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Paddy Murphy's Wake

The priest had been here earlier and the rosary was said
and relatives and friends in single file were offering condolences.
'Sorry for your troubles, ' one by one they said,
bending over Maggie Murphy, silent in her rocker,
a foot or so from Paddy, resplendent in his casket,
the two of them much closer now than they had ever been.
A silent guest of honor, Paddy now had nothing more to say,
waked in aspic, if you will, in front of his gothic fireplace.

But the hour was getting late and still the widow hadn't wept.
Her eyes were swept Saharas and the mourners wanted tears.
They had fields to plow come morning and they needed sleep
but the custom in County Kerry was
no one leaves a wake until the widow weeps.

Fair Maggie could have married any man in Kerry,
according to her mother, who almost every day reminded her of that.
'Maggie, ' she would say, 'you should have married Mickey.
His limp was not that bad, ' but Maggie wouldn't listen.
Instead, she married Paddy, 'that pestilence out walking'
as her mother often called him
even on a Sunday but only after Mass.

Maggie married Paddy the day he scored the only goal
the year that Kerry took the trophy back from Galway.
That goal was no small thing, Paddy would remind us all forever
until one of us would gag and buy him another drink.
That goal, he'd shout, was something historians would one day note,
even if they hadn't yet, and every time he'd mention it,
which was almost daily, Maggie's mother would remind her daughter
that she should have married Mickey and had a better life.
The final time her mother praised poor Mickey,
a screaming match ensued, so loud it woke the rooster
the day before her mother, feverish in bed,
gurgled like a frog and died.

This evening, though, as the wake wore on,
the mourners grew more weary
waiting for the tears the widow hadn't shed.
Restless in his folding chair, Mickey put his bottle down
and rose to give the eulogy it had taken days to memorize.
'Folks, ' he said, 'if all of us would holler down to Paddy now,
he'd holler back, I'm sure, and tell us,
despite the flames and all that smoke, that Kerry
winning over Galway is all that ever mattered, even now.
We'll always have cold Paddy over there to thank for that.'

The Widow Murphy hadn't moved all evening,
but after hearing Mickey speak, she began to rock with fury
as she raised a purple fist, shook it to the heavens
and then began to hum her favorite dirge.
The mourners all joined in and hummed along until
midnight pealed on the mantel clock and then,
as if released by God Himself, the mourners one by one
rose from folding chairs and left in single file, freed
by a hurricane of the Widow Murphy's tears.

poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maggie and Max

Our son married a flibbertygibbet,
my wife says, and I agree,
but he loves Maggie very much
so I say let's keep quiet.
It's not our place to criticize.
Max is 33, and not long
back from Iraq.
I remind my wife
that Maggie can cook
better than most

so let's give her a chance.
Max works two jobs
and he's never home.
Maggie's young.
Maybe the baby will help
but I doubt it.
Too bad Maggie
didn't take to quilting,
my wife points out.
The ladies at church

did their best to teach her.
But quilters, I remind her,
don't go out at midnight
to places nobody knows.
My wife keeps asking
why Max married Maggie.
I don't know what to say.
Finally I tell her I never saw
any woman walk like Maggie.
My wife says I never will.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Paddy Magee

What are you doing now, Paddy Magee?
Grafting, or spelling now, Paddy Magee?
Breaking, or branding?
Or overlanding,
Out on the sand ridges, Paddy Magee?
Is your mouth parched, from an all-night spree?
Taking a pick-me-up, Paddy Magee?
Cocktail - or simple soda and b.? -
Which is the 'antidote,' Paddy Magee?

Still 'shook' on some beautiful, blushing she?
Girl in the Bogan side, Paddy Magee?
A hack providing
For moonlight riding,
Side-saddle foolery, Paddy Magee?

Up on the station - or in the town -
Or on the Warrego, droving down,
Whatever you're doing - wherever you be!
'There's lashin's o' luck to ye!' Paddy Magee!

poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
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Ain't Gonna Work On Your Farm No More

I ain’t gonna work on your farm no more
I ain’t gonna scrub all your floors,
I ain’t gonna take all your friends who ignore
what I do when they hide behind doors
where they pay no attention to stuff that I think,
and say, when they pay me a dime,
that I ain’t entitled to spend it on drink,
or ladies who show me good time.
I ain’t gonna work for your children or friends
who preach of the law and the Lord,
and hear all those messages God never sends
to people with who He is bored,
like I am. I ain’t gonna work on your farm,
instead I will write me a song,
and pray that its words will all sound the alarm,
for I expect to be back before long.

