National Poetry Day

[brokencrossbar1]

Coinningh do thalamh a anam liom
Coigil chugat gach tamhan-rud
Is ná bí mar ghiolla gan chaithear
I ndiaidh na gacarad nár fhóin duit

Minic a dhearcais ladhrán trá
Ar charraig fhliuch go huaigneach.
Mara bhfuair éadáil ón toinn
Ní bhfuair guth ina éagmais.

Níor thugais ód ríocht dhorcha
Caipín an tsonais ar do cheann,
Ach cuireadh cranna cosant
Go teann thar do cliabhán cláir.

Cranna caillte a cuireadh tharat
Tlú iarainn ós do chíonn,
Ball éadaigh d'athar taobh leat
Is bior sa tine thíos.

Luigh ar do chranna foirtil
I gcoinne mallmhuir is diaidthrá,
Coigil aithinne d'Aislinge
Scaradh lei is éag duit.

[Myles Na G.]

I shall not die because of you
O woman though you shame the swan,
They were foolish men you killed,
Do not think me a foolish man.

Why should I leave the world behind
For the soft hand, the dreaming eye,
The crimson lips, the breasts of snow -
Is it for these you'd have me die?

Why should I heed the fancy free,
The joyous air, the eye of blue,
The side like foam, the virgin neck?
I shall not die because of you.

The devil take the golden hair!
That maiden look, that voice so gay,
That delicate heel and pillared thigh
Only some foolish man would slay.

O woman though you shame the swan
A wise man taught me all he knew,
I know the crooked ways of love,
I shall not die because of you.

(Anonymous, translated by Frank O'Connor)

[rrhf]

For what died the sons of Roisin?
an Ireland to be raped by its government
a people to be bled dry by its banks
a hope and a pride,,, gone.
today and tomorrow,,,gone.

[ONeill]

"The Curse"

(A poem made by a farmer of Fingal abusing his nag because it threw him into a deep dirty pool just in front of the girl he was going to court.)

You brindled beast through whom I've lost her!
Out of my sight! the devil take you!
And, 'pon my soul! this is no jest,
This year I'll rest not till I break you.

Satanic Ananias blast you!
Is that the way you learned to carry?
Your master in the mud to hurl
Before the girl he meant to marry.

The everlasting night fiend ride you!
My curse cling closer than your saddle!
Hell's ravens pick your eyes like eggs!
You scarecrow with your legs astraddle!

And it was only yesterday too
I gave the stable-boy a shilling
To stuff your belly full of hay
For fear you'd play this trick, you villain!

I gave you oats, you thankless devil!
And saved your life, you graceless fiend, you!
From ragged mane to scrubby tail
I combed and brushed and scraped and cleaned you.

You brute! the devil scorch and burn you!
You had a decent mare for mother,
And many a pound I've spent on hay
To feed you one day and another.

The best of reins, the finest saddle,
Good crupper and good pad together,
Stout hempen girth - for these I've paid,
And breastplate made of Spanish leather.

What's the excuse? What blindness caused it?
That bias in your indirections
That made a windmill of your legs
And lost for good my Meg's affections.

With my left spur I'll slash and stab you
And run it through the heart within you
And with the right I'll take great lumps
Out of your rumps until I skin you.

If ever again I go a-courting
Across your back - may Hellfire melt you! -
Then may I split my fork in twain
And lose the girl again as well too!

[5 Sams]

My favourite...

ag uirchill a' chreagain sea chodail me areir faoi bhron
is le heiri na maid'ne thainig ainnir fa mo dhein le poig
bhi griosghrua garth' aici 'gus loinhir ina ciabh mar or
's ba e fochshlainte 'n domhain a bheith 'g amharc ar a' rioghan oig

a fhiafhir charthanaigh, na caitear thusa 'nealta
ach eirigh go tapaidh agus aistrigh liom siar sa rod
go tir dheas na meala nach bhfuair galla inti reim go foill
's gheobhair aoibhneas ar hallai 'mo mhealladhsa le siamsa coeil
a rioghan is deise 'n tu helen fa'r treagh sloigh
no do na naoi mna deasa pharnassus thu 'bhi deanta gclo?
ce'n tir ins a chruinne 'n ar hoileadh tu, a realt gan cheo
le'r mian leat mo shamhrhailsa bheith 'cogarnaigh leat siar sa rod?


