To Alan O Connor A Young K.R.R. Fan
He was so young just fourteen years and he had one great dream
To play for Killarney Road Rovers the Millstreet soccer team
To play for Killarney Road Rovers and to prove himself a man
He loved the game, he loved his team and he was a Rovers fan.
But Alan did not get the chance to carve his own renown
In football field at Claraghatlea just west of Millstreet Town
For Rovers in the Kerry league he'll not line out to play
An angel met him going to school and carried him away..
He did not live to ripe old age to slow and fade and die
His span was brief so very brief like rose flower of July
He did not live to fulfil his dream for Rovers play football
God needed him in Paradise and God know best of all.
But Alan will be still around when Rovers come to play
His ghost will be there watching them in field at Claraghatlea
And Rovers fans will talk about their star who would have been
The lad an angel took from Millstreet Town when he was just fourteen.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Frank Riordan
He and Neily Lehane in the late sixties they formed a Club and a Gaelic Football team
And the Football Club they christened Slanan Rovers and Cloghoula people back then had a dream
That they might one day be Duhallow Champions but to win in any grade quite hard to do
And though out of dreams great ideas have been born dreams are dreams and they don't always come true.
Frank Riordan was the President of Slanan Rovers and of the honour he felt very proud
And of the footballers who wore the Slanan jersey he spoke in glowing terms and sang their praises loud
And with help from the likes of Joe and Noel Buckley, Danny Healy and Dave Sheehan as well as many others who rallied around
A football club was thriving in Cloghoula and many willing helpers to be found.
The untimely death at a young age of Danny Healy a great blow to Cloghoula and it's football team
He was liked by the officials and players and by so many held in high esteem
But the likes of Frank Riordan and Neily Lehane worked all the harder their motto all for one and one for all
And Slanan Rovers survived for a decade and in Duhallow played Gaelic football.
Frank Riordan was the President of Slanan Rovers a Gaelic Football Club formed close to Millstreet Town
Till emigration and a dwindling population the curtain on them finally brought down
But then suppose nothing can last forever and Slanan Rovers like all had their day
And life goes on and time brings about changes and things are quiet now up Cloghoula way.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On The Passing Of Dave Sheehan
Dave Sheehan worked for the Cork County Council and I'd known him since I was a Primary school going boy
A gentle soul one who kept a low profile and one might say he would not harm a fly
All those he came in contact with seemed to like him and a bad word of him not one had to say
For a big family a good bread winner and he worked hard till his retirement day.
One of the founder members of the Slanan Rovers a Gaelic Football Club in the Parish of Millstreet
When Slanan won the day he felt so happy though he was one who too smiled in defeat
The Slanan Rovers as a Club now defunct but nothing lasts for forever so they say
Perhaps the Club lost out to emigration the migrant boats took the young men away.
I last spoke to Dave Sheehan in the mid eighties and that's going back some two decades ago
In mid November in the Town of Millstreet the weather it was cold enough to snow
We talked about the birth of Slanan Rovers in Cloghoula where the Finnow waters flow
He and Neil Lehane and Danny Healy and Frank Riordan founder members from their ideas a Football Club did grow.
From the green country side around Cloghoula the young men they went off to live elsewhere
And the Slanan Rovers Club for lack of numbers was quick to founder into disrepair
The older players had been getting older and the young men had their own dreams to pursue
And another Gaelic Club went from Duhallow that without players the Club won't survive seems so true.
Dave Sheehan from Carrigacooleen gone forever in quiet old St Mary's he now lay
But in Duhallow he won't be forgotten and his soul will live for forever and a day
A gentleman and liked by all who knew him in life he never made an enemy
And sad to think that when I return to Millstreet that he is one I never more will see.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cormac Dinneen
They wanted him in Kerry to play with their football team
But Cormac he loved Millstreet and he wore their famous green
And he too wore the red Cork jersey with passion and with pride
A legend in his playing days and he was known far and wide.
I watched him play as a veteran when he was past his prime
Way back in the late fifties some forty years in time
Against one ten years younger he more than held his own
A marvellous defender then one of the finest known.
