World Poetry Day is on 21 March. List your favorite Irish poem/poet - The Wild Geese2024-03-29T06:51:33Zhttps://thewildgeese.irish/forum/topics/world-poetry-day-is-on-21-march-list-your-favorite-irish-poem?commentId=6442157%3AComment%3A86680&feed=yes&xn_auth=no...i learned this poem when i…tag:thewildgeese.irish,2014-04-16:6442157:Comment:883842014-04-16T04:54:39.016ZAn Filioct Boct O Healuitehttps://thewildgeese.irish/profile/AnFilioctBoctOHealuite
<p>...i learned this poem when i went to Kildimo National School(.Limerick) I am now 67yr old man...the poem and others are as fresh and lovely as the first time i heard them.</p>
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<p>...i learned this poem when i went to Kildimo National School(.Limerick) I am now 67yr old man...the poem and others are as fresh and lovely as the first time i heard them.</p>
<p></p> …tag:thewildgeese.irish,2014-04-02:6442157:Comment:866802014-04-02T14:44:33.122Zbrendan woodshttps://thewildgeese.irish/profile/brendanwoods
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<div> THE TRAMP<br></br>In a lonely part of Ireland,near the town of Mullingar<br></br>We were gathered in the evening,in a little village bar<br></br>Through the door there came a stranger,just a tramp<br></br>he seemed to be<br></br>In his face the sign of hunger,almost anyone could see<br></br>But he brought a breath of summer,as he slowly wandered in<br></br>Dressed in rags that someone gave him,and the boots<br></br>now worn so thin <br></br>Someones son my mind was…</div>
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<div> THE TRAMP<br/>In a lonely part of Ireland,near the town of Mullingar<br/>We were gathered in the evening,in a little village bar<br/>Through the door there came a stranger,just a tramp<br/>he seemed to be<br/>In his face the sign of hunger,almost anyone could see<br/>But he brought a breath of summer,as he slowly wandered in<br/>Dressed in rags that someone gave him,and the boots<br/>now worn so thin <br/>Someones son my mind was thinking,someone fallen<br/>by the way <br/>Or perhaps a long lost father,who had seen a better day<br/><br/><br/>Could i join you for a minute,just before i go my way<br/>In a voice as sweet as music,mindful of a summer day<br/>I have wandered o'er the moorland ,seen the rising of <br/>the sun,And my poor old feet are weary ,lifes hard battle<br/>must be won <br/>To a seat i saw him totter,heard the whisper of a sigh,<br/>Then i saw the old face brighted,with a twink.e in the eye<br/>Lonely there he sat and listened,to the stories that were told<br/>Someones son or father ,who had wandered from the fold<br/><br/><br/>Surely there must be a story,hidden somewhere in the <br/>breast,<br/>Of a tramp who roams the moorland,something different<br/>from the rest<br/>As i made my wayto join him,something told me<br/>he was glad <br/>Folk around me gazed in wonder,some they even<br/>thought me mad<br/>Thank you sir,i heard him saying<br/>Lonlinesscan bring a chill<br/>Maybe i should tell a story<br/>Though with tears my eyesthey fill <br/>In my youth i was an artist,painted pictures by the score<br/>Then one day i found an angel,married her in Annaghmore<br/><br/>I was happy with my ,sunshine came our way<br/>And eack night we knelt together,just to meditate and pray<br/>But a fhief he came and stle her ,took the flower I<br/>cherished rare,<br/>Isn,t there a god in heaven to protect a life so fair<br/>Did you ever lose a fortune,did you lose your only friend<br/>Did the sunshine never bless you,nor the lonely not bend<br/>Did you ever see the finger,pointed at you all the day<br/>Broken hearts are never mended,in this hard and cruel way<br/><br/>I left home with all its sadness,left the place where i<br/>was born<br/>Made the sky my onlt blanket,and my friend a<br/>sundecked morn<br/>When they told me she was dying,even after all<br/>the years<br/>Like a baby i was crying,finding solace in my tears<br/>To the place where she is lying,every year i<br/>make my way<br/>And i place a wreath of roses, on that brown and <br/>sacred clay<br/>Roses plucked from out the hedgerows,but she seen <br/>them just the same<br/>And i know she hears me whisper,as i quietly breathe<br/>her name <br/><br/>You may ask why i remember,why she's always in<br/>my dreams <br/>But true love is ne'er forgotten,and a fond smile <br/>always beams <br/>I forgave and granted pardon,even in my prayers i say<br/>That a souls not lost to heaven,just for