My Ancestors (Quatrain)
In bonny Scotland by the bay
Where Celtic Fairies love to play
My sweet family waits for me
hovering around the big Oak Tree.
poem by Heather Burns
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Related quotes
Celtic Ray
When lewellyn comes around
And he goes through market town
Youll be on the celtic ray
Are you ready?
When mcmannus comes around
On his early morning rounds
Crying hey...
Youll be on the celtic ray
Ireland, scotland, england and wales
I can hear the mothers voices calling
Children, children, children
When the coal brick man comes round
On a cold november day
Youll be on the celtic ray
Are you ready? are you ready?
Ireland, scotland, england and wales
I can hear the mothers voices calling
Children, children, children
Listen to me! I want to go home.
Listen to me! I want to go home.
Ive been away from the ray too long
Ive been away from the ray too long
All over ireland, scotland, england and wales
I can hear the mothers voices calling
Children, children, come home children
Children, come home on the celtic ray
In the early morning well go walking
Where the light comes shining through
On the celtic ray
Come home children
Come home on the celtic ray
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Show Some Love
In fairyland all the fairies
Love to laugh and play-
Even all the fairies know
Poets who are sweet and kind
With a sense of humour
Are the best of friends
You don't have to look hard to find
A real friend, who will laugh and play
If you know how to be a friend-
Even all the fairies know
If you haven't anything nice to say
Don't create a bad day..
If you are a real poet or poetess
Show some love, if not go away!
poem by Rachel Nichols
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Bonny Lassie O!
O the evening's for the fair, bonny lassie O!
To meet the cooler air and walk an angel there,
With the dark dishevelled hair,
Bonny lassie O!
The bloom's on the brere, bonny lassie O!
Oak apples on the tree; and wilt thou gang to see
The shed I've made for thee,
Bonny lassie O!
Tis agen the running brook, bonny lassie O!
In a grassy nook hard by, with a little patch of sky,
And a bush to keep us dry,
Bonny lassie O!
There's the daisy all the year, bonny lassie O!
There's the king-cup bright as gold, and the speedwell never cold,
And the arum leaves unrolled,
Bonny lassie O!
O meet me at the shed, bonny lassie O!
With a woodbine peeping in, and the roses like thy skin
Blushing, thy praise to win,
Bonny lassie O!
I will meet thee there at e'en, bonny lassie O!
When the bee sips in the bean, and grey willow branches lean,
And the moonbeam looks between,
Bonny lassie O!
poem by John Clare
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The Scottish Referee’s Bible of 1690
Football in Scotland,
is a religion on its own
When it involves
both Celtic and Rangers,
But how many times
are the Celtic to be crucified
By a referee
who is a Rangers supporter?
Does the Scottish Football Association
travel the country?
And recruit men from
the local Masonic Lodges,
For the referee’s bible of 1690,
is to prevent
Celtic from winning
any Old Firm matches.
Last Saturday’s match
was another fine example
Of the SFA’s faith
in Presbyterianism
As Thompson and Lennon,
both became victims,
To Stuart Dougal’s
biased refereeing.
poem by Daniel McDonagh
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My family(concept of art)
My family my tree
Deep rooted in my heritage
My family my tree
Who I'm the fruit of her
My family fair sky
Where my sun always shine
My family there are my roots
Where I got MIne and me
My family is my word
My family is my blood
My family is my fine touch
My family
is big heart
Who love with no hurt
My family is my love
for that love I love
And I hate
What I hate so
My family is my moral code
MY culture
And my bank acount
Never been out of cash
My family is my fortess
And my fortune
My family is not
fall out of fishion
My family face
is always fancy
My family is what
You never know
me with out
MY color
My conscious
And my concept of art
poem by Sallam Yassin
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Bonny Mary O!
The morning opens fine, bonny Mary O!
The robin sings his song by the dairy O!
Where the little Jenny wrens cock their tails among the hens,
Singing morning's happy songs with Mary O!
The swallow's on the wing, bonny Mary O!
Where the rushes fringe the spring, bonny Mary O!
Where the cowslips do unfold, shaking tassels all of gold,
Which make the milk so sweet, bonny Mary O!
There's the yellowhammer's nest, bonny Mary O!
Where she hides her golden breast, bonny Mary O!
On her mystic eggs she dwells, with strange writing on their shells,
Hid in the mossy grass, bonny Mary O!
There the spotted cow gets food, bonny Mary O!
And chews her peaceful cud, bonny Mary O!
In the mole-hills and the bushes, and the clear brook fringed with rushes
To fill the evening pail, bonny Mary O!
