Rue Family
April makes no difference
to the Lavalle cork tree
imported from central Japan;
to the Sakhalin cork,
its diamond bark
rising into branches
from a trunk of plated sand.
In the city park, this family of trees
wears its rue as buds
traveled into leaf each year—
predictably, invisibly,
as your sister wears hers
on a South Dakota highway:
there behind her knee, tempering
the air above her hand.
poem by Christina Pugh
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Related quotes
On The Cork Hurlers Strike
The best hurlers will not be playing for the Rebel County this year
At least not under coach Gerald McCarthy for Cork fans such sad news to hear
The Liam McCarthy Cup this year won't be coming to the hurling City by the Lee
Without Cork's best hurling only half dressed as hurling fans all would agree
Cork hurling fans not very happy to them hurling more than a game
Some blame the hurlers and others blame Gerald and others the County Board blame
Gerald has no notion of resigning and Cork's best under him will not play
And the loser is the game of hurling and that does seem a sad thing to say
Cork will have a hurling team in the League and All Ireland Championship but their best the red jersey will not wear
And for any hope of sporting success as we do know a team would need every top player
And in 2009 Cork will only make up the numbers though the game of hurling will go on
For hurling does live on in Ireland though great players to and from the game have come and gone
In 2009 Cork will not have their best team at least now it's looking that way
In a sad time for Cork and for hurling in Ireland and that seems a sad thing to say.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Back There In Millstreet County Cork
Back there in Millstreet County Cork the frosted fields are gray
And old Clara wears his hat of snow on this cold January day
And cattle in the farmyard shed are bellowing for hay
Back there in Millstreet County Cork far north and far away.
Through old fields west of Millstreet Town the Finnow bank high flow
Through Inchaleigh, Coomlogane and Claragahatlea by many a bare hedgerow
Robins, blackbirds and sparrows by back door eat crumbs of bread
Before the Spring for them some hard and hungry times ahead.
Back there through Millstreet County Cork harsh winds of January blow
The days and nights are wet and cold quite cold enough to snow
In Duhallow I was born and raised though far from there I may die
And that I still feel nostalgia for the place of that why should I lie.
Back there in Millstreet County Cork the wintery winds blow chill
Across the bleak unsheltered face of Clara's bracken hill
And on the high fields by the hill beneath a darkened sky
The hungry fox out hunting utters forth a wild shrill cry.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Fake Plastic Trees
Her green plastic watering can
For her fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself.
It wears her out
It wears her out
It wears her out
It wears her out
She lives with a broken man,
A cracked polystyreneman
Who just crumbles and burns
He used to do surgery
For girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins.
And it wears him out
It wears him out
It wears him out
It wears...
She looks like the real thing.
She tastes like the real thing,
My fake plastic love
But I cant help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run.
And it wears me out
It wears me out
It wears me out
It wears me out
If I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted
All the time
All the time.
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fake Plastic Tree (acoustic Version)
A green plastic watering can
For a fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself
It wears her out, it wears her out
It wears her out, it wears her out
She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns
He used to do surgery
On girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins
And it wears him out, it wears him out
It wears him out, it wears him out
She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love
But I can't help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run
And it wears me out, it wears me out
It wears me out, it wears me out
And if I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted
All the time, all the time
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fake Plastic Tress
Her green plastic watering can
For her fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself
It wears her out
It wears her out
It wears her out
It wears her out
She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns
He used to do surgery for girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins
And it wears him out
And it wears him out
And it wears him out
She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love
But I cant help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run
And it wears me out
It wears me out
And it wears me out
If I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted all the time
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fake Plastic Trees (live)
Radiohead cover
her green plastic watering can
for her fake chinese rubber plant
in the fake plastic earth
that she bought from a rubber man
in a town full of rubber plans
to get rid of itself
it wears her out
it wears her out
it wears her out
it wears her out
she lives with a broken man
a cracked polystyrene man
who just crumbles and burns
he used to do surgery for girls in the eighties
but gravity always wins
and it wears him out
and it wears him out
and it wears him out
she looks like the real thing
she tastes like the real thing
my fake plastic love
but i can't help the feeling
i could blow through the ceiling
if i just turn and run
and it wears me out
it wears me out
and it wears me out
if i could be who you wanted
if i could be who you wanted all the time
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The 09 All Ireland Football Final
For the Cork Gaelic Footballers another humbling defeat
By their neighbours Kerry in Croke Park once more they've been beat
In Gaelic Football in Ireland Kerry to the fore
With 36 All Ireland titles and their fans hoping for more.