Mark Z. Barabak (“He’s Digging ‘Farm, ’” LA Times, June 26,2008) writes that Barack Obama’s favorite Bob Dylan song is “Maggie’s Farm, ” performed in 1995 at the Newport Festival, when he turned electric and never looked back:

I AIN’T GONNA WORK ON MAGGIE’S FARM NO MORE

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I wake up every morning
hold my hands and pray for rain
I've got a head full of ideas
driving me insane
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
He hands you a nickel
he hands you a dime
He asks you and your friends
if you're having a good time
He blames you every time you slam the door
Well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
He stubs his cigarette out in your face just for kicks
his bedroom window is made out of bricks
And the National Guard are standing at his door
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
She talks to all the servants about man and God and law
and everybody swears she's the brains behind Pa
She's sixty-eight, but claim's she's twenty-four
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

I try so hard to be just who I am
but everybody wants you to be just like them
They say 'see, while you're playing I get bored'? ?
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

6/26/08

poem by Gershon Hepner
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03. Maggie And Milly And Molly And May

maggie was the girl
interested in tom
but it was milly
who eventually got married to
maggie's sweetheart
molly is the girl interested in john
but it was may who eventualy
tie the knots with john
six years down the road
milly and may found themselves
at the crossroads of their marriage
wallowing in pity of their husbands
in a cafe with maggie and molly
the latter's children
calling milly and may aunties
uncles in somebody's arms
maggie and molly couldnt
believe their ears
all the tears in milly's and may's eyes
could have been theirs
that their once sweethearts
could turn so lousy and dull
both said they would talk them out
friend pinkly cleverly asked
whether they are glad
they were not married to
tom and john
to which maggie and molly
laughed and said 'no'
in their hearts were these words:
'serve the two bitches right'.

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Maggie Mgill

Miss maggie mgill, she lived on a hill.
Her daddy got drunk and left her no will
So she went down, down to tangie town.
People down there really like to get it on.
Now if youre sad and youre feeling blue
Go out and buy a new pair of shoes
And you go down, down to tangie town
The people down there really like to get it on.
Illegitimate son of a rock and roll star
Illegitimate son of a rock and roll star
Mom met dad in the back of a rock and roll car.
Well Im an old blues man
And I think that you understand
Ive been singing the blues ever since the world began.
Maggie, maggie, maggie mgill
Roll on, roll on, maggie mgill
Maggie, maggie, maggie mgill
Roll on, roll on, maggie mgill

song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maggie May

Wake up, maggie, I think I got some-thing to say to you:
Its late september and I really should be back at school.
I know I keep you amused, but I feel Im being used.
Oh, maggie, I couldnt have tried any more.
You lured me away from home, just to save you from being alone.
You stole my heart and thats what really hurts.
The morning sun, when its in your face really shows your age.
But that dont worry me none; in my eyes youre everything.
I laughed at all of your jokes, my love you didnt need to coax,
Oh, maggie I couldnt have tried any more.
You lured me away from home, just to save you from being alone.
You stole my soul thats a pain I can do without.
All I need was a friend to lend a guiding hand.
But you turned into a lover and mother what a lover your wore me out.
All you did was wreck my bed, and in the morning kick me in the head,
Oh, maggie I couldnt have tried any more.
You lured me away from home, cause you didnt want to be alone.
You stole my heart I couldnt leave you if I tried.
I suppose I could collect my books and get back to school.
Or steal my daddys cue and make a living out of playing pool.
Or find myself a rock and roll band that needs a helping hand,
Oh, maggie, I wish Id never seen your face.
You made a first class fool out of me,
But Im as blind as a fool can be.
You stole my heart, but I love you anyway.
Maggie, I wish I never seen your face.
Ill get on back home one of these days.

song performed by by Counting Crows
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maggie May

