Poems & Songs by John Keogh ARD FILE na hEIREANN. The Irish name Keogh is derived from a number of native Gaelic MacEochaidh Septs that were located in Counties Tipperary, Roscommon and Wicklow. It is in these Counties that the majority of descendants can still be found. Ballymackeogh in Tipperary and Keoghs country in Roscommon are placenames they established. Keogh, including Kehoe and Mac Keogh, almost equally common forms of the same Irish surname - Mac Eochaidh - just misses a place in the hundred most numerous names in Ireland. It is chiefly found in the province of Leinster, the spelling Kehoe being usual in Co. Wexford. The present Irish spelling of this name is MacEochaibh. Formerly in Munster it was MacCeoch or Mac Ceoch which was retained while Gaelic survived there as the vernacular. Outside Leinster Mac Keoghs are mainly located in the neighborhood of Limerick; the place name Ballmackeogh is in Co. Tipperary a few miles from that city. This was the homeland of one of the three distinct septs of Mac Keoghs. The second was in the Ui Maine group. Their eponymous ancestor was Eochaidh O'Kelly; they were lords of Magh Finn and their territory of Moyfinn in the barony of Athlone, Co. Roscommon, long known as Keogh's Country, was popularly so-called even in quite recent times. The place Keoghville in the parish of Taghmaconnell took its name from them. The third and historically the most important sept were the Mac Keoghs of Leinster. These are of the same stock as the O'Byrnes and were hereditary bards to that great family. With them they migrated in early mediaeval times from north Kildare to Co. Wicklow, whence they spread later to Co. Wexford. The Four Masters describe Maolmuire Mac Keogh as chief professor of poetry in Leinster in 1534, and several fine poets of the name are cited by Douglas Hyde in his Literary History of Ireland.
It is on the basis of the highlighted portions of the above text that I claim the title of ARD FILE na hEIREANN.(High Bard of Ireland) since there appears to be no other claimant to the title.
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Souvenir of Ireland.
Some day you’ll come over to
Ireland, And you’ll say, ‘’It’s so nice over
here.’’ You’ll go into a little emporium, To purchase a small souvenir.
You find one that reminds you of
Dublin, Of Cork, or maybe Clonmel. With a wee leprechaun & a
shamrock, And a harp & St. Patrick as
well.
Then you turn it up & you look
on the bottom, And in Gaelic words that you don’t
understand, You see ‘’An Tseapan Tir
Adheanta’’, Which means it was made in Japan!
John Keogh, ARD FILE na hEIREANN. Return To The Foyle. A sequel to "Hometown on the Foyle" ‘Twas many years ago I left my homeland, To travel halfway ‘round the earth. But I never thought to ere fulfill the yearning, To return to the land of my birth.
But now I’m aboard the Qantas airplane, Heading back for many miles across the sea. To the land I left behind with teardrops falling, To the place that’s been forever calling me.
Once more, I’ll see the spire of St. Eugenes, Standing there, so stark against the sky. And once more, I’ll feel the teardops falling, For it’s enough to make a grown man cry!
Perhaps then I’ll see my old comrades, The ones I was so sad to leave behind. I’ll be once more with my dear family, The ones that I recall are good and kind.
I’ll hear again familiar surnames, Like Murphy, Ryan, Doherty and Coyle. And, at last, I will have fulfilled my yearning, To return to my old hometown on the Foyle!
John Keogh. 29th November 2012.
The Arabs, They Got All The Oil.
You may talk of the “Luck Of The Irish” And our emblem, the little trefoil, So how is it we got the praties, And the Arabs, they got all the oil?
In our land that is known as Hibernia, Sure, we’ve got remarkable soil, But while all we get is a hernia, The Arabs, they get all the oil.
Many Paddies went over to England, For McAlpine and Wimpey to toil, To dig canals there and build all the roadways, While the Arabs, they got all the oil.
To counter this awful injustice, We need a powerful foil, So, while we Paddies still have our Guinness, The Arabs know what to do with their oil!
John Keogh, ARD FILE na hEIREANN. 15th May 2011
The Toe Ladies
Poor Johnny Keogh had a sore toe So to Coalville Hospital Johnny did go. Where Gabriella & Sue, said "We know what to do. Just tell us John, is it one toe or two?"
Johnny then quoth, "You’d better do both. For to suffer more pain, I surely am loath." Then Gaby & Sue, in a minute or two, Had sorted the toes where the naughty nails grew.
Now thanks to these ladies, so kind & so sweet, Poor old Johnny’s tootsies, are tidy & neat.
John Keogh, 15th December 2011.
The Day They Chose A Mascot For Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
One day, Slattery decided to appoint a mascot soon, To go ahead of his brave lads, The Slattery’s Light Dragoons. So he put a public notice in papers everywhere, And addressed it to all creatures from goat to grizzly bear. Well, he got lots of answers to the advert that he’d put, To be the chosen mascot for The Slattery’s Mounted Fut.
