Only A Sod
It's only a sod, but ’twill break me ould heart
Nigh hardened wid toilin’ and carin’,
And make the ould wounds in it tingle and smart.
It’s only a sod, but it’s parcel and part
Of strugglin’, sufferin’ Erin.
It’s only a sod, but it rakes the ould pain —
The ould love in me heart that still lingers,
That Time has been soothing and docth’ring in vain;
And now he must soothe it and heal it again
Wid his kindly and gentle ould fingers.
It’s only a sod, but I see a big ship
Through the gallopin’ waters come tearin’,
And a lass that looks back on the horizon dip,
Wid eyes full of tears and a thrimblin’ lip,
On the last that she saw of ould Erin.
It’s only a sod, but wid care it will keep
Till me brooms and me brushes are silint
Put it into me arms ere they bury me deep,
And tell them old Biddy the “slavey” does sleep
’Neath a sod from the bogs of ould Irlint.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Cut Finger
THE GOSSOON [Weeping]
It’s bleedin’! It’s bleedin’!
THE OULD WOMAN [Soothingly]
An’ shure, me lad, ‘t is bleedin’;
But come, me hearty laddy buck, be brave an’ do not cry;
A lad that’s learnin’ readin’ sh’u'd be far beyant the heedin’
Av a tiny bit o’ finger cut that hurrts a bit foreby.
‘Ere ye come till wan an’ twinty
Ye’ll be havin’ hurrts in plinty
An’ ye’ll learn a bit o’ bleedin’ doesn’t mean ye’re goin’ t’ die.
THE GOSSOON [Crying]
It’s bleedin’! It’s bleedin’!
THE OULD WOMAN [Comfortingly]
An’ shure, me lad, ‘t is bleedin’;
But he’s me slashin’ buckeen, an’ he will not weep at all;
A rag is all ‘t is needin’ fer t’ sthop the whole proceedin’,
An’, shure, a bit o’ rosy blood won’t make me gossoon bawl;
Fer ‘t is but wan way av knowin’
Ye have good red blood a-flowin’
An’ a-workin’ all inside av ye t’ make ye strong an’ tall.
THE GOSSOON [Sobbing]
It’s bleedin’! It’s bleedin’!
THE OULD WOMAN [Lovingly]
Aye, aye, me lad, ‘t is bleedin’,
An’ some foine day yer hearrt will bleed as bleeds the hearrt av me.
The saints ye will be pleadin’, but ‘t is little they’ll be heedin’,
Fer the worrld is full av bleedin’ hearrts on either side the sea.
An’ I’d die t’ aise the achin’
Whin ye feel yer hearrt a-brealdn’,
But, ah! the poor ould woman won’t be there t’ comfort ye.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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When the Children Come Home
On a lonely selection far out in the West
An old woman works all the day without rest,
And she croons, as she toils 'neath the sky's glassy dome,
`Sure I'll keep the ould place till the childer come home.'
She mends all the fences, she grubs, and she ploughs,
She drives the old horse and she milks all the cows,
And she sings to herself as she thatches the stack,
`Sure I'll keep the ould place till the childer come back.'
It is five weary years since her old husband died;
And oft as he lay on his deathbed he sighed
`Sure one man can bring up ten children, he can,
An' it's strange that ten sons cannot keep one old man.'
Whenever the scowling old sundowners come,
And cunningly ask if the master's at home,
`Be off,' she replies, `with your blarney and cant,
Or I'll call my son Andy; he's workin' beyant.'
`Git out,' she replies, though she trembles with fear,
For she lives all alone and no neighbours are near;
But she says to herself, when she's like to despond,
That the boys are at work in the paddock beyond.
Ah, none of her children need follow the plough,
And some have grown rich in the city ere now;
Yet she says: `They might come when the shearing is done,
And I'll keep the ould place if it's only for one.'
poem by Henry Lawson
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Missis Moriarty's Boy
Missis Moriarty called last week, and says she to me, says she:
"Sure the heart of me's broken entirely now -- it's the fortunate woman you are;
You've still got your Dinnis to cheer up your home, but me Patsy boy where is he?