The cowpond once agen, bonny Mary O!
Lies dimpled like thy sen, bonny Mary O!
Where the gnat swarms fall and rise under evening's mellow skies,
And on flags sleep dragon flies, bonny Mary O!
And I will meet thee there, bonny Mary O!
When a-milking you repair, bonny Mary O!
And I'll kiss thee on the grass, my buxom, bonny lass,
And be thine own for aye, bonny Mary O!
poem by John Clare
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Our Fathers Gave Us Celtic
Our ancestors came from Ireland
Who brought their pride and their faith,
They gathered as one at Celtic park
To express their cultural identity.
Our father’s gave us Celtic
And the songs we sing today,
Our Irish heritage we celebrate
When watching the Bhoys in green play.
The Celtic jersey was worn by icons
Who played with heart and soul,
Diehards for the Celtic cause,
Entertainers, who brought us goals.
We stood through miserable Scottish weather
Suffering the defeat of a Rangers game,
But our spirits stayed strong as we chanted loud
In praise of Celtic’s name.
But it is football, faith and passion
To Parkhead we make our way,
As we sit were our father’s once stood
To see football played the Glasgow Celtic way.
Feb’22nd 2005
poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Family Tree
Forgotten things remembered
The tigers eat their young
The body stayed but inside the head
The mind was on the run
A conspiracy of silence
The only way out of pain
Is turn around, run through it man
Too wet to come in from the rain,
Tell them...
I know they were doing it to you
But dont try doing it to me
Let me show you, how I love you
Its our secret, you and me
But keep it in the family tree
The secret of the family tree
When you hear them saying trust me
Dont wait to see whats next
Thrown to the wolves
Forever trusting
Raised in a form of living hell
Sing a one note song of rage
Live and die within your heart
So beware in the shadows
Your family tree waits in the dark
I say...
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Scotland
Beyond the Cheviots and the Tweed,
Beyond the Firth of Forth,
My memory returns at speed
To Scotland and the North.
For still I keep, and ever shall,
A warm place in my heart for Scotland,
Scotland, Scotland,
A warm place in my heart for Scotland.
Oh, cruel off St. Andrew's Bay
The winds are wont to blow!
They either rest or gently play,
When there in dreams I go.
And there I wander, young again,
With limbs that do not tire,
Along the coast to Kittock's Den,
With whinbloom all afire.
I climb the Spindle Rock, and lie
And take my doubtful ease,
Between the ocean and the sky,
Derided by the breeze.
Where coloured mushrooms thickly grow,
Like flowers of brittle stalk,
To haunted Magus Muir I go,
By Lady Catherine's Walk.
In dreams the year I linger through,
In that familiar town,
Where all the youth I ever knew,
Burned up and flickered down.
There's not a rock that fronts the sea,
There's not an inland grove,
But has a tale to tell to me
Of friendship or of love.
And so I keep, and ever shall,
The best place in my heart for Scotland,
Scotland, Scotland,
The best place in my heart for Scotland!
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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My Return To The Magical Mystery Tree
Many kids run through the grass
Playing whatever game they've chosen
Passing them by
I walk up to the magicial mystery tree
I've paid a visit to the magicial mystery
tree before
And some have said that they can see
on the tree, a door
And some have said that they never saw
anything on the tree
I can see the door
But it's locked up tight
And try as I may
I can't unlock it
Not even with the help of the sunlight
Some say there's a whole different world
inside the magical mystery tree
Some say that only fairies and their friends
live inside the magical mystery tree
But no one knows for sure
So
After a few minutes in thought
Thinking of what I should do in the meantime
at the magical mystery tree
I decide to leave some very small gifts behind
for the fairies and their friends
Leaving behind some flowers and jewels
for the fairies and their friends
I certainly hope they'll enjoy them
I place near the door of the magical mystery
tree
After that
I realize I'm all done here
I gaze at the magical mystery tree for a few
moments
Until I realize it's time for me to be on my way
Looking at the magical mystery tree one last
time
I smile
Then I turn and walk away
Enjoy the gifts I've left behind
Fairies and friends
poem by Justin Gildow
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The Flag Issue at Parkhead in the Fifties
In Scotland in the fifties,
In football terms,
Protest was a blaze
From the grumpy old chairmen,
They took to a cause
That never since has died;
The flying of Ireland’s flag
Over Parkhead’s sky.
So bold Robert Kelly,
Born to Celtic’s dynasty,
Acted upon his heart
And wrote himself into history,
He sat at his desk
With pen in hand,
And wrote a letter, for a favour,
From the Irish PM.
