The Psychic and the Priest

Poem by: Patri Poe

Summary

The Irish are known for their humor and wit. Having been blessed with several Irish friends, I can attest to this. I love the Irish vernacular and especially Irish slang. This poem is my attempt at Irish humor and loosely based on a joke I once heard. I wrote this for my friends, the McNamara's. May the wind be always at their backs and a pint be always in their hands:)

Content

Submitted: February 21, 2013

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Content

Submitted: February 21, 2013

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A psychic and a priest were sitting in a pub.

Polishing off Guinness and eating Irish grub.

Said the psychic to the priest, “I see ye wear the holy thread.

So I am certain ye would scoff at how I earn my bread.

Both the future and the past my third eye lets me see.

A gift so grand must come from God, wouldn't ye agree?”

The priest sat down his pint and to the psychic turned,

“Yer profession is malarkey, yer science isn't learned.

Ye put yer faith in the planets and the stars

Ye won't find yer salvation in Venus or in Mars!

It has naught to do wit God, tis evil and impure.

Tis the devil's curse, and God the only cure.”

The psychic slammed his fist down on the wooden bar.

“I'm sure ye know all about Bethlehem's little star.

The three wise men would've failed their assignment,

If Jupiter and Saturn had not been in alignment.

They had naught a clue where the babby Jesus lay,

They used the stars and planets to guide them on their way.

In that cold dark manger, the babby Jesus might still be!

Those men would be three eejits without astrology.

Give me just one chance, if only just in jest,

Many a man's faith I've put to the test.”

“Ye seem a bit shortsighted, even wit yer extra eye.

But if it will shut yer gob, then go ahead and try.”

The psychic rubbed his temples and slowly closed his eyes.

And began to reveal things much to the priest's surprise.

“When ye were just a lad, ye were trampled by a horse

While still in the hospital, ye chose priesthood as yer course.

Ye have a sister, no... a niece! Four babbies she has had.

Three of them are lasses and the fourth one is a lad.

Tis nearly ten years since yer dear ma has passed,

Out of seven tots, ye were second to the last.

Ye have a little scar where yer appendix used to be,

It had to be removed when ye were only three.

What say you of my third eye now?

Do you still think me mad as a cow?”

The priest slammed down his pint, and left without a word

A tourist sitting near the two had intently overheard.

And whispered to the barkeep, “I never believed in psychics before,

But that guy was so amazing I can't dismiss them anymore.”

The barkeep laughed and shook his head,

“Tis all true, what the psychic said.

He is well known for what his mind can see,

And respected county wide for his ability.

But this fight I've heard before, and not as amazing as you think.

Tis just the O'Connor brothers and they've had too much to drink.”


© Copyright 2016 Patri Poe. All rights reserved.

The Psychic and the Priest The Psychic and the Priest

Status: Finished

Genre: Humor

Houses:

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Humor

Houses:

Summary

The Irish are known for their humor and wit. Having been blessed with several Irish friends, I can attest to this. I love the Irish vernacular and especially Irish slang. This poem is my attempt at Irish humor and loosely based on a joke I once heard. I wrote this for my friends, the McNamara's. May the wind be always at their backs and a pint be always in their hands:)

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