erring<br/>on the way<br/>Summer brings its gladness,and the birds<br/>sing high above<br/>Just to bring me consolation,an an atmosphere<br/>of love <br/>But a tramp in lonely exilemstill within his native land<br/>Must keep trying,just keep trying,only god san understand<br/><br/>Thank you, sir, for all your goodness,i must now be on <br/>my way<br/>I have many miles to wander,ere i meditate and pray<br/>God alone now brings me comfort,only he can give<br/>me peace<br/>Till this worldshall mark me absent,ans all worry<br/>it shall cease<br/>In a lonely part od Ireland,near the town of Mullingar<br/>We were gathered in the evening ,in a little village bar,<br/>Through the door there passed a stranger,just a tramp<br/>he seemed to be <br/>In his face the sign of heaven ,almost anyone could see<br/><br/></div> BROTHER MICK - Sigerson Cliff…tag:thewildgeese.irish,2014-04-02:6442157:Comment:865572014-04-02T05:54:36.064Zbrendan woodshttps://thewildgeese.irish/profile/brendanwoods
<div class="leftboxtitle"><h1>BROTHER MICK - Sigerson Clifford Poems</h1>
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<div class="leftboxtitle"><h1>BROTHER MICK - Sigerson Clifford Poems</h1>
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<h2><a href="http://www.poemspoet.com/">Poems</a> » <a href="http://www.poemspoet.com/sigerson-clifford">sigerson clifford</a> » <a href="http://www.poemspoet.com/sigerson-clifford/brother-mick">brother mick</a></h2>
<div id="story"><div><span style="font-weight: bold;">BROTHER MICK</span><br/>The mountain frowned upon the school,<br/>The school stared at the street,<br/>And rich men's sons came there in shoes<br/>While I ran in bare feet.<br/>The rich had meat and cakes to eat,<br/>And butter like the Danes, (1)<br/>While I had only spuds and fish,<br/>And fish, they say, makes brains. (2)<br/>But still the rich boys passed exams<br/>While I kept thin, and thick,<br/>And thanked the stars that he had come<br/>Among us... Brother Mick.<br/><br/>We had the world's slowest clock<br/>That drowsed upon the wall,<br/>While I cursed the Roman scoundrels<br/>That let Caesar loose in Gaul.<br/>There, too, was Euclid with his cuts,<br/>And trigonometry.<br/>That Peachy, Ring and Chas could do<br/>But they were Greek to me.<br/>And there were sums on trains and tubs<br/>Of water running quick:<br/>'Twas Chinese torture till he came<br/>To save me... Brother Mick.<br/><br/>For Brother Tom no patience had<br/>With duffers such as I<br/>Who never could be taught to solve<br/>The mystery of pi.<br/>And Brother Jim had even less<br/>For those who didn't prize<br/>The hairy men of hither Gaul<br/>As seen through Caesar's eyes.<br/>Then Brother Tom whacked like a bomb,<br/>While Jim could wield the stick.<br/>But that was all before we knew<br/>The smile of Brother Mick.<br/><br/>Still the great Power that will not let<br/>The sparrow fall to earth<br/>Took pity on bewildered brains<br/>No Latin could alert.<br/>For Brother Jim was sent to Trim (3)<br/>To march with Caesar there,<br/>While we sprawled in our desks and heard<br/>The new man on the stair.<br/>We saw him smile as he came in,<br/>His footsteps short and quick;<br/>His name was Brother Michael<br/>So, of course, we called him Mick.<br/><br/>And as the weeks meandered on<br/>We watched with puzzled eye<br/>And wondered if some archangel<br/>Had strayed down from the sky.<br/>He did not shout, he did not clout<br/>But went his gentle way<br/>To bring the light to souls that stood<br/>Full ankle-deep in clay.<br/>He locked the leather in the press<br/>And burned the hazel stick;<br/>‘Twas then we all threw doubts upon<br/>The mind of Brother Mick.<br/><br/>How short is time with one you love,<br/>A year is like a while.<br/>The things you will not do for stick<br/>You learn for a smile.<br/>We passed exams and scholarships,<br/>Our mothers thought us fine,<br/>Though greater than the loaves and fish<br/>The miracle of mine.<br/>The gods be praised I even got<br/>Marks in arithmetic;<br/>'You'll be a second Einstein yet,'<br/>Said surprised Brother Mick.<br/><br/>The big lads reaped their excise jobs,<br/>We all marched to the train<br/>And shook their lordly hands and praised<br/>The old school once again.<br/>The engine panted up the rails,<br/>We flung our cheers out loud<br/>And watched it sprinting past the bridge,<br/>Its whistle long and proud.<br/>And as we laughed we little knew<br/>The card Fate chose to pick,<br/>How soon he'd be an exile too,<br/>Our splendid Brother Mick...<br/><br/>The world has wheeled a lot since then,<br/>Quiet are the hobs of home<br/>And far from me these things are now<br/>As is the moon from Rome.<br/>But I can see the old school still<br/>Stand tall above the street,<br/>I smell the heather from the hill<br/>And hear the running feet.<br/>And in the door he walks again,<br/>His footsteps short and quick,<br/>And back across the years I wave<br/>Goodbye to Brother Mick.</div>
