Best Poems From
The Ballad Of Dan Magee
Times were hard and he was poor
In his small farm beside the moor
But he was happy and carefree
The poor, poor farmer Dan Magee.
He kept six cows, two goats and ten sheep
And chestnut brood mare bred to leap
And his favourite creature of the farm
His black and white collie dog named Charm.
With twenty nine acres of ground
The poorest man for miles around
The crofter farmer from Mulree
Lived on the verge of poverty.
And worse for him his farm was wet
And he had to live by his own sweat
He sunk drain with shovel in hand
For to take the water from his land.
But all his hard work, sweat and toil
To Dan Magee seemed worth his his while
Shovelling white mud from soggy drain
To him did not seem work in vain.
And the reason for his happy life
Was Rosaleen his beloved wife
His gentle lady kind and fair
With sloe blue eyes and raven hair.
A pleasant woman and serene
Was the delightful Rosaleen
A well bred lady of good stock
Was the farmer's daughter from Castlerock.
They first met on the Ballroom floor
In the dance hall at Rockamore
One warm and tranquil Summer night
And for them both it was love at first night.
And after the dance on that night in June
Under the lamp of Summer moon
He stole that first memorable kiss
From Rosaleen his blushing Miss.
He loved her and she loved him true
And their love for one another grew
And true, true love love transcend all joy
And love sweet memory never die.
Dan took sweet Rosaleen for spouse
And brought her to live with him in cottage house,
A little cottage by Mulree heath
On land his uncle to him did bequeath.
A present to Dan in his will
From late batchelor uncle Bill
His cottage and farm and all he had
From Bill the brother of his dad.
The land was wet and Dan worked hard
He drained his farm, yard by yard
From blocked up drains he shovelled mud
For to shape a better livelihood.
And Dan felt happy with his lot
Quite satisfied with what he'd got
He had his wife his dearest friend
The one on whom he could depend.
They'd been wed three years and then one day
His Rosie came to him to say
That he'd be a father by the Spring
And that good news had joyful ring.
And little then was he to know
That happiness for him would turn to woe
That in less than a month his wife would be
Lying in cold grave in cemetery.
His slated cottage went on fire
Whilst he was milking cows in byre
He heard a frightened woman scream
The dying cries of his Rosaleen.
He tried to reach her through the smoke
But heat and fumes caused him to choke
He tried to reach her tried and tried
But by smoke and flames he was denied.
Flames seemed to touch the very sky
An awesome sight to human eye
The burning smell and the burning sound
And the black smoke seen for miles around.
Towards the burning house some locals ran
For to lend a help to neighbour Dan
But all too late the killer flame
Had human victim to it's name.
And Dan hard hit by shock and grief
Stood trembling like a windblown leaf
Like punished child he wept and wept
Whilst wild flames through his cottage swept.
Since that day he's lived without hope
He's sliding down life's losers slope
He doesn't have the strength of mind
To put the tragic past behind.
He sold his beasts at clearance sale
And sold his land at Mulree vale
And took to wandering on the road
To life of the no fixed abode.
Dan lives in lingering depressed mood
And pines in his own solitude
A hopeless case on suicide brink
Addicted to alcoholic drink.
He's roamed the country up and down
From place to place and town to town
He's wandered near and wandered far
And drunk in many an inn and bar.
He looks the very worst for wear
With gray and grimy uncombed hair
A wrinkled man in shabby dress
He looks the part of hopelessness.
An alcoholic roam about
Unhappy and down in the mouth
For mid age man he looks quite old
From sleeping rough in damp and cold.
And his misery caused by the death
Of the one that he cannot forget
His Rosaleen his beloved wife
So true and dear to him in life.
The Ballad Of Rose O Shea
She lived with her blind mother beside a purling stream
In their little white washed cottage in the Valley of Rosheen
Her hair as dark as raven's wing and her eyes blue as ripened sloes
The sightless widow's only child the lovely maid named Rose.
Her blind and bedridden mother of chronic cancer died
And she sold the little white washed cot in Rosheen country side
And she left the green vale of Rosheen and Rosheen bogland brown
And sailed across the Irish sea for to live in London Town.
She settled in to City life this sweet Irish colleen
And she grew used to London traffic and the bustling city scene
She worked and saved some money and she earned her livelihood
As a bar maid in a bar room in London's Cricklewood.
It was here she met the man she loved the man she was to wed
An English son of an Irishman a red haired chap named Fred
And on a blustery morn in March a rainy saturday
Miss Rose Reen from Rosheen became Mrs Rose O Shea.
Ah but Fred he was a wild one a wild, wild man was he
He liked his drink and women and he spent his money free
He liked whiskey and women and was unfaithful to his wife
And he proved unsuited for marriage and the married way of life.
In a London hospital maternity ward on a pleasant August morn
A baby son to Rose O Shea and her husband Fred was born
And Rose was now a mother and Fred he was a dad
And Freddy junior was the name they gave the little lad.