(rod stewart / martin quittenton)
Wake up maggie I think I got something to say to you
Its late september and I really should be back at school
I know I keep you amused but I feel Im being used
Oh maggie I couldnt have tried any more
You lured me away from home just to save you from being alone
You stole my heart and thats what really hurt
The morning sun when its in your face really shows your age
But that dont worry me none in my eyes youre everything
I laughed at all of your jokes my love you didnt need to coax
Oh, maggie I couldnt have tried any more
You lured me away from home, just to save you from being alone
You stole my soul and thats a pain I can do without
All I needed was a friend to lend a guiding hand
But you turned into a lover and
Mother what a lover, you wore me out
All you did was wreck my bed
And in the morning kick me in the head
Oh maggie I couldnt have tried anymore
You lured me away from home cause you didnt want to be alone
You stole my heart I couldnt leave you if I tried
I suppose I could collect my books and get on back to school
Or steal my daddys cue and make a living out of playing pool
Or find myself a rock and roll band that needs a helpin hand
Oh maggie I wish Id never seen your face
You made a first-class fool out of me
But Im as blind as a fool can be
You stole my heart but I love you anyway
Maggie I wish Id never seen your face
Ill get on back home one of these days

song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maggie Mae

Wake up Maggie, I think I've got something to say to you
It's late September and I really should be back at school
I know I keep you amused
But I fell I'm being used
Oh Maggie, I couldn't have tried any more
You led me away from home
Just to save you from being alone
You stole my heart and that's what really hurts
The morning sun when it's in your eyes really shows your age
But that don't worry me none, in my eyes you're everything
I laughed at all of your jokes
My love you didn't need to coax
Oh Maggie, I couldn't have tried any more
You led me away from home
Just to save you from being alone
You stole my soul and that's a pain I can do without
All I needed was a friend to lend a helping hand
But you turned into a lover and mother, what a lover, you wore me out
All you did was wreck my bed
And in the morning kick me in the head
Oh Maggie, I couldn't have tried any more
You led me away from home
'Cause you didn't want to be alone
You stole my heart, I couldn't leave you if I tried
I suppose I could collecd my books and go on back to school
Or steal my daddy's cue and make a living at playing pool
Or find myself a rock and roll band
That needs a helping hand
Oh Maggie, I wished I'd never seen your face
You made a first class fool out of me
But I'm as blind as a fool can be
You stole my heart but I love you anyway
I'd never seen your face
I'll get on back home, one of these days

song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maggie May

Wake up maggie I think Ive got something to say to you
Its late september and I really should be back at school
I know I keep you amused
But I feel Im being used
Oh maggie I couldnt have tried any more
You led me away from home
Just to save you from being alone
You stole my heart and thats what really hurts
The morning sun when its in your face really shows your age
But that dont worry me none, in my eyes youre everything
I laughed at all your jokes
My love you didnt need to coax
Oh maggie I couldnt have tried any more
You led me away from home
Just to save you from being alone
You stole my heart and thats a pain I could do without
All I needed was a friend to lend a guiding hand
You turned into a lover and mother what a lover
You wore me out
All you did was wreck my bed
And in the morning kick me in the head
Oh maggie I couldnt have tried any more
You led me away from home
Just to save you from being alone
You stole my heart I couldnt leave you if I tried
I suppose I could collect my books and get on back to school
Or steal my daddys cue and make a living out of playing pool
Find myself a rock and roll band
That needs a helping hand
Oh maggie I wish Id never seen your face
You made a first class fool out of me
Now Im as blind as a fool can be
You stole my heart but I love you anyway

song performed by by Wet Wet Wet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paddy Malone In Australia

Och! my name's Pat Malone, and I'm from Tipperary.
Sure, I don't know it now I'm so bothered, Ohone!
And the gals that I danced with, light-hearted and airy,
It's scarcely they'd notice poor Paddy Malone.
'Tis twelve months or more since our ship she cast anchor
In happy Australia, the Emigrant's home,
And from that day to this there's been nothing but canker,
And grafe and vexation for Paddy Malone.
Oh, Paddy Malone! Oh, Paddy, Ohone!
Bad luck to the agent that coaxed ye to roam.

Wid a man called a squatter I soon got a place, sure,
He'd a beard like a goat, and such whiskers, Ohone!
And he said—as he peeped through the hair on his faitures
That he liked the appearance of Paddy Malone.
Wid him I agreed to go up to his station,
Saying abroad in the bush you'll find yourself at home.
I liked his proposal, and 'out hesitation
Signed my name wid a X that spelt Paddy Malone.
Oh, Paddy Malone, you're no scholard, Ohone!
Sure, I made a cris-crass that spelt Paddy Malone.