Fair play Art

[brokencrossbar1]

My favourite...

ag uirchill a' chreagain sea chodail me areir faoi bhron
is le heiri na maid'ne thainig ainnir fa mo dhein le poig
bhi griosghrua garth' aici 'gus loinhir ina ciabh mar or
's ba e fochshlainte 'n domhain a bheith 'g amharc ar a' rioghan oig

a fhiafhir charthanaigh, na caitear thusa 'nealta
ach eirigh go tapaidh agus aistrigh liom siar sa rod
go tir dheas na meala nach bhfuair galla inti reim go foill
's gheobhair aoibhneas ar hallai 'mo mhealladhsa le siamsa coeil
a rioghan is deise 'n tu helen fa'r treagh sloigh
no do na naoi mna deasa pharnassus thu 'bhi deanta gclo?
ce'n tir ins a chruinne 'n ar hoileadh tu, a realt gan cheo
le'r mian leat mo shamhrhailsa bheith 'cogarnaigh leat siar sa rod?


Fair play Art

Many's the night spent wandering around Uirchill a chreagain as an angst teenager trying to find my way in life!!!  I must go back as I still haven'y found it

[Aoise]

The following poem was among the possessions of an aged lady who died in the geriatric ward of a hospital. There is no information available as to her name, when she died or who she was.

"Crabbit Old Woman"

What do you see, what do you see?
Are you thinking, when you look at me-
A crabbit old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice,
I do wish you'd try.
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And forever is loosing a stocking or shoe.
Who, unresisting or not; lets you do as you will
With bathing and feeding the long day is fill.
Is that what you're thinking,
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes,
nurse, you're looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still!
As I rise at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of 10 with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who loved one another-
A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet,
A bride soon at 20- my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At 25 now I have young of my own
Who need me to build a secure happy home;
A woman of 30, my young now grow fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last;
At 40, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn;
At 50 once more babies play around my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread,
For my young are all rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known;
I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel-
Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body is crumbled, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart,
But inside this old carcass, a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells,
I remember the joy, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years all too few- gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last-
So open your eyes, nurse, open and see,
Not a crabbit old woman, look closer-
See Me.

[Pangurban]

Last night i held a little Hand
So tender and so sweet
I thought my Heart would break with joy
So loudly did it beat
No other Hand to mine
Can such excitement bring
Than the Hand i held, which was
Four Aces and a King

[Pangurban]

The Mourne Cadger

Felix Maginn was a cadger as his father had been before,
And he lived in a whitewashed cottage in the townland of Dunmore.
Just a room and a kitchen and an acre of grass for the mare,
And a lean-to for a moiley cow that he bought in Hilltown fair.

And Margaret kept a wheen o' hens that scratched fornenst the door,
And a flock of ducks on the mountain stream and a goat on the open moor.
At times she wrought at the flowering and she'd sit wi' the hoops in her hand,
And look down over Glasdrumman and across to the Isle of Man.

Felix travelled the roads of Down and the sound of his cart was known,
From away beyond Dromara to the loanen's of Killowen.
From the Laney and the Carrick to Rathfriland and Dromore,
With his 'Hern alive' from Annalong just caught the night before.

And he kept a skiff at Sherby and in summer down he'd go,
To jig for mackerel in the bay when the sun was sinking low.
But by dawn he'd be out on the roads again to Kilcoo and Attical,
Round by the 'S' of Spelga and home by Brackney Hall.

Felix has long since passed away, he died in twenty-one,
And his grave is marked with a headstone that was taken from Seefin.
And Margaret's gone - there's no one left, the house it stands no more,
Just an overgrown ruin on a hillside in Dunmor

[Orior]

THE DIAGONAL STEAM-TRAP, by Crawford Howard

Now they built a big ship down in Harland's -
She was made for to sell till the Turks -
And they called on the Yard's chief designer
To design all the engines and works.

Now finally the engines was ready
And they screwed in the very last part
An' yer man says 'Let's see how she runs, lads!'
An' bejasus! the thing wouldn't start!

So they pushed and they worked an' they footered
An' the engineers' faces got red
The designer he stood lookin' stupid
An' scratchin' the back o' his head.

But while they were fiddlin' and workin'
Up danders oul' Jimmie Dalzell
He had worked twenty years in the 'Island'
And ten in the 'aircraft' as well.

