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I'm proud of my Irish heritage and culture and this show will feature a lot of Irish dancing.

quote by Michael Flatley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If You're Lucky Enough To Be Irish

If you're lucky enough to be Irish
Then you're lucky enough they say.
I count my Irish blessings,
As I breathe the air each day.
When I'm somewhere o'er the water
Not walking Erin's shore,
I know my resting place will be
In Ireland for evermore.
I have Irish songs on my lips,
And Irish blood in my veins,
So I tell you I'm lucky to be Irish,
And I'll keep telling you over again.
I'm lucky enough to be Irish.
My children who walk by my side,
Will I hope, too feel the calling,
And someday walk Erin's fields wide.

poem by Rosi Caswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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St Patricks Day

March 17th is one of the best days of the year.
In Chicago the river was as green as grass.
The Irish were celebrating like it was their job.
Everyone in my family was together having a blast.
The Irish were parading for it was their day.
The potatoes and corned beef for dinner were mouthwatering.
The shamrock was everywhere I looked.
Green was swarming the city.
Everyone celebrating their heritage or just trying to have a good time.
I didn’t care who’s celebrating it’s the day where everyone’s Irish.
I hardly slept because of the great day.
Too bad I had to get up for school the next day.

poem by Mike Kearney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Irish Rover

Tell me the story now
Now that its over
Wrap it in glory
For one irish rover
Tell me you wiser now
Tell me you older
Wrap it in glory
For one irish rover
Bridge:
I can tell by the light in your eye
That youre so far away
Like a ship out on the sea
Without a sail, youve gone astray
Tell me the facts real straight
Dont make me over
Make it come out alright
And wrap it in glory
For one irish rover
For one irish rover
One irish rover
One irish rover

song performed by by Van Morrison
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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My Irish Granny

A Tribute To My Irish Granny

By Marie Hurst on 17 June 2011

land of my grt grt grt grandmother beckon to me

Lure me home over the Irish sea

There with eyes of pure emerald green

My granny once walked, my Irish queen

Mary I never knew you, I wish I had

You died long before for that am sad

All I know is you where my granny

my Irish queen.

from County Derry, Where I have never been

Let the Irish music play so sweet

let the shamrocks be crushed not by my feet

For I am the outsider, born in the UK

yet I would love to be Irish Just for a day

Mary Glendenning born in 1836 I love you

I have never seen your home land

But May God Bless You

poem by Marie Causey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Hoops of Green

In the hoops of green
In colours proud
Players, past & present
Heroes to Parkhead’s crowd.

From Maley’s days
And Jock Stein’s glory
The faithful have grown
On Celtic’s story.

From the streets of Glasgow
From Maryhill Road
To the sidewalks of Toronto
The passion still grows.

As we sing with pride
Old familiar songs
Our culture and faith
We will pass along.

With our Irish pride
In the hoops of green
We will forever support
Glasgow’s Irish team.

poem by Daniel McDonagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Radio Station: Chico, Irish Tuesday

there is
a place
in chicago,

hidden
and open
only
to the irish

lonely
only rare lonely irish girls.

hey iris,
hello irish,

little natty
nato
bateau
couteau
coto
costo

boulo

bella bellissi si mo
deli isso mo

es ki mo who mo mo mo (s)

so lady
why you are a lady
if you are
only
lonely
and left alone.

so irish
lady
why you are irish
who hates the brit- esh and not the brite-esh
who bit itches and iches
behind the walls.

And
lady,
please my lady,
why are you
staying alone if you
are in love with another
lovely baby
who always
makes you feel
unique
like an
ancient boutique
inside
the history
museum.

poem by Atef Ayadi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Born From the Blood of the Gael

I learned my history of Ireland
From my father every Friday night,
When he would arrive home from Madigan’s bar
Reciting in song and verse of Ireland’s fight.

He talked of Robert Emmett
And sang of the brave Wolfe Tone,
He spoke with pride of Padraig Pearse
Of James Connolly, he would recite a poem.

It was not the Guinness that fuelled his passion,
For his heritage, he would never part.
And he told me, that I, a son of the Diaspora
Was an Irish bhoy at heart.

He said that Brother Walfrid should be canonized a saint
For his vision and his dream.
For he brought faith and pride to the Glasgow Irish
With men proudly wearing the emerald green.

A second-class citizen is how he had felt all his life
For being a Catholic of Irish descent.
And it burned his soul, the discrimination and bigotry,
That had encountered his up bringing in a Glasgow tenement.

He spoke of the shipyards; he had worked down by the Clyde,
Harassed for his faith, labeled a papist and Fenian.
His solace he found, in Our Lord and the Virgin Mary,
How he sometimes wished, he had the strength of Cúchulainn.

Our heritage and culture, he said, shall last forever
For we are born from the blood of the Gael,
And the next time that you walk into Parkhead,
Those rebel songs of old, sing, shout and yell.

