The cup of Ireland's misery has been overflowing for centuries and is not yet half full.
quote by Boyle Roche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Half Blooded Brothers
You my blood half or full were brothers, regardless of what you do to each other, you my brother half or full, .
We keep each other good, you my brother half or full. We take care of each other, because we brothers half or full.
Imma stop trippin, it'll take a while, because im use to bullshittin and prickin, but you my brother half or full.
Stick together we will stay alive, all the bullshit I said, I've been a asshole, shit who hasn't, but you my brother half or full and I guess that's what family does.
Arguments and verbal brutality towards one another is what we do, because we will always be brothers half or full. Blood half or full, it doesn't matter, because we are brothers till the end of time, your my brother half or full.
poem by Arthur V. Miller III
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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
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She has all Ireland in her blood
She has all Ireland in her blood,
All Ireland's need of sword and tears,
With memories dim before the flood,
And conflicts of a thousand years.
No son of Italy should love
A heart the centuries have worn.
She had no thought of kissing lips—
She held her womanhood in scorn.
And all her joy is blackest pain,
And all her love is bitter woe.
Then you must leave her side again.
That is no path for you to go.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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I have lived in countries that were coming out of conflict: Ireland, South Africa, the Czech republic. People there are overflowing with energy.
Ireland, Ireland
Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
Down thy valleys green and sad,
Still thy spirit wanders wailing,
Wanders wailing, wanders mad.
Long ago that anguish took thee,
Ireland, Ireland, green and fair,
Spoilers strong in darkness took thee,
Broke thy heart and left thee there.
Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
Still thy spirit wanders mad;
All too late they love that wronged thee,
Ireland, Ireland, green and sad.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Turlough Carolan
He was blind and illiterate that much of him we know
And still his music is with us from centuries ago
He had creative genius and his genius still shine through
A rare gem Turlough Carolan one of the chosen few.
The harper of the county Meath in music live today
His music known around the World in Countries far away
And Carolan's concerto still very much alive
The only test of genius is when their work survive.
The only test of genius is when their work live on
For centuries and centuries when they are dead and gone
And Carolan has passed that test a name to celebrate
His music live three hundred years the genius of the great.
A son of peasant parents and destined to be poor
And though addicted to alcohol his genius remained pure
I like that saying it says it all 'can't keep a good man down'
And the name of Turlough Carolan was destined for renown.
I just switched on the radio to hear the D.J. say
This is a tune from Ireland from Ireland far away
Carolan's farewell to music, oh let the music play
The music of the harper the harper lives today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Am Of Ireland
'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity,
Come dance with me in Ireland.'
One man, one man alone
In that outlandish gear,
One solitary man
Of all that rambled there
Had turned his stately head.
That is a long way off,
And time runs on,' he said,
'And the night grows rough.'
'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland.'
'The fiddlers are all thumbs,
Or the fiddle-string accursed,
The drums and the kettledrums
And the trumpets all are burst,
And the trombone,' cried he,
'The trumpet and trombone,'
And cocked a malicious eye,
'But time runs on, runs on.'
I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
"Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland.'
poem by William Butler Yeats
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God Be With You
The truth will ever hide
Even though I tried
They tried to take my pride
But they only took my father from me
They only took my father
Even though I cried
Even though I tried again
God be with you ireland
God be with you ireland
Sometimes I was afraid
Even though I prayed
Ive lost my religion now
You took that too somehow
Blood upon thy hands
Blood upon thy hands again
(I have served my time)
God be with you ireland
(suffered for my crime)
God be with you ireland
(I have served my time)
God be with you ireland
(suffered for my crime)
God be with you ireland
God be with you now
God be with you now
God be with you now
God be with you now
song performed by by Cranberries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give Ireland Back To The Irish
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Great britian you are tremendous
And nobody knows like me
But really what are you doin
In the land across the sea
Tell me how would you like it
If on your way to work
You were stopped by irish soliders
Would you lie down do nothing
Would you give in, or go berserk
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Great britian and all the people
Say that all people must be free
Meanwhile back in ireland
Theres a man who looks like me
And he dreams of God and country
And hes feeling really bad
And hes sitting in a prison
Should he lie down do nothing
Should give in or go mad
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half Of Me
half of me is darkness
half of me is light
half of me is a shadow
half of me is my body
one hand is above the other
elbow to elbow that is what levels me
i ponder upon these
one body pulled by two horses in opposite directions
i ponder upon a way
to tame this wildness
this anarchy of my senses
these desires not properly canalized
on Eros overflowing
on a confusion of my mind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Irish Guards
1918
We're not so old in the Army List,
But we're not so young at our trade,
For we had the honour at Fontenoy
Of meeting the Guards' Brigade.
'Twas Lally, Dillon, Bulkeley, Clare,
And Lee that led us then,
And after a hundred and seventy years
We're fighting for France again!
Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,
Head to fhe sform as they faced if before !
For where there are Irish there's bound to be fighting,
And when there's no fighting, it's Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!
The fashion's all for khaki now,
But once through France we went
Full-dressed in scarlet Army cloth,
The English-left at Ghent.
They're fighting on our side to-day
But, before they changed their clothes,
The half of Europe knew our fame,
As all of Ireland knows!
Old Days! The wild geese are flying,
Head to the sform as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there's memory undying,
And when we forget, it is Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!
From Barry Wood to Gouzeaucourt,
From Boyne to Pilkem Ridge,
The ancient days come back no more
Than water under the bridge.