Lyin' alone, cold as a stone, kilt in the weariful wahr.
Oh, I'm seein' him now as I looked on him last, wid his hair all curly and bright,
And the wonderful, tenderful heart he had, and his eyes as he wint away,
Shinin' and lookin' down on me from the pride of his proper height:
Sure I'll remember me boy like that if I live to me dyin' day."
And just as she spoke them very same words me Dinnis came in at the door,
Came in from McGonigle's ould shebeen, came in from drinkin' his pay;
And Missis Moriarty looked at him, and she didn't say anny more,
And she wrapped her head in her ould black shawl, and she quietly wint away.
And what was I thinkin', I ask ye now, as I put me Dinnis to bed,
Wid him ravin' and cursin' one half of the night, as cold by his side I sat;
Was I thinkin' the poor ould woman she was wid her Patsy slaughtered and dead?
Was I weepin' for Missis Moriarty? I'm not so sure about that.
Missis Moriarty goes about wid a shinin' look on her face;
Wid her grey hair under her ould black shawl, and the eyes of her mother-mild;
Some say she's a little bit off her head; but annyway it's the case,
Her timper's so swate that you nivver would tell she'd be losin' her only child.
And I think, as I wait up ivery night for me Dinnis to come home blind,
And I'm hearin' his stumblin' foot on the stair along about half-past three:
Sure there's many a way of breakin' a heart, and I haven't made up me mind --
Would I be Missis Moriarty, or Missis Moriarty me?
poem by Robert William Service
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A Hungry Day
I MIND him well, he was a quare ould chap,
Come like meself from swate ould Erin's sod;
He hired me wanst to help his harvest in-
The crops was fine that summer, praised be God!
He found us, Rosie, Mickie, an' meself,
Just landed in the emigration shed;
Meself was tyin' on their bits of clothes;
Their mother-rest her tender sowl!-was dead.
It's not meself can say of what she died:
But 'twas the year the praties felt the rain,
An' rotted in the soil; an' just to dhraw
The breath of life was one long hungry pain.
If we wor haythens in a furrin land,
Not in a country grand in Christian pride,
Faith, then a man might have the face to say
'Twas of stharvation me poor Sheila died.
But whin the parish docthor come at last,
Whin death was like a sun-burst in her eyes-
They looked straight into Heaven-an' her ears
Wor deaf to the poor children's hungry cries,
He touched the bones stretched on the mouldy sthraw:
'She's gone!' he says, and drew a solemn frown;
'I fear, my man, she's dead.' 'Of what?' says I.
He coughed, and says, 'She's let her system down!'
'An' that's God's truth!' says I, an' felt about
To touch her dawney hand, for all looked dark;
An' in me hunger-bleached, shmall-beatin' heart,
I felt the kindlin' of a burnin'spark.
'O by me sowl, that is the holy truth!
There's Rosie's cheek has kept a dimple still,
An' Mickie's eyes are bright-the craythur there
Died that the weeny ones might eat their fill.'
An' whin they spread the daisies thick an' white
Above her head that wanst lay on me breast,
I had no tears, but took the childher's hands,
An' says, 'We'll lave the mother to her rest.'
An' och! the sod was green that summer's day,
An' rainbows crossed the low hills, blue an' fair;
But black an' foul the blighted furrows stretched,
An' sent their cruel poison through the air.
An' all was quiet-on the sunny sides
Of hedge an' ditch the stharvin' craythurs lay,
An' thim as lacked the rint from empty walls
Of little cabins wapin' turned away.
God's curse lay heavy on the poor ould sod,
An' whin upon her increase His right hand
Fell with'ringly, there samed no bit of blue
For Hope to shine through on the sthricken land.
No facthory chimblys shmoked agin the sky.
No mines yawned on the hills so full an' rich;
A man whose praties failed had nought to do
But fold his hands an' die down in a ditch.
