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J P O'Driscoll

of

Cork, Ireland, Ireland

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Lost Youth

by

J P O'Driscoll

Within my breast i hold a memory fresh,
Of youthful days all past,
Alas, how wretched is the tick of time.
How once I moved in fleetfooted grace and poise,
Where now tis weary bones that pave the way,
No more that fountain fresh shall spring with joy,
Cruel time that wretched time has taken toll.


Yeatsland

by

J P O'Driscoll

So you'll take me to a higher place,
Away, far away from the dismal science,
Away from the human world,
Thats full of greed and full of woe.
You weave your spell of magic words,
And tell me of this pagan place,
where life is full and there is no woe.

I am but a human child,
Whose eyes are sore from weeping,
So take my hand and let us go,
To that pagan land where there is no woe,
To where fairies dance and there's merry-making.
So please, please take this human child,
To the woods and waters wild.

The Warrior Way's

by

J P O'Driscoll

I am Conal, a warrior of the Clan,
full grown, now strong and noble of birth,
proud to be among the men, having served my years to the warrior ways. From among the maidens of the Clan a good wife I will take and make my vows before the World, to honour and love her, her and no other, all the days and all the years, till my eyes are filled with clay. I will mix the charcoal and the fat and bathe her in the Fulacht Fia. A great lodge I shall build for her, to set her free from fear. Fine sons she will bear for me, lithe proud and leathery, ready to follow in the warrior ways!
. So say I Conal great warrior and master of the warrior ways.

The Golden Glory

by

J P O'Driscoll

Soft snows no longer linger,
Hard frosts have had their day,
Sleeping mother nature stirs,
Yes, Spring is on the way.
Full blossom on the trees abound,
The crocus lifts its head,
The gloriously, triumphantly,
Daffs in your garden bed.
Their trumpets play sweet music,
So pleasing to the ear,
It's the sound that gladdens all our hearts,
Yes Spring is in the air.
In park and glen and meadow,
In window boxes too,
In every nook and hollow,
The daffodils golden hue.
So praise the golden glory,
on near and far off hill,
For the grandest sight in all the world,
The Spring and daffodil.

Satans Army

by

J P O'Driscoll

In black and tan
they rode the night.
with bayonets red
their right was might,
torched the city,
raised a storm,
of flame and smoke,
the fires of hell.

With reason gone,
replaced by fear,
Satan's army
now lived there.
They cursed the dark,
"we'll have some light,
we'll set Cork City all alight".

And through the storm
of smoke and flame,
the Tan's cried out,
"we'll get no blame,
for silk laced words
from number ten,
will claim that we
are royal men".

Pillars of flame
marched on the sky,
a crimson midnight
dawn was nigh,
then a church pealed out
a requiem bell,
For Christ had fled,
the carnage of hell.

Patrick Street's a ghastly sight,
the City Hall is glowing bright,
bullets of spark
shot through the air,
the tans all raised
a frenzied cheer,
"we'll have our fill
of fire and brim
and feel content,
with flame and gin".

And they danced and sang
and revelled all night
and drank their fill
till the morning light.

THEN THE NAZERINE WEPT
AT SATAN'S TRIUMPH
IN THE ASHES
OF THE MORROW.

The Farrier

by

J P O'Driscoll

Anvil hammer,anvil hammer,
clang clang, the hammer rolls
metal shaped by a hand of gold.

Whoosh whoosh, the bellows blows,
cokes are stoked and the fire glows.
Anneal the metal in the fire,
no hardness test,the blacksmith knows.
Neigh neigh, the horse does start,
hoof held high and pared to shape.

Clang clang, the hammer rolls,
metal shaped by a hand of gold.

Hiss hiss, heat meets hoof,
nails banged in and cut to finish,
grate grate, the file does run,
smooth as silk, the job is done.

Clang clang, the hammer rolls,
metal shaped by a hand of gold.

Dawn

by

J P O'Driscoll

In comes the dawn
and sweeps the dark of night.
Round cauldrons warlocks cries
are stripped of might.
From trees the birds
announce the coming day.
From dwellings frisky hounds
are heard to bay.
All's dawn and now another day,
is upon us for to weave our way,
on life's ocean's stormy crest,
until the Lord calls us to rest.

The Lost Jewel

by

J P O'Driscoll

So now you lie neath Bulbens brow,
serene in your bed of clay,
content to rest and sleep in peace,
though a horseman passed by this day.
But hear the horde o banshee wail,
round Sligo's restless shores,
they scream and keen with grief for the thief,
who stole the jewel from Ireland's crown.

Aye, but you'll pay
and be held to account on judgement day,
for the foul deed you've done,
to demise and go and leave us bereft,
of the jewel from Ireland's crown.

Tis hallowed now is Bulbens ground
and hallowed too is Lissadel,
whose walls once rang with laughter and song
and you danced at night with a young Gazelle.
Now the quill is stopped,
the pages blank,
no more gems from the jewel from Ireland's crown.

Aye, but you'll pay
and be held to account on judgement day,
for the foul deed you've done,
to demise and go and leave us bereft,
of the jewel from Ireland's crown.

The Warrior Way's

by

J P O'Driscoll

I am Conal, a warrior of the clan.
Full grown, now strong and noble of birth,
proud to be among the men,
having served my years to the warrior ways.
From among the maidens of the clan,
a good wife I will take
and make my vows before the world,
to honour and love her, her and no other,
all the days and all the years,
till my eyes are filled with clay.
I will mix the charcoal and the fat
and bathe her in the Fulacht Fia.
A great lodge I shall build for her,
to set her free from fear.
Fine sons she will bear for me,
lithe, proud and leathery,
ready to follow in the warrior ways.
So say I Conal, great warrior
and master of the warrior ways.