My mum was from Kerry that I cannot deny
But why it aches me when Cork lose a big game I do wonder why?
Though long absent from Ireland a sense of parochialism I do retain
Some-things from our past always with us do remain.
But Kerry fans with their 09 All Ireland victory need not get carried away
As their hurlers are quite poor though that does seem a sad thing for to have to say
Like Kilkenny Ireland's premier hurling County Kerry G A A rankings low
The lowest even in Munster as all G A A fans do know.
For the Liam Mcarthy Cup Kerry Hurlers never allowed for to play
For that not deemed to be good enough by the administrators of the G A A
Like the Kilkenny Footballers Kerry Hurlers amongst the lowly rate
Though their many Football victories their fans have to celebrate.
Kerry are 09 All Ireland Senior Football Champions their neighbours Cork they did outplay
In Croke Park in Dublin Ireland on September's third sunday
But Cork the only winners of the Hurling and Football double for them an amazing feat
With Ireland best Football and Hurling Counties at the highest level do compete.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Christy Ring
I'll tell you about a great hurler he hurled his way into renown
And his fame spread distant from Cork City through many a village and town
He inspired the poets to write of him and the song writers his praises did sing
And he was the hurler of all Seasons the one and only Christy Ring.
He was born in the year nineteen twenty and he died in nineteen seventy nine
And he played from the thirties until the late sixties and as he aged he matured like good wine
He won eighteen Railway cup medals a record that will never be beat
Yet he was a down to earth fellow a man who was free of conceit.
Of him there has been many stories his imprint in hurling he made
As long as hurling is played he will be remembered for the many great games that he played
In Cork, Limerick, Thurles and Killarney and in Dublin in famed Croke Park
In his three marvellous decades of hurling the wizard from Cloyne left his mark.
When I was a boy in the fifties Christy Ring in his mid thirties then
Yet still one of Ireland's best hurlers he helped Cork and Glen Rovers to many a win
He revelled in fierce competition and even in his forties played against the best
And he always worried his opponents the hurler who always impressed.
The Cork and the Glen Rovers wizard his fame spread beyond Ireland's shore
his name will live as long as the game of hurling and that will be forever more
He inspired the poets to write of him and the song writers of him did sing
And he was the hurler of all Seasons the legendary Christy Ring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Mick Cashman
In the Cork County Senior Football Championship Final of 1957 I still recall the day
The last time I see Mick Cashman for his home club Millstreet Play
At the Cork Athletic grounds that day the Duhallow men were beat
The City Club St Finbarrs proved too good for Millstreet.
The Barrs fans celebrated the victory was sweet
But Mick Cashman played a great game he was gallant in defeat
In the biggest day in Cork County for the game of Gaelic Football
And though Millstreet lost to go that far they did well overall.
Mick Cashman was ordained a priest and for New Zealand he was bound
Far from Millstreet in Duhallow and Tullig his home ground
In the green and gold of Millstreet he was never seen again
But what was a loss to Ireland was surely New Zealand's gain.
Mick Cashman was a gentleman and of him 'twould be fair to say
That to help out other people he went out of his way
A Parish Priest in New Zealand where he was known far and wide
And his success in his adopted Country to Millstreet a sense of pride.
He is buried in New Zealand far south and far away
From Tullig above Millstreet Town where he first saw light of day
Last saw him in a Cork County Final for Millstreet playing Gaelic Football
A good memory till my own end that I surely will recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Paddy Casey
When Paddy Casey left the Clara road forever
The feeling was widespread he would be back
For he could never be happy in heaven
If heaven did not have a greyhound track.
