Ceiling painting of St. Patrick in the State Apartments at Dublin‘Saint Patrick Was a Green Alien’ by Damian Robin The Society March 17, 2017 Culture, Poetry 4 Comments Saint Patrick was a green alien, He came from other parts. He was not a native Irishman But was taken to their hearts. On oceans of pre-destiny He made a Christian start With a sense of heaven’s purity And faith in his small part. He sailed the sea on a ship of wood With a shepherd’s crook in hand, And did all things a sailor should To get to his promised land. There, there were snakes, slippy as eels, Each snake a little devil! But he sent them packing on their heels – And that land to a higher level. With snakes all gone, the earth and rocks Were green without restraint. The people poured like newborn flocks, And praised him like a saint. Their land became a mirrored glaze Of thanks and blessings to him. Reflected glory, joy and praise, That gave a soft green glim. St Patrick was an immigrant Now with an em’rald sheen, And a pope made him pre-eminant In the land of shamrock green. Saint Patrick was a green alien, He came from foreign parts. He was not a native Irishman But is deep inside their hearts. Damian Robin lives in England where he works for an international newspaper and lives with his wife and three children. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 4 Responses Margaret O'Driscoll March 18, 2017 Enjoyed reading this Reply Damian Robin March 18, 2017 Thanks Margaret. I enjoyed writing it. My mother’s side of the family came from Ireland. Reply Damian Robin March 18, 2017 Hi Margaret, you may find this enjoyable as well: The President (be upstanding and salute!) of the Society of Classical Poets corrected a couple of lines in this poem to his own liking. I noticed a fault in his scansion and wrote this to him : Many thanks, diligent and hard working man, Evan I’ve bin reading The Ballad of Reading Goal and it comes to me that Victorian poetry talks and takes much of the soul and Christ and ghosts and themes them out into the air as platted, coupled, done-up, thatching, pearling Pre-Raphealite-curling longing hair and for the mosts it paradymes the stress off the page (sometimes in para-rhyme and less) to press breath against the air to ride it there and in some spaces it races and in others paces neatly sweetly discretely on the page though oft to live off it (the page) you need to be a sage of prosody and if you’re to be reading it publicly, you need to read three times really into the Air or Heir Preparatory in order to make the poetry live and breath. so it’s nice that you agree — for I didn’t want to scoff — that the scansion in your correction was slightly off. Damian Robin March 18, 2017 BTW It’s good to be corrected, to get the things we do, right. So if you see or hear in your head (or on the audios that are becoming more frequent here) anything ‘not right’, do let the poets know. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.