A flame rose up widin me feeble heart,
Whin, passin' through me cabin's hingeless dure,
I saw the mark of Sheila's coffin in
The grey dust on the empty earthen flure.
I lifted Rosie's face betwixt me hands;
Says I, 'Me girleen, you an' Mick an' me
Must lave the green ould sod an' look for food
In thim strange countries far beyant the sea.'
An' so it chanced, whin landed on the sthreet,
Ould Dolan, rowlin' a quare ould shay
Came there to hire a man to save his wheat,
An' hired meself and Mickie by the day.
'An' bring the girleen, Pat,' he says, an' looked
At Rosie, lanin' up agin me knee;
'The wife will be right plaised to see the child,
The weeney shamrock from beyant the sea.
'We've got a tidy place, the saints be praised!
As nice a farm as ever brogan trod.
A hundered acres-us as never owned
Land big enough to make a lark a sod.'
'Bedad,' says I, 'I heerd them over there
Tell how the goold was lyin' in the sthreet,
An' guineas in the very mud that sthuck
To the ould brogans on a poor man's feet.'
'Begorra, Pat,' says Dolan, 'may ould Nick
Fly off wid thim rapscallions, schaming rogues,
An' sind thim thrampin' purgatory's flure
Wid red hot guineas in their polished brogues!'
'Och, thin,' says I, 'meself agrees to that!'
Ould Dolan smiled wid eyes so bright an' grey;
Says he, 'Kape up yer heart; I never kew
Since I come out a single hungry day.
'But thin I left the crowded city sthreets-
Th'are men galore to toil in thim an' die;
Meself wint wid me axe to cut a home
In the green woods beneath the clear, swate sky.
'I did that same; an' God be praised this day!
Plenty sits smilin' by me own dear dure;
An' in them years I never wanst have seen
A famished child creep tremblin' on me flure.'
I listened to ould Dolan's honest words:
That's twenty years ago this very spring,
An' Mick is married, an' me Rosie wears
A swateheart's little shinin' goulden ring.
'Twould make yer heart lape just to take a look
At the green fields upon me own big farm;
An' God be praised! all men may have the same
That owns an axe an' has a strong right arm!
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let It Shine
Clap your hands, make a smile
Let me know you hear me
Stay a while, play with me
Long as you are near me
Way to go, straight I know
Love to hear your laughter
Without a care you are there
Together ever after
Me and you comin through
Its what we got together
Lay it down, make it work
No matter what the weather
We got lots of soul, lots of love
Without a thought of givin unselfishly
You and me all the love were given
See the light
Let it shi-i-i-ine
Let it shine
Down on me
Feeling good
Knew I wou-----ould
Ever since
You set me free
song performed by by Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Over in killarney
Many years ago,
Me mither sang a song to me
In tones so sweet and low.
Just a simple little ditty,
In her good ould irish way,
And l'd give the world if she could sing
That song to me this day.
Chorus:
"too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry!
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an irish lullaby."
Oft in dreams i wander
To that cot again,
I feel her arms a-huggin' me
As when she held me then.
And i hear her voice a-hummin'
To me as in days of yore,
When she used to rock me fast asleep
Outside the cabin door.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How M'Ginnis went missing
Let us cease our idle chatter,
Let the tears bedew our cheek,
For a man from Tallangatta
Has been missing for a week.
Where the roaring flooded Murray
Covered all the lower land,
There he started in a hurry,
With a bottle in his hand.
And his fate is hid for ever,
But the public seem to think
That he slumbered by the river,
'Neath the influence of drink.
And they scarcely seem to wonder
That the river, wide and deep,
Never woke him with its thunder,
Never stirred him in his sleep.
As the crashing logs came sweeping,
And their tumult filled the air,
Then M'Ginnis murmured, sleeping,
`'Tis a wake in ould Kildare.'
So the river rose and found him
Sleeping softly by the stream,
And the cruel waters drowned him
Ere he wakened from his dream.