So he pushed and he worked and he muttered
Till he got himself through till the front
And he has a good look roun' the engine
An' he gives a few mutters and grunts,

And then he looks up at the gaffer
An' says he 'Mr Smith, d'ye know?
They've left out the Diagonal Steam Trap!
How the hell d'ye think it could go?'

Now the engineer eyed the designer
The designer he looks at the 'hat'
And they whispered the one to the other
'Diagonal Steam Trap? What's that?'

But the Gaffer, he wouldn't admit,
like To not knowin' what this was about,
So he says 'Right enough, we were stupid!
The Diagonal Steam Trap's left out!'

Now in the meantime oul' Jimmie had scarpered
- away down to throw in his boord -
And the Gaffer comes up and says 'Jimmy!
D'ye think we could have a wee word?'

Ye see that Diagonal Steam Trap?
I know it's left out- it's bad luck
But the engine shop's terrible busy
D'ye think ye could knock us one up?'

Now, oul' Jimmy was laughin' his scone off
He had made it all up for a gag
He seen what was stoppin' the engine –
The feed-pipe was blocked with a rag!

But he sticks the oul' hands in the pockets
An' he says' Aye, I'll give yez a han'!
I'll knock yez one up in the mornin'
An' the whole bloody thing will be grand!'

So oul' Jim starts to work the next morning
To make what he called a Steam Trap,
An oul' box an' a few bits of tubing
An ' a steam gauge stuck up on the top,

An' he welds it all on till the engine
And he says to the wonderin' mob,
As long as that gauge is at zero
The Steam Trap is doin' its job!'

Then he pulls the rag outa the feed pipe
An' he gives-the oul' engine a try
An ' bejasus! she goes like the clappers
An' oul' Jimmy remarks 'That's her nye!'

Now the ship was the fastest seen ever
So they sent her away till the Turks
But they toul' them 'That Steam Trap's a secret!
We're the only ones knows how it works!

But the Turks they could not keep their mouths shut
An' soon the whole story got roun'
An' the Russians got quite interested –
Them boys has their ears close till the groun '!

So they sent a spy dressed as a sailor
To take photies of Jimmy's Steam Trap
And they got them all back till the Kremlin
An' they stood round to look at the snaps.

Then the head spy says 'Mr Putin!
I'm damned if I see how that works!'
So they sent him straight off to Siberia
An' they bought the whole ship from the Turks!

When they found the Steam Trap was a 'cod', like,
They couldn't admit they'd been had
So they built a big factory in Moscow
To start makin' Steam Traps like mad!

Then Putin rings up Mr Obama
And he says 'Youse'uns thinks yez are great!
But wi' our big new Russian-made Steam Trap
Yez'll fInd that we've got yez all bate!'

Now oul Barack, he nearly went 'harpic'
So he thought he'd give Harland's a call
And he dialled the engine-shop number
And of course he got sweet bugger all!

But at last the call came through to Jimmy
In the midst of a terrible hush,
'There's a call for you here from the White House!'
Says oul' Jim, 'That's a shop in Portrush!'

There's a factory outside of Seattle
Where they're turnin' out Steam Traps like Hell
It employs twenty-five thousand workers
And the head of it - Jimmy Dalzell!

[Puckoon]

Couple more by Crawford Howard, IIRC

Dixon from Dungannon

Dixon from Dungannon was a man of great renown

I ever anything needed fixin about Dungannon town

If yer oul lawn mower was busted or yer biro wudnt write

Dixon of Dungannon was the man to put it right.



Big air show at Farnborough, new jet was on show

Prince Philip and the Queen and all was there, but the jet, she wudnt go

Then this big lad danders out, he fixed her at a stroke,

The he shouts up till the Queen, "they forgot about the choke".

Prince Philip turns round all amazed like to where the Queen was stannin'

Say she don't be daft there luv, thats Dixon from Dungannon.


The Queen calls down to Dixon, get yer oul wife Alice

And bring her round about half nine for a pastie at the palace.

The palace was in darkness when he brought oul Alice round

The Queen says would ye fix that fuse like, before we all sit down

So Dixon fixed the fuse and soon they were smackin their lips

As they eat the royal pastie and chewed their royal chips


Big volcano in Iceland, giving lots of trouble,

So they sent for Dixon and he got there at the double.

