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A Thread For Talking About Irish Things


Laudate_Dominum

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Have any of you guys heard the song Four green fields.!!!!

It is a totally cool irish song. I love being Irish.

-IG-

YES! i love that one. Check page 3 of this thread!

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if anybody's interested, they have some really nice ecards here for St. Patrick's day, complete with music and irish blessings and such.

enjoy

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cmotherofpirl

On EWTN this week.

Remember you can watch ewtn on your computer.

THE EDGE OF EUROPE (60:00)

As the early Christian monks migrated to Ireland over 1500 years ago, they moved away from the Kerry coast and in-land to the most remote areas in the Irish countryside. This documentary examines the lives of the monks, the history of each monastery, and their perseverance despite the many struggles they endured. The monasteries of Skellig Michael, Ballinskelligs Abbey, and Cill Reilig are some of the world's most famous heritage site in Ireland.

Saturday

March 6, 2004

8:00 PM

Tuesday

March 9, 2004

3:00 AM

Thursday

March 11, 2004

1:00 PM

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On EWTN this week.

Remember you can watch ewtn on your computer.

THE EDGE OF EUROPE (60:00)

As the early Christian monks migrated to Ireland over 1500 years ago, they moved away from the Kerry coast and in-land to the most remote areas in the Irish countryside. This documentary examines the lives of the monks, the history of each monastery, and their perseverance despite the many struggles they endured. The monasteries of Skellig Michael, Ballinskelligs Abbey, and Cill Reilig are some of the world's most famous heritage site in Ireland.

Saturday

March 6, 2004

8:00 PM

Tuesday

March 9, 2004

3:00 AM

Thursday

March 11, 2004

1:00 PM

COOL!!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks, cmom....i'll have to find a way to watch it online.... :D

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Laudate_Dominum

Kiltartan Legend


Penelope pulls home
Rogue-lord, artist, world wanderer,
Simply by sitting in a house,
It's sturdy genious;
Of all sirens the most dangerous.

She'll sit them out,
The curious wonders, the ventriloquial voices,
Spacious landfalls, the women, bed in the blue;
Her oceanography
The garden pond, her compass a knitting needle.

The arc-lamped earth, she knows,
Will burn away and she
Still potter among her flowers waiting for him;
Apollo runs before
Touching the blossoms, her unborn sons.

Knitting, unknitting at the half heard
Music of her tapestry, afraid
Of the sunburned body, the organs, the red beard
Of the unshipped mighty male
Home from the fairy tale;

Providing for him
All that's left of her she ties and knots
Threads everywhere; the luminous house
Must hold and will
Her trying warlord home.

Will she know him?
Dignity begs the question that must follow.
She bends to the web where her lord's face
Glitters but has no fellow
And humbly, or most royally, adds her own.

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Laudate_Dominum

[b]Shancoduff[/b]

My black hills have never seen the sun rising,
Eternally they look north towards Armagh.
Lot's wife would not be salt if she had been
Incurious as my black hills that are happy
When dawn whitens Glassdrummond chapel.

My hills hoard the bright shillings of March
While the sun searches in every pocket.
They are my Alps and I have climbed the Matterhorn
With a sheaf of hay for three perishing calves
In the field under the Big Forth of Rocksavage.

The sleety winds fondle the rushy beards of Shancoduff
While the cattle-drovers sheltering in the Featherna Bush
Look up and say: "Who owns them hungry hills
That the water-hen and snipe must have forsaken?
A poet? Then by heavens he must be poor."
I hear and is my heart not badly shaken?

[b]Stony Grey Soil[/b]


O stony grey soil of Monaghan
The laugh from my love you thieved;
You took the the gay child of my passion
And gave me your clod-conceived.

You clogged the feet of my boyhood
And I believed that my stumble
Had the poise and stride of Apollo
And his voice my thick-tongued mumble.

You told me the plough was immortal!
O green-life-conquering plough!
Your mandril strained, your coulter blunted
In the smooth lea-field of my brow.

You sang on steaming dunghills
A song of coward's brood,
You perfumed my clothes with weasel itch,
You fed me on swinish food.

You flung a ditch on my vision
Of beauty, love and truth.
O stony grey soil of Monaghan
You burgled my bank of youth!

Lost the long hours of pleasure
All the women that love young men.
O can I still stroke the monster's back
Or write with unpoisened pen

His name in these lonely verses
Or mention the dark fields where
The first gay flight of my lyric
Got caught in a peasant's prayer.

Mullahinsha, Drummeril, Black Shanco -
Wherever I turn I see
In the stony grey soil of Monaghan
Dead loves that were born for me.

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cmotherofpirl

[url="http://www.dobhran.com/greetings/GRinspire152.htm"]http://www.dobhran.com/greetings/GRinspire152.htm[/url]

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That's so cool cmom!

Here's another Irish thought for the day:

[b]A family of Irish birth will argue and fight,
but let a shout come from without,
and see them all unite.[/b]

:knockout: :group: :hearts:

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