A-herding my sheep in the bush, as they call it
It was no bush at all, but a mighty great wood,
Wid all the big trees that were small bushes one time,
A long time ago, faith I 'spose 'fore the flood.
To find out this big bush one day I went further,
The trees grew so thick that I couldn't, Ohone!
I tried to go back then, but that I found harder,
And bothered and lost was poor Paddy Malone.
Oh, Paddy Malone, through the bush he did roam
What a Babe in the Wood was poor Paddy Malone.

I was soon overcome, sure, wid grafe and vexation,
And camped, you must know, by the side of a log;
I was found the next day by a man from the station,
For I coo-ey'd and roared like a bull in a bog.
The man said to me, "Arrah, Pat! where's the sheep now?"
Says I, "I dunno! barring one here at home,"
And the master began and kicked up a big row too,
And swore he'd stop the wages of Paddy Malone.
Arrah! Paddy Malone, you're no shepherd, Ohone!
We'll try you with bullocks now, Paddy Malone.

To see me dressed out with my team and my dray too,
Wid a whip like a flail and such gaiters, Ohone!
But the bullocks, as they eyed me, they seemed for to say too,
"You may do your best, Paddy, we're blest if we go."
"Gee whoa! Redman! come hither, Damper!
Hoot, Magpie! Gee, Blackbird! Come hither,
Whalebone!"

But the brutes turned round sharp, and away they did scamper,
And heels over head turned poor Paddy Malone.
Oh, Paddy Malone! you've seen some bulls at home,
But the bulls of Australia cows Paddy Malone.

I was found the next day where the brutes they did throw me
By a man passing by, upon hearing me groan,
And wiping the mud from my face that he knew me,
Says he, "Your name's Paddy?" "Yes! Paddy Malone."
I thin says to him, "You're an angel sent down, sure!"
"No, faith, but I'm not; but a friend of your own!"
And by his persuasion, for home then I started,
And you now see before you poor Paddy Malone.
Arrah, Paddy Malone! you are now safe at home.
Bad luck to the agent that coaxed ye to roam.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Mr Paddy's Capers.

Just when she thought
She'd found a place alone

To read her book, Mr Paddy
poked his nose between

Her and the open book, so
That pages are blanked out

By his huge head. Mr Paddy
Go off and annoy another,

She said, but he stood there
Determined to be where he

Was, between her and the
Brown covered book, held

Out in her small hands. Oh
Mr Paddy I cannot see the

Pages. Please go off and run
In the garden or in the kitchen

And steal a bone, she said. But
He wouldn't leave her alone,

He pushed his head against her
Young girl body, his damp nose

Dampening her wrist and her
White dress with blue sash, and

Dribble from his lips was wetting
The pages. Mr Paddy please let

Me be, I'm trying to read can't
You see? Mr Paddy's brown eyes

Scanned the pages, nothing there
But scribbled lines upon white paper,

And still he stood wet mouthed with
Big brown eyes and his silly old caper.

poem by Terry Collett
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Breaking It Gently

ALL WAS UP with Richard Tanner—
‘Wait-a-Bit’ we called him. Dead?
Yes. The braceman dropped a spanner,
Landed Richard on the head;
Cracked his skull, sir, like a teacup,
Down the pump-shaft in the well.
Braceman hadn’t time to speak up,
Tanner never knew what fell.

Tell the widow? Who’d go through it?
No one on the shift would stir;
But Pat Ryan said he’d do it—
‘Nately break the news to her.’
Pat’s a splitter, and a kinder
Heart I never wish to know.
Stephens told him where to find her,
Begged him gently deal the blow.

In a very solemn manner
Ryan met the dead man’s wife—
‘Mornin’ to yez, Widdy Tanner!’
Says he gravely, ‘Such is life!’
‘I’m no widow!’ says she, prying
For the joke in Ryan’s eye.
‘’Scuse me, mum,’ says Paddy, sighing,
‘’Scuse me, mum, but that’s a lie.’

‘That remark would be repented
If Dick Tanner heard,’ says she.
‘Meanin’, mum, the late lamented
Party av that name?’ says he.
Still the widow missed the notion,
Wonder only filled her eye;
So Pat smothered his emotion,
Gulped, and had another try.