And the blossom-tufted wattle,
Blooming brightly on the lea,
Saw M'Ginnis and the bottle
Going drifting out to sea.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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A Little Mistake
’Tis a yarn I heard of a new-chum ‘trap’
On the edge of the Never-Never,
Where the dead men lie and the black men lie,
And the bushman lies for ever.
’Twas the custom still with the local blacks
To cadge in the ‘altogether’—
They had less respect for our feelings then,
And more respect for the weather.
The trooper said to the sergeant’s wife:
‘Sure, I wouldn’t seem unpleasant;
‘But there’s women and childer about the place,
‘And—barrin’ a lady’s present—
‘There’s ould King Billy wid niver a stitch
‘For a month—may the drought cremate him!—
‘Bar the wan we put in his dirty head,
‘Where his old Queen Mary bate him.
‘God give her strength!—and a peaceful reign—
‘Though she flies in a bit av a passion
‘If ony wan hints that her shtoyle an’ luks
‘Are a trifle behind the fashion.
‘There’s two of the boys by the stable now—
‘Be the powers! I’ll teach the varmints
‘To come wid nought but a shirt apiece,
‘And wid dirt for their nayther garmints.
‘Howld on, ye blaggards! How dare ye dare
‘To come widin sight av the houses?—
‘I’ll give ye a warnin’ all for wance
‘An’ a couple of ould pair of trousers.’
They took the pants as a child a toy,
The constable’s words beguiling
A smile of something beside their joy;
And they took their departure smiling.
And that very day, when the sun was low,
Two blackfellows came to the station;
They were filled with the courage of Queensland rum
And bursting with indignation.
The constable noticed, with growing ire,
They’d apparently dressed in a hurry;
And their language that day, I am sorry to say,
Mostly consisted of ‘plurry.’
The constable heard, and he wished himself back
In the land of the bogs and the ditches—
‘You plurry big tight-britches p’liceman, what for
‘You gibbit our missuses britches?’
And this was a case, I am bound to confess,
Where civilisation went under;
Had one of the gins been less modest in dress
He’d never have made such a blunder.
And here let the moral be duly made known,
And hereafter signed and attested:
We should place more reliance on that which is shown
And less upon what is suggested.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mcgillicuddy
M-aybe Lucy Or Lucille Ricardo
C-ould not tell you her middle name.
G-ot to reading it was Esmeralda,
I-n her wedding guest book printed plain.
L-ost forever to all who adored her.
L-oved by everyone at least once a week.
I-n the box with knobs that stood on the floors
C-ame her humor which was such a treat.
U-ntil color film replaced black and white,
D-id we know that her hair was red?
D-on't ever believe we did not know.
Y-elling Ricky called Red from his bed.
Form: Acrostic
poem by Robert Edgar Burns
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Haymaking
Aye, sure, it does always be rainin'
An' the hay lyin' out in the wet,
But what's the good o' complainin'?
It never made things better yet!
There'll be musty hay in the manger,
The cow's goin' dry, be mischance,
And the boy that went for a Ranger
Is lost on us -- somewhere in France!
The father of him, it's heart-breakin' --
Wid a watery glint o' the sun,
It's out wid him, turnin' an' shakin' --
Then all the labour's undone.
There won't be much savin' in Connaught,
The winter'll be hungry and black,
But I wouldn't waste sorrow upon it
If only the boy could come back!
There's a terrible cloud over Nephin,
An' the rain rushin' up from the say,
Och, what if the hay is past savin'?
I wouldn't be mindin' the hay.
'Tis the loss of the boy's bent me double,
An' the poor ould man is as bad;
I'm starvin' for him, an' the trouble,
The trouble's heavy and sad.
God's good and He'll send better weather,
The sun'll be shinin' again,
If Pat and me was together
I wouldn't be mindin' the rain.
No matter what weather was in it
I wouldn't care if he'd come.
But the heart o' me's cryin' this minit,
For the boy that'll never come home!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Himself
Last night, when I was listenin’
Alone, to wind and rain,
He took the chair beside me,
Himself - come home again.