Three times a week to Cork track he did journey
From Inchaleigh just out of Millstreet Town
Sometimes through Macroom and sometimes on the narrow high road
That winds along by Mushera up and down.
I doubt that he could feel happy in heaven
If he could not watch two greyhounds course a hare
In January at the Millstreet Coursing Meeting
In the Town Park I fancy he's still there.
He is one I still remember Paddy Casey
I knew him since I was a five year old
He was a cheerful and kindhearted fellow
And you well might say he had a 'heart of gold'.
I recall his renowned track bitch Rainbow Lady
Duhallow's fastest greyhound in her prime
At Cork track she won many open races
And bettered thirty seconds every time.
He had so many friends around Cork County
And the feeling was widespread he would be back
For Paddy could not be happy in heaven
If heaven did not have a greyhound track.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Our Family Tree
We class ourselves as branches
on our family tree,
each person has a branch
and each branch has its branches
growing out of it.
Let’s go back to the beginning,
who would be the base
of our family tree.
In being logical,
we take the first names
in our written history
and those first two names
have to be Adam and Eve.
Now if they are the base
from which all families grow.
That makes everyone
on earth one big family,
and that makes everyone we talk to
part of our big family tree.
7 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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Big Tree
Big tree
Standing tall
Against setting sun
Majestic silhouette
Geometer's delight
Deep rooted trunk
Branches reaching the sky
Tree depicts life...
Every leaf
Shape so unique
Defining tree family...
Magical colors applied
By Creator's bold strokes
With the brush of seasons
Amazing panorama spreads out
Everywhere and all around.
Flowers spring out
Beauty and fragrance
Magical transformation
Into fruits
Nature transports seeds
To far off lands
It's a new cycle
Trees..forest...life.
Big tree
Stands still
Stands waving
I keep watching
Its far reaching ways
Tree gives us life
Tree gives us shade
To rest and contemplate.
poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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Central Park N West
(ian hunter)
The gulf and western garbage
Just aint the prettiest smell
When youre sleeping on the 4th floor up
Its like a living hell
New yorks finest rounding up the bums
The firemen get no rest,
And ambulances signal death, on central park n west.
Now there aint no sheets upon my bed,
Just a mattress and some wine.
The rain is pouring through the night
And Im glad my life is mine.
When frank carillo plays guitar
Trying to get it off his chest.
He gets the words he needs tonight
On central park n west.
And I think, I think, I think, I think, I think its the best,
When Im locked in the middle of new york city on central park n west
And I know, I know, I know, I know, I know its a mess,
But youve got to be crazy to live in the city, and new york citys the best.
And we all want just someone just like me
In the city we call home.
She leaves me sometimes when I write,
cause I write better on my own.
Bag ladies take my dollars)
Put my conscience to the test.
But waitresses give me coffee free
On central park n west.
So sing soul woman, sing the songs)
Its time to sing them now.
Im getting more than high from hearin em
Dont sing them quiet, sing them loud.
For you sang with the best of them
But now youre just a guest.
I tell you well get a hotel room
On central park n west.
cause I think, I think, I think, I think, I think its the best,
When Im locked in the middle of new york city on central park n west
And I know, I know, I know, I know, I know its a mess,
But youve got to be crazy to live in the city, and new york citys the best.
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, oh yeah.
I think, I think, I think, I think, I think its the best,
When Im locked in the middle of new york city on central park n west.
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know its a mess,
But youve got to be crazy to live in the city, and new york citys the best.
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sinking
You're on a wide open ocean
No one around you for miles
You're thinkin' of drinkin' on water
While you're sailing the Nile
No one to stop you on your way
Flyin' by goes a stork
You decide to bring your oars in now
But accidently knock out the cork
Row your boat to shore
'Cause it is leaking and you're still drinking
Unless you cork the hole
You won't be sailing
song performed by by No Doubt from No Doubt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Leaf And The Tree
When will you learn, myself, to be
a dying leaf on a living tree?
