Published May 15th, 2025
by Dean Monaghan
Verse 1
Once upon a time on the verdant evergreen Island of Ireland,
In the land of Saints, Scholars, and Poets many a tale was told,
For fifteen hundred years stories have entered into folklore and Irish consciousness and are still recalled today,
My tale begins like this,
I heard the stories of leprechauns, but never believed them,
One thing is for sure if you catch the sight of leprechauns you must maintain your gaze, otherwise if you blink they will escape in a nod and a wink,
Yet one dark night with the mountain covered in mist in the ruins of Ballinskellig Castle with the full moon shining,
I got my first glimpse of eight thousand-year-old King Daragh O'Toole in the moon rays jigging around the fire and full of shenanigans, craic, and blarney,
Verse 2
He was singing a song – I am the King of the Leprechauns, I fool, trick, mimic, and sing everybody everywhere into everything,
Fiddly, diddly do, I have three wishes for you,
Fiddly, diddly dee, if I trick you into more you'll forfeit the lot,
Grand, grand, and grand, I am dancing on my pot of gold in the sand.
He was supping away on his Poitín and smoking his clay pipe like a trooper,
He wore a distinctive green coat with knee-high matching shorts, white socks, and a shirt with an oversized buckle belt around his waist, and a crooked nose,
He had a gold crown on his head, red curly hair, and beard with bushy eyebrows,
When he took a break from dancing he stood there with an angry gob on him, his face as fierce as fire, his beaming emerald eyes mischief-led and up to dirty tricks,
Verse 3
Theodore and I were in the Emerald Isle woods so green and lush,
We were gathering shamrocks and mushrooms from under the bush,
While searching near a dried-out hidden wishing well,
We heard faint giggles and chimes of faint bells,
Near the giggles, there was an aroma and smell of a jolly green fire,
Possibly seven inches high and definitely no higher,
So we hunkered down for a closer look,
And to our amazement, we saw one a tiny wee green leprechaun cook!
Verse 4
He wore a tall crooked hat with a leather apron, buckled shoes, and pulled-up socks to his knees,
And was mixing a cauldron pot of herbs, spices, and bubbling shamrocks,
My little finger was bigger than him,
Sweet harp and fiddle music echoed in the air,
Two hundred and sixty six wee leprechauns were dancing nearby,
They passed the Poitín as everyone got a good Gaelic sup,
Suddenly the merriment turned cold,
All the tiny wee leprechauns looked north with respectful glances,
Verse 5
All bowed their heads and stood in their stances,
Then the wicked Banshee called Ann, her wailing was in reach of our ears,
As the Death Coach passed in front of its peers,
Full to capacity with the little dears,
Suddenly galloping through the green misty air,
We saw King Daragh speedily near,
He rode upon his white stallion horse,
Over valleys, glens, forest, and grasslands,
Verse 6
His Swallow bird landed on a leaf,
And all the tiny wee leprechauns kneeled beneath,
With a golden cheeky smile, he signalled to all,
Officially starting the Leprechaun Jig,
The tiny wee violinists fiddled with their tunes,
It sounded like five thousand giggles,
Dancers danced in rows of green,
The tin whistle players whistled but were never seen,
Verse 7
They ate, danced, and passed the ladle,
And kicked up their heels and danced around the table,
We were fully entertained and didn't move all night,
But suddenly out of nowhere, they frightened us,
They saw us quaking behind the thorn trees,
So they cast a spell that made us freeze,
We remember what happens to human caught spies,
Turned into frogs, snails, flies, or permanent residential slaves forevermore,
Verse 8
The old and wise King Daragh drew us near,
Theodore and I were in dreadful fear,
With a wide grin and a snap of his Shillelagh, he miniaturized us,
And asked for our appearance at the Leprechaun Jig,
So in an instant, we were in the Leprechaun cavern under Macgillicuddy's Reeks,
Here we were surrounded by Gold, Jewellery, and other artifacts they had pillaged over the centuries,
Such as the Gold Cup of Cormac, Spanish Armada cannons, Napoleon's Chalice, the Romans' Golden Eagle, Harps, Sword of Brian Boru, the Holy Grail,
Throne of Ruaidri (first King of Ireland), and the Ark of the Covenant,
Verse 9
Long stalactites hung from the ceiling in their abode,
Gold, purple, and green décor ornamented the walls of the cavern,
With the King of Leprechaun's Gold Throne the centerpiece,
We laughed, jigged, sang, and talked in Gaelic to our newfound friends and foes,
Until the green mist evaporated and bell chimes signalled the end,
With a sparkle in his eyes and a wink and a nod the King of Leprechauns said,
It is now the time of night you all should be in your leaba,
He waved his Shillelagh to return us to our original size, wished us well, said good night, and rode the winds of the night away.
Notes:
Shillelagh means "wooden walking stick or club."
Macgillicuddy's Reeks is a mountain range in Ireland.
leaba means "bed."
About the Poet
Dean Monaghan resides in Skerries, County Dublin, Ireland.
Read the poet's biography on Dean Monaghan's Artist Page.
This poem is also featured in Comet #5,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Dublin Poetry Magazine:
Dublin
by Kevin MacAlan
Dublin Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
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