. The Bard of Mullentine (and Official Emergency Poet)
A den of rhymes
‘I'd like you to meet a Poet from Bath'. ‘Oh Lord, I've fallen in a den of rhymes Where some will cling to the past, beat a path Back to dogg'rel with dear Dad at bedtimes.'
In my snug bed of rhymes I will oft-times Be found, it's true, for a part of the day, So I am pleased to note that their moan rhymes When trendy fans of Free Verse say ‘No way!
Rhyming is obsolete, hints of decay; No one today uses that any more! It matters not whether you're straight or gay, Everyone knows that rhymes are a real bore!'
In my lair are fine Rhymesters I adore: Masefield and Marvell, Blake, Betjeman and Burns; Memorable verse, and there's so many more Whom I suspect that my Free Verse friend spurns.
‘I find that outdated Rhyming Verse turns My stomach, for it's right out of the Artk. Bald and decrepit Old Mark never learns How in this day and age to make his mark.'
Maybe it's true and I'm still in the dark, Clinging to what's secure, ordered and flows. Yet there's one question that nags, asking ‘Hark! Why does so much Free Verse sound so like Prose?'
‘What does it matter when anything goes? Rhyming and scanning concentrate the mind And can be taxing, as everyone knows. Free Verse is...well, free and so unconfined.'
Trying to find the exact word that rhymed Making verse memorable, which doesn't drag The poem down - is a challenge I find. Free Verse is unrestrained without this snag. The Elite Poets Who Know - do not flag From judging that Free Verse has to be best. Sadly Joe Public finds their stuff a drag, ‘We're unimpressed, it's so hard to digest.'
By Mark Sayers, 2008
New Year Greetings
Ring out the bells on the midnight hour Welcome the year for the joy it brings But why harry the old on the cusp of the new? Hasn't the old been good to me and you? For some it's been awful, tragic to a fault But wasn't there gold amongst the dross? Laughter midst the tears? And of this new year? The unknown always engenders fears Brings hardship and trouble Maybe horrid days ahead And partings Even departures to distant shores But that desire for success lies deep within Between the difficulties, there will be good days Life's inherent duty thrusts us forward To fully live the life He gave His gift of life, which we must not evade So for the good days to come The bad day which follow The happy greetings and joyful welcomes To all and everyone A Happy and peaceful New Year
Margaret Halstead, Oxfordshire