But the added responsibility did not reform Fred Shea
And in the bar rooms at the weekends he still spent most of his pay
He had grown tired of his wife Rose like a bored child with his toy
And he showed very little interest in his little baby boy.
Fred found himself a new love a sexy little miss
And his relationship with her went further than a kiss
He walked out on his Irish wife and his young baby son
And he went to live with his new love his golden haired loved one.
The dark haired female from Rosheen erred in her marriage choice
And for her costly error she paid a heartbreak price
She took her son to orphan home with aching breaking heart
And with her blue eyed six months baby boy a tearful Rose did part.
In life it's very easy lose and very hard to win
And women often times suffer at the hands of callous men
And some women forced to part with their young babe like Mrs Rose O Shea
And for some life's a punishment or so 'twould seem that way.
The Ballad Of Willie Pat
I will tell to you a story as the story was told to me
About a man who lived in Darwin in Australia's Northern Territory
He was born and raised in Ireland a true blooded Irishman
And the noble blood of Munster through his big and brave heart ran.
He was hark back to Ned Kelly with long black beard and long black hair
Six foot four and weighing sixteen stone he was hard but always fair
He was man of strength and muscle on him not one ounce of fat
And he was much loved in Darwin the likeable Willie Pat.
He worked in town and bushland from laying pipes to jackaroo
And the more that came to know him the more popular he grew
And though he was never troublemaker he'd not back out of a fight
As he proved to all in Darwin on a humid july night.
In a Darwin mid town tavern stomping ground of 'Bulldog blue'
The bully boy of Darwin and a cruel hearted one too
Six foot eight and weighing eighteen stone he had earned his ill renown
As the greatest ever rowdy ever raised in Darwin Town.
Yes the bulldog was a blaghguard and the liquor drove him wild
And he'd done a stretch in prison for punching a twelve year child
He could pick on anybody if he did not like their look
And he'd dropp them without warning with his vicious right hand hook.
The most hated man in Darwin was the bully bulldog boy
And to say he had not one friend would not be a barefaced lie
He was far to much a rowdy and too proud he was so strong
And had hurted far too many who had never done him wrong.
The bulldog was on the batter and he was in fighting mood
And as usual he was boisterous and mouthing loud and rude
And from his side of the bar room people quietly moved away
But Willie Pat the Irishman was the one who chose to stay.
The bulldog approached the Irishman and called him names like lout
And Irish swine and gutless dog and for fight offered him out
And the Irishman he left his stool and walked across the floor
And beckoned to the bully boy to step outside the door.
And the bully boy he followed him out and so did all of those in the bar
To watch the local rowdy take on the one from Land afar
And for once the patriotic Aussies buried their Aussie pride
And the Irishman he had the hopes of Darwin on his side.
The Bulldog blue from Darwin with the instincts of the brute
Was first to draw he lashed out with his vicious right side
But the Irishman proved far too quick he gave the boot the slip
And to Bulldog's unprotected jaw a left hand hook did rip.
The Bulldog toppled backwards and like a log hit the ground
To a huge roar of approval from those gathered around
And he was down and he was out and it only took one blow
From the macho man from Ireland to lay the giant low
The bearded man had triumphed he had truly won the day
To a huge roar of approval a massive hip hooray
In a moment of excitement he had won himself renown
And was shouldered like a hero through the streets of Darwin Town.
Six months later down near Sydney Willie Pat worked on Pipeline
On the second week in january a day of hot sunshine
He was jackhammering hard rock at bottom of shallow trench
When in his uncovered right side arm he felt a prickly pinch
He'd been bitten by funnel web spider and little did he know
That this tiny furtive creature to mankind is fatal foe
Within minutes he lay dying from bite destined to kill
And was discovered two hours later way beyond help 'pulses still'
He was strong and powerful fellow with the best he could compete
And he'd felled a giant in Darwin on a Darwin mid town street
But he was found near Sydney at trench bottom ghostly white
And all it took to kill him was a little spider's bite.
The Band Was Playing
The band was playing 'For Auld Lang Syne' and tears were in his eyes
And he felt far so far away midst all the joyous noise
He visualized the by gone days the seconds counted down
And they were singing Auld Lang Syne back home in Glasgow Town.
For Auld Lang Syne, For Auld Lang Syne by Scotland's best
One of the very famous songs that Robert Burns wrote
In every Land around the World in every different tongue
The new year's anthem 'Auld Lang Syne' in every Country sung
The band was playing For Auld Lang Syne a beer can in his hand
And he was back in Glasgow Town back home in old Scotland
The music took him down the years back to the long ago
On new year's eve out on the town with kenny, Jock and Joe.
The woman standing next to him gave him a warm embrace
And there was laughter in her eyes and joy upon her face
A happy new year to you sir may all your dreams come true
May you be healthy, wealthy, wise and may God be with you.
At 12 a.m. the banners waved and the new year fanfare blew
And old year dead and buried now and welcome in the new
And greetings rung around the town happy new year to you
And people danced around the street and Jock was dancing too.