Daniel McDonagh June’2008

poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Amhán Na bhFiann

Ireland’s National Anthem
Has been branded a sectarian song,
As it’s sang on Parkhead’s terracing
By Celtic’s faithful sons,
Can we celebrate at Celtic Park
The heritage of our ancestors?
Or are we to be silenced by the critics
For heralding our Irish culture?

2005

poem by Daniel McDonagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Irish

St. Patrick's day is with us,
The day when all that's seen
From right and left
And everywhere is green, green, green.

I'll wear an Irish shamrock
In my coat the glad day through,
For my mother and Grandma are Irish,
And I am half way Irish, too!

poem by Autumn Howard
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Wild Irish Rose

In a field by a river
My love and I did lie
And on my naked shoulder
She too proud to cry
She said that I must leave her
An icy tear she froze
How could I melt the heart
Of a wild irish rose
Well a gypsy she has made of me
A servent of the street
And back to bed Ive travelled
To taste a love as sweet
Well the heart it knows no reasons
And reason never knows
As I lie with them Im thinking
Of a wild irish rose
Well I saw the city of angels
It brought a devil out in me
And hells hotel on sunset
Showed a whore no mercy
As the orange sky was screaming
From the roof I let her go
These are the dizzying heights that brought me
My wild irish rose
Now red is the rose
That she layed on my grave
A life is what she wanted
And a life I surely gave
Like a hundred men before me
They lay lying here in rows
Young men, bloody
As a wild irish rose

song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Luck Of The Irish

Ok, one, two, three, one two, three
If you had the luck of the irish,
You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.
You should have the luck of the irish,
And you'd wish you was english instead.
A thousand years of torture and hunger,
Drove the people away from their land.
A land full of beauty and wonder
Was raped by the british brigands!
Goddamned!
Goddamned!
If you could keep voices like flowers,
There's be shamrock all over the world.
If you could drink dreams like irish streams,
Then the world would be as high as the mountain of morn.
In the 'pool they told us the story
How the english divided the land.
Of the pain and the death and the glory
And the poets of auld eireland.
If we could make chains with the morning dew,
The world would be like galway bay.
Let's walk over rainbows like leprechauns,
The world would be one big blarney stone.
Why the hell are the english there anyway?
As they kill with god on their side!
Blame it all on the kids and the i.r.a.
As the bastards commit genocide!
Aye! aye!
Genocide!
Okay!
You should have the luck of the irish,
You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.
You should have the luck of the irish,
And you'd wish you was english instead.
One more time!
You should have the luck of the irish,
You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.
You should have the luck of the irish,
And you'd wish you was english instead,
Hey, yes, you'd wish you were english instead.
- "thank you!

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To-Ra-Loo-Ra

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Hush now, don't you cry
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
That's an Irish lullaby
Over in Killarney, many years ago
My mother sang a song to me in tones so soft and low
Just a simple little ditty in her good old Irish way
And I'd give the world if I could hear that song of hers
today
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Hush now, don't you cry
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
That's an Irish lullaby

song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Cold Coffee

Captain midnight and Captain cruise
out on the ocean
like a storm of bad news
it took three monkeys in a plastic mac
to fit inside a paper sack
And they're cooking up an alibi
cooking up some steam
out in the madness
somewhere in Orleans
they had a plan,
they had a plot
beggars and blues was all they got
Black cold coffee
black Irish soup
cold on a silver spoon
she's dancing through hoops
Baby's wishing on a wishing well
she's moving up
and ringing her bell
can't fly to heaven
on a persian rug
so put some coins in the old sailor mug
They travelled up together
from the coast
east of Aldgate
silently like ghosts
they had a scam,
they had a scheme
for drunks and bums counting beans
Black cold coffee
black Irish soup
cold on a silver spoon
she's dancing through hoops
Solo
Black cold coffee
black Irish soup
cold on a silver spoon
she's dancing through hoops

song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When the Irish Flag Went By

’Twas Eight-Hour Day, and proudly
Old Labour led the way;
The drums were bearing loudly,
The crowded streets were gay;
But something touched my heart like pain,
I could not check the sigh
That rose within my bosom when
The Irish Flag went by.

Bright flags were raised about it
And one of them my own:
And patriots trod beneath it—
But it seemed all alone.
I thought of ruined Ireland
While crystals from the sky
Fell soft like tears by angels shed,
As the Irish Flag went by.

I love the dark green standard
As Irish patriots do;
It waves above the rebels,
And I’m a rebel too,
I thought of Ireland’s darkest years,
Her griefs that follow fast;
For drooping as ’twere drenched with tears
The Irish Flag went past.

And though ’twas not in Erin
That my forefathers trod;
And though my wandering footsteps
Ne’er pressed the “dear old sod”,
I felt the wrongs the Irish feel
Beneath the northern sky.
And felt the rebel in my heart
When the Irish Flag went by.

