Tribute to John Denver

A tribute to John Denver

His Music gave me great pleasure

SUN ON MY SHOULDER

A friend has died, I’ve never met
Though he was close, I can’t forget
The pleasure in his company
His words, set my spirit free.

He sang to me, yes me alone
His songs he sang, there in my home
In the quiet moments, when I was down
He would lift my heart again.

His voice has reached in to my dreams
And turned dark clouds, into sunbeams
As country roads, I’ve walked along
Humming, sunshine and Annie’s song.

He’s travelled with me through the years
Calmed my anger, eased all my fears
We’ve climbed the rocky mountain high
Explored the oceans, and watched the eagles fly.

I’ve laughed with him, I’ve even cried
He helped me when my father died
He’ll help me yet, as time goes on
John Denver, now he’s gone.

B M F

Let the Poet Within

Let The Poet Within

I wrote this to inspire and encourage a friend, she now inspires me.

Catch her at www.margaretsagri.blogspot.com

Let the poet within
Through your Heart and Soul, Speak to Mankind
Let your feelings pour forth, your truth
The world as you find
Let your inner vision
Give life to the imagination of those with the ear
For Poetry is your emotion, your heart
In words, to those who can hear.

bmf

Irish Welcome

Cead Mile Failte

A Hundred Thousand Welcomes

There's nothing like an Irish Welcome, though you may need search a bit nowadays

but if you're Irish there's nothing like going home

Irish Welcome

Welcome home, to the green fields of Erin
Welcome home, on the wings of a Dove
Welcome home, to the land where your heart lies
Welcome home, to the country you love.

Welcome home, to the bosom of your family
Welcome, to the home of your friends
Welcome home, to the soil that gave birth to you
Ireland, the welcome that never ends.

BMF

Poetry Emotion (Ireland)

Ireland, being Irish is more than just being born in a Country or belonging to a certain race. Being Irish is a state of mind imprinted in your heart and Soul. With Ireland’s Sad and Turbulent past just to see a picture of a green valley or hillside, to hear a sad Lament on the Whistle or Pipes will tear at an Irish Man’s Heart.

Celtic Spirit

My spirit trod this ancient land
Ten thousand years ago
I feel my bare feet in her sand
As I watch her rivers flow
Her mountain tops in misty shrouds
Or in her valley’s green
Her past is hidden in those clouds
Deep in my soul, it’s seen.

I can’t explain what draws me to
My rain drenched, bog land home
Or fills me with emotions, new
As through the world I roam
Why her music, touched my heart
Her piper, reached my soul
Her haunted melodies are a part
Of the Celtic memories, role.

To hear the legend’s of a glorious past
When Ossian and Cuchullain, lived to fight
Finn and his Fianna’s lives were cast
Against the might of Ulster’s, Red Branch Knight
As Europe faced its darkest hour
And barbarian hoards put civilisation to flight
From each Monastery and tall round tower
Our land of Saints and Scholars shone the light.

When Irishmen, with every Country fought
To light the torch of freedom through those lands
France and the Americas dreams were caught
And guided to fulfilment in their hands
Yet every Irish soldier fought and knew
That each blow he struck, wasn’t struck in vain
For Irelands enemies, one day would get their due
Their Kings and Queens their world no longer reign.

And yet today, when millions throughout the world
Sing her songs of freedom, and wear the green
As St Patrick’s flag, amongst us is unfurled
We drink her health, dare to dream the dream
That one day we’ll be, a nation once again
In a free, united Ireland, the Orange and the Green
All proud to call ourselves, true Irish Men
I pray to God. That day will soon be seen

BMF

The Irish Potato Famine 1845-1850

In Memory of close on Two Million Men, Women and Children who died

of Starvation and Disease as food and crops were being exported from Ireland under armed Guard

An GORTA MOR
The Great Hunger/Famine
As I sat beside the grave stone
In a roofless church somewhere
I heard a feint cry from beyond
A child’s voice, I could here
I stood awhile, then I said
What are you crying for
The answer, feint, so hard to hear
The words, “An Gorta Mor










I stood and watched, my heart so tense
As from the shadows, crawled
A child, so frail in ragged clothes
Some words, she feebly called
I went and knelt beside her there
“What are you crying for”
And put my ear, her words to hear
She cried “An Gorta Mor”.
















“Mary, Mary” A voice called out
And from the shadows came
A Mother knelt in sorrow
Her appearance was the same
She held the girl there in her arms
Her feet, looked bloodied, sore
I looked, in her eyes of sadness
Her words “An Gorta Mor”.

The Father stood in silence then
And put his dead son down
To take his wife unto his breast
With a scream, he cursed “The Crown”
He died then with his family
But his last words, just before
“God save Ireland from the Crown”
And “An Gorta Mor”.

B M F

May the Lord Have Mercy on Their Souls