The Amazing Kinsale
If you want to do some traveling
Ireland is the place to go
Seeped in ancient history
You’ll be fascinated with it so
Kinsale will make you welcome
Anything you’d want to do is there
Whether yachting, fishing or golf
Or a delicious gourmet fare
Nestled between hills and shore
Such a beautiful place to go
While standing on the reaching cliffs
There’s an amazing scene below
And oh, the Waterford crystal
You know, this is where it’s made
Clear back in 1873 it began
Though the arts had been delayed
Secret minerals make a special tone
No other crystal sounds the same
Its beauty is of the finest quality
It has gained tremendous fame
So as you can see, folks
To celebrate St. Patrick’s Day
Ireland is where you need to visit
Go to Kinsale without delay!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Related quotes
Give Ireland Back To The Irish
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Great britian you are tremendous
And nobody knows like me
But really what are you doin
In the land across the sea
Tell me how would you like it
If on your way to work
You were stopped by irish soliders
Would you lie down do nothing
Would you give in, or go berserk
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Great britian and all the people
Say that all people must be free
Meanwhile back in ireland
Theres a man who looks like me
And he dreams of God and country
And hes feeling really bad
And hes sitting in a prison
Should he lie down do nothing
Should give in or go mad
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Toasts of Ireland
Giants set the causeway stones
between our Isle and sea.
Saint Patrick drove the snakes away
and explained the Trinity.
Connolly and Pearse persuaded
Brits to set us free.
Some tales are myth, some are lore
And some are history.
The Irish make an Aran knit
With Celtic weaves sublime.
The Crystal made in Waterford
is elegant and refined.
In the past, flights of “Wild Geese”
Exported Ireland’s pride
Some think the future is Belleek
Others say Intel’s inside.
A pint of Guinness in a pub
can make a meal a treat.
Some prefer a Jameson’s
with its subtle hint of peat.
Others have a Smithwick’s
Some prefer a Bass.
My stated preference is Black Bush-
served neat in a glass.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Ireland
O WE have loved you through cold and rain
And pitiless frost,
Consuming our offering of blood and brain
Gladly again and again and again,
Though it all seemed lost,
Ireland, Ireland!
O we will fight, fight on for you till
Your anguish is past,
The wronged ones righted, the tyrants still. —
Though God has not saved you, yet we will,
At the last, at the last,
Ireland, Ireland!
O we will love you in warmth and light
And the happy day,
When you have forgotten the terrible night,
Standing proud and beautiful bright
For ever and aye,
Ireland, Ireland!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Big Sky Fishing
Fishing in the big sky state
On the Clarks Fork River miles away
Standing on a slab of slate
Enjoying a warm, sunny day
Surrounded by the wilderness
Mountains in every direction
Bears awake from the winters rest
I felt no need for protection
As I cast, I spot a golden eagle
What an amazing sight to see
Mighty wings barely in motion
Flying so majestically
I gaze into the gaping sky
It appears to have no end
Beautiful peaks reach so high
I wish the day would never end
The rushing water is crystal clear
I see hungry fish far and near
Waiting for some food to snatch
One would make a satisfying catch
The sounds of Clarks Fork are like no other.
The raging water crashing on the rocks below
A bear cub whining for his mother
And the unbelievable call of an eagle so mellow
I have lasting memories of that incredible day
I can’t wait until I can return
So beautiful there is too much to say
A place in which more people should learn
poem by Mathew Najmowicz
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How She Went To Ireland
Dora’s gone to Ireland
Through the sleet and snow;
Promptly she has gone there
In a ship, although
Why she’s gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.
That was where, yea, Ireland,
Dora wished to be:
When she felt, in lone times,
Shoots of misery,
Often there, in Ireland,
Dora wished to be.
Hence she’s gone to Ireland,
Since she meant to go,
Through the drift and darkness
Onward labouring, though
That she’s gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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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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The Fair Hills of Ireland
A PLENTEOUS place is Ireland for hospitable cheer,
Uileacan dubh O!
Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear;
Uileacan dubh O!
There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand,
And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fann’d,
There is dew at high noontide there, and springs i’ the yellow
sand,
On the fair hills of holy Ireland.
Curl’d he is and ringleted, and plaited to the knee—
Uileacan dubh O!