“Dear Mr.DeValera,
How have you been?
Have you been reading the results
Of the bhoys in green?
Our attendance at Parkhead
Improves with every game,
I just wish our football
Would improve the same.”
“I have a small plea,
In this letter I ask,
As Celtic’s being condemned
For flying Ireland’s flag,
We’re proud of the fathers
Who built this club,
Proud of our heritage
As Ireland’s sons.”
“Ireland’s flag,
We’ll never take down,
But protest galore
May be reaching the crown,
So the teams in Scotland
Have gathered as a unit,
And turned the flag issue
Into a game of politics.”
“I took a walk around Parkhead,
It was a sunny day,
And noticed our flag of old,
Is starting to fray,
To the establishment of football,
I would just love to brag,
Can Ireland, our brother,
Deliver Celtic a new flag? ”
The letter was stamped
And mailed to Dublin,
By special delivery
Not carrier pigeon,
And DeValera, in the penmanship
Of Yeats’ ghost,
Wrote, “No problem, son,
It’s in the post.”
Oct'25th 2003
poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Family Love...
The love of the family is so sweet
Very unique
The love of the family holds a special bond of concern for the unknown
The love of the family strengthen as the years past from birth to adulthood
The love of the family is mine to have
The love of the is my family love
Pure love
My love of the family is known to me
How appreciate my love of my family
poem by Ms. Anika Martinez
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Surprise, Surprise
Sweet as the smell of success
Her body's warm and wet
She gets me through this god awful lonliness
A natural high butterfly oh i,
I need, need, need her
Just like a willow tree
A breath of spring you see
And oh boy you don't know what she do to me
She makes me sweat and forget who i am
I need, need, need, need her
Well i was wondering how long this could go on, on and on
Well i thought i could never be surprised
But could it be that i bit my own tongue
Oh yeah, it's so hard to swallow when you're wrong
A bird of paradise
The sunrise in her eyes
God only knows such a sweet surprise
I was blind she blew my mind think that i
I love, love, love, love, love her
I love her, i love her, i love her, i love her
Sweet sweet, sweet sweet love
Sweet sweet, sweet sweet love
Sweet sweet, sweet sweet love
Sweet sweet, sweet sweet love
Sweet sweet, sweet sweet love
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Annan Water
'Annan water's wading deep,
And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
Because I love her best of ony.
'Gar saddle me the bonny black,--
Gar saddle sune, and make him ready:
For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,
And all to see my bonny ladye.'--
He has loupen on the bonny black,
He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly;
But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,
I think the steed was wae and weary.
He has loupen on the bonny gray,
He rade the right gate and the ready;
I trow he would neither stint nor stay,
For he was seeking his bonny ladye.
O he has ridden o'er field and fell,
Through muir and moss, and mony a mire;
His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
And fra her fore-feet flew the fire.
'Now, bonny grey, now play your part!
Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,
Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
And never spur sall make you wearie.'
The gray was a mare, and a right good mare;
But when she wan the Annan water,
She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,
Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.
'O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!
Put off your boat for gowden monie!
I cross the drumly stream the night,
Or never mair I see my honey.'--
'O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
And not by ae aith, but by many;
And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland,
I dare na take ye through to Annie.'
The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,
For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.
O he has pou'd aff his dapperpy coat,
The silver buttons glanced bonny;
The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,
He was sae full of melancholy.
He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail;
I wot he swam both strong and steady;
But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,
And he never saw his bonny ladye.
'O wae betide the frush saugh wand!
And wae betide the bush of brier!
It brake into my true love's hand,
When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.
'And wae betide ye, Annan water,
This night that ye are a drumlie river!
For over thee I'll build a bridge,
That ye never more true love may sever.'--
poem by Andrew Lang
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The Bonny Hind
O May she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon gardens green,
And there she spied a gallant squire
As squire had ever been.
And may she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon hollin tree,
And there she spied a brisk young squire,
And a brisk young squire was he.
'Give me your green manteel, fair maid,
Give me your maidenhead;
Gif ye winna gie me your green manteel,
Gi me your maidenhead.'
He has taen her by the milk-white hand,
And softly laid her down,
And when he's lifted her up again
Given her a silver kaim.
'Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir,
Perhaps there may be nane;
But if you be a courtier,
You'll tell to me your name.'
'I am na courtier, fair maid,
But new come frae the sea;
I am nae courtier, fair maid,
But when I court'ith thee.