‘’Tis like this, ye see, me honey,
I’ve been sint t’ let ye know
Ye’ve inherited some money—
Twilve ’r fifteen pounds ’r so.
Through a schame av Providence’s,
Which no mortal man could dodge;
Poor Dick’s funeral expenses
Have fell due, mum, at the lodge!’

poem by Edward George Dyson
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The Post War Dream

Tell me true tell me why was jesus crucified
Is it for this that daddy died?
Was it for you? was it me?
Did I watch too much t.v.?
Is that a hint of accusation in your eyes?
If it wasnt for the nips
Being so good at building ships
The yards would still be open on the clyde
And it cant be much fun for them
Beneath the rising sun
With all their kids committing suicide
What have we done maggie what have we done
What have we done to england
Should we shout should we scream
what happened to the post war dream?
Oh maggie maggie what have we done?

song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paddy Smell

Nostrils are the steps to soul.
Paddy farm, just reaped, smells.
Same old unique smells
Climb up the attic of soul.

Full soul shines in silver
Above the leaves tide.
Footfalls of cat eyed maid
With a pot on her shoulder.

On embankment in field,
Her anklet resonates.
Old untouched love beats,
Then my soul gets wild.

At dawn smelling paddy,
Old white skirt flutters
Below black blouse hers:
Truly soul smells paddy.

poem by Fabiyas M V
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Willie's and Nellie's Wish

Willie and Nellie, one evening sat
By their own little cottage door;
They saw a man go staggering by --
Says Willie, "that's Mr. Lanore;
He is just going home from town, where
He has been in a saloon.
When Maggie and I came from school,
Said Maggie, 'please papa, come home.'

"She asked him again, again, to come home.
At last he got angry, and said:
'Maggie, go home -- don't bother me so;
Go home now, and shut up your head.'
Poor girl, she came weeping all the way,
As though her poor heart would break.
She could not play, not a word would say;
With playmates no pleasure could take."

"'Tis the same child," Willie replied;
"I'm sorry for Maggie Lanore.
I wish her papa would sign the pledge,
And try to be a man once more.
He drinks up all the money he earns,
In whiskey, rum, gin and beer;
His home is a home of poverty,
Made so by his own career."

Says Nellie, "I wish Mr. Lanore
Would go to the meeting to-night,
And hear the temperance lecture;
Then perhaps he would try to do right.
One more little home of happiness,
Would be in our midst, I am sure;
Then Maggie Lanore could say with joy.
'My papa don't drink any more.'"

Said Nellie, "I told her never mind,
We would be her friends evermore;
I hoped her papa would sign the pledge,
Then he would not drink any more.
Then smiling through her tears, she said,
'The temperance pledge, you mean;
If papa would sign it, then mamma
And I will take comfort, I ween.'"

"I wonder," says Nellie, "can it be,
The same child I saw go to school?
She wore ragged clothes. I saw her toes
Were peeping out of her old shoes.
She has curly hair, and mild blue eyes;
Can this child be Maggie Lanore?
If it is her, I sincerely wish
Her papa won't drink any more."

poem by Julia A Moore
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The dream of gifts!

She hugged me wholeheartedly
And gave me a bottle of Multi-Vitamins!
I kissed on her forehead and offered a second-hand book
From a junk shop.
'Kama Sutra! '

*For my shadowy friend Paddy Martin!
Here few Oxygen to you and I want to see your resurrection soon.

[ Go there, watch the Sun set over the land
You and I loved so intensely.
Taste the scent of Eucalypt
Carried on the evening breeze.]
'My Eternal Valentine'-Paddy Martin

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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After Nights

I've hated to talk about it,
but there has been so many after nights.
I've needed to work out, one more story.

Trying to end, my often very sad's.
Another one, of my, the most incredibly bad's!

My heart, was shaking as I knelt on the ground.
My hands, were pressing his wounds.
Pressing hard, prayng, deeper and deeper.
Begging God, Help, Shouting, Holding back the Grim Reaper

Like his mother, my shaking hands
With a sobbing, torn chest
Held him tightly to my breast
Gently wiped the blood from his face and lips
I watched, and felt his soul, escaped my grip.
Raining tears washed the blood from his face.
Even now, I've often wished that God.
Would've let me take his place!

I couldn't bare to see my brother die!
The shouting of my heart, screaming why? God. Why?
Please! God! Why....?
I felt my buddies tears, they were hugging our backs.
Even though, I knew he was dead.
God,
I held him close, I kissed his head.
Like a mother with hurt child.
I sat, rocking him in the mud.
Filling a rice paddy with tears, and blood.

So now after all these years.
I've tried to tell, my life story. Of so many tears.
I've had enough, to make rice paddies flood?
My tears as I've relived, nights, after nights.
How I tried. To stop. My buddies blood
So, just, how, many tears, does it take to make a rice paddy flood?
I've seen that much, and his filled it with blood.

