We shall not fight for the preservation of the enemy, which has laid waste with death and desolation the fields and hills of Ireland for 700 years.
quote by James Larkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Ireland
O WE have loved you through cold and rain
And pitiless frost,
Consuming our offering of blood and brain
Gladly again and again and again,
Though it all seemed lost,
Ireland, Ireland!
O we will fight, fight on for you till
Your anguish is past,
The wronged ones righted, the tyrants still. —
Though God has not saved you, yet we will,
At the last, at the last,
Ireland, Ireland!
O we will love you in warmth and light
And the happy day,
When you have forgotten the terrible night,
Standing proud and beautiful bright
For ever and aye,
Ireland, Ireland!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.
Winston Churchill in speech (4 June 1940)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.
quote by Winston Churchill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
An Irish Airman Forsees His Death
I KNOW that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My county is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Blackthorn
The blackthorn was his father's,
a piece of Ireland
that the old man could still get his hands around
even as his hands grew weak,
refused to hold. My father
never knew Ireland;
when he gripped the walking stick
it was something else he was holding on to.
I watched my father
get old; he would stare at his hand
and open and close his fist,
try to fight the arthritis.
By then he had lost the stick,
and he could have used it
to work his grip, to beat
at the hard knot that was tying him up.
When he died he was laid in the ground
only a few feet from his father,
while in Ireland the sturdy blackthorns
were defying that sad land
and bursting with white blossoms.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Louis McKee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
poem by William Butler Yeats from The Wild Swans at Coole (1918)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Preservation
Once upon a time
In a faraway land
Lived a villain called flash
He was such a wicked man
He terrorized the people
He broke arms and crushed hands
He ruled with a fist and he purchased all the land
Then he plowed up the fields and cut down the trees
For property speculation
And he did it all for a pot of gold
And for his own preservation
The people were scared
They didnt know where to turn
They couldnt see any salvation
From the hoods and the spivs
And the crooked politicians
Who were cheating and lying to the nation
Save the fields and the trees
And give them back to the nation
Bring the government down
A new leader must be found
For the sake of preservation
He said he did it to help us all
And did it for the good of the nation
But he did it for a pot of gold
And for his own preservation
When money is evil
And power is corrupt
The devil moves in and takes over
Mr. flash broke his word
And now hes got to pay
For his crimes and his lies and his evil ways
And its gonna get rough
And its gonna get rough
Its a crime and a sin that no one can win
In a story of self preservation
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
As Ireland Wore the Green
BY RIGHT of birth in southern land I send my warning forth.
I see my country ruined by the wrongs that damned the North.
And shall I stand with fireless eyes and still and silent mouth
While Mammon builds his Londons on the fair fields of the South?
CHORUS:
O must we hide our colour
In fear of Mammon’s spleen?
Or shall we wear the bonnie blue
As Ireland wore the green?
As Ireland wore the green, my friends!
As Ireland wore the green!
Aye, we will wear our colour still,
As Ireland wore the green!
I see the shade of poverty fall on each sunny scene.
And slums and alley-ways extend where fields were evergreen.
There is a law that stamps the flower of freedom as it springs;
And this upon a soil that’s trod by prouder feet than kings’.
And must I hide my colour
In fear of Mammon’s spleen?
Or shall I wear the bonnie blue
As Ireland wore the green?
As Ireland wore the green, my friends!
As Ireland swore the green!
Aye, I will wear my colour yet,
As Ireland wore the green!
Out there beyond the lonely range our fathers toiled for years
’Neath all the hardships that beset true-hearted pioneers;
And our brave mothers journeyed there to do the work of men
On those great awful plains that were unfit for women then.
Then must we hide our colour
In fear of Mammon’s spleen?
Or shall we wear the bonnie blue
As Ireland swore the green?
As Ireland wore the green, my friends!
As Ireland wore the green!
Aye, we shall wear our colour still,
As Ireland wore the green!
O shall the fields our fathers won be yielded to the few
Who never touched the axe or spade, and hardships never knew?
Shall lordly robbers rule the land and build their mansions high,
And ladies flaunt their jewelled plumes where our brave mothers lie?
O must we hide our colour
In fear of Mammnon’s spleen?
Or shall the wear the bonnie blue
As Ireland wore the green?