The Millstreet fans they loved him a player they did revere
He never shirked a challenge a stranger to all fear
He never was found wanting when he was put to the test
And in the Cork County colours he played against the best.
When Millstreet's elder gaelic football fans talk of the Millstreet greats they've seen
A player they always mention is the great Cormac Dinneen
To them he was one of Millstreet's best and they still heap upon him praise
For he was one of their heroes in Millstreet's glory days.
And though time catch up on everyone and the years have made him slow
He was a Cork and Millstreet great some fity years ago
And in forty eight when Millstreet won the County he lived up to his name
As one of Ireland's best defenders then in the Gaelic football game.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wanderers Lost
Oh, we are the phantoms of rovers lost
See how the mocking mirages play!
Men who have ventured and paid the cost.
Lone, waiting women, 'tis vain to pray!
We dies unshriven, as rovers die,
And no man knows where our white bones lie.
Black birds gather when rovers stray,
Out where the mocking mirages play.
A maiden has waited a long year thro'.
Mark where a crow from the northward flies!
'Ah, can he be false that had sworn so true?'
They say that a wanderer woos with lies.
A maiden has waited and counted the days,
Since a lover went roving the northward ways.
What do they profit - unheeded sighs?
Mark where a crow from the northward flies!
Out in the desert a still thing lies.
Westward the sun is sinking low.
Who is to mourn when a rover dies?
Hark! 'Tis the caw of a sated crow.
Who is to tell of a mad'ning thrist
Of a lonely death in a land accurst?
Merciful God! Is she ne'er to know?
(Hark to the caw of a sated crow.)
Oh, we are the legion that never came back
Ever have rovers to count the cost.
Men who went out on the waterless track.
Curst is the plain that was ne'er recross'd!
Restless to roam o'er the desert our doom,
Till our end shall be known and our bones find a tomb.
Mourn for the souls of wanderers lost,
Ever have rovers to count the cost.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Wave From Jimmy Sullivan
A wave from Jimmy Sullivan in Millstreet far away
A nice and spontaneous gesture that did help to make my day
From Clara road one must presume in view of Clara hill
It brought back the old memories as if time had stood still.
When we played Soccer and Gaelic football some twenty years ago
Though our old legs ageing back then nowadays are far more slow
But Jimmy looking fit and well despite the march of time
He was a quick and elusive player when he was in his prime.
One of those lucky people who has a sense of place
In Millstreet Town and Parish his is a well known face
He never will leave Millstreet in Millstreet he will stay
And in his beloved Town of Millstreet he will grow old and gray.
From life i do feel hardened and i feel too old for tears
But that wave from Jimmy Sullivan it took me back the years
To when we were young and fitter and we chased the ball around
In the Inch field at Claraghatlea back then our football ground.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Toots Kelleher From Millstreet
In the late forties and all through the fifties and that's going back in time
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet was in his glorious prime
In the game of Gaelic Football the great man knew great fame
And through the length and breadth of Ireland his was a well known name.
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet was one of Ireland's best
And he never was found wanting when he was put to the test
The poets and song writers they sung his praises loud
And in Duhallow we revered him of him we felt so proud.
For Cork and his Club Millstreet some marvellous games he played
And despite the passing decades the memories do not fade
Of Toots Kelleher from Millstreet fearless in the field of play
A legend in his life time and a legend still today.
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet is at rest forever more
But often in flights of fancy I can hear the mighty roar
Of the Munster final crowd in Killarney when Toots had the football
A memory to cherish and a memory to recall.
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet his praises have been sung
Often watched him play for Millstreet years ago when I was young
Exuberant in victory and gallant in defeat
One who was hero worshipped but never knew conceit.
A Champion Gaelic Footballer we honour him today
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet at peace forever lay
His name will live forever in the history of Gaelic Football
And the Reaper who has claimed him will one day claim us all.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
William Leary
William Leary is one of the famed Learys of Millstreet a Cork and Duhallow legend of the Gaelic Football game
He played football for Cork and his Club Millstreet and is now in the Duhallow sporting Hall of Fame
He once scored two goals in a Munster Final in Killarney a feat that is still talked of today
In his Gaelic Football career a remembered highlight though many great games the great one did play.
