The Words are Revealing
Submitted by Jim SloanThe selfless guide who aids all others asked for the words For the words reveal the beautiful but also the unbeautiful The words are revealing Modesty is a shield against the foul of mind Brilliance of word is a secret light on injustice Frankness of word gathers no fear Justice of word is a satisfied gift Humor of word is a healing balm Kindness of word is food for your soul The one who loves to mock is barren in character the exchange of words reveals the hunger and greed in an empty soul A sorrowful desire to obtain the importance lost in life The most brilliant one lifts us up Is a gift with each word and the one sought out for justice The brilliance in the words astound us and draw us nearer Yes The words are revealing Modesty is a shield against the foul of mind Brilliance of word is a secret light on injustice Frankness of word gathers no fear Justice of word is a satisfied gift Humor of word is a healing balm Kindness of word is food for your soul We all are aware, just by the words
My Lemon Tree
Submitted by Duncan
My Lemon tree is pretty
my Lemon line is kind
but my branches of Lemon
they are impossible to find.
My Elizabeth she got married
of that I have no fear
my sweet Lizzie Lemon
she married James McTear My Lemons they were simple
and my Lemons they were wise
but after they were married
it brought McTears to my eyes.
They married in Dundonald
in dear old County Down
one day I will find them
and then no longer frown Other names I look for
that also make me cross
Is Sarah Lemons mother
the maiden name being ROSS
McTears they also hide
as Mary Mctears mother
She was called Whiteside (To the tune of Lemon Tree)
My Brickwall
Submitted by Ruth Ann Johnson, Iowa, USA My ancestors came from both Antrim and Down.
They wore neither sashes nor medals nor crown
Nor cassock nor miter nor armor nor swords
They were not clergy or barons or lords. They sailed before passenger lists were in vogue
And they kept to the rules—not a one was a rogue.
Therefore, they never appeared ‘fore the court.
They just never got in a mess of that sort. Of their life on the Auld Sod seems nothing’s been writ,
And of their travels I know not a bit.
They seem to have transplanted lock, stock, and barrel,
No one saw reason their arrival to herald. Connolly, Clendenin, Turner, and Craig,
Where did you come from? The townland, I beg.
If I could just find one of these on a roll,
I would have to believe I had truly struck gold. But alas and alack, they all remain hidden,
Because none was important enough and they didn’t
Go down in history, recorded for all,
So collectively they all remain my brickwall!
Are you the one I'm seeking?
Submitted by Brigitte Marmion Are you the one I'm seeking?
Are you a part of me?
I search your name in census and I'm overcome with glee.
I scan through the directories in hopes I find you there.
I cherish all the tiny clues that in your life lay bare,
I read through many newspapers and find you to be fair.
I know you were most honorable a fact they all declare.
And when I finally find it, the photo of my prayer,
the face that's staring back at me is the same as mine foursquare.
I'm honored to be part of you now that I'm aware
To be endowed with such good traits and know that I'm the heir.
We Search in Vain
Submitted by Bob Ryan Genealogy Happiness We search in vain
we endure the pain
with the hope of eventual success
Oh what a mess
They are here
they are they
Some are a pair
we moan it’s not fair
onward we go with hope
with a prayer to the pope
we look high and low
for a man named Joe
In the book where we looked
because now we are hooked
Joe is found the pain is gone
we now sing a song of joy
we spread the news
then take a snooze
swear off the booze
and start all over again
From Down to Downunder
Submitted by Gaye Cleeland From Down to Downunder
I can but wonder
What might have enticed them
Away from Kilkeel.
Who mourned their departure?
Were they so heart sure
That what they were doing
Could only be right?
It was in 1840.
Was their leaving so fraught he
Couldn't bear to record it?
We may never know.
Charlotte and William
Left all behind them
For the promise of life
In a bright southern land.
They named their place Springfield.
Was it after the green fields
They had known and loved,
So far away now?
Their sons grew and became men
Daughters too but then
They were orphaned, too early.
A high price to pay.
Their descendents admire
Their courage, their desire
To better their lives,
To risk all, come what may.