Each captain who comes sailing across the Irish Sea;
Uileacan dubh O!
And I will make my journey, if life and health but stand,
Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant strand,
And leave your boasted braveries, your wealth and high
command,
For the fair hills of holy Ireland.
Large and profitable are the stacks upon the ground,
Uileacan dubh O!
The butter and the cream do wondrously abound;
Uileacan dubh O!
The cresses on the water and the sorrels are at hand,
And the cuckoo’s calling daily his note of music bland,
And the bold thrush sings so bravely his song i’ the forests
grand,
On the fair hills of holy Ireland.
poem by Sir Samuel Ferguson
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Ireland, Ireland
Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
Down thy valleys green and sad,
Still thy spirit wanders wailing,
Wanders wailing, wanders mad.
Long ago that anguish took thee,
Ireland, Ireland, green and fair,
Spoilers strong in darkness took thee,
Broke thy heart and left thee there.
Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
Still thy spirit wanders mad;
All too late they love that wronged thee,
Ireland, Ireland, green and sad.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Two Beautiful Butterflies
Both part of God's great Paradise,
I saw them gliding by...
God's two beautiful butterflies
Were there upon the sky...
And everywhere they flew around
Or stopped to have a rest,
The sight of them would quite astound
And folks would be impressed!
Of course, their beauty was ordained,
So folks would give God praise,
Because through beauty much is gained,
It's not a passing phase...
The Lord decided long ago
Each colour, tint and hue
And this is how we start to grow,
When we say, I love you...
And so, give thanks, when beauty's near,
Give thanks when beauty's far!
Each gem's meant to be crystal clear,
A scintillating star!
This world is full of fragrant things,
Like roses meant to please...
Yet none more beauteous than the wings
Of butterflies like these...
Denis Martindale, copyright, April 2011.
The Two Beautiful Butterflies poem is dedicated
to Cindy Humphrey and Gemma Smallpage.
poem by Denis Martindale
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On Passing Cromwell Street
In Melbourne streets named in his honour though he does not warrant such fame
For he lived a life of dishonour yet he never felt any shame
For his crimes against the poor of Ireland the winners write the history they say
And historians are too kind to Cromwell the one who did awful things in his day.
He evicted the poor of rural Ireland those who only knew of poverty
And put them on the hard road to Connacht the victims of crimes against humanity
His army were thugs and not soldiers for they did things that soldiers ought not do
The winners always write the history though their version of history is often not true.
In Cromwell's time the winners wrote the history and the winners still write the history today
But for any crimes against humanity the winners too should be made to pay
But Cromwell and his army honoured for their crimes in Ireland against the poor defenceless poor
'Tis sad to think that one so unworthy of a place in history is secure.
To hell or to Connacht his catch cry he forced thousands of poor families on the road
To people who were penniless and innocent not one scrap of mercy he showed
Thousands of them died in the harsh Irish Winter when homelessness on them took it's toll
Because they were poor they were punished though their life circumstances beyond their control.
I think of the untruths of history each time I drive by Cromwell street
The history written by winners their history of lies and deceit
I say to myself they honour a tyrant and I struggle for to understand
Why they name a street after somebody who oppressed the poor of Ireland.
Andrew Marvell in verse glorified Cromwell but he was one who would not know
What Cromwell and his army got up to in Ireland in those bleak times centuries ago
But he only believed what they told him and they told him what he wanted to hear
History often written by unworthy people those who rule by terror and fear.
In Melbourne streets named in his honour his poor victims long forgotten and gone
Into the World of the forgotten but Cromwell's fame is living on
And the lessons we should have learned from history did not lead to a fair go for all
And the winners only write the story though the real truth they never recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Ireland
They say mother earth is breathing
With each wave that finds the shore
Her soul rises in the evening
For to open twilights door
Her eyes are the stars in heaven
Watching oer us all the while
And her heart it is in ireland
Deep within the emerald isle.
We are forty against hundreds
In someone elses bloody war
We know not why were fighting
Or what were dying for
They will storm us in the morning
When the sunlight turns to sky
Death is waiting for its dance now
Fate has sentenced us to die.
(chorus)
Ireland I am coming home
I can see your rolling fields of green
And fences made of stone.
I am reaching out wont you take my hand
Im coming home ireland.