He says "where's this volcano, for I'm the man till beat her"

And then he got a lump of bubble gum, and stuffed it down the crater

He then stood back and wipes his hands and says he  "now calm yer fears,

I reckon that will houl her for a couple of thousand years."

Right enough it held her, and now for miles around they come

To watch her blowing bubbles out of Dixons bubble gum


The yanks were all proud like of their rocket till the moon

And then they couldn't get her back, that made them change their tune

So mission control Houston sent word to President Nixon

Theres only one thing to do, we'll send a wire to Dixon

Reply came back from Dixon, yon oul rockets just a wreck

But if ye adjust yer carburetor lads, that'll get her back

So they fixed the carburetor and the motor...thats her now

so Dixon from Dungannon was the man that showed them how.



Poor oul Dixon died like last week and up to heaven he went

St Peter says ye cant come in like, you'll never be content

There's never nuthin wrong in here, theres nuthin needin fixin

And at that the devil wanders up and says, "hey, is your name Dixon"

For if it is come on with me, we will treat you very well

There's a few wee jobs needs doin, inside the gates of hell.



So Dixon says "Right I'm yer man" and off with the devil he goes

And what the devil happened then, the devil only knows

But, if things go wrong in hell you can bet until this very day

Dixon from Dungannon wont be very far away.



St Patrick and the snakes.

You've heard of the snakes in Australia
You've heard of the snakes in Japan,
You've heard of the rattler - that old Texas battler -
Whose bite can mean death to a man.
They've even got snakes in old England -
Nasty adders all yellow and black -
But in Erin's green isle we can say with a smile,
They're away - and they're not coming back!

Now years ago things was quite different -
There was serpents all over the place.
If ye climbed up a ladder ye might meet an adder
Or a cobra might lep at your face,
If ye went for a walk up the Shankill,
Or a dander along Sandy Row,
A flamin' great python would likely come writhin'
And take a lump outa yer toe!

Now there once was a guy called St. Patrick,
A preacher of fame and renown -
An' he hoisted his sails and came over from Wales
To convert all the heathens in Down,
And he hirpled about through the country
With a stick and a big pointy hat,
An' he kept a few sheep that he sold on the cheap,
But sure, there's no money in that!


He was preachin' a sermon in Comber
An' getting quite carried away
And he mentioned that Rome had once been his home
(But that was the wrong thing to say!)
For he felt a sharp pain in his cheek-bone
And he stuck up a hand 'till his bake
And the thing that had lit on his gub (an' had bit)
Was a wee Presbyterian snake!

Now the snake slithererd down from the pulpit
(Expectin' St. Patrick to die),
But yer man was no dozer - he lifted his crozier
An' he belted the snake in the eye,
And he says to the snake, "Listen, legless!
You'd better just take yerself aff!
If you think that that trick will work with St. Patrick
You must be far worser nor daft!"

So the snake slithered home in a temper
An' it gathered its mates all aroun'
An' it says, "Listen, mates! We'll get on wer skates,
I reckon it's time to leave town!
It's no fun when you bite a big fella
An' sit back and expect him to die,
An' he's so flamin' quick with thon big, crooked stick
That he hits ye a dig in the eye!

So a strange sight confronted St. Patrick
When he work up the very next day.
The snakes with long faces were all packin' their cases
And headin' for Donegal Quay.
Some got on cheap flights to Majorca
And some booked apartments in Spain.
They were all headin' out and there wasn't a doubt
That they weren't going to come back again.

So the reason the snakes left old Ireland
(An' this is no word of a lie),
They all went to places to bite people's faces
And be reasonably sure that they'd die.
An' the oul' snakes still caution their grandsons,
"For God's sake beware of St. Pat!
An' take yerselves aff if you see his big staff,
An' his cloak, an' his big pointy hat!"

[ONeill]

Seamus Heaney:

I love the sound of the word 'turf', turf, turf, turf
Begin with 't' and ending in 'f', f, f, turf
The middle sound is 'ur', ur, ur, turf
Leaving a beatiful sound turf, turf, turf, turf
"I would love turf flovoured tea before you turf me out"
Said the man who lives by the bay, bay, bay, turf
Made of turf, turf, turf, turf

The bog contains the memory of the people whos repository knowledge
creating writers of the future.

Bog person:
I will arise and go now
I'll go to Moate in a boat,no
I'll plough with a cow,no
I'll... I'll play tennis in Ennis
WAIT! I'll....