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</div> …tag:thewildgeese.irish,2014-03-27:6442157:Comment:857172014-03-27T11:27:59.574Zbrendan woodshttps://thewildgeese.irish/profile/brendanwoods
<p> i loved a papish girl</p>
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<blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"><strong>I was born and bred in Sandy Row a loyal orange Prod. <br></br>A follower of King William that noble man of God, <br></br>My motto no surrender my fleg the Union Jack <br></br>And every year I'd proudly walk to Finaghy and back. <br></br>A loyal son of Ulster a true blue that was me <br></br>Prepared to fight prepared to die for faith and liberty. <br></br>As…</strong></blockquote>
<p> i loved a papish girl</p>
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<p> </p>
<blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"><strong>I was born and bred in Sandy Row a loyal orange Prod. <br/>A follower of King William that noble man of God, <br/>My motto no surrender my fleg the Union Jack <br/>And every year I'd proudly walk to Finaghy and back. <br/>A loyal son of Ulster a true blue that was me <br/>Prepared to fight prepared to die for faith and liberty. <br/>As well as that a Linfield man far back as I can mind <br/>I had no time for Catholics or people of that kinds. <br/><br/></strong><strong>But then one night in Bangor I met wee Rosie Brown, <br/>From the moment I set eyes on her my heart went up and down <br/>And when I thought she fancied me my heart was all a buzz <br/>I clean forgot to ask her what her religion was. <br/>I never slept a wink that night I just laid there in bed, <br/>I thought about wee Rosie and all the things we'd said <br/>I know I should have asked before I made a date <br/>Before I fell in love with her but by then it was too late <br/></strong><br/><br/><strong>When next we met I told her "I'm a Prod and staunch and true" <br/>She said "I'm a Catholic and I'm just as staunch as you." <br/>The words were harsh and bitter then suddenly like this <br/>The centuries of hatred were forgotten in one kiss. <br/>That night I dreamt about her a strange confusing dream <br/>I dreamt we both were singing " The Wearin of the Green" <br/>And as we walked to Finaghy full of harmony and hope <br/>Who was there to greet us but his Holiness the Pope. <br/><br/><br/>When I awoke I new that dream was even more than true <br/>The future we were heading for would be confusing too. <br/>Indeed when I thought about it, it was all to clear <br/>That was to be the understatement of the year. <br/>I knew our love could bring us little but trouble and distress <br/>But nothing in this world could make me love my Rosie less. <br/>I saved a bit of money as quickly as I could <br/>I asked her if she'd marry me and by God she said she would. <br/><br/><br/>Then the trouble really started her folks were flaming mad <br/>And when mine heard about it sure they were twice as bad, <br/>Her father said that from that day he'd hang his head in shame <br/>And by a strange coincidence my oul lad said the same. <br/>My mother cried her eyes out and said I'd rue the day <br/>I'd let a Papish hussy steal my royal heart away. <br/>And Rose's mother said when she'd recovered from the blow <br/>She'd rather see the Divil than a man from Sandy Row. <br/><br/><br/>In deference to Rosie we were married in her church <br/>But my clergyman was there as well; he didn't leave me in the lurch. <br/>The Priest was awfully nice to me he made me feel at home <br/>I think he pitied both of us for our families wouldn't come. <br/>The house we went to live in had nothing but four walls, <br/>It was far away from Sandy Row and farther from the Falls. <br/>And that's the way we wanted it for both of us new well <br/>That back among the ones we knew our lives would just be hell. <br/><br/><br/>But life out there for Rosie was lonely I knew well <br/>And of course we had our wee religious differences too, <br/>When Friday came along and Rosie gave