So down they came in hundreds, led by loafers and poltroons, Four and twenty wallabies and a couple of stout baboons. Playin’ on the big bass drum, accompanied by bassoons, The day they chose a mascot, sure, for Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
When Slattery caught sight of them, his heart it swelled with pride, Says he, “The name of The Light Dragoons, no-one ever can deride!” So he put on his uniform and his Regimental Coat, And drove up in a jaunting car pulled by McGinty’s goat. Up along beside him, sure now, adding to his fame, Mick the Marmaliser and Delaney’s Donkey came.
So down they came in hundreds, led by loafers and poltroons, Four and twenty wallabies and a couple of stout baboons. Playin’ on the big bass drum, accompanied by bassoons, The day they chose a mascot, sure, for Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
When they’d finished their paradin’ and swaggerin’ about, Slattery declared, “ My Lads, it’s time to sort them out.” So they all lined up in front of him, waitin’ to be picked, They disqualified the donkey, for Slattery he’d kicked. Finally they chose one, and declared the contest fair, The one they chose as mascot, sure was the famous Yogi Bear!
So down they came in hundreds, led by loafers and poltroons, Four and twenty wallabies and a couple of stout baboons. Playin’ on the big bass drum, accompanied by bassoons, The day they chose a mascot, sure, for Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
Are Ye Right, There, Martin?
You’ll have heard of a singer called Maxi, A girl with a certain appeal. But you can bet she never rode in a taxi, With Martin Dardis at the wheel.
For Martin would surely have asked her, To find out just how she might feel, Would she come to his bar in the evening, For a bit of a jig and a reel.
Are ye right there, Martin, are ye right? D’ye think that maybe she’ll turn up tonight? In her glory, ye’ll be baskin’ So there’ll be no harm in askin’ For she might now, Martin, so she might!
I believe she can be heard on the wireless, And she also appears on TV. In her work for UNICEF, she is tireless, Sure, she barely has time for her tea!
She interviews so many people, But she’s never yet interviewed me! But if the day ever comes when I meet her, Sure now, it’s maybe then that we’ll see!
Are ye right there, Martin, are ye right? So if ye should chance to meet her any night, Could ye tell her about me? There’s no reason for to doubt me, For she might now, Martin, so she might!
McDonald’s
Oh! Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that’s goin’ ‘round? Sure, they’ve opened a McDonald’s in the heart of Dublin Town. If you go down O’Connell Street, sure, you won’t believe your eyes, For eight euros & fifteen cents, you get a Big Mac and fries! Another euro ninety five, you can have a Coke. By the time you leave McDonald’s, sure now, you’ll be stony broke!
The Craic.
My name is Martin Dardis and I come fom Paddy’s Land, By day, I drive a taxicab, by night I’m in a band. I live in dear ould Dublin Town, in a place known as North Swords, And I also have a website, where I teach guitar chords.
I had a hundred thousand jobs before joinin’ “The Brigade,” I suppose that you could say I was a Jackeen of all trades. But now I’ve settled down to playin’ my guitar, And workin’ as a Jarvey in my ould taxi car.
The outfit that I play in is The Fingal Brigade, And when we play in Dublin’s bars, we don’t drink lemonade! Oh, no, ‘tis Liffey Water that we’ll be quaffin’ down, You can bet your life, the Craic is great in the bars of Dublin town!
How are things in Wagga Wagga?
How are things in Wagga Wagga? Is the Murrumbidgee driftin’ by? Does it still run down to Yarragundy, Having come from Gundagai?
How are things in Wagga Wagga? Is that billabong still lying there? Does that swaggy drop his heavy pack, Down from off his back? And does he curse and swear, To find no jumbuck there?
And so I ask each lonely gum tree, And each creek along the way, From Yanco and Burrabogie down to Hay, How are things in Wagga Wagga? This fine day?
The Blazer.
One day in my delivery van, I drove to Aylesbury, I went into the "Sally-Ann" where they sell old clothes and cups of tea. As there were many things for sale, I nonchalantly looked around, And there, upon the hanging rail, was a blazer for a pound!
Now, being very quick of wit, I grabbed it in a trice. I put it on to try the fit, and it fitted very nice. With silvery buttons shining bright, I strutted down the hall, And all the folks that were in sight, said "that isn't bad at all!"
Now, when I got back to the yard, I spoke of it to Brian, The poor bloke took it awful hard, in fact, he almost started crying! He spluttered, "Well, I never did, I never heard the like! A blazer? For a lousy quid? you jammy little tyke!"
Quick Bricks.
I wish I was a brickie, with level and with line, Then brick on brick, so very quick, I'd build a wall so fine. I'd build a wall, quite six feet tall. I'd build it out of brick, I'd build it forty-three feet long, at least four inches thick.
I'd lay a thousand bricks a day, that's twice the going rate. I'd start it at the crack of dawn, and finish it quite late. I wish I was a brickie, with level, oh!, so true! I'd build myself a lovely house, then I'd build one for you!