William Leary in his prime a dashing forward one of the great footballers of Millstreet
He proved a headache for opposing defenders with his ball skills he was so quick on his feet
And off of the field of play a successful business person beyond Millstreet known and liked far and wide
To his family and his many friends around Duhallow his many achievements are a sense of pride.
William Leary is now in his early seventies it has been some time since he has played football
One of the great Gaelic Footballers of Millstreet as those who watched him play can well recall
It has been four decades and a few years and that is looking back in time
When he cheered Millstreet hearts with his marvellous ball skills he was a speedy fellow in his prime.
Good to see him with his wife and family on the Millstreet web site on his induction into Duhallow's Hall of Fame
With honour he wore the Cork and Millstreet Jerseys and with honour he carries the famous Leary name
I watched him play when i was a young fellow and that is going back many years ago
He was a dashing forward in his prime years the one who left speedy defenders looking slow.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dan Leary
Dan Leary hard man of Millstreet Gaelic Football
He was a fearless fellow on his day
He took and gave some hard bone crunching tackles
And from a challenge never backed away.
Dan Leary was a hero of my childhood
And a hero in the Millstreet green and gold
And about his bravery on the Gaelic playing fields
Some quite amazing stories have been told.
I often saw Dan Leary play for Millstreet
In summer when the roses were in bloom
Against the better club teams in Cork County
In venues such as Coachford and Macroom.
When Millstreet were a force in Gaelic football
On looking back that seems so long ago
The heroes of my childhood years are ageing
And father time has left them gray and slow.
Dan Leary's sprightly younger brother Willie
A Gaelic footballer one never could forget
Twice in a Munster final in Killarney
Rasping shots from his boot bulged the Kerry net.
Long years ago when I was a young fellow
Four decades back and that's a lengthy span
Dan Leary played at corner back for Millstreet
And in his prime he was a fearless man.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Remember The Time
I remember the time when the Gaelic Footballers of Millstreet
In the Cork County Senior Championship for the best were a hard team to beat
But time does bring change as some like to say so
And that is going back a few decades ago.
Nowadays with Duhallow's best junior footballers Millstreet cannot compete
The downturn for them one can say is complete
But in sport as in life few things stay the same
And Gaelic Football after all is only a game.
The glory days for Millstreet Gaelic Football may be gone
But in the Town in view of Clara life as usual goes on
Though Millstreet glory days in sport Millstreet people like to recall
There is far more to life than Gaelic Football.
Of the North Cork Gaelic Football Clubs Millstreet were to the fore
And against the County's best they often kicked a winning score
And though no Gaelic Senior Football team in Millstreet today
Life as usual goes on in the Town far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Memories Of Connie Tarrant's Wedding
If there's a hell then I am doomed and for hell I am heading
For I drove my car when I was drunk from Connie Tarrant's wedding,
I drove my car when I was drunk and lived to tell the story
Though I don't find no pride in that and that won't bring me glory.
Brian Sullivan in front passenger seat he wore the look of worry
As one mile west of Barraduff I swerved clear of a lorry
He shouted 'watch you driving man' and what's the point in hurry
And we'll reach Millstreet in time enough and better late than sorry.
But that apart we had good day we laughed drank and made merry
At Connie's wedding to Noreen in Killarney County Kerry,
The rock and roll the twist and shout, the reels and siege of Ennis,
The paddy and the brandy and the smithwicks and the guinness.
Curly haired Tadgh Sullivan from Kiskeam and Johnny Fox O Connor
And by four o clock the liquor told Jim Greaney seemed a gonner
And Brian Sullivan was talking much of Clint Eastwood and soccer
And I not one to handle drink felt like one off his rocker.
And Johnny Sheehan talking of gaelic football and his times
with Slanan Rovers,
A football club founded by Neil Lehane in happy days since over
From Cloghoula close to Millstreet Town and a team we used to follow
When they were playing in tournaments in parks throughout Duhallow.