me fish <br/>I looked at it and then at her and said "That's not my dish." <br/>I mind well what she answered though she never said it twice <br/>"To ate no meat on Friday is a poor wee sacrifice <br/>To make for Christ who died one Friday long ago." <br/>But anyway I ate the fish and it wasn't bad you know. <br/><br/><br/>Then Sunday came and I lay on and she got up for Mass. <br/>Then Rosie turned to me and said " Will you shift your lazy ass <br/>You've got a Church to go to and that's where you should be <br/>So up you get this minute you'll go part of the road with me." <br/>We left the house together but we parted down the line, <br/>She went off to her Church and I went off to mine <br/>But all through out the service although we were apart <br/>I felt I was worshiping with Rosie in my heart. <br/><br/><br/>The weeks and months went quickly by and then there comes the day <br/>That Rosie up and tells me that a child is on the way. <br/>Then from that day my life becomes a wondrous thing <br/>Like a lovely flower unfolding its petals in the spring. <br/>We wrote and told our families for they never came to call <br/>And we thought this news would heal the breach and so it did an all. <br/>My Mother and then Rosies come to visit us in turn <br/>And I marveled at the power of a wee child yet unborn. <br/><br/><br/>Och but I was awful disillusioned when I found out why they came <br/>It wasn't just to heal the breach or make it up again, <br/>Rosie's Mother had come to say the child would be RC <br/>And mine had come to say it would be a Protestant like me. <br/>The rows before the wedding were surely meek and mild <br/>Compared to all the rumpus that was ris about the child, <br/>From both sides of the family insults and threats were hurled <br/>O what a desperate way to welcome a wee angel to this world. <br/><br/><br/>The child must be a Catholic no the child must be a Prod, <br/>But the last and powerful voice I heard was the mighty voice of God <br/>When to is awful wisdom I had to hang my head <br/>When Rosies time had come at last the child was born but dead. <br/>That night I sat by Rosies bed and just before the dawn <br/>I kissed her as she left me to join our angel son. <br/>This orange heart was broken within these four bare walls <br/>Where the hells the Shankill and where the hells the Falls. <br/><br/><br/>In all the years that's past since then years of grief and pain <br/>I'd give my life and even more just to see her face again. <br/>But the loneliness is near over now I'll see her soon I know <br/>For the Doctor told me yesterday that I haven't long to go. <br/>And when I go up yonder they'll let me in I hope <br/>And when the ask me who I'm for King Billy or the Pope, <br/>I'm going to take no chances I'll answer loud and clear <br/>I'm just a loyal Protestant who loved, a Papish girl. <br/><br/><br/>But one way or another I think they'll let me through <br/>And Rosie will be waiting there, and our wee angel too <br/>Then a little child will lead them the Papisher and the Prod <br/>Up the golden steps of Heaven into the house of God.</strong></blockquote>
<p><strong> </strong></p> We had a World Poetry Day rea…tag:thewildgeese.irish,2014-03-25:6442157:Comment:849742014-03-25T00:43:12.229ZBean Sáirséilhttps://thewildgeese.irish/profile/BeanSairseil
<p>We had a World Poetry Day reading here at my university, and this was one of the poems I read. </p>
<h2>The Rebel</h2>
<p>by Pádraig Mac Piarais</p>
<p>I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow,<br></br>That have no treasure but hope,<br></br>No riches laid up but a memory<br></br>Of an Ancient glory.<br></br>My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born,<br></br>I am of the blood of serfs;<br></br>The children with whom I have played, the men and women with whom I have…</p>
<p>We had a World Poetry Day reading here at my university, and this was one of the poems I read. </p>
<h2>The Rebel</h2>
<p>by Pádraig Mac Piarais</p>
<p>I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow,<br/>That have no treasure but hope,<br/>No riches laid up but a memory<br/>Of an Ancient glory.<br/>My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born,<br/>I am of the blood of serfs;<br/>The children with whom I have played, the men and women with whom I have eaten,<br/>Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters,<br/>And, though gentle, have served churls;<br/>The hands that have touched mine, the dear hands whose touch is familiar to me,<br/>Have worn shameful manacles, have been bitten at the wrist by manacles,<br/>Have grown hard with the manacles and the task-work of strangers,<br/>I am flesh of the flesh of these lowly, I am bone of their bone,<br/>I that have never submitted;<br/>I that have a soul greater than the souls of my people’s masters,</p>