His kind blue eyes were smilin’
Beneath his thatch of grey,
He laid his hand on my hand,
The ould sweetheartin’ way.
I pressed my cheek upon it,
Remembering bitterly
The times he faced his daily toil
Without one smile from me.
And yet, his meals were always good,
His clothes well kept and clean,
The neighbours, sure, will tell you,
The splendid wife I’ve been.
But in Life’s stress and struggle,
We somehow, grew apart,
You know these Irish mothers,
'Tis “the childer” has their heart.
And he grew grim, and close-lipped,
And harder, day by day,
Poor man - too tired for laughter,
Too worried to be gay.
But - how his care enclosed us,
For all he was so grim,
The very rafters of our home
Were cut and laid by him.
And I, that might have cheered him,
The bitter words I said,
Oh! God, that we remember,
Only when they are dead.
But now - my arms were round him,
The room seemed full of flowers,
And Youth came back and sunshine,
That glorious time was ours.
The firelight flamed and flickered,
The embers fell apart,
I woke to empty silence,
With sorrow at my heart.
The wild winds brought the morning,
The dawn was red and chill,
And Himself was lyin’ sleepin’
In the graveyard on the hill!
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Tuning In Tuning On
Written by ricky & marty wilde
Cruising round theres a sound with a place to go
Tuning in tuning on like a radio
Fell the sound in your head and you set the seal
I believe its a force of the life you feel - tuning on
Do you know what the sounds that you hear will find
Reach to space to the stars and another time
I believe that they search like a seed to grow
In the end its the same anyway you go
I really cant explain
I really cant explain
Crashing out for the last and the final time
Could a sound and a soul travel on combined
From the womb to the end is it everywhere
Feel the beat of my heart and you know its there
I really cant explain
Spoken
I really believe that sound reaches infinity, do you know what I mean. I think it goes on and on forever, and if thats true and it was linked to the spiritual side of your lives, well, then sou
Ould be alive. can you imagine the possibilities for the future ? linking the soul and the sound and then being able to make a giant spiritual musical machine, actually a part of us and not just
Thing you hear - its fantastic - its just fantastic
I really cant explain
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To the West
The Midland Great Western is doing its best,
And the circular ticket is safe in my vest;
But I know that my holiday never begins
Till I'm in Connemara among the Twelve Pins.
The Bank has no fortune of mine to invest
But there's money enough for the ones I love best;
All the gold that I want I shall find on the whins
When I'm in Connemara among the Twelve Pins.
Down by the Lough I shall wander once more'
Where the wavelets lap lap round the stones on the shore:
And the mountainy goats will be wagging their chins
As they pull at the bracken among the Twelve Pins.
And its welcome I'll be, for no longer I'll meet
The hard pallid faces I find in the street;
The girl with blue eyes, and the boy with brown shins,
Will stand for their pictures among the twelve Pins.
Tonight, when all London's with gaslight agleam,
And the Carlton is filled with society's cream',
I'll be 'takin' me tay' down at ould Johnny Flynn's
Safe and away in the heart o' the Pins.
poem by William Percy French
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Epitaph Found In Otham Church, Kent
In God is all my trust.
Here lyeth the body of Thomas Hendley, esquier by degre,
The yongest sone of Jervis Hendley, of Corsworne in Cramkebrocke, Gent'man known to be,
Who gave a house, and also land, the Fifteene for to paye,
And to relieve the people pore of this parishe for aye
He died the day of from Him that Judas sold
A thousand five hundredth and ninety yere, being eightie nine yeres ould,
Protesting often before his death, when he his faith declared,
That onlye by the death of Christ he hope to be saved. (Query, spared!)
Christ is oure only Saviour.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Three Ha'Pence a Foot
I'll tell you an old-fashioned story
That Grandfather used to relate,
Of a joiner and building contractor;
'Is name, it were Sam Oglethwaite.
In a shop on the banks of the Irwell,
Old Sam used to follow 'is trade,
In a place you'll have 'eard of, called Bury;
You know, where black puddings is made.
