A Fair Division
Another Irish landlord gone to grass,
Slain by the bullets of the tenant class!
Pray, good agrarians, what wrong requires
Such foul redress? Between you and the squires
All Ireland's parted with an even hand
For you have all the ire, they all the land.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
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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Opera or Ballet
Oh joyous delight - finally reached the end of
my lovely Agreement, it should be an opera
sung to the music of Carmina Burana - if a
ballet, danced to the courtiers’ march in
Romeo and Juliet, the climax amazing
The tenant should fund the bill for drafting and
signing the serious contract, the self-satisfied
landlord can inspect and evict as he likes, the
effacing tenant had better beware - I see two
men in Victorian clothing - fencing
About the nefarious terms, no favours shall
nullify the terms by which the landlord can
pocket the deposit, any wrong step made
by the tenant shall render beneficial
occupation impossible - Should the
tenant improve the premises, no advantage
shall accrue to him, should the place burn
down - it will be seen as a scheme and he
shall be held responsible, the end to be
perfect - The angry tenant
shall kill the overbearing landlord with one
blow, then enjoy exercising his right to
beneficial occupation indefinitely - at
least, in the opera or ballet
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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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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Whether it was the tenant who seduced the landlord's wife, or the landlord who seduced the tenant's wife, it is the tenant who would leave the house.
The Ballad Of The Landlord
Landlord, landlord,
My roof has sprung a leak.
Don't you 'member I told you about it
Way last week?
Landlord, landlord,
These steps is broken down.
When you come up yourself
It's a wonder you don't fall down.
Ten Bucks you say I owe you?
Ten Bucks you say is due?
Well, that's Ten Bucks more'n I'l pay you
Till you fix this house up new.
What? You gonna get eviction orders?
You gonna cut off my heat?
You gonna take my furniture and
Throw it in the street?
Um-huh! You talking high and mighty.
Talk on-till you get through.
You ain't gonna be able to say a word
If I land my fist on you.
Police! Police!
Come and get this man!
He's trying to ruin the government
And overturn the land!
Copper's whistle!
Patrol bell!
Arrest.
Precinct Station.
Iron cell.
Headlines in press:
Man Threatens landlord
Tenant Held Bail
Judge GIives Negro 90 Days In County Jail!
poem by Langston Hughes
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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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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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Agrarian Unrest....
my father is a landlord.
He sent me to a big university in the city.
I studied philosophy.
The university taught me about equality.
Compassion. We studied existentialism
The poverty of the masses.
The agrarian unrest.
The essence of man
The quality of life
Justifications of living
Explanations of death
After life.
I wrote a class report about a child who ate
only a handful of rice for breakfast
plus brown sugar as viand
and then a glass of water for his thirst
from the nearby river
and then he was left in the house
as his father works in the field
and his mother
sells vegetables in the market.
When i left the child, The
heavy silence of the world fell upon my shoulder.
One day father took me for a vacation in our land.
There are mountains. Lots of trees.
A beautiful place.
There is a house there
Dilapidated. A tenant lives there
There is a hungry child.
Drought. Long hot days.
I pity the poor condition. But i no longer ask for the cause.
Then the tenant asks me if i can give him land.
Or a part of father's land.
I have no answer.
I could have told him, I do not own anything,
I do not live here
and father is still alive...
And wants me to be firm and cruel.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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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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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
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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
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Written In February 2000
You told me of the peace in Northern Ireland
And for lasting peace in Ireland you did pray
But now I hear that the hard won peace is endangered
Since the terrorists won't give their bombs and guns away.
The Ulster paramilitaries have failed to disarm
So I heard in the news the other day
They want to destabilize the peace agreement
The Loyalist terrorists and the I R A.
The large majority want peace in Northern Ireland
And to the cause of fair play remain true
But to wreck the goodwill brought on by power sharing
It will only take the bad destructive few.
I've heard about the fight for Irish freedom
And the stories of famous battles I recall
But is any Country worth killing or dying for?
There's more to freedom than that after all.
And the people of Ireland by goodwill will be united
For human love will always conquer hate
And there still is hope for lasting peace in Ireland
Since the terrorists there are seen as out of date.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The best thanks we could offer those who went before and raised the Irish working class from their knees was to press forward with determination and enthusiasm towards the ultimate goal of their efforts, a Co-operative Commonwealth for Ireland.
quote by James Larkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Irish Politics And Politicians
Politics in the Republic of Ireland with any joy I can't recall
Nepotism rife in the ranks of the three major parties Labour, Fine Gael and Fianna Fail
Jobs for their kin and their mates only Irish Politicians in their ways so small
In Politics since my time in Ireland suppose things would not have changed much at all
I was never a member of any Irish Political Party to me they seemed a very flawed lot
The way they conducted their business I certainly haven't forgot
Any one party not cleaner than the other honest politicians anywhere hard to be found
I recall amongst Irish Politicians that nepotism did abound
They grew old and retired on their big pensions they took care of themselves and their own
Honesty and fairness with them not a high priority the most of them for such not known
When they spoke of doing good for the Country they did not mean what they did say
They only helped their families, friends and relations respect to them I could not pay
There were a few honourable Irish Politicians just a few that I can recall
But honesty does not survive well amongst Politicians they are a flawed lot overall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Fight For Irish Freedom
'My fight for Irish freedom' the autobiography of Dan Breen
But perhaps he should have called his book 'When young blood stained the green'
For human blood for freedom too huge a price to pay
And liberty or freedom define it anyway.