As Ireland wore the green, my friends!
As Ireland wore the green!
Aye, the will wear our colour yet,
As Ireland wore the green!
What though our stalwart fathers came from every land on earth,
We will be loyal to the land that gives our children birth.
We’ll show our banner to the sun—the Southern Cross displayed—
And join our strength together for the home our fathers made.
Let cowards hide their colour
For fear of Mammon’s spleen!
But I will wear my bonnie blue
As Ireland swore the green!
As Ireland swore the green, my friends!
As Ireland wore the green!
Aye, I will wear my colour still,
As Ireland swore the green!
We’ll light the lamp of hope above the alley and the slum,
And teach the poor and drill them for the war that is to come.
We’ll send our songs recruiting far beneath the western sky,
And wake the towns and let them know the day of deeds is nigh.
And the twill wear our colour
In spite of Mammon’s spleen!
O the will wear the bonnie blue
As Ireland wore the green!
As Ireland wore the green, my friends!
As Ireland wore the green!
Aye, the will wear our colour yet,
As Ireland wore the green!
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Living With The Enemy
I gave you all that you wanted
and still you come back for more
You say that you're brokenhearted
but then you walk out the door
Maybe it is time for us to say goodbye
Where are the tears you never cried?
Hey baby what you got on your mind
are you looking for some sympathy?
I can tell you if it's a truth or a lie
'Cos it's just like living,
living with the enemy
You got me going in circles,
I'm slowly loosing my head
What did I do to deserve this,
you make me wish I was dead
Tell me I'm wrong and I'll be on my way
See you around another day
Hey baby what you doin' tonite?
Are you giving me the perfect dream
I'm so tired and I don't wanna fight
'Cos it's just like living,
living with the enemy, enemy
Living with the enemy, living with the enemy, enemy
Living with the enemy,enemy
Living with the enemy, living with the enemy, enemy
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Stop at home. Arm for Ireland. Fight for Ireland and no other land.
quote by James Larkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Rat 6
do you remember
rice fields? try imagining
the green rice fields,
put some hills
more hills, and put a gap
between two hills,
and put the sun
shining brightly
and then put some black
buffaloes grazing at the
foot of the hills,
and then on the left side
try putting a nipa hut
a window and a little girl
looking out for sparrows
and on the right side
put the running river and
a jumping fish
do you still think that this
could be your home?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How She Went To Ireland
Dora’s gone to Ireland
Through the sleet and snow;
Promptly she has gone there
In a ship, although
Why she’s gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.
That was where, yea, Ireland,
Dora wished to be:
When she felt, in lone times,
Shoots of misery,
Often there, in Ireland,
Dora wished to be.
Hence she’s gone to Ireland,
Since she meant to go,
Through the drift and darkness
Onward labouring, though
That she’s gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Be My Enemy
Well the dawn is howling
And the mainframe shakes
Feel like Ive been sleeping in a
Cellar full of snakes
My wings have been clipped
My shoes have been stuck with glue
Well if youll be my enemy
Ill be your enemy too
Now Ive got goons on my landing
Thieves on my trail
Nazis on my telephone
Willing me to fail
They were all sent by someone
(obviously/well I know it was) you!
Well if youll be my enemy
Ill be your enemy too
Ive a bucketful of babylon
I got a handful of lead
Im gonna put them in a gun man
Point it at your head
Because you stole all my friends
And you gave me the buffalo blues
Well if youll be my enemy
Ill be my enemy too
Now from the slime on your tongue
To the nails on your toes
From the scales on your skin
To the stains on your clothes
Youre gonna have to make me do something
That I do not want to do
But if youll be my enemy
Ill be your enemy too
My hands are tied
Im nailed to the floor
Feel like Im knocking on the
Unknown door
Theres a gun at my back
A blade at my throat
I keep finding hate mail
In the pockets of my coat
Well Ive been trying to grow
I been cooling my heels
Ive have been working the treadmill
Ive been working in the fields
And I cant get to sleep
I cant catch my breath
I cant stop talking and i
Look like death
But I will put right this disgrace
I will rearrange you
If youll be my enemy
Ill be your enemy too
If youll be my enemy
Ill be your enemy too
Be my enemy!
