In honor of St. Paddy's Day, here is the one poem from my book, "A Rose by any Other Name: An Alphabet of Tales About a Man and a Woman" -- it's called:

Fiona, the Irish Girl

He sat at the Original Blarney Stone bar

And watched her toil

Whenever he was drinking alone.

The crimson beer signs overhead

Blazing in her coppery mane

Making her freckles dance a jig.

Her name is Fiona

And he called her that

Whenever he could

Without sounding so obvious.

She knew his name was Brian

From the tab kept on his credit card

And he longed for her to comment

On the Irishness of that.

He’d tell her the truth,

To lie to her impossible,

That no, he wasn’t of her Isle

No emeralds shone on his family tree.

Not in this lifetime, he’d jest

And if he hooked her with that

He’d confide his fears

Of all things Irish:

The Words

The Whiskey (of this she had a clue)

The Women.

And of all the bonnie Irish lasses

No colleen stoked the flames brighter

When she pulled a pint of Guinness

Or pour’d a shot of Jameson and son

Than Fiona, the Irish girl.

Want the original, hand-written version of this tale -- or another -- from the book? That could happen. Click here to go to the page for my IndieGoGo campaign for the Rock 'n Rose book tour.

Thanks!
Cheers!

Brian