<p>I that have vision and prophecy and the gift of fiery speech,<br/>I that have spoken with God on the top of His holy hill.<br/>And because I am of the people, I understand the people,<br/>I am sorrowful with their sorrow, I am hungry with their desire:<br/>My heart has been heavy with the grief of mothers,<br/>My eyes have been wet with the tears of children,<br/>I have yearned with old wistful men,<br/>And laughed or cursed with young men;<br/>Their shame is my shame, and I have reddened for it,<br/>Reddened for that they have served, they who should be free,<br/>Reddened for that they have gone in want, while others have been full,<br/>Reddened for that they have walked in fear of lawyers and of their jailors<br/>With their writs of summons and their handcuffs,<br/>Men mean and cruel!</p>
<p>I could have borne stripes on my body rather than this shame of my people.<br/>And now I speak, being full of vision;<br/>I speak to my people, and I speak in my people’s name to the masters of my people.<br/>I say to my people that they are holy, that they are august, despite their chains,<br/>That they are greater than those that hold them, and stronger and purer,<br/>That they have but need of courage, and to call on the name of their God,<br/>God the unforgetting, the dear God that loves the peoples<br/>For whom He died naked, suffering shame.<br/>And I say to my people’s masters: Beware,<br/>Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the risen people,<br/>Who shall take what ye would not give.<br/>Did ye think to conquer the people,<br/>Or that Law is stronger than life and than men’s desire to be free?<br/>We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and held,<br/>Ye that have bullied and bribed, tyrants, hypocrites, liars!</p>
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</p> The Ballad of the Tinker’s Da…tag:thewildgeese.irish,2014-03-24:6442157:Comment:848912014-03-24T22:31:54.441Zbrendan woodshttps://thewildgeese.irish/profile/brendanwoods
<div id="post_message_423212">The Ballad of the Tinker’s Daughter<br></br>by Sigerson Clifford<br></br><br></br>When rooks ripped home at eventide and trees pegged their shadows to the ground<br></br>The tinkers came to Carhan Bridge and camped beside the Famine mound.<br></br>With long-eared ass and bony horse and with blue-wheeled cart and caravan<br></br>And she the fairest of them all the daughter of the tinker clan.<br></br><br></br>O the sun flamed in her red, red hair and in her eyes there were stars of mirth<br></br>Her…</div>
<div id="post_message_423212">The Ballad of the Tinker’s Daughter<br/>by Sigerson Clifford<br/><br/>When rooks ripped home at eventide and trees pegged their shadows to the ground<br/>The tinkers came to Carhan Bridge and camped beside the Famine mound.<br/>With long-eared ass and bony horse and with blue-wheeled cart and caravan<br/>And she the fairest of them all the daughter of the tinker clan.<br/><br/>O the sun flamed in her red, red hair and in her eyes there were stars of mirth<br/>Her body held the willow’s grace and her feet scarce touched the springing earth.<br/>The night spread its star-tasseled shawls; the river gossiped to her stones<br/>She sat beside the camping fire and she sang the songs the tinker owns.<br/><br/>All the songs as old as turning wheels and sweet as the bird-throats after rain<br/>Deep wisdom of the wild wet earth; the pain of joy, the joy of pain.<br/>A farmer going by the road to tend his cattle in the byre<br/>He saw her like some fairy queen between the river and the fire.<br/><br/>And her beauty stirred his brooding blood; her magic mounted all in his head.<br/>He stole her from the tinker clan and on the morrow they were wed.<br/>And when the sunlight swamped the hills and bird-song drowned the river’s bells<br/>The tinkers quenched their hazel fires and climbed the pallid road to Kells.<br/><br/>It was from her house she watched them fade and vanish in the yellow furze<br/>A cold wind blew across the sun and it silenced all the singing birds.<br/>She saw the months run on and on, she saw the river fret and foam<br/>At break of day the roosters called; at dim of dusk the cows came home.