‘The Dear Little Shamrock of Ireland’by John William Cherry

‘The Dear Little Shamrock of Ireland’ by John William Cherry There’s a dear little plant that grows on our isle. ‘Twas St. Patrick himself that sure set it; and the sun on his labour with pleasure did smile, and with dew from his eye often wet it. It shines thro’ the bog. Thro’ the brake […]

Read More

‘The Dear Little Shamrock of Ireland’by John William Cherry

‘The Dear Little Shamrock of Ireland’ by John William Cherry There’s a dear little plant that grows on our isle. ‘Twas St. Patrick himself that sure set it; and the sun on his labour with pleasure did smile, and with dew from his eye often wet it. It shines thro’ the bog. Thro’ the brake […]

Read More

‘The Dear Little Shamrock of Ireland’by John William Cherry

‘The Dear Little Shamrock of Ireland’ by John William Cherry There’s a dear little plant that grows on our isle. ‘Twas St. Patrick himself that sure set it; and the sun on his labour with pleasure did smile, and with dew from his eye often wet it. It shines thro’ the bog. Thro’ the brake […]

Read More

‘Arlene’s Anthem’ © Joe Canning 2018. All Rights Reserved.

‘Arlene’s Anthem’ [To be sung to the air of the Wild Rover] (Seósamh Ó Ceannáinn) © Joe Canning 2018. All Rights Reserved. I’ve been DUP leader for quite a few years, My electorate’s ragin’ and holding their ears I told Patrick Kielty on TV one night That a United Ireland would put me to flight And […]

Read More

‘The Dear Little Shamrock of Ireland’ by John William Cherry

‘The Dear Little Shamrock of Ireland’ by John William Cherry There’s a dear little plant that grows on our isle. ‘Twas St. Patrick himself that sure set it; and the sun on his labour with pleasure did smile, and with dew from his eye often wet it. It shines thro’ the bog. Thro’ the brake […]

Read More

‘Martha’s Final Teardrop’ © Joe Canning 2018. All Rights Reserved.

‘Martha’s Final Teardrop’ © Joe Canning 2018. All Rights Reserved. In a cold room of whispering lips, A small glint of sunlight dressed her face. Like a heavenly ray it brought colour to her Frail and wasted anaemic cheekbones. She used to scold us for calling her Martha. ‘I’m your mother and never forget that’. […]

Read More