So when you read this, try to understand.
I'm doing the best that I can.
I fight every day the things that make me so sad.
But it helps to talk about it, and the many after nights!
The days and days, the nights after nights.
I've called my life stories, just incredibly bad...........

poem by Clyde Bryson
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I'm My Own Grandpa

It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she's as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life:
My daughter was my mother 'cause she was my father's wife.
And then to complicate the matter, though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.

This bouncing baby then became a brother-in-law to dad,
and so became my uncle, though it made me very sad,
for if he was my uncle then he also was the brother
of the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my step-mother.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

Father's wife then had a son who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother, and it makes me blue,
because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too.

Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
Husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Hearts Filthy Lesson

Hearts filthy lesson
Hearts filthy lesson
Hearts filthy lesson
Theres always the diamond friendly
Sitting in the laugh hotel
The hearts filthy lesson
With her hundred miles to hell
Oh, ramona, if there was only something between us
If there was only something between us
Other than our clothes
Something in our skies
Something in our skies
Something in our blood
Something in our skies
Paddy
Paddy, whos been wearing mirandas clothes?
Its the hearts filthy lesson
Hearts filthy lesson
Hearts filthy lesson
Falls upon deaf ears
Its the hearts filthy lesson
Hearts filthy lesson
Hearts filthy lesson
Falls upon deaf ears
Falls upon dead years
Oh ramona, if there was only some kind of future
Oh ramona, if there was only some kind of future
And these cerulean skies
Something in our skies
Something in our skies
Something in our blood
Something in our skies
Paddy, paddy?
Paddy will you carry me, I think Ive lost my way
Im already five years older Im already in my grave
Im already
Im already
Im already
Will you carry me?
Oh paddy, I think Ive lost my way
Paddy
What a fantastic death abyss
Paddy
What a fantastic death abyss
Its the hearts filthy lesson
Tell the others
Its the hearts filthy lesson
What a fantastic death abyss
Tell the others
Its the hearts filthy lesson
Paddy
What a fantastic death abyss
Its the hearts filthy lesson
Tell the other

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First Impressions

They say that first impressions
should be lasting ones
by which we build
people’s characters from.
Do not believe it, that’s wrong.
I’ve known people
who were smiles at the start,
but once you got to know them
wouldn’t hesitate
to stab you in the back,
and others whom the first impressions
were so very wrong,
but as you got to know them,
you really found out how good they were.

The story I am about to relate
illustrates the second point so well.
It is the true story
of a very dear friend of mine.
It all started about three years ago
in the Western town I belong to.
Maggie turned up one day,
a single girl with a married man.
Some looked on her with suspicion,
especially after her man friend
left her alone again.
Slowly she was looked upon
as a bit of a tart
because of her friendliness
towards some of the men.
At our annual Christmas party that year,
she seemed to be throwing herself at every man.

Now that first impression
would put off a lot of people
and they would have been wrong.
She helped out around the town,
in the eating-house with afternoon teas.
When someone’s car broke down who lived near her,
she would bring them to the town
and take them back home again.
Slowly she integrated into
the family of the town.
Her unconventional entrance
and first impression was soon forgotten.

She attended our church
whenever she could.
Respect for her began to grow
as the months passed by.
Maggie began to become
a pillar of our little town.
She wears a smile for everyone she meets
and laughs sincerely at funny things said.
Her story is far from over.

Last month on my birthday,
tragedy struck our town
and two dear friends of mine
were struck down.
One passed away and the other
is in hospital for a considerable stay.
The later is Irish who was widowed
just over a year ago and left to bring up
three young sons on his own.
As town-folk, we’ve tried
to help him the best we could.
Now he is in hospital,
but who was going to look after his sons.
It was then Maggie stepped forward
and said the lads could stay with her
while Irish was recovering.

The three boys who were a wild bunch
have tamed a bit under the guiding hand
of this loving surrogate mum.
I saw them together last Saturday
laughing and joking just like a real family.
Maggie has the highest admiration
and respect from everyone in our town.
So the next time you meet someone
take a little time before you judge their character.
This story is still continuing
it’s a story without end,
at least for now.
It proves once again how friendship
can overcome any adversity.

8 July 2008

This poem is dedicated to Maggie
And all the others like her out there in the world today.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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