Budding, swelling, growing strong,
Wearing green, but not for long,
Drawing sustenance from air,
That other leaves, and you not there,
May bud, and at the autumn's call
Wearing russet, ready to fall?
Has not this trunk a deed to do
Unguessed by small and tremulous you?
Shall not these branches in the end
To wisdom and the truth ascend?
And the great lightning plunging by
Look sidewise with a golden eye
To glimpse a tree so tall and proud
It sheds its leaves upon a cloud?
Here, I think, is the heart's grief:
The tree, no mightier than the leaf,
Makes firm its root and spreads it crown
And stands; but in the end comes down.
That airy top no boy could climb
Is trodden in a little time
By cattle on their way to drink.
The fluttering thoughts a leaf can think,
That hears the wind and waits its turn,
Have taught it all a tree can learn.
Time can make soft that iron wood.
The tallest trunk that ever stood,
In time, without a dream to keep,
Crawls in beside the root to sleep.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Sonnet – Don’t Be
Don't be the fallen leaves, so young and green;
Don't be the buds that never can flower;
Don't be the twigs that always remain lean;
Don't be the flow'rs that dropp with each shower.
Don't be the branches growing very long;
Don't be the tree that never blooms at all;
Don’t be the nests that disallow Bird-song;
Don't be the fruits that hit the Earth by Fall.
Don't be the trunk hollowed by Birds, white-Ants;
Don't be the crown that can't get Sun or Rain;
Don't be the tree that grows not straight but slants;
Don't be the roots that prop the tree in vain.
Don't be the tree that grows on marshy-land;
Just be a tree secure in Maker's Hand.
poem by John Celes
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Rapid City, South Dakota
(kinky friedman)
Just a ragged kid in overalls, he thumbed a ride one day
He told me, anywhere youre goings on my way.
But as we passed by big als drive-in his eyes began to flash
He was leavin rapid city mighty fast.
He said, i hope to God she finds the good-bye letter that I wrote her
But the mail dont move so fast in rapid city, south dakota.
Well, he left her just a blanket of snow upon the farm
And that dont keep your conscience very warm.
He said his friends were too durn country and his pa was too damn mean
And there werent no money pumpin gasoline.
And her gentle eyes, the merchandise of dreams the peddler sold her
Who left her there alone in rapid city, south dakota.
Now the reason he was goin, I aint sure I could say,
Mightve been the rodeo in santa f.
theres a doctor in chicago, I know shell be all right
He told himself as he stared into the night.
And he said, i hope to God she finds the good-bye letter that I wrote her
But the mail dont move so fast in rapid city, south dakota.
And all her people treatin her just like they never knowed her
Lord, the winters passin slow in rapid city, south dakota.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh To Be Back Home In Ireland (To Jo)
Oh to be back home in Ireland now that April winds are blowing
And the weather getting milder and the green grass is a growing
And the breath of Spring is in the air and daylight hours grow long
And the skylark o'er the heather sings his merry April song.
Oh to be back home in Ireland the Country of my birth
The Land where I was bred and raised the greenest Land on Earth,
Land of the grassy valleys and scenic heather hills
Of murmuring brooks and rivers and rippling mountain rills.
I have travelled thousands of miles from my home in County Cork
I have been to London City and westward to New York,
I have seen the lights of Paris and the seven hills of Rome
But my heart is always yearning for my Country and my home.
And it's oh to be in Ireland now that April days are here
And the wildborn birds are singing in the Springtime of the year
And the wildflowers are a blooming and new leaves grow on the trees
In the Country I was raised in way beyond Atlantic seas.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Independent Man
Now who could take you off to tiny life
In one room or in two rooms or in three
And cork you smartly, like the flask of wine
You are? Not any woman. Not a wife.
You'd let her twirl you, give her a good glee
Showing your leaping ruby to a friend.
Though twirling would be meek. Since not a cork
Could you allow, for being made so free.
A woman would be wise to think it well
If once a week you only rang the bell.
poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
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