One day, Sam were filling a knot 'ole
Wi' putty, when in thro' the door
Came an old feller fair wreathed wi' whiskers;
T'ould chap said 'Good morning, I'm Noah.'
Sam asked Noah what was 'is business,
And t'ould chap went on to remark,
That not liking the look of the weather,
'E were thinking of building an Ark.
'E'd gotten the wood for the bulwarks,
And all t'other shipbuilding junk,
And wanted some nice Bird's Eye Maple
To panel the side of 'is bunk.
Now Maple were Sam's Monopoly;
That means it were all 'is to cut,
And nobody else 'adn't got none;
So 'e asked Noah three ha'pence a foot.
'A ha'penny too much,' replied Noah
'A Penny a foot's more the mark;
A penny a foot, and when t'rain comes,
I'll give you a ride in me Ark.'
But neither would budge in the bargain;
The whole daft thing were kind of a jam,
So Sam put 'is tongue out at Noah,
And Noah made 'Long Bacon ' at Sam
In wrath and ill-feeling they parted,
Not knowing when they'd meet again,
And Sam had forgot all about it,
'Til one day it started to rain.
It rained and it rained for a fortni't,
And flooded the 'ole countryside.
It rained and it kept' on raining,
'Til the Irwell were fifty mile wide.
The 'ouses were soon under water,
And folks to the roof 'ad to climb.
They said 'twas the rottenest summer
That Bury 'ad 'ad for some time.
The rain showed no sign of abating,
And water rose hour by hour,
'Til the only dry land were at Blackpool,
And that were on top of the Tower.
So Sam started swimming to Blackpool;
It took 'im best part of a week.
'Is clothes were wet through when 'e got there,
And 'is boots were beginning to leak.
'E stood to 'is watch-chain in water,
On Tower top, just before dark,
When who should come sailing towards 'im
But old Noah, steering 'is Ark.
They stared at each other in silence,
'Til Ark were alongside, all but,
Then Noah said: 'What price yer Maple?'
Sam answered 'Three ha'pence a foot.'
Noah said 'Nay; I'll make thee an offer,
The same as I did t'other day.
A penny a foot and a free ride.
Now, come on, lad, what does tha say?'
'Three ha'pence a foot,' came the answer.
So Noah 'is sail 'ad to hoist,
And sailed off again in a dudgeon,
While Sam stood determined, but moist.
Noah cruised around, flying 'is pigeons,
'Til fortieth day of the wet,
And on 'is way back, passing Blackpool,
'E saw old Sam standing there yet.
'Is chin just stuck out of the water;
A comical figure 'e cut,
Noah said: 'Now what's the price of yer Maple?'
Sam answered: 'Three ha'pence a foot.'
Said Noah: 'Ye'd best take my offer;
It's last time I'll be hereabout;
And if water comes half an inch higher,
I'll happen get Maple for nowt.'
'Three ha'pence a foot it'll cost yer,
And as fer me,' Sam said, 'don't fret.
The sky's took a turn since this morning;
I think it'll brighten up yet.'