And Brendan Tarrant he was there Connie's best man and brother
And Con's wife Noreen from Boherbue and her brothers sister and mother
And many of Jack Tarrant's descendants there and they were there in plenty
And though I felt far too drunk to count there must have been more than twenty.
Yes I'll remember for long years my last trip into Kerry
To Connie Tarrant's wedding where we laughed drank and made merry
But I've learnt one lesson from this a lesson in safe living
Get into the back seat when drunk and let others do the driving.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Outside
I want to be lighting my pipe on deck,
With my baggage safe below—
I want to be free of the crowded quay,
While the steamer’s swinging slow.
I want to be free of treachery,
And of sordid joys and griefs—
To be out of sight of the faces white,
And the waving of handkerchiefs.
I want to be making my ship-board friends,
I want to be free of the past—
I want to be laughing with kindred souls,
While the Heads are opening fast.
I want to be sailing far to-day,
On the tracks where the rovers go,
To feel the heave of the deck, and draw
The breath that the rovers know.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Outside
I want to be lighting my pipe on deck,
With my baggage safe below—
I want to be free of the crowded quay,
While the steamer’s swinging slow.
I want to be free of treachery,
And of sordid joys and griefs—
To be out of sight of the faces white,
And the waving of handkerchiefs.
I want to be making my ship-board friends,
I want to be free of the past—
I want to be laughing with kindred souls,
While the Heads are opening fast.
I want to be sailing far to-day,
On the tracks where the rovers go,
To feel the heave of the deck, and draw
The breath that the rovers know.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Young David The Under Fourteen
With the local football club he plays under fourteen
In their football colours the black, brown and green
He dreams in the A F L he will star one day
Against Australia's finest he will be picked to play.
Everytime I see young David he's with the egg shaped ball
Playing by himself or with other boys in the park for his age he is tall
His dream is to play as number one ruckman for his favourite team Geelong
Enjoying a great victory as he sings the Club song.
Most boys of his age have a wish or a dream
To win a gold medal or play with a top football team
But not all dreams do come true everyone can't know fame
Still it is nice to dream of great things just the same.
He is the top ruckboy in his football team
And as a player of promise he knows local esteem
But few good juvenile players into great players grow
And young David he still has a long way to go.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mick Cashman
In the Cork County Senior Football Championship Final of 1957 I still recall the day
The last time I see Mick Cashman for his home club Millstreet Play
At the Cork Athletic grounds that day the Duhallow men were beat
The City Club St Finbarrs proved too good for Millstreet.
The Barrs fans celebrated the victory was sweet
But Mick Cashman played a great game he was gallant in defeat
In the biggest day in Cork County for the game of Gaelic Football
And though Millstreet lost to go that far they did well overall.
Mick Cashman was ordained a priest and for New Zealand he was bound
Far from Millstreet in Duhallow and Tullig his home ground
In the green and gold of Millstreet he was never seen again
But what was a loss to Ireland was surely New Zealand's gain.
Mick Cashman was a gentleman and of him 'twould be fair to say
That to help out other people he went out of his way
A Parish Priest in New Zealand where he was known far and wide
And his success in his adopted Country to Millstreet a sense of pride.
He is buried in New Zealand far south and far away
From Tullig above Millstreet Town where he first saw light of day
Last saw him in a Cork County Final for Millstreet playing Gaelic Football
A good memory till my own end that I surely will recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Woman Five Doors Down
The woman five doors down tells me her son Ted is the best player in the school football team
And that one day he will play in an A.F.L. Grand Final and that more than once of late she's had this dream
Of watching him receive the Coleman medal for best on ground on football's biggest day
Watched by well over ninety thousand people who cheer him on with a loud hip hooray.