Oh the captain he lay bleeding
I can hear him calling me
These men are yours now for the leading
Show them to their destiny
And as I look up all around me
I see the ragged tired and torn
I tell them to make ready
cause were not waiting for the morn.
*chorus*
Now the fog is deep and heavy
As we forge the dark and fear
We can hear their horses breathing
As in silence we draw near
There are no words to be spoken
Just a look to say good-bye
I draw a breath and night is broken
As I scream our battle cry.
*chorus*
I am home ireland
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Robert Emmet
“Let no man write my epitaph.”
The defiant rebel said.
'Let no woman eulogize me
After I am dead.'
'I give my life for Ireland-
An Ireland strong and free
An Ireland that‘s united,
One free of tyranny.'
'When my country takes its rightful place
Among nations of the world.
That day I will not live to see
When our banner is unfurled.'
'On that day, and only then
Let my suffering be recalled-
and that I died for Liberty-
The sweetest death of all.'
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Light Of Pure Life
Went to a shop to look at crystal lamps when my
eyes were caught by crystal lace fabrics perfect
for creating the beautiful gown I always dream
of, formed when I walk in the sea splashing
with my feet till sprays of crystal drops
cover me in silver white layers
I wondered how to make a dress from liquid crystal
to shimmer and shine wherever I went, now having
found the perfect crystal lace my dream is fulfilled –
though my book on Secret Tools for Six-Sensory
Living recommends seeking psychic healing
through the power of crystals
as the only dream worth cherishing; but a crystal
dress seems more attractive to me than people
who try to sell the psychic power of crystals -
only charlatans use these devices - I love
New Age ideas but without evidence of
their success, crystals remain
enchanting symbols representing the beauty,
clarity and light of pure life…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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The Fair Hills of Ireland, from the Irish
A PLENTEOUS place is Ireland for hospitable cheer,
Uileacan dubh O!
Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear;
Uileacan dubh O!
There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand,
And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fann'd,
There is dew at high noontide there, and springs i' the yellow sand,
On the fair hills of holy Ireland.
Curl'd he is and ringleted, and plaited to the knee--
Uileacan dubh O!
Each captain who comes sailing across the Irish Sea;
Uileacan dubh O!
And I will make my journey, if life and health but stand,
Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant strand,
And leave your boasted braveries, your wealth and high command,
For the fair hills of holy Ireland.
Large and profitable are the stacks upon the ground,
Uileacan dubh O!
The butter and the cream do wondrously abound;
Uileacan dubh O!
The cresses on the water and the sorrels are at hand,
And the cuckoo 's calling daily his note of music bland,
And the bold thrush sings so bravely his song i' the forests grand,
On the fair hills of holy Ireland.
poem by Sir Samuel Ferguson
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Peace In Ireland And The Middle East
The Middle East is like Ireland in many many ways,
Each side totally committed to their own religious days,
Therefore in a way, it’s god that’s causing the problems over there,
One of the reason why their peace negotiations can go nowhere.
If we could get rid of all religions even just for a few years,
I know this would not be as easy as it appears here,
Because religious types don’t want to loose their place up front,
Therefore those in Ireland and the Middle East will confront.
Close down all mosques, churches and synagogues on a given date,
This no doubt would make it easier to have an honest debate,
Can you imagine the row and conflict that this alone might cause?
As they bring out the old books full of ancient religious laws.
Nov 17th,2010
poem by James Bredin
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Denny Long Of Annagloor
A two time All Star Gaelic Footballer about him he inspired many a song
The pride of Cork and Millstreet the marvellous Denny Long
Arguably Ireland's finest midfielder when he was in his prime
The memory of his greatness will not fade out in time.
His great positional sense and accurate kicking was a pleasure to behold
And the story of his rise to fame it often has been told
From Annagloor to Croke Park he made it all the way
The cheers rang out for Denny on All Ireland Football Final day.
A Gaelic Football legend of the seventies the years have left him slow
But he was quite a hero some three decades ago
So stylish and athletic Sportsmen like him are rare
And with the best in Ireland he surely do compare.
It was a privilege to have seen him play he was a credit to the game
All Irelands, All Stars and County Championship medals and one who knew great fame
His lengthy and accurate kicking his great useage of the football
A great player the Gaelic Football fans remember and recall.
