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The Ballad Of Ira Hayes

Gather round you people and a story I will tell
About a brave young indian you should remember well
From the tribe of pima indians, a proud and a peaceful band
They farmed the phoenix valley in arizona land
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkling water rushed
Till their white man stole their water rights and the running water hushed
Now iras folks were hungry and their farms wene crops of weeds
But when war came he volunteers and forgot, the white mans greed
Call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war
Yes, call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war.
They started up iwo jima hill, 250 men
But only 27 lived to walk back down that hill again
And when the fight was over and the old glory raised
One of the men who held it high was the indian ira hayes
Call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war
Call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war.

[...] Read more

song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ballad Of Ira Hayes

(peter lafarge)
Gather round me people and a story I will tell
bout a brave young indian lad, you should remember well,
From a tribe of pima indians, a proud and peaceful band
Who farmed the phoenix valley out in arizona land.
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole the water rights and the running water hushed.
Iras folks was hungry, their fields grew thick with weeds,
But when war came ira volunteered and forgot the white mans greed.
Call him drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking indian or marine who went to war.
Well, they battled up iwo jima hill, two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again.
And after the fight was over and old glory proudly raised,
Among the men who held her high was an indian, ira hayes.
Call him drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking indian or marine who went to war.
Well, ira hayes returned a hero, celebrated throughout the land,
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand.
But hes just a pima indian, no food, no friend, no chance,

[...] Read more

song performed by Kinky Friedman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ballad Of Ira Hayes

(Peter LaFarge)
Gather round me people and a story I will tell
?Bout a brave young Indian lad, you should remember well,
From a tribe of Pima Indians, a proud and peaceful band
Who farmed the Phoenix Valley out in Arizona land.
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole the water rights and the running water hushed.
Ira's folks was hungry, their fields grew thick with weeds,
But when war came Ira volunteered and forgot the white man's greed.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war.
Well, they battled up Iwo Jima Hill, two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again.
And after the fight was over and Old Glory proudly raised,
Among the men who held her high was an Indian, Ira Hayes.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war.
Well, Ira Hayes returned a hero, celebrated throughout the land,
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand.
But he's just a Pima Indian, no food, no friend, no chance,

[...] Read more

song performed by Kinky Friedman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Booger McNulty and Me

In 1948 Booger McNulty's coal yard stirred
constant gossip among the citizens who lived
in little bungalows on narrow blocks
in my far corner of Chicago.
That was more than 60 years ago,
a time when families took Sunday walks
and went back home in time to hear
Jack Benny on the radio.
A Sunday walk didn't cost a cent,
a price my parents could afford.

When my parents took a Sunday walk,
my sister and I always had to go along,
and every time we'd pass Booger's place,
I'd hear my mother ask my father
what could possibly be on the other side
of Booger's 10-foot fence.
Hoping to avoid a conversation,
my father always said he didn't know

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poem by Donal Mahoney
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Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Secundus

Incipit Liber Tercius

Ira suis paribus est par furiis Acherontis,
Quo furor ad tempus nil pietatis habet.
Ira malencolicos animos perturbat, vt equo
Iure sui pondus nulla statera tenet.
Omnibus in causis grauat Ira, set inter amantes,
Illa magis facili sorte grauamen agit:
Est vbi vir discors leuiterque repugnat amori,
Sepe loco ludi fletus ad ora venit.

----------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------

If thou the vices lest to knowe,
Mi Sone, it hath noght ben unknowe,
Fro ferst that men the swerdes grounde,
That ther nis on upon this grounde,
A vice forein fro the lawe,
Wherof that many a good felawe
Hath be distraght be sodein chance;

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poem by John Gower
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Idem Latine Redditum

Heu inimicitias quoties parit æmula forma,
Quam raro pulchrae, pulchra placere potest!
Sed fines ultrà solitos discordia tendit,
Cum flores ipsos bilis et ira movent.

Hortus ubi dulces præbet tacitosque recessûs,

Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas,
Hic sibi regales Amaryllis candida cultûs,

Illic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa.

Ira Rosam et meritis quæsita superbia tangunt,
Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinû,

Dum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatûm,

Iusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat.

Altior emicat illa, et celso vertice nutat,

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poem by William Cowper
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Early Works - Maurice

The devil’s lady flames have lit
the IRA have bombed the manuscript
never mind there is no relaxation
this time it might get to Glenda Jackson.
A week gone by far away
here comes the Cadbury kid with his Milk Tray.
He is ready for dangers to face,
some more literary grace.

Comedy in an inert expression
there is no regression
Maurice sits in solemn pose
pondering in degrees I suppose
conscious of all repetition
inherited in the pieces at their presentation,
criticism is slight,
but a meaningful insight.

So here, I sit in deep dispose
trying to write poetry and no prose.

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poem by David Harris
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Love is sweeping the country.

quote by Ira Gershwin
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Life is one long jubilee.

quote by Ira Gershwin
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A song without music is a lot like H2 without the O.

quote by Ira Gershwin
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