But the bridge it stands and the water runs
As red as yesterday,
And the Irish move to the sound of the guns
Like salmon to the sea.
Old Days! The wild geese are ranging,
Head to fhe storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish their hearts are unchanging,
And when they are changed, it is Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!
We're not so old in the Army List,
But we're not so new in the ring,
For we carried our packs with Marshal Saxe
When Louis was our King.
But Douglas Haig's our Marshal now
And we're King George's men,
And after one hundred and seventy years
We're fighting for France again!
Ah, France! And did we stand by you,
When life was made splendid with gifts and rewards?
Ah, France! And will we deny you
In the hour of your agony, Mother of Swords?
Old Days! The wild geese are flighing,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there's loving and fighting
And when we stop either, it's Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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To Hell Or To Connacht
To Hell or to Connacht was Cromwells's war cry
To poor Irish tenant farmers his cruel words did apply
Cromwell was a war criminal the facts never lie
To Hell or to Connacht were his words or die.
When Cromwell handed over the command of the Royalist Troops to Henry Ireton the results were the same
In human history their treatment of poor Irish people is a human shame
In their conquests of Ireland thousands of people died
Any form of human rights of them was denied.
Poor Irish tenant farmers were put on the road
To Connacht or to die of no fixed abode
Oliver Cromwell and Henry Ireton were far worse than cruel
They were despotic leaders who abused their rule.
Anyone who knows of history surely do know
Of the atrocities of the Crown forces in Ireland three and a half centuries ago
Cromwell and Ireton were horrible men
They must have been born in the Devil's den.
Some look on past history as over and gone
But in Ireland to Hell or to Connacht those words do live on
And thousands on walking to Connacht died of hunger and cold
The poor and forgotten their life stories untold.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Im Only Happy When It Rains
Im only happy when it rains
Im only happy when its complicated
And though I know you cant appreciate it
Im only happy when it rains
You know I love it when the news is bad
And why it feels so good to feel so sad
Im only happy when it rains
Pour your misery down, pour your misery down on me
Pour your misery down, pour your misery down on me
Im only happy when it rains
I feel good when things are going wrong
I only listen to the sad, sad songs
Im only happy when it rains
I only smile in the dark
My only comfort is the night gone black
I didnt accidentally tell you that
Im only happy when it rains
Youll get the message by the time Im through
When I complain about me and you
Im only happy when it rains
Pour your misery down, pour your misery down
Pour your misery down on me pour your misery down
Pour your misery down pour your misery down
Pour your misery down on me pour your misery down
Pour your misery down pour your misery down
Pour your misery down on me pour your misery down
Pour your misery down
You can keep me company
As long as you dont care
Im only happy when it rains
You wanna hear about my new obsession?
Im riding high upon a deep depression
Im only happy when it rains
Pour some misery down on me
Im only happy when it rains
Pour some misery down on me
Im only happy when it rains
Pour some misery down on me
Im only happy when it rains
Pour some misery down on me
Im only happy when it rains
Pour some misery down on me ...
song performed by by Garbage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My point is there's a hidden Scotland in anyone who speaks the Northern Ireland speech. It's a terrific complicating factor, not just in Northern Ireland, but Ireland generally.
quote by Seamus Heaney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Reading Of Racism In Ireland
I always feel disappointed when of racism I read
And when I read of it in Ireland I feel very sad indeed
For racism in society should never have a place
And people should never be judged on their colour or their race.
As the Land of saints and scholars Ireland was known Worldwide
And the Irish people suffered and their rights to them denied
But the Irish in their sense of fair play could take a certain pride
And for their human rights and liberty the sons of Ireland died.
Poor migrants from Romania their possessions weigh light
To live and work in Ireland do they not have the right?
They may come un-invited but their numbers only small
And the Irish too are migrants as history will recall.
I read it's the Irish media that fans racism's flame
If this be so of their bad work they must feel a great shame
They cannot say in years to come the fault was never ours
When they first used the noxious spray that poisoned all the flowers.
I am an Irish migrant far from my native shore
And others treat me with respect than that one could not ask for more
A fair go for all people and for everyone fair play
Those words from centuries ago are relevant today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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
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446
You and I
I see a glass
Half empty
And I see your hands
Filling an emptiness
That I have
Invented.
I am empty now
And then
You fill me
Up to the brim
I am overflowing
And here you
Are
In the full blast
Of your lust
That you
Invented
Licking me
From the
Bottom
Beyond the brim.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You and I together
I see a glass
Half empty
And I see your hands
Filling an emptiness
That I have
Invented.
I am empty now
And then
You fill me
Up to the brim
I am overflowing
And here you
Are
In the full blast
Of your lust
That you
Invented
Licking me
From the
Bottom
Beyond the brim.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sweet Misery
Oh, sweet misery
why don't you join me for the day
come out, come out
where ever you are
I figured we come out and play
sweet misery, sweet misery
I need you now more then ever
you left without a warning
I thought we'd always stay together
oh, sweet misery
is it time for hide and seek?
I'm looking for you
searching for you
but you won't make a peep
Sweet misery, sweet misery
don't give me a tough time
I just want to keep you forever
treat you just like you're mines
Oh, sweet misery
do you know you're all i have?
You just lead the way
I'll follow your path
Sweet misery, sweet misery
I can't go on with out you
are you giving up on me?
you know you're not allowed to
Oh, sweet misery
Yes, you have arrived
I knew you'd never leave me
I forgot to look inside.
poem by Vanessa Mercado
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