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Cliffs of Clare # Zizi Jarmaire

A true scribe of Aran
One Breandán Ó’ hEithir
The view from his cradle
The stark cliffs of Clare
To drift on a clear morn
When tide is at neap
Passing the caves
Where the young mermaids sleep
Or lie in the long grass
Midst corn crake and thrush
Watching the waves
Roll in to Portrush
Perseverance Rover
Is zooming for Mars
A comet-like blimp
Off to the stars
Our best are departing
There’s lots of despair
They join in the dance
With Zizi Jarmaire
Saving the hay
And visions of Saturn
Salad for tea
On grand willow pattern
There’s changes afoot
Wait till you see
With Kim Karadash
Growing spuds near Kilkee.

Until next time…Sláinte.

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Princess Grace # Strumpet City & Big Moss (RIP)

Our beautiful Grace
And true Gaelic loyalty
A prince bent his knee
To real Irish royalty
Names scratched on windows
Gore-Booth’s Lisadell
Mass revolution
Cathartic church bells
James Plunkett his pen
And his own Strumpet city
Baile Átha Cliath
Where the girls are so pretty
The cool Waterboys
Have just found God
Paddy in London
He carried a hod
Cognac Cigars
We’ve heard it in sermon
But for old Winston
We’d all speak the German
The sixties and love
And new Ford Cortinas
Hippies and folk
And French ballerinas
Big Moss held no grudge
He’d bury the hatchet
He’d e’en have the craic
With scary nurse Ratched

Back soon…Sláinte.

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Peter Green # Olivia De Havilland.

A carriage is waiting
Beyond the moon beams
A team of draught horses
To take Peter Green
I hope that John Lennon
Has made it to heaven
As rocking Mick Jagger
Is seventy seven
Olivia De Havilland
Has flown with the wind
The last act completed
One we can’t rescind
‘Tis Bernard Shaw’s birthday
Twenty sixth of July
Six steps from the hundred
When he said goodbye
Sid Going the Kiwi
And missile-like passes
His own weight in gold
More wealth than Onassis
Columbine is blooming
In rows in Kilmessan
Like Arnotts and Switzers
Plush window dressing
Clear is the water
That flows from the Boyne
Red is the Rose
A phrase for to coin.

Back soon…Sláinte.

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Lindisfarne # Christy Browne.

Edna O’Brien
And her Country Girls
Innocence flowing
Sweet words and curls
The rustling yews
Of peaceful Ardcarne
A spiritual hilltop
A shy Lindisfarne
Aranmen carry
Their currachs on high
Beetles on beaches
Mumbling on by
Gaggles of geese
Elope in a flutter
Pitch black oak stumps
And churns of bog butter
O’Leary’s great peno
It shook the whole town
He scored with his right
Unlike Christy Browne
G.Edwards and John
Two trusty companions
Jean-Pierre Rives
The soul of d’Artagnon
Bushmills gold whiskey
And rich men with gout
Stone Father Murphy
Murphy’s fine stout.

Chow for now…Sláinte.

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Ruth Morrissey # Amy Winehouse RIP.
(Late July)

Bright star of her county
Young Rosie Mc Cann
Near beautiful Banbridge
By the banks of the Bann
Clouds over Munster
This very sad day
Ruth has departed
And gone on her way
Government members
Arrive at the gate
With wreaths and fresh flowers
It’s really too late
‘Tis well I remember
Those halcyon days
Smelling the heather
On Sliabh Gallion Braes
And down by the Liffey
By Leixlip’s white falls
Silver ones leaping
Their birthplace still calls
To break the fresh cover
Of dewdrops at dawn
Glistening fields
Around Classiebawn
The songbird from London
Nine years gone today
Young Amy Winehouse
A blinding bright ray.

Slán for now..Sláinte!

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Campbell, Ward & Cat.

Enamel on cups
On bowls and on potties
Beleek and bone china
In posh Montenotte
The age old saga
Of Campbell or Ward
One was a genius
The other our Lord
Flickering embers
Like yarns in the ether
Cacophonous oceans
God’s bodhrán beaters
Clusters of wee folk
In perfect ring forts
Where honey bees enter
Their friends to support
Old men had a dream
Where lads from Kilfeacle
Were dancing a set
With maids of Kilreekill
Cat the folk singer
Turns seventy two
Some songs are happy
Some songs are blue
A perilous fortress
The home of O’Dowd
A castle at Easkey
Stands stubborn and proud.

Slán for now…Sláinte.

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Parnell # Moving statues.

Lapidary lines
On cut Wicklow stone
Parnell and Davitt
Out on their own
Old Metals rail walk
Towards climber’s quarry
Where men of pure iron
Near formed a corrie
We passed Dalkey castle
With it’s flag of three goats
Then down by the harbour
A flotilla of boats
Salts of the earth
Have tumbled like skittles
Novenas and prayers
In Cork’s Ballinspittle
A battle of wits
With Johnny the fox
Lake water gushing
Through gaps in the locks
Potato stalks flower
Above every furrow
Heads of York cabbage
Are sprouting in Durrow
Lovely Kate Bush
And Wuthering Heights
Bold Robin Hood
And the bang off his tights.

Slán for now…Sláinte.

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Wellington, Nelson # Streedagh Strand.

To hear the sweet calls
Of bittern and mallard
Tea on the moon
God’s limestone bollards
The lime tree walk
In St. Stephen’s green
Where bullets once whizzed
In nineteen sixteen
I was offered a Guinness
This wet July day
I entered a shop
That’s decent I’ll say
The fabulous monuments
Of old Dublin Town
Most are still standing
Some have come down
The Duke’s one has lasted
He’s at home here say some
Not like poor Nelson
Who met kingdom come
The souls of brave Spaniards
Fly o’er Streedagh strand
Iberian footprints
Still sunk in the sand
Stacks of new hay
In fields up in Latton
My mother’s grandmother
Grey ridges she flattened.

I’ll be back…Slánte .

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Busking # Bram Stoker.

The sea trickling over
Antrim’s bright shingle
Fungie is leaping
For joy down in Dingle
Home are the trawlers
In old Killybegs
Barefooted children
Go searching for eggs
I was born in a place
Called Baile na nGabhar
Goatstown in English
A treat every hour
Trekking today
Through Dublin’s fair city
We tossed a few coins
When one sang a ditty
Lovely refreshments
Straight from the fridge
Before crossing over
The Halfpenny Bridge
Down by the Dodder
Some chaps playing poker
One was a vampire
A friend of Bram Stoker
To Pakenham Hall
Some day I must go
Where gorgeous Miss Edgeworth
Tied up her bow.

Won’t be long..Sláinte !

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Sail on Big Jack.

John F Kennedy
And a regal-like casket
Whale song and sorrow
Engulfed the great Blasket
Raindrops are rippling
The lakes of Killarney
Moonlight and kisses
Romancing in Blarney
Big Jack has sailed off
To play in the sky
Our hero a legend
For now it’s goodbye
Plush velvet curtains
Gold stitching and tassels
Memories embroidered
Inside Ashford Castle
Stone walls surrounding
Each tower and fort
St Kevin’s bed lying
As spaceships abort
Cú Chulainn stood dying
Tied to a rock
While terrified cowards
Were watching the clock
Dusk in the grave yard
A feast for my eyes
Bats in the night sky
And white butterflies.

Slán for now…Sláinte!

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