<br/><br/>The crickets strummed their heated harps in hidden halls all behind the hob<br/>And they told of distant waterways where the black moorhens dive and bob<br/>And shoot the glassy bubbles up to smash their windows on the stones<br/>And brown trout hide their spots of gold among the river’s pebbled bones.<br/><br/>And too the ebbing sea that flung a net of sound all about the stars,<br/>It set strange hills dancing in her dreams and it meshed her to the wandering cars.<br/>She stole out from her sleeping man; she fled the fields that tied her down<br/>Her face moved towards the rising sun; her back was to the tired town.<br/><br/>And she climbed the pallid road to Kells against the hill and all against the wind<br/>In Glenbeigh of the mountain-streams she came upon her tinker-kind.<br/>They bedded her between the wheels and there her son was born<br/>She heard the tinker-woman’s praise before she died that morn.<br/><br/>Now the years flew by like frightened birds that spill a feather and then are gone<br/>The farmer walked his weedful fields and he made the tinkers travel on.<br/>No more they camped by Carhan Bridge or coaxed their fires to fragrant flame<br/>They saw him with his dog and his gun; they spat and cursed his name.<br/><br/>And when May hid the hawthorn trees with stars she stole from out the skies<br/>There came a barefoot tinker lad with red, red hair and laughing eyes.<br/>He left the road, he crossed the fields; the farmer shot him in the side<br/>The smile went from his twisting lips; he told his name and died.<br/><br/>And that evening when the neighbours came they found the son there upon the floor<br/>They saw the farmer swinging low between the window and the door.<br/>They placed the son upon a cart and they cut the swaying farmer down<br/>They swear a tinker woman came with them all the way to town.<br/><br/>And the sun flamed in her red, red hair and in her eyes there danced stars of mirth<br/>Her body held the willow’s grace and her feet scarced touched the springing earth.<br/>They buried them in Keelvarnogue and eyes were moist and lips were wan<br/>And when the mound was patted down the tinker maid was gone.</div> thanks for that Belindatag:thewildgeese.irish,2014-03-24:6442157:Comment:849652014-03-24T21:57:13.695Zbrendan woodshttps://thewildgeese.irish/profile/brendanwoods
<p>thanks for that Belinda</p>
<p>thanks for that Belinda</p> My favorite is John O'Donohue…tag:thewildgeese.irish,2014-03-24:6442157:Comment:848552014-03-24T14:29:38.705ZJim Curleyhttps://thewildgeese.irish/profile/JimCurley
<p>My favorite is John O'Donohue's Beannacht. This Wednesday, I will attend the funeral of a first cousin. "The protection of the ancestors" - how consoling in times like this.</p>
<blockquote><p><strong>Beannacht – For Josie</strong></p>
<p>On the day when<br></br> The weight deadens<br></br> On your shoulders<br></br> And you stumble,<br></br> May the clay dance<br></br> To balance you.</p>
<p>And when your eyes<br></br> Freeze behind<br></br> The grey window<br></br> And the ghost of loss<br></br> Gets into you,<br></br> May a…</p>
</blockquote>
<p>My favorite is John O'Donohue's Beannacht. This Wednesday, I will attend the funeral of a first cousin. "The protection of the ancestors" - how consoling in times like this.</p>
<blockquote><p><strong>Beannacht – For Josie</strong></p>
<p>On the day when<br/> The weight deadens<br/> On your shoulders<br/> And you stumble,<br/> May the clay dance<br/> To balance you.</p>
<p>And when your eyes<br/> Freeze behind<br/> The grey window<br/> And the ghost of loss<br/> Gets into you,<br/> May a flock of colours,<br/> Indigo, red, green<br/> And azure blue,<br/> Come to awaken in you<br/> A meadow of delight.</p>
<p>When the canvas frays<br/> In the currach of thought<br/> And a stain of ocean<br/> Blackens beneath you,<br/> May there come across the waters<br/> A path of yellow moonlight<br/> To bring you safely home.</p>
<p>May the nourishment of the earth be yours,<br/> May the clarity of light be yours,<br/> May the fluency of the ocean be yours,<br/> May the protection of the ancestors be yours.</p>
<p>And so may a slow<br/> Wind work these words<br/> Of love around you,<br/> An invisible cloak<br/> To mind your life.</p>
<p></p>
<p><iframe width="640" height="480" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ZfvS2LYbZLQ?wmode=opaque" frameborder="0"></iframe>