Oh!, I wish I was a brickie, laying lots of lovely bricks, But, alas, I'll have to wait, 'cos I am only six!
The Honky Serenade.
There's a pong in the air, And the sanitary inspector Doesn't seem to care, For that pong in the air!
He said "The farmer's been muck-spreading in his field. He does it frequently, to try to increase his yield. I would prosecute him, if you are sure that folks won't think that I am dim, If I prosecute hi-i-m!"
The Brakes, (a heartfelt plea to the workshop mechanics)
This new Leyland truck of mine, it really is just mighty fine. Except when I apply the brakes, then what an awful noise it makes! It startles horses, that's for sure, and makes mums give birth premature.
So come on lads, please do your best to stop me being called a pest. For waking babies in their prams, and frightening folks in traffic jams. Let's see if you've got what it takes, to silence these protesting brakes!
Their Reply.
Dear driver John, your precious van has duly received attention, We've hammered and we've banged a bit, and it's back for your retention. We can but say we're sorry for disturbing half the nation, But even the best mechanical things do suffer depreciation. However, as we've stated, you're back on cloud eleven, She's running like a well-oiled spring, is your number three-five-seven!
My Thanks.
Thank you for your prompt attention to the problem I did mention Folks now comment when I call, "your brakes don't make no noise at all!" I must say, you were very quick, and what's more it's done the trick, In view of the great job you've made, you may use my name to boost your trade! ------------------------- An Ode For The Road.
I start work at the stroke of eight, (sometimes, I'm just a little late), I walk up to the loading bay, wondering where I'll be today. I say to Les, "Where shall I go? to Luton, Aylesbury, or Heathrow?" He pats me kindly on the head, and says, "It's Mothercare instead!"
Tho' 'tis enough to break my nerve, I bravely go to get my derv. I drive up to the diesel pump, and then I say "Oh, hecky-thump, I haven't got my diesel key, and Ernie's gone to have his tea". So back up to the shed I trot, to fetch the key that Ernie's got
Finally, I'm set to go, out on the open road, heigh-ho! Now, as I drive thro' leafy lanes, I like to exercise my brains. And, one way I've found to pass the time, is to compose a little rhyme. Thro' hamlet, village, farm and town, I think 'em up, then write 'em down.
But not of course, while at the wheel, as that would not be wise, I feel. One cannot drive across the land, with pen and paper in one's hand. For, if by a policeman I was spied, I could end up writing rhymes inside! And when sometimes, things don't go right, it does no good to get uptight.
While others mutter oaths and curses, I stay composed, by writing verses! Thus, I've spent another day, rhyming along the Queen's Highway. And as I drive home for my tea, a funny thought occurs to me, Wouldn't it be just great, if they made me poet lorry-ate!
The Blackbird.
Hear the song of the blackbird whistling in the trees, How merrily the notes he sings are carried on the breeze. It lifts our hearts to hear him when the day is nearly done, Or early in the morning as he greets the rising sun.
Or to see him tugging at a worm in someone's new-mown lawn, To feed his little nestlings that have only just been born. To listen to the blackbird surely fills our hearts with cheer, And isn't that the reason that Jehovah put him here?
Crazy Mixed-up Song.
An old cowpoke went riding out, one dark and windy day, When he saw a great big wooden box a’floatin’ in the bay. I’ve got my songs mixed up again, as I very often do. But, never mind, I’ll go ahead and sing this song for you.
The Jolly Swagman pitched his camp beside a billabong. But when he found the ground was damp, he decided to move along. So he pulled up stakes and headed north, along the Birdsville Track, Where Charlie Drake sat waiting for his boomerang to come back.
The swaggie said to Charlie, “Mate, it’s no use sittin’ here, Let’s go and see if we can find a pub that’s got some beer.” So, off they went along their way, but hadn’t gone too far, When, up along beside them drew O’Rafferty’s Motor Car.
They said “Can you give us a lift?” and the driver he agreed. Then he stepped hard on the gas, and off they went at speed. But the driver was a kangaroo and really took them round. They went from Perth to Adelaide in one almighty bound!
He then hopped north to Darwin and back to Alice Springs, Where they bought themselves some opals and lots of pretty things. Then, southeast, on to Flemington, is where they ended up, In time see Delaney’s donkey win the Melbourne Cup!
Wishful Dreaming.
I wish I was a pussy-cat, with nothing much to do. Except to eat my Kattomeat, and catch a mouse or two. I wish I was a pussy-cat, and then I'd snooze all day. And every now and then I'd chase the dicky-birds away.
Oh!, if I was a pussy-cat, such a carefree life I'd lead With nothing else to do all day, but play and sleep and feed. I wish I was a pussy-cat, with claws as sharp as steel, Then when a big dog barked at me, my anger he would feel!
Oh!, if I was a pussy-cat, my tail would