General Chat

Princess Elizabeth's (later Elizabeth 1st) reaction to the beheading of Thomas Seymour with whom she was accused of 'cavorting'

'This day died a man of much wit,
And very little judgement'.

Learn from other peoples mistakes,
you couldn't live long enough to make them all yourself

DEDICATION - by Patrick MacGill (1890- ).


From 1000 years of Irish Poetry I speak with a proud tongue of the people who were and the people who are,

The worthy of Ardara, the Rosses and Inishkeel,

My kindred-

The people of the hills and the dark-haired passes

My neighbours on the lift of the brae,

In the lap of the valley.

To them Slainthé!

I speak of the old men,
The wrinkle-rutted,
Who dodder about foot-weary -
For their day is as the day that has been and is no more -
Who warm their feet by the fire,
And recall memories of the times that are gone;
Who kneel in the lamplight and pray
For the peace that has been theirs -
And who beat one dry-veined hand against another
Even in the sun-
For the coldness of death is on them.

I speak of the old women
Who danced to yesterday's fiddle
And dance no longer.
They sit in a quiet place and dream
And see visions
Of what is to come,
Of their issue,
Which has blossomed to manhood and womanhood -
And seeing thus
They are happy
For the day that was leaves no regrets,
And peace is theirs
And perfection.

I speak of the strong men
Who shoulder their burdens in the hot day,
Who stand on the market-place
And bargain in loud voices,
Showing their stock to the world.
Straight the glance of their eyes -
Broad-shouldered,
Supple.
Under their feet the holms blossom,
The harvest yields.
The their path is of prosperity.

I speak of the women,
Strong hipped, full-bosomed,
Who drive the cattle to graze at dawn,
Who milk the cows at dusk.
Grace in their homes,
And in the crowded ways
Modest and seemly -
Mother of children!

I speak of the children
Of the many townlands,
Blossoms of the Bogland,
Flowers of the Valley,
Who know not yesterday, nor to-morrow,
And are happy,
The pride of those who have begot them.

And thus it is,
Every and always,
In Ardara, the Rosses and Inishkeel -
Here, as elsewhere,
The Weak, the Strong, and the Blossoming -
And thus my kindred.

To them Slainthe!

1. O soldier, soldier, won't you marry me
With your musket fife and drum?
O no sweet maid I cannot marry you
For I have no coat to put on.
So up she went to her grandfather's chest
And she got him a coat of the very, very best
And the soldier put it on.

2. O soldier, soldier, won't you marry me
With your musket fife and drum?
O no sweet maid I cannot marry you
For I have no hat to put on.
So up she went to her grandfather's chest
And she got him a hat of the very, very best
And the soldier put it on.

3. O soldier, soldier, won't you marry me
With your musket fife and drum?
O no sweet maid I cannot marry you
For I have no gloves to put on.
So up she went to her grandfather's chest
And she got him a pair of the very, very best
And the soldier put them on.

4. O soldier, soldier, won't you marry me
With your musket fife and drum?
O no sweet maid I cannot marry you
For I have no boots to put on.
So up she went to her grandfather's chest
And she got him a pair of the very, very best
And the soldier put them on.

5. O soldier, soldier, won't you marry me
With your musket fife and drum?
O no sweet maid I cannot marry you
For I have for I have a wife of my own.

Here's one I came across the other day. I don't know where it comes from or who wrote it, but it just caught my eye.

The sand of the dessert is sodden red,
The Gatlings jammed and the Colonel's dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed it's banks,
And England's far, and honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks -
"Play up! Play up and play the game.

Wow - it's great to see so much poetry, but I'm not sure that I have a favourite.

I enjoyed your story about school, Janet. Here's another.

When we kids were seated around the tea-table Dad used to entertain us in various ways, one of which was reciting.

The reason he knew as many poems as he did was that he hated gardening and when the teacher used to take the class outside to do some my Dad was only allowed to stay in the classroom if he learned a poem and could recite it to the teacher when the class returned - making sure he'd not been messing about.

A little bit of powder,
A little bit of paint,
Makes a lady, what she aint!!!!

My Mammy.

When my prayers were poorly said
Who tucked me in my little bed
And smacked me till my bum was red -
My Mammy.

Who took me from my cosy cot
And put me on my ice-cold pot
And made me wee when I could not -
Me Mammy.

Who would my hair so neatly part
And hug me gently to her heart
And sometimes squeezed me till I would (Censored)-
My Mammy.

And when at night the bed would creek
I raised my head to have a peak
Who yelled at me to go asleep -
My Daddy!

Attributed to Zsa Zsa Gabor, who married nine times...gosh all those mum in laws !

She said in her Hungarian accent ......Darlink, I am a wonderful housekeeper............every time I divorce, I keep the House !!!

Boom , boom

Thank you everyone for keeping this thread alive. I have just read all the most recent entries and found them all rather interesting.
A very busy time at the moment but will scratch my brain and see if I can find something to add.

Bridget :-)

Violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another.

The soft answer turneth away wrath!! (according to my granny!!)

'You have to go away to feel homesick'.

My birthday is in January, so I must remember about those 'Garnets! ' Congratulations Bridget on your new grandaughter, I'm sure that she will bring you as much joy as mine have to me!

Apparently A Sapper scratched the following on a tunnel wall in WW1 - I found it rather moving.

If in this place you are detained,
Don't look round you all in vain,
But cast your net and ye will find
That every cloud is silver lined.

Victory has a hundred fathers,defeat is an orphan.

Its a pleasure,...the mood for writing poetry has been upon me for days now....!

Regards Jan

Jan

That is such a beautiful poem, I shall copy it and send it to Evie. Thank you for writing this for both of us.

Bridget

:-D

Here goes Bridget

A baby was born to my family last night,
A little girl, what a beautiful sight.
I'm sure she will brighten her parents day,
May her life be long for her, I pray.
Her name is Evie, my grandchild, my sweet,
I hope it won't be long before we meet.
I may be many miles away,
But I will think about you every day.
A special thought for you will be in my heart,
For your life has only just begun to start.
As you grow up, and begin to speak and walk,
Then you can ring , or skype me and we can talk
Those moments will be very special to me
Shared with my new granddaughter, lovely Evie

Hope you like, and congratulations Jan :-D

I know this is not poetry etc but I have another Grandchild born just after one o'clock this morning. Six weeks early but mum and child are well. Her name is Evie a derivative of Eve. Can anyone tell me of a special poem for Evie or even write one?

Thank you

Bridget
This child was born on her great grandmothers 90th birthday and I am sure that she is looking down on her. <3

He must have been a very wise man

January's birthstone is the Garnet and here is a rhyme for that

By her who in this month is born,
No gem save garnets should be worn
They will ensure her constancy,
True friendship and fidelity