I tell you, men of England,
Who rule the land by might;
I tell you, Irish traitors
Who sell the sons of light,
The tyranny shall fail at last,
That changeful days are nigh;
And you shall dip your red flag yet,
When the Irish Flag goes by.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Radio Station: Chico, Irish History Teacher Go Wild

(me)
hello!

(she) hi!

(me)
why you hi me for?

what are you doing?

(she)
i am a history teacher
professor
PH.D of that kind
my university

is a fancy catholic community
at the lake shore.

if you plan to put your kids
our kids
into plan
this the right place.

(me)
hoo! hoo!
irish teacher
are you advertizin on my show?
or are you E.R Vad zin zining trying to
make my show chineeze zin zen type of show?

or you are planning to have
kids
and lead them to your university
with my kids mixed them up
in the same class
of your damn history?
are you killing me?
or are you trying to irish me
with your gloried oiled Professional skills?

sorry woman,
i will give you a 'Z' as a grade
in your own class of latino irish.

because
first your kids
or future kids
wont go to class with my kids

never!
together!
impossible!
take a note and put it in your beard!

they will rice it up.
falaful it up

and end up
playing irish
bulls
in the class
and make a beautiful bull history.

so, tell me
beside you want kids
or you are teaching kids

what part of the history
you are teaching?

latino kids type of history or
''Rosevelt did not have enough time
to put american in one hand
and kids in his bulls in the other hand'' type of history?

is that right?

(she)
do you like to take my phone
or my number?

poem by Atef Ayadi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Potatoes' Dance

(A Poem Game.)

I

"Down cellar," said the cricket,
"Down cellar," said the cricket,
"Down cellar," said the cricket,
"I saw a ball last night,
In honor of a lady,
In honor of a lady,
In honor of a lady,
Whose wings were pearly-white.
The breath of bitter weather,
The breath of bitter weather,
The breath of bitter weather,
Had smashed the cellar pane.
We entertained a drift of leaves,
We entertained a drift of leaves,
We entertained a drift of leaves,
And then of snow and rain.
But we were dressed for winter,
But we were dressed for winter,
But we were dressed for winter,
And loved to hear it blow
In honor of the lady,
In honor of the lady,
In honor of the lady,
Who makes potatoes grow,
Our guest the Irish lady,
The tiny Irish lady,
The airy Irish lady,
Who makes potatoes grow.

II

"Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the band,
Potatoes were the dancers
Kicking up the sand,
Kicking up the sand,
Kicking up the sand,
Potatoes were the dancers
Kicking up the sand.
Their legs were old burnt matches,
Their legs were old burnt matches,
Their legs were old burnt matches,
Their arms were just the same.
They jigged and whirled and scrambled,
Jigged and whirled and scrambled,
Jigged and whirled and scrambled,
In honor of the dame,
The noble Irish lady
Who makes potatoes dance,
The witty Irish lady,
The saucy Irish lady,
The laughing Irish lady
Who makes potatoes prance.

III

"There was just one sweet potato.
He was golden brown and slim.
The lady loved his dancing,
The lady loved his dancing,
The lady loved his dancing,
She danced all night with him,
She danced all night with him.
Alas, he wasn't Irish.
So when she flew away,
They threw him in the coal-bin,
And there he is today,
Where they cannot hear his sighs
And his weeping for the lady,
The glorious Irish lady,
The beauteous Irish lady,
Who
Gives
Potatoes
Eyes."

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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What Makes The Irish Heart Beat

(Van Morrison)
All that trouble all that grief
That's why I had to leave
Staying away too tong is in defeat
Why I'm singing this song
Why I'm heading back home
That's what makes the Irish heart beat
I'm just like a hobo riding a train
I'm like a gangster living in Spain
Have to watch my back and I'm running out of time
When I roll the dice again
If lady luck will call my name
That's what makes the Irish heart beat
Well that's what makes it beat
When I'm standing on the street
And I'm standing underneath this Wrigley's sign
Oh so far away from home
But I know I've got to roam
That's what makes the Irish heart beat
And it was off to foreign climes
On the Piccadilly line
We were standing underneath the Wrigley's sign
So far away from home
Well I know I've got to roam
That s what makes the Irish heart beat
Just like a sailor out on the foam
Any port in a storm
Where we tend to burn the candle at both ends
Down the corridors of fame
Like the spark ignites the flame
That's what makes the Irish heart beat
But I roll the dice again
If lady luck will call my name
That s what makes the Irish heart beat
Oh, that's what makes the Irish heart beat
That's what makes the Irish heart beat

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too-ra-loo-ra

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Hush now, dont you cry
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Thats an irish lullaby
Over in killarney, many years ago
My mother sang a song to me in tones so soft and low
Just a simple little ditty in her good old irish way
And Id give the world if I could hear that song of hers
Today
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Hush now, dont you cry
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Thats an irish lullaby

song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Many an Irish property was increased by the lace of a daughter's petticoat.

Irish proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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