Citatepedia^®.com

Notes from a frustrated soul's diary

'Jivaeri' (Jiva-eri) .Precious jewel or treasure.
'It's a beautiful, traditional Greek Island folk song of unknown authorship.I grew up listening to this song and it always had a special place in my heart.So I recorded this version with the hope of exposing it to a wider audience around the World.This song is about a Mother lamenting the loss of her child due to emigration.(In Greece many families send their children to foreign lands with the hope of a better life.) In retrospect, the mother regrets having sent her child away and the pain she feels has caused her to now humbly and quietly walk on this Earth.'
-Yanni

I love her short & sweet attitude
The month of February!
As she has only twenty eight days
Unless a leap year.
If other months are like that
What a great comfort?
How sad this perishable garment of body with rickety ribs,
An innocent feather weight wrestler
Who walks three hundred and sixty five days continuously?

* To Yanni for his CD 'Ethnicity'

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

To Con Kelleher Of Aubane

One of the founder members of the Aubane Gaelic Football Team
And for them to win a Duhallow Championship had always been his dream
And though Aubane never won Duhallow and their Football Club no more
I still can visualize Con Kelleher cheering when their forwards broke to score.

I still see him on the side line and he urging Aubane on
As the Aubane men struggled bravely just to win this one for Con
And though his great dream died with him for dreams seldom come true
May he rest in peace Con Kelleher Aubane's truest of the true.

Along with Johnny Big Jack and Jimmy Mickey and Jimmy Buckley too
And Dan Twomey, Jackie Lane and Sonny Buckley some of the fellows who
Gave to Aubane a Gaelic Football Club in sixty four or five
Though such small clubs in rural Ireland quite unlikely to survive.

Con Kelleher's son Denis resurrected Aubane but it was a flickering flame
For they only lasted one or two years and they never won a game,
The curse of emigration of Aubane had taken toll
And the place without young people a place with an ageing soul.

[...] Read more

poem by Francis Duggan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Gratification

We occasionally get a few gleams of encouragement while struggling through the trials
of life.A number of years ago a person employed by the Dominion Government to give
sketches of the various towns in Canada, and especially to describe the power of the
various streams and the number of streams in each town or neighborhood ; he came to us,
as we had written rhymes on the rivers and creeks. Years afterwards we were informed by
persons who came from Britain, as the book was to encourage emigration,that my name was
the only one they had ever heard of in Ingersoll until they came here.The celebrated
Spaulding, manufacturer and inventor of prepared glue, was in town a few days ago. He
expressed to a gentleman in town that he was gratified with a conversation he had with
me on poetic themes. As there is no natural affinity or adhesion binding glue to poetry,
we might say we discovered that the inventor possessed a refined and cultivated mind
and a fund of American humor.An old lady expressed herself very warmly after reading my
Canadian romance, that it was a true history of herself and husband ; that 35 years ago
they were not worth a dollar,and now they had 500 acres paid for of good land. The
reason why we alluded to this is:-Some have no faith that there is anything worthy of
commemorating in their own country, but consider worthy themes for either song or story
are three thousand miles across the Atlantic.

poem by James McIntyre
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Ennis

Ennis will forever be enshrined in my mind,
A small mark on the map from another place and time.
Memories dimmed by many years as though cut with a knife,
First seventeen years of love and laughter in my life.

In a town bowed down by poverty struggling to survive,
Back lanes of half-door houses waiting someone to arrive.
Narrow winding streets full of friends and farmers’ horses,
Pompous priests dressed in black who always walked on water,

And girls in long green dresses that came down below their knees,
Moving past on bicycles; boys waiting for a breeze,
And cows moving slowly herded down towards the water,
Where their blood will fill the Fergus from the houses of slaughter.

And the Christian Brothers School where Brother Brien taught,
No such thing as freedom especially freedom of thought.
We learned everything in Gaelic in the very ancient script,
Letters from the Book of Kells or some ancient warrior’s crypt.

[...] Read more

poem by James Bredin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Ennis July 8th,2012

Ennis will forever be enshrined in my mind,
A small mark on the map from another place and time,
Memories dimmed by many years as though cut with a knife,
First seventeen years of love and laughter in my life,
In a town bowed down by poverty struggling to survive,
Back lanes of half-door houses waiting someone to arrive.

Narrow winding streets full of friends and farmers' horses,
Pompous priests dressed in black who always walked on water,
And girls in long green dresses that came down below their knees,
Moving past on bicycles; boys waiting for a breeze,
And cows moving slowly herded down towards the water,
Where their blood will fill the Fergus from the houses of slaughter.

And the Christian Brothers School where Brother Brien taught,
No such thing as freedom, especially freedom of thought,
We learned everything in Gaelic in the very ancient script,
Letters from the Book of Kells or some ancient warrior's crypt,
Where are the guys I knew so well; stole by emigration?
Or shied from skirts that only hurt and joined some congregation.

[...] Read more

poem by James Bredin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Ennis Once Upon A Time

ENNIS ONCE UPON A TIME
BY
JAMES BREDIN


Ennis will forever be enshrined in my mind,
A small mark on the map from another place and time.
Memories dimmed by many years as though cut with a knife,
First seventeen years of love and laughter in my life.

In a town bowed down by poverty struggling to survive,
Back lanes of half-door houses waiting someone to arrive.
Narrow winding streets full of friends and farmers' horses,
Pompous priests dressed in black who always walked on water,

And girls in long green dresses that came down below their knees,
Moving past on bicycles; boys waiting for a breeze,
And cows moving slowly herded down towards the water,
Where their blood will fill the Fergus from the houses of slaughter.

[...] Read more

poem by James Bredin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

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
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | 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.

[...] Read more

poem by Francis Duggan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Beautiful Land Of Australia

All you on emigration bent,
With home and England discontent,
Come, listen to my sad lament,
All about the bush of Australia.
I once possessed a thousand pounds.
Thinks I—how very grand it sounds
For a man to be farming his own grounds
In the beautiful land of Australia.

Illawarra, Mittagong,
Parramatta, Wollongong.
If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
Then go to the bush of Australia.
Upon the voyage the ship was lost.
In wretched plight I reached the coast,
And was very nigh being made a roast,
By the savages of Australia.

And in the bush I lighted on
A fierce bushranger with his gun,

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Love Letter

Dearest!
You know you ever ARE the nearest
To my fond heart.
Joking apart,
I swear, by all the silly stars above you,
Darling, I love you! ...

I really don't know what more I can say.
But, lest you may
Consider this epistle too brief,
And nurse some silly - some absurd belief
That I'm neglectful. Why,
I'll try
To fill a sheet or two -
To comfort you.
What can I say?
Oh, by the way!
I noticed, somewhere, in the paper lately
That someone named - er - was it Mister Blaitley?
No - Blakeley, I think.

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!