'They call me Jack when I'm abroad,
Sometimes they call me John;
But when I'm in my father's bower
Jock Randal is my name.'
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
For I'm Lord Randal's yae daughter,
He has nae mair nor me.'
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
For I'm Lord Randal's yae yae son,
Just now come oer the sea.'
She's putten her hand down by her spare
And out she's taen a knife,
And she has putn't in her heart's bluid,
And taen away her life.
And he's taen up his bonny sister,
With the big tear in his een,
And he has buried his bonny sister
Amang the hollins green.
And syne he's hyed him oer the dale,
His father dear to see:
'Sing O and O for my bonny hind,
Beneath yon hollin tree!'
'What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
For it you needna care;
There's aught score hyns in yonder park,
And five score hyns to spare.
'Fourscore of them are siller-shod,
Of thae ye may get three;'
'But O and O for my bonny hyn,
Beneath yon hollin tree!'
'What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
For it you needna care;
Take you the best, gi me the warst,
Since plenty is to spare.'
'I care na for your hyns, my lord,
I care na for your fee;
But O and O for my bonny hyn,
Beneath the hollin tree!'
'O were ye at your sister's bower,
Your sister fair to see,
Ye'll think na mair o your bonny hyn
Beneath the hollin tree.'
poem by Andrew Lang
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The Jungle Bhoys
On the terracing at Parkhead we gather
Watching the Bhoys in green play,
we’ll sing you a song of the Celtic
And of the players who played down Parkhead’s way.
Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
We’re the sound of the Paradise voice
Our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys
We’ve grown in our years with the Celtic
Raised on the history and pride
Wishing we could play for the Celtic
And wear the jersey of the old green & white
Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
We’re the sound of the Paradise voice
Our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys
As we travel to the east end of Glasgow
Wearing our colours of green, white & gold,
We’ll celebrate and sing of the Celtic
Who live forever in our green and white soul.
Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
we’re the sound of the Paradise voice
our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys.
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
we’re the sound of the Paradise voice
our culture; we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys.
Nov’2005
poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Remember The Oak Tree
Remember the oak tree?
Hovering over the yellow house,
In the midst of which we fell so free
That was useful to everyone including a mouse.
Remember the oak tree?
When we set up our tyre swing
While my mother and
your mother had some tea,
And listened across town for
the bells of the Church to ring.
Remember the oak tree?
Sheltering us from all the harsh weather
And providing us shade while we shelled the peas
During the long hot summer we spent together
Remember the oak tree?
Under which we would always play and sit.
Can’t you see
I can never forget it.
Remember the Oak Tree?
poem by Nilesh Roy
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My Love and I
My love and I live by the sea
Where the sea breeze flows in your face
Where the the fish dance
In there mind with thee
And the crabs go flamenco with there clicks
I know somtimes my love waits for me
I know that she waits for me by the sea
My love somtimes goes cold on me
but i warm her up with a bit of sauce
I know my love waits for me
I know that she waits for me by the sea
My love and I often sit
Comfortably in are seats
In the front room
watching TV
Documentries gulore
And game shows in
I know that my love waits for me
I know that she waits for me by the sea
My love who waits for me by the sea
She is Fish and Chips
YOU SEE! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
poem by Joe Sissens
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To Find My Family
To find my family, is no more
I found my family that is to adore
I feel as if i'm complete
Isn't life just so sweet
To find my family is no more
I feel as if I could soar.
To find my family was a dream
Now my family flows down the stream
To find family, is no more
I've completed my family tree chore.
poem by Christina Posey
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Brother Walfrid Stands by Parkhead's Gates
The Celtic songs filled heaven's sky
and we marched along the Gallowgate
Joined by comrades, brothers and sisters,
As Brother Walfrid stood by Parkhead's gates.
The Celtic passion is such devotion,
Heritage, culture and our faith,
Our father’s father bore the tradition,
While Brother Walfrid stood by Parkhead's gates.
In the Garngad, from the parish of St.Roch’s,
Ireland’s sons and daughters would pray,
From the Royston Road, we would find our spiritual home
As Brother Walfrid’s soul welcomed us through Parkhead’s gates.
Our Irish inheritance we will cradle,
With the Glasgow Celtic, we will celebrate,
On the Holy Ground will play heroes & legends,
Blessed by Brother Walfrid who stands by Parkhead's gates.
The green and white drapes over our heart
As we are educated on the Celtic way,
And as we gather within Celtic Park,
Brother Walfrid stands by Parkhead’s gates.
Nov’17th 2005
poem by Daniel McDonagh
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