But locals who know of football and watched Ted play say he will never play at the top grade
That he won't go down Swanston Street in the back of a lorry
to loud applause in the Grand Final Parade
They say his mother greatly over rates him and that in his team he's just an average player
And that not one in his club will play A.F.L. football with good under age players they do not compare
Ted's mother believes her son will be a football hero and she seemed so convinced that she convinced me
But others who have seen him play say different and with her opinions they do not agree
They say that she will end up disappointed that her dreams for her son will not come true
That he won't make a career out of football another line of work he must pursue.
The woman five doors down tells me her son Ted will one day play in the famed M.C.G.
And be the hero of a great Grand Final in a game that will go down in history
And though others seem to think that she's only dreaming I hope her son will be a football great
And that she will applaud him in the Grand Final and the football fans his name will celebrate.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Christy Ring
I'll tell you about a great hurler he hurled his way into renown
And his fame spread distant from Cork City through many a village and town
He inspired the poets to write of him and the song writers his praises did sing
And he was the hurler of all Seasons the one and only Christy Ring.
He was born in the year nineteen twenty and he died in nineteen seventy nine
And he played from the thirties until the late sixties and as he aged he matured like good wine
He won eighteen Railway cup medals a record that will never be beat
Yet he was a down to earth fellow a man who was free of conceit.
Of him there has been many stories his imprint in hurling he made
As long as hurling is played he will be remembered for the many great games that he played
In Cork, Limerick, Thurles and Killarney and in Dublin in famed Croke Park
In his three marvellous decades of hurling the wizard from Cloyne left his mark.
When I was a boy in the fifties Christy Ring in his mid thirties then
Yet still one of Ireland's best hurlers he helped Cork and Glen Rovers to many a win
He revelled in fierce competition and even in his forties played against the best
And he always worried his opponents the hurler who always impressed.
The Cork and the Glen Rovers wizard his fame spread beyond Ireland's shore
his name will live as long as the game of hurling and that will be forever more
He inspired the poets to write of him and the song writers of him did sing
And he was the hurler of all Seasons the legendary Christy Ring.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tis Football
'Tis football is the big World game of today
Grid Iron the big game of the U S of A,
Rugby League, Rugby Union and Aussie Rules Football
And soccer the biggest World game of them all
Gaelic Football a field game the Irish do play
Football in it's many codes the big World game of today
Football supporters Worldwide their team and their club colours wear
And in International games in their National colours they even dye their hair
Some men love their football team as much as their parents, children or wives
Yes football is one of the great loves of their lives
When their team does win the club song they do sing
But a loss to their weekend great sadness does bring
All over the World many codes of football
And to each their own code the best game of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Brendan Moynihan
He played football for Millstreet in his twenties
And he is one I readily can recall
Quiet spoken, down to earth and unassuming,
A powerful fellow over six foot tall.
He owned a pub in the West End of Millstreet
Inherited from his mother in her will
And outside the pub door on a cloud free evening
One had a clear view of old Clara hill.
A gentle giant his friends were in the many
And he would only help you if he could
And I will always recall Brendan Moynihan
As one who had in him a lot of good.
He always kept a couple of racing greyhounds
For Millstreet is a dog and football Town
On Summer evenings near the Town Park people walk their greyhounds
Whilst young men chase the football up and down.
A gentle giant admired and well respected
For Millstreet in his prime he played football
And when I reminisce about my Hometown
He's one of those I often do recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I've had Range Rovers for a few years actually.
quote by Mick Ralphs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sean Radley Is To Millstreet
What Pele was to Brazil or Caesar was to Rome
Sean Radley is to Millstreet the place I still call home
And he's not been a warrior or been known for football
But in that Town by Clara hill he's best loved one of all.
Sean Radley is a hero for kindness he has shown
And all around Duhallow by everyone he's known
And about him those who know him have no bad word to say
And to help out other people he go out of his way.
To the Millstreet Museum Society some of his spare time he devote
And about the history of Millstreet some fine articles he's wrote
As a humanitarian and historian Sean Radley earned his fame
And all around Duhallow his is a well known name.
What Caesar was to Italy or Pele was to Brazil
Sean Radley is to Millstreet that Town by Clara hill
And he's not been a warrior or been known for football
But in Millstreet in Duhallow the best loved one of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!