poem by Marriott Edgar
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Haiku Rule is No Rule
all the haiku rules
are no rule except
the three liner
i would concur
besides that
you can turn things
upside down
create another realm
with your words
so long as they jolt
the heart to things as banal
as a frog jumping
into an old pond
strike the mind
to give it another
good reason
for its existence
how could there be rules
when the world paints itself
in a thousand languages
throws as many idiosyncracies
as would civilisations draw up rules
for each of its endeavours
remember picasso, van gogh,
how they rule the canvas
and our 'rule abiding' selves
with their no-rule colours and strokes
how could there be a rule
when water like my core
could run in all directions
when this mind could jump
from moon to sun
and a far flung planet
in one second
when these eyes ould
see stars, planets, and suns
in this physique alone:
sun, planets, stars
these moles
all over my body
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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See Off This Mountain
Shes a blue ridge cradle shes a mother to some and home to the laughter of road weary ones so well sing all the old songs sing to grandmama road and well sing cause we miss her
Were sad she had to go if I could see off this mountain through the clouds in my eyes I would see off this mountain on the nights stars fell and see off this mountain through the te
N my eyes I would see off this mountain and the stars fell from the skies in the air I hear a fiddle down along hickory way and the mandolin guitar like we used to play and down on
s rock brothers boasting a dare we tell them theyre crazy and pretend we dont care if I could see off this mountain through the clouds in my eyes I would see off this mountain o
Nights stars fell and see off this mountain through the tears in my eyes I would see off this mountain and the stars fell from the skies the air tastes like moonshine in the wind a ca
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Ival tune it soars with our laughter but well all leave too soon so I raise a toast to family put thanks in my glass in the arms of your loved ones its the only home that lasts i
Ould see off this mountain through the clouds in my eyes I would see off this mountain on the night the stars fell and see off this mountain through the tears in my eyes I could see
His mountain when the stars fell from the skies when the stars fell from the skies going up to grandmama road going up to grandmama road Im happy as can be cause cant you see i
Ng up to grandmama road
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beautiful
So beautiful, you are, yeah
Soooooooo
Yes, you are
Youre so...
(chorus)
Beautiful
Now youre near
In my life
Oh my dear
Beautiful
Come to me
Now I have-
Someone watching over me
(vs.1)
All my days and nights so lonely
til you came into my life
You came and brought my life back to me
Cause I was dying deep inside
You brought the light
And my life was so dark
You took the fight
And you made it your own
I realy love you
No other love can measure up
To the love that you give to me
And with all this love comes trust
Youre so...
(chorus)
(vs.2)
I opened up my arms to greet you
With unconditional love
Tender sweet is he that helps me
Leave my problems all behind
(baby come to me)
Baby come to me. you know that I will set you free
(promise it will be)
Promise it will be an expirience for you and me
(something beautiful)
Let me take you to a place where there is understanding
Where love flows unselfishly and never ever demanding
(so beautiful...)
So beautiful
(...since you came into my life)
(chorus) 2xs
During chorus:
Now your near
In my life
All my fears
Beautiful, beautiful, yeahh
Come to me
Someones watching over me
Someones watching over me
Someones watching over me
Come to me
Someones watching o... ver me
(since you came into my life)
Ooohhh, so beautiful
(if I had a dream, it ould be... so beautiful)
I wanna say... that I love you
Oh, the love you give
All the love you give to me
All my days and nights so lonely
And its so, soooo beautiful
But now I have a friend that I can talk to, yeah
(if I had a dream, it would be... so beautiful)
Youre so beautiful
(chorus)
Youre so beautiful
You are so beautiful
Youre so beautiful
You are so beautiful
Youre the only love I know
Beautiful
Youre the only love I know
Beautiful
Youre the reason why I live
Beautiful
Youre the reason why I wanna give you everything
(since you came into my life) repeat 3xs
song performed by by Mary J Blige
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dublin Fusilier
Here's to you, Uncle Kruger! slainté!
an' slainté galore.
You 're a dacint ould man, begorra; never
mind if you are a Boer.
So with heart an' a half ma boucahl, we 'll
drink to your health to-night
For yourself an' your farmer sojers gave us a
damn good fight.
I was dramin' of Kitty Farrell, away in the
Gap o' Dunloe,
When the song of the bugle woke me, ringin'
across Glencoe;
An' once in a while a bullet came pattherin'
from above,
That tould us the big brown fellows were send-
in' us down their love.
'Twas a kind of an invitation, an' written in
such a han'
That a Chinaman could n't refuse it- not to
spake of an Irishman.
So the pickets sent back an answer. 'We're
comin' with right good will,'
Along what they call the kopje, tho' to me it
looked more like a hill.
'Fall in on the left,' sez the captain, 'my
men of the Fusiliers;
You 'll see a great fight this morning -like
you have n't beheld for years.'
'Faith, captain dear,' sez the sergeant, 'you
can bet your Majuba sword
If the Dutch is as willin' as we are, you never
spoke truer word.'