A challenge we face
In this daily rat race
Is to stop and remember
To thank them each day.
| Celtic High Crosses of Ulster
– Dal Riata
Submitted by Eric Macklin,
in the great poetic traditions of Swift and TwycrossOf most ancient Eirene, the saga t’is told,
The Celtic Kings, the Chieftain’s stronghold,
Did wed the lands, the Irish seas they sailed
Yet a story blind, the lands are wailed. Ever westward, the Celts, the Druids,
Their beliefs of olde, upon the waters so fluid,
The Scotti, from Armorica, did they traverse,
With ships and Gods, the heavens, the universe. Of Niall of the Nine, his Aileach in high situ,
Of Inishowen their home, the Druid Milchu,
Did rule the fair lands, his fiefdom so extensive.
Their mighty Mounds’n pillars on countless slieves From the Glamourie of the forest did they,
Their followers obey. Then came one fateful day
To the lands so rich, a follower of the Cross
Did avail, to convert the fields, the swakes they toss’d Upon the green hills, the High Stones were,
Removed, and upon them lay the High Cross so fair,
Carved with images of saints, upon plaque and plinth,
The Kings now Bishops new, knew the stonely linth. Did raise for all to see, the mighty Stone Crosses of the Sea
Their stories told, the navigation wheel, there to see,
Top of the Celtic shaft, to inscribe below for eternity
So that all who followed, to search their genealogy. But the tymes do change, the land in their grasp,
The Church of new, the Celtic Church, the Past,
Over the land, the Druids burned, they sought
The High Crosses, magnificent tall, the boss they toss’t In olde scared sites, the Ard Ri Eirene did lay,
Quite amongst their people, they came to but pray,
The Church it raged, and relics of olde they bought,
For cemeteries new, recalcitrant Celts they sought. And so it was, of MacLochlainns, O’Neills was their lot,
High Crosses all from burial sites most sacred were got,
And now is lost, olde sites of Kings of Eirene for’gone,
And here and there, we hear the Land for ‘Lorne. In Marsh and Lake, in Lough and Bog, do they lie
Resting so quietly, and yet, when the Celtic moon is nighe,
And the mysts of tyme, the mists of aire, in our mid’st
Do call us back again, again, the Celtic Crosses are gist. So once again, the High Crosses do come, to March
Amongst us all, to lead, in restoration, the bosses Arch,
From plinth, to shaft, to navigation wheel, so high, did
They find their way home, there they stand resplendid. Did rise, again, for all to see, Mighty Stone Crosses of the Sea
Their stories so told, the navigation wheel, there again to see,
Top of the Celtic shaft, did below inscribe for eternity,
So that all who now follow, to search their genealogy.
Echoes of a Golden Age
Submitted by James Twycross In ancient graveyard places,
In Erin's distant shores,
Stand these silent witnesses,
That speak of days of yore.
A thousand proudly stood,
Where Irish Kings were laid,
To mark their tombs forever good,
These lofty stones were made.
Sentinals in ageless stone
By Celtic hands were fashioned,
High Crosses in old Erin alone,
Symbols of pride and passion.
They stood in tribute at resting places,
Chiselled with biblical glories,
And on a plinth in special spaces,
Recorded names and stories.
Ah but then came vandal man,
Who swarmed across the emerald land,
And hatched a scheme a devious plan,
"High Crosses now my trophies, I demand".
So level and plunder was their fate,
Tossed into sea and nearby lake,
Claimed by Lough and sticky Bog,
Hidden for aeons by water and sod.
Lost now the places where great men lie,
Where hide their Queens we wonder,
Their High Crosses taken and graves foresaken,
By acts of devious plunder.
Deep in Ireland's history past,
From Ard Ri's to Dal Riata,
Treasures lie in mysteries fast,
That echo in the halls of Tara.
Thomas Moore thus once he wrote,
And here below from him I quote.
The harp that once through Tara's halls,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,
So sleeps the pride of former days,
And hearts that once beat high for praise,
No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The chord alone, that breaks the night.