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
To The Irish Delegates
Farewell! The gold we send shall be a token
Of that which in our hearts is growing strong;
You asked our sympathy, and we have spoken—
“They wrong us who our brothers rob and wrong.”
Tell Ireland—tell her in her desolation,
That hearts within the South for her have bled—
That scalding tears of helpless indignation
By eyes that read her cruel wrongs are shed.
Helpless no more! but strong to act hereafter,
For silenced arc the “loyal subjects’” sneers—
Too long have Ireland’s wrongs been words of laughter—
Arch-mockery to tickle British ears.
Tell Ireland that they lie of us—they slander,
Who say we care not for another’s wrong;
For we are not the men to kneel and pander
To tyranny, because the tyrant’s strong.
Take back across the waves Australia’s message,
And say our hearts are big, and strong our hands,
Tell Ireland that for her is surest presage
Of fate as fair as of these Southern lands.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ireland Shall Rebel
WHILE tyrants rule the land,
Beneath the Irish skies;
While e’er the iron hand
Upon our people lies;
While sons are driven forth
In other lands to dwell,
Still in the South and North
Old Ireland will rebel!
Rebel, rebel!
Old Ireland will rebel!
While fanlike from below,
And pale against the skies,
That light of shame—the glow
Of burning homes—shall rise;
While hot indignant tears
From Irish hearts shall swell:—
Be it a thousand years,
Old Ireland will rebel!
Rebel, rebel!
Old Ireland will rebel!
Until the tyrant’s rod
Shall broken be in twain,
And on the dear old sod
Blest freedom treads again;
Or till our masters learn
To rule our country well,
The fires of hate shall burn!—
Old Ireland will rebel!
Rebel, rebel!
Old Ireland will rebel!
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shame’s role
Loyalty yields to self-preservation.
And gets the better of self-preservation
When shame overtakes self-preservation.
One would die for one’s shame in others’ eyes.
14.10.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Green.
Green are the valleys
green are the fields
green are the forests and long rolling hills
green like the shamrock and eyes with a smile
green as old Ireland
The emerald isle.
poem by Charles M. Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Death and Dreams
Death, with it, brings silence,
the silence which conceals the voice of life,
the same voice in which dreams revertebrated,
so, with arriving death dreams die.
But, few dreams didn't surrender,
instead they chose to fight,
some fighters were experienced and some were tender,
but struugle for existance was thier common plight.
Oh! this battle wasn't for victory, but for existance,
on path of dreams death laid some fences,
the fences fo failure, the fences of defeat,
but, in the path of hope few made thier exit.
In fences of failure few dreams were caught,
enemy was destiny but will was not,
with power of optimism they tatterd the fence,
such a mighty blow even death couldn't defend.
Dreams marched ahead stunning the death,
they vanquished the region which once ablazed,
happy was the sky and soothing became night,
even death hailed dreams for this formidable fight.
Death, being, an end is now a myth,
the men by thier dreams will forever exist,
some people died and some will born,
but legacy of dreams wii go on.
poem by Chandra Kant Manas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Soldiers Dream
A soldier isn't just a soldier,
but a human being.
sent to fight over seas,
Sent to fight to please his leaders dream,
and as this soldier gets older, his only dream is to live.
But as years pass by, his hopes and dreams are thorn apart,
as he is sent to run to reach the other side,
as he runs through the open battlefield,
were the enemy waits for the kill.
And as this soldier stops and prays, the enemy is moved by this soldiers face.
The enemy lets this soldier flee,
know this soldier is free,
free to live his own dream.
poem by Juan Duarte
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Old Dan
Old stories he told and old ballads he sung
The Tans were in Ireland when old Dan was young
He was twenty six years in nineteen sixteen
And the bitterness and grief of war he had seen.
I knew him when he was in his mid sixties in his life's early Fall
And he said his Civil war memories were his saddest memories of all
When the signing of a Treaty caused families to divide
And brother at the hand of brother had died.
He had fought in war but the praises of war would not sing
He said war to Ireland death and sorrow did bring
A heroic freedom fighter of which he never did brag
He said far too many lives lost for the colour of a flag.
With the deceased of Munster for decades he lay
I knew him as an ageing man his hair silver gray
He told stories and sung songs of his younger years
Of the Ireland he loved Land of bloodshed and tears.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!