Should you spend St Patrick’s Day in merry old Derry
Beware of sheepdogs so smug and contrary
He swears he’s Irish, he’s not!
He’s just an old English sot
So toss the cur, drink up, and get your dog some therapy
To Derry, who reached beyond the pen
To seek the sun and fluffy clouds
A flash of green and you were gone
With headdress regal and so proud
Upon the leafy giants, there you sat
To see the world, with little eyes in awe
Behind your home and mirror void
No image within, the seed untouched
Just silence to fill the endless gap
No Derry or sweet song and chatter
What happened to you, proud little chap
Who preened with care those feather's green
Were you lost or pleases to rid the ties
Of human leash and small confine
Feel a freedom so divine and stretch
Those budgie wings to sail away
I hope you're safe and having fun
To swoop and dive upon the wind
And sing your budgie song so fair
That splash of green that soothes the air
I've two computers I'd like to sell,
They're old, but they both still work very well.
They are Windows desktops, aka, a PC,
One browses with Firefox,
And one with IE.
I can't recall, now, which is which,
But as near as I can tell,
The latter's in the Acer,
And the former in the Dell.
Doctor Mcklosky for speaking of truth, mic muted by a judge?
Who sides with un-sooth? Not a doctor to refute her.?? I
Must take it in ( yet a minion of saturn ) in robes black as sin.' Taking no heed of (one hundred thousand dr's more)
Has denied Derry's people by applying un-law full of false
Gravitas is this person no doubt!! Ensconsed in affluence
With a hard dirty snout, immersed in the trough now thats
My (take away) can you beleive how far lifes fallen? Yet
Let Derry's people have last say.!
K hristeena starts a new job.
H ope her day is going well.
R eally enjoyed the fun we had
I n Derry on
S aturday.
T hey better treat her well or
E velyn will be a cross boss.
E very woman will
N ow be blessed to have
A caring angel in Colposcopy.
I'm going to fly,
and see Ireland,
The Emerald Isle,
My ticket's in hand.
Visit in a pub,
drink pints awhile.
Joke with the Locals,
carouse, laugh and smile.
Eat real Irish stew,
brown wheaten bread too.
Then go explore,
old castles of yore.
It's a must to make merry,
in walled London Derry.
All Through Halloween,
the Ghouls intervene.
Walk in fields of Heather,
A Musky purple scene.
Fragrance light as a feather,
Pristine and Serene.
Stay there at Galway,
for a few days.
Fish in the river,
or on the bay.
Have to see the Blarney,
and give it a big kiss.
Wish for some good luck,
but that's hit or miss.
I'm going to fly,
and see Ireland.
The Emerald Isle,
Spend time with Old Friend's.
This place is me,
one and the same,
collecting bonfire wood,
set our hearts a flame,
growing up tough,
rough with the war still on,
living a long life quickly,
before our childhoods gone,
although it wasn't at all bad,
some may think it bonkers,
but the girls had the playsets,
while the boys played conkers,
those are chestnuts to you,
whacking them was good craic,
glad I have these memories,
oh how they take you back,
as if it was yesterday,
I do so hold them dear,
if I could be from any place,
I'm glad it was here.
They were Lilly Whites from Kildare,
And Boggers from County Clare,
Herring Gutters from Donegal
And Dubliner Jackeens.
They were Goat Suckers, Slaneysiders,
Magpies and Rossies.
They were Kellys, and Murrays,
O’Carrols, and Moores,
They were Campbells, MacMurphys, and Dunns.
One claimed he’s from the Hill of Tara,
Another, from Tyrone among the brush.
They came for the work on the Schuylkill Canal.
They came for the work on the railway.
They came for the love of those lonesome Colleens
They left at the dockside in Derry.
They worked and they drank,
And they gambled and swore,
And they prayed for the saints’ intercession.
A few sought the balm of a comforting whore,
Then mumbled their sins at confession.
They offered their immigrant muscle and sweat,
Like Hercules hard at his labors,
And carved out the tunnels and fashioned the locks
That helped build their grandchildren’s nation.
I am drunk, stoned, woozy and tipsy
Drinking beer, brandy and whiskey,
Swinging with abandon like a gipsy.
Kinda crazy, sozzled but hella merry…
Ha, Mary, kiss me! And Yo Sherry,
Your luscious lips, red as a ripe cherry…
Yoo-hoo, life could be a ding-a-derry.