He reached heights in Gaelic Football that only few attain
And though his better days behind him the memories remain
Of Denny Long of Annagloor a Gaelic Football great
He often gave us reason for to cheer and celebrate
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Reading Of Racism In Ireland
I always feel disappointed when of racism I read
And when I read of it in Ireland I feel very sad indeed
For racism in society should never have a place
And people should never be judged on their colour or their race.
As the Land of saints and scholars Ireland was known Worldwide
And the Irish people suffered and their rights to them denied
But the Irish in their sense of fair play could take a certain pride
And for their human rights and liberty the sons of Ireland died.
Poor migrants from Romania their possessions weigh light
To live and work in Ireland do they not have the right?
They may come un-invited but their numbers only small
And the Irish too are migrants as history will recall.
I read it's the Irish media that fans racism's flame
If this be so of their bad work they must feel a great shame
They cannot say in years to come the fault was never ours
When they first used the noxious spray that poisoned all the flowers.
I am an Irish migrant far from my native shore
And others treat me with respect than that one could not ask for more
A fair go for all people and for everyone fair play
Those words from centuries ago are relevant today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Loch Ness
Beautiful Loch Ness,
The truth to express,
Your landscapes are lovely and gay,
Along each side of your waters, to Fort Augustus all the way,
Your scenery is romantic...
With rocks and hills gigantic...
Enough to make one frantic,
As they view thy beautiful heathery hills,
And their clear crystal rills,
And the beautiful woodlands so green,
On a fine summer day...
From Inverneaa all the way...
Where the deer and the doe together doth play;
And the beautiful Falls of Foyers with its cystal spray,
As clear as the day,
Enchanting and gay,
To the traveller as he gazes thereon,
That he feels amazed with delight,
To see the water falling from such a height,
That his heed feels giddy with the scene,
As he views the Falls of Foyers and the woodlands so green,
That he exclaims in an ecstasy of delight -
Oh, beautiful Loch Ness!
I must sincerely confess,
That you are the most beautiful to behold,
With your lovely landscapes and water so cold.
And as he turns from the scene, he says with a sigh-
Oh, beautiful Loch Ness! I must bid you good-bye.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Back In Ireland (Long Version)
This is a journey into the past, the present, and the future
Now close your eyes and join the trip
It's 6am in the morning, and we find ourselves somewhere in Ireland
Welcome Posse!
We're kickin' up!
Once again we have the plan
Driving you wild as good as we can
Won't stop us now, we're gonna make you move
Raving outside to the passionate groove
So I wanna check the microphone, I wanna check the microphone
I wanna check, I wanna check
The Rick, the Ferris, and MC H.P. Scooter!
Back in Ireland
Yes!
C'mon!
Somewhere is Ireland, banging the bass
Join our trip to this weird place
Back to nature, where we can be
Faster and harder, loud and free
I wanna check the microphone, I wanna check the microphone
I wanna check, I wanna check
The Rick, the Ferris, and MC H.P. Scooter!
Back in the Ireland
Bass!
We Started in 1994! In 1996, we're still on the case
Hold tight crew! Together, no-one can stop us now!
So I wanna check the microphone, I wanna check the microphone
I wanna check, I wanna check
The bird, the tree, the cow, the seas,
The Rick, the Ferris and MC H.P. !
song performed by by Scooter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Secret Place
Words and music by joni mitchell
Im going to take you to
My special place
Its a place that you
Like no one else I know
Might appreciate
I dont go there with anyone--but
Youre a special case
For my special place
For my secret place
People talk to tell you something
Or to take up space
Guess Im only talking
To be talking to
Your pretty face
I dont talk much to anyone--but
Youre a special case
For my special place
My secret place
I was born and raised
In new york city
Im just getting used to colorado--
Oh street bravado
Carry me
Why did you bring me to
A place so wild and pretty?
Are there pigeons in this park--
Muggers after dark--
In these golden trees--
In the secret place?
Im going to take you to
My special place
Its a place no amount of hurt and anger
Can deface
I put things back together there
It all falls right in place--
In my special space
My special place
Once I saw a film
In new york city
That was shot in colorado--
Girl meets desperado
In the trembling mountain trees
Out of all of the girls that you see
In bleachers and cafe windows
Sitting--flirting with someone
Looking to have some fun
Why did you pick me?
For the secret place
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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