A VERSE FOR FIONA
Submitted by James Twycross Our dear Fiona moved the List,
And raised it's cultural talents,
From minds set upon genealogy's drift,
She stirred poetic Gallants. Lofty words and noble thoughts,
Inspired by genealogy,
Creative Bards set out to court,
Words of immortality. The Topic of Moffitt was a catchy line,
And another Away With The Birds,
Come to the Mountain descriptive and fine,
Profound the Revealing of Words. Limerick Corner, why not a verse,
For Ancestors worthy of Dedication,
A Brickwall in Vain we patiently Search,
I'm Seeking a meeting with You I'll be greeting. Celts were remembered from ages past,
A Lemon Tree got a mention,
Eyes from Downunder were northwards cast,
To Better the List a wiseman's contention. Thanks go to you Fiona Dear
This Lister sends you good Cheer,
I raise my glass of wine or beer,
Certain that others will shout Hear, Hear.
| Come to the Mountains Submitted by Catherine Gibson Come to the mountains When twilight is twisting The limbs of the trees In its shadows like hair Wait for me there! The dark sea is singing O land of my fathers, And Mourne’s hills are fair! This is the song Of the long-lonely stranger Troubled by thoughts Of the land he has left, Wearied and waiting, Exiled in sadness, Forgotten, bereft. Spring brings the wildflowers Flooding the meadows, The oak wood has pungent Dark smells in the fall, Scot’s pine and hazel In summer’s bright season, Now and forever My heart will recall. Pale light through the branches Like soft bursting milkweed Showers the path Through the heath to the hill, Where standing in silence, Alone in my memories I hear in the distance The cry of the red grouse When all else is still. Often in slumber My worn mind will wander— If I return to my home once again Will I, enraptured, Find happiness there? Or did the sorrow That came to my country Leave nothing but pain and despair? But the bright sea is calling O land of my fathers And Mourne's hills are fair.
LIMERICK CORNER why not add a verse? There once was a Mailing LIST Whose members occasionally hissed. We don’t like this topic So why don’t you stop it? Then we can go and get p*s*ed! ANON
There once was a young man from Down
Who proved to be such a clown
He wrote all in verse
But sometimes was terse
And now we compete for renown!
Love Ogden Nash limericks:
When called by a Panther
Don't Anther! Wendy
The Topic of Moffitt
Submitted by Christine The topic of Moffitt is plain.
To Ireland he went to wed Jane.
Her family, Pickering no doubt would be bickering to see
my lack of refrain. From Scotland to Ireland Down
To Scotia a new life was found.
Twas Ireland's assist for a marriage of bliss
and fuel for adventure abound.
Away with the Birds
Submitted by Leith Friend Who started this darn poetry comp ?
With all and sundry having a romp
I tried to avoid it and not pay heed
But couldn't resist so followed the lead The first of the limericks then came along Oh no I thought, I must be strong I must not start or I will go on forever And my tree will languish while I am trying to be clever So please call a halt to this fun-filled task That surely is not too much to ask I have no resistance - like a runaway train These words just spill out like unleashed rain The family are yawning
On them it is dawning
If they change the timing
It might stop the rhyming They need to take action, make moves it is plain A hit on the head may restart the brain !
But Granny is crafty - she's away with the birds All she can think of is four letter words
To Ancestors, A Dedication I wrote it to share with my grandchildren in family history books I was preparing them as a dedication page. Again, if it is useful to you please feel free to post or share it and modify it to fit your needs. Please acknowledge it if used as an adaptation of mine
- Judy O'Hare McKeon
Long ago and far away,
perhaps in Ireland one fine day
Or Hungary, Prussia. the USA
Some folks in their special way
Helped to shape who you are today.
For you have gained from where they lived
And what they did and why.
Maybe you have them to thank
For that twinkle in your eye.
Of course you do not know them,
They are not here today.
But remember that they helped you
Once along your way.
They gave you genes of DNA,
Bright eyes of blue or brown or gray,
Talents with which you work and play,
And even ways in which you pray.
So let us say thanks for all who came
Upon this earth and help us share
This time in which we live and love
Let’s let them know we care.
A cheer from us to all of them
Who, because they came before,
Have made it possible for us now here
To love forever more.
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