The unsavory past is but long forgotten
Life’s more fun now and not at all rotten
The hurt is bearable and the pain lessen
Since flirting with this devious devil often
Brings me bliss and heartaches soften.
Like little children laugh, dance and sing
All summer, winter, autumn and spring,
With a passionate heart I bid you to bring
lots of hugs, kisses and joyful yodeling.
~A Brian Strand contest.
Contest: Addiction
Sponsor: Rob Levasseur
Deep in the heart of Ireland there runs
A dark belief the future rests on guns
In the midst of a riot in the city of Derry
That sinister undercurrent was in play
It was then that Lyra, just doing her job
Took snaps to record the rioting mob.
Here was a promising young reporter
Whom many a paper hankered after
Yet a single bullet from an illicit gun
Ended a career so bravely begun.
This innocent target felled by a single shot
Became the shadowy gunman's scabrous blot
For out of that Good Friday's grim testament
There has grown full community agreement
That terrorists must never again stalk the land
To dismantle the dialogue of peace long since planned.
Out of the ashes , we hope , of the martyrdom of Lyra McKee
Will Ireland from vile and callous terrorism be now set free.
Soldier F was charged today
Disgusted is all I can say
Doing a job in times gone by
Ask yourselves the reason why
Deployed there at the governments request
Where's your loyalty out of interest
He done what others wouldn't do
So your life today wouldn't be blue
Went over there on demand
On orders given by this land
To help the people who soon would hate
47 years on he meets his fate
The bogside in Derry is where this was
Protesters and rioters present for there cause
Petrol bombs and broken glass
What would you do is what I ask
Fight for your Country the posters did say
Don't let terrorists get in the way
Bring them to justice for atrocities carried out
Not the soldier who came to your shout
Now every soldier has done there bit
Showing true British grit
Not easy being on receiving end
Not knowing if enemy or friend
The bit that hurts those that have served
Unfair treatment not deserved
Soldier F should be let free
He did his bit for liberty
So judge and jury and public spirit
Open your eyes could you have done it
March amongst all the chaos and debris
To help those who want to be free
A Scotsman whose mum called him, "Mary"
Was sent to a doctor in Derry
Before his eyes
He was circumcised
(Its a wrong way to tip her fairy)!
* * * *
A lady described as "well-built"
had wondered, "What's under yon kilt?"
She lifted the plaid
And was ever so sad
To discover a Scotsman called "Wilt"!
( … if you catch me doing one of these.)
Naming any baby Finton,
voting for Hillary Clinton,
complimenting Nascar,
moving to Nebraska,
using "literally" to mean "very",
calling Derry Londonderry,
uttering the word "redact",
claiming Johnny Depp can act,
saying society's to blame,
mentioning fifteen minutes of fame,
feeling sorry for Amanda Knox,
watching anything on Fox,
or even one second of Jerry Springer,
making speech marks with my fingers,
drinking alcohol alone,
admiring Sharon Stone,
labelling anyone a pagan,
sighing "bring back Ronald Reagan",
playing Rod Stewart's "We Are Sailing",
paying money to see Van Halen ...
(and if ever, instead of clever,
I say smart,
I promise to wear -
right there -
a target across my heart.)
Along ta derry ga de hance
‘til dawn we sit, amid, astance.
And once the full moon rises on’t
Da mid awhorl doth all we want.
But soon ta blacken brot a gri,
wit stil da crackon akabree--
And once t’gin ta ram da moot
Dow noland farce th’ wil ka soot!
A packa shoon curl tabard sheath
And when we drather forka beeth,
Is wan ‘taback the cabbarth shoe
Around about will strike the moon.
The will soon eddy wine dak crown,
To ramble on the turtle drown.
We pounce upon the blackened brot
‘twas crackon gole th’ trei be shot!
Dark Clouds Don't Discriminate February 13, 2016
Walking together on a Derry Street
Peace on our mind, no retreat
Young and old walking our dreams
Civil rights for all, how simple it seems
Harassed as we walk on freedoms way
A better life for our people is on the way
United we stand, divided we fall
We remember the day, we remember them all
Brothers and sisters, mothers and dads
Bullets of death in Derry so sad
From a march of peace without goodbye
Fourteen people forced to die
The dark clouds came and brought the rain
Never to walk the small streets again
Dark clouds don't discriminate
Civil rights marchers met their fate
Goodbye each one, some mothers son
Your final journey just begun
Walking together on a Derry street
Peace on our mind, no retreat
Gerrard McGeachy
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