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</blockquote> The Tinkerman's Daughter
(Mi…tag:thewildgeese.irish,2014-03-24:6442157:Comment:849052014-03-24T09:43:13.581Zbrendan woodshttps://thewildgeese.irish/profile/brendanwoods
<h3><b><u><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/57439710?profile=original" target="_self"><img class="align-center" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/57439710?profile=original" width="599"></img></a> The Tinkerman's Daughter</u></b></h3>
<ul>
<li>(Michael MacConnell)<p>The wee birds were lining the bleak autumn branches<br></br>Waiting to fly to a far sunny shore<br></br>When the tinkers made camp at a bend on the river<br></br>Coming back from the horse-fair in Ballinasloe<br></br>The harvest being over the farmer came walking<br></br>Along the Feale River that bordered his…</p>
</li>
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<h3><b><u><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/57439710?profile=original" target="_self"><img src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/57439710?profile=original" width="599" class="align-center"/></a>The Tinkerman's Daughter</u></b></h3>
<ul>
<li>(Michael MacConnell)<p>The wee birds were lining the bleak autumn branches<br/>Waiting to fly to a far sunny shore<br/>When the tinkers made camp at a bend on the river<br/>Coming back from the horse-fair in Ballinasloe<br/>The harvest being over the farmer came walking<br/>Along the Feale River that bordered his land<br/>'Twas there he first saw her 'twixt firelight and water<br/>The tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann</p>
<p>Next morning he woke from a night without resting<br/>He went to her father, he made his claim known<br/>In a pub in Listowel they worked out a bargain<br/>For the tinker a pony, for the daughter a home<br/>Where the trees shed their shadows along the Feale River<br/>The tinker and the farmer inspected the land<br/>And a white gelding pony was the price they agreed on<br/>For the tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann</p>
<p>With the wedding soon over the tinkers departed<br/>They're eager to travel on south down the road<br/>The crunch of their iron-shod wheels on the gravel<br/>Was as bitter to her as the way she'd been sold<br/>She tried hard to please him, she did all his bidding<br/>She slept in his bed and she worked on the land<br/>But the walls of that cabin pressed tighter and tighter<br/>On the tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann</p>
<p>White as the hands of the priest or the hangman<br/>The snow spread its blanket the next Christmas round<br/>The tinkerman's daughter slipped out of his bedside<br/>Turned her back on the land and her face to the town<br/>It's said someone saw her at dusk that same evening<br/>As she made her way out o'er Likelycompane<br/>And that was the last time the settled folk saw her<br/>The tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann</p>
<p>Where the North Kerry hills cup the Feale o'er Listowel<br/>At a farm on its banks lives a bitter old man<br/>He swears by the shotgun he keeps at his bedside<br/>He'll kill any tinker that camps on his land<br/>Whenever he hears iron-shod wheels on gravel<br/>Or a horse in the shafts of a bright caravan<br/>Then his day's work's tormented, his night sleep's demented<br/>By the tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann</p>
<p>(as sung by Arthur Johnstone)</p>
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<li>there is also another version of this poem</li>
</ul> Belinda, if you want informat…tag:thewildgeese.irish,2014-03-23:6442157:Comment:847192014-03-23T17:03:35.141ZPaul Thomas Meagherhttps://thewildgeese.irish/profile/PaulThomasMeagher
<p>Belinda, if you want information about Filiocht na nGael, I regret that I am on my way to Ireland for a couple of weeks but I'll look up publisher, editor etc., when I get back. I regret, however, that we'll probably find that it is long out of print. If you want the words to any classic poem(s), let me know and if I can find, or remember it, I'll transcribe it (them) for you.</p>
<p>Belinda, if you want information about Filiocht na nGael, I regret that I am on my way to Ireland for a couple of weeks but I'll look up publisher, editor etc., when I get back. I regret, however, that we'll probably find that it is long out of print. If you want the words to any classic poem(s), let me know and if I can find, or remember it, I'll transcribe it (them) for you.</p>