So we scrambled among the bushes, the bowl-
ders an' rocks an' all,
Like the gauger's men still-huntin' on the
mountains of Donegal;
We doubled an' turned an' twisted the same
as a hunted hare,
While the big guns peppered each other over
us in the air.
Like steam from the divil's kettle the kopje
was bilin' hot,
For the breeze of the Dutchman's bullets was
the only breeze we got;
An' many a fine boy stumbled, many a brave
lad died,
When the Dutchman's message caught him
there on the mountainside.
Little Nelly O'Brien, God help her! over
there at ould Ballybay,
Will wait for a transvaal letter till her face an'
her hair is grey,
For I seen young Crohoore on a stretcher, an'
I knew the poor boy was gone
When I spoke to the ambulance doctor,an' he
nodded an' then passed on.
'Steady there!' cried the captain, 'we must
halt for a moment here,'
An' he spoke like a man in trainin' , full winded
an' strong an' clear.
So we threw ourselves down on the kopje,
weary an' tired as death,
Waitin' the captain 's orders, waitin' to get a
breath.
It 's strange all the humours an' fancies that
comes to a man like me;
But the smoke of the battle risin' took me
across the sea-
It 's the mist of Benbo I 'm seein'; an' the
rock that we 'll capture soon
Is the rock where I shot the eagle, when I was
a small gosson.
I close my eyes for a minute, an' hear my poor
mother say,
'Patrick, avick, my darlin', you 're surely not
goin' away
To join the red-coated sojers?'- but the
blood in me was strong-
If your sire was a Connaught Ranger, sure
where would his son belong?
Hark! whisht! do you hear the music comin'
up from the camp below?
An odd note or two when the Maxims take
breath for a second or so,
Liftin' itself on somehow, stealin' its way up
here,
Knowin' there 's waitin' to hear it, many an
Irish ear.
Augh! Garryowen! you 're the jewel! an' we
charged on the Dutchman's guns,
An' covered the bloody kopje, like a Galway
greyhound runs,
At the top of the hill they met us, with faces
all set and grim;
But they could n't take the bayonet - that 's
the trouble with most of thim.
So of course, they 'll be praisin' the Royals
an' men of the Fusiliers,
An' the newspapers help to dry up the widows
an' orphans' tears,
An' they 'll write a new name on the colors-
that is, if there 's room for more
An' we 'll follow them thro' the battle, the same
as we 've done before.
But here 's to you, Uncle Kruger! slainté! an'
slainté galore.
After all, you 're a dacint Christian, never
mind if you are a Boer.
So with heart an' a half, ma boucahl, we 'll
drink to your health to-night,
For yourself an' your brown-faced Dutchmen
gave us a damn good fight.
poem by William Henry Drummond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Haunting
Sit down on that stool hear the cant of a fool
And a strange tale Ill impart to ye
Of a time that I lived at the buff of a hill
neath the burial chambers you see
One saturday night I got up on my bike
To go to a dance in the town
I set off at seven to be there at eleven
No thought of the rain coming down
As I pushed up the hill the rain started to spill
So for shelter I had to resort
Helter skelter I went as downhill I sped
To the trees at the old fairy fort
I pulled up my bike be a tree in the gripe
To find shelter out of the storm
The rain it came down and like stones beat the ground
But it was grand to be dry in that storm
I was dreaming away about better days
When a voice it says dirty ould night
I fell over me bike I got such a fright
When the ghostly voice bid me the night
I jumped up with a start gave the storm not a thought
As the hail beat a rhythm on me
And I stared at the tree that had spoken to me
Not a body was there I could see
The voice I had heard not another word said
As the hair on the head stood on me
And I said an our father as I peddled much faster
Away from that ghost haunted tree
For weeks and weeks after with nerves a disaster
Nowhere near that road would I go
And from dusk through the night I would shake with the fright
Of the tree that had haunted me so
Now whenever I go to a dance in the town
I make sure not to stop on the way
To be there for eleven I still leave at seven
But I go by a different way
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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