The freedom of expression whatever that might be
To speak our minds on certain things we are not truly free
Look at poor Salman Rushdie his book you may have read
For his satanic verses some people want him dead.
From the point I am about to make you may think I tend to stray
And what has Rushdie got to do with Irish freedom you might say
But for freedom of expression there has been a World-wide
fight
And yet fear is a deterrent to a basic human right.
The fight for Irish freedom whatever that might mean
For there is more to freedom than the 'wearing of the green'
In Ireland like all Nations there is inequality
Of prejudice and class distinction the World is yet not free.
The ill fated Easter Rising in Dublin of the year nineteen sixteen
And my fight for Irish freedom the story of Dan Breen
Is living on in history yet do we understand
That there is more to freedom than owning a piece of land.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The land that shall be (dedicated to herman anker and m. anker on the
Ocaasion of their silver-wedding, September 15, 1888)
Land that shall be
Thither, when thwarted our longings, we sail,-
Sighs to the clouds, that we breathe when we fail,
Form a mirage of rich valley and mead
Over our need,-
Visions revealing the future until
Faith shall fulfil,-
The land that shall be.
Land that shall be!
All of our labor to sow seeds of gain
Grows in the ages when
our
names shall wane,
Gathered with others', 't is stored in the true
Will to renew.
This then shall carry our labor within,
Safely within
The land that shall be.
Land that shall be!
Tears that are shed over evil's foul blight,
Blood-sweat in conflict to win higher right,
Hallow the will unto victory's cost.
Let us be lost,
Rooting out wrong, that the good we may sow,
Soon overgrow
The land that shall be.
Land that shall be!
Looming in beauty of colors and song,
Golden in sunlight that glad makes and strong,
Present in children's eyes, looking to-day
Down when you pray.
Winning good victories gives us the power
To own a brief hour
The land that shall be.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Come Away
(g.bowser/j.jupp)
Published by chappell & co., ltd. - capac
As I walk along the lonely streets
I cant talk to the people that I meet
I see them come, and I see them go
I see them smile, and say hello
Come with me and take my hand
Ooh, fly away to another land, oh yes we will
Come with me and take my hand
Well fly away to another land
Come over here little girl
And Ill show you another world
Where we can be free to do as we want
Live our lives as we please, and say what we like, oh
Come with me and take my hand, ooh
Well fly away to another land
Come with me and take my hand, oh
And fly away to another land
Theres so many things that remain to be done
And no one has thought of a way to begin
So follow me into my life
Come with me and take my hand (and take...)
Fly away to another land (fly away to another land)
Come with me and take my hand (ooh)
Fly away to another land (fly away to another land)
Come with me and take my hand (take my hand)
Fly away to another land (oh yes we will)
Come with me and take my hand (and take my hand, take my hand)
Fly away to another land (yeah)
Come with me and take my hand
Fly away to another land
Come with me and take my hand
Fly away to another land
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Streets Of Sorrow/birmingham Six
Oh farewell you streets of sorrow
And farewell you streets of pain
Ill not return to feel more sorrow
Nor to see more young men slain
Through the last six years Ive lived through terror
And in the darkened streets the pain
Oh how I long to find some solace
In my mind I curse the strain
So farewell you streets of sorrow
And farewell you streets of pain
No Ill not return to feel more sorrow
Nor to see more young men slain
There were six men in birmingham
In guildford theres four
That were picked up and tortured
And framed by the law
And the filth got promotion
But theyre still doing time
For being irish in the wrong place
And at the wrong time
In ireland theyll put you away in the maze
In england theyll keep you for seven long days
God help you if ever youre caught on these shores
The coppers need someone
And they walk through that door
Youll be counting years
First five, then ten
Growing old in a lonely hell
Round the yard and the stinking cell
From wall to wall, and back again
A curse on the judges, the coppers and screws
Who tortured the innocent, wrongly accused
For the price of promotion
And justice to sell
May the judged by their judges when they rot down in hell
May the whores of the empire lie awake in their beds
And sweat as they count out the sins on their heads
While over in ireland eight more men lie dead
Kicked down and shot in the back of the head
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Irish-English
Having stolen all the goods and gone,
The English are back in Ireland
Seeking the good of man
In folksong of the past.
Irish in acadamia
Have left the country behind
Preferring to live where the air comes in,
Leave the stench to the English mind.
It's neither one thing nor another
But a blend that works the best.
But when it comes to English-Irish
The latter think the opposite's blessed.
Living by the nostrils the Irish whiff the past,
'The English they can have it. By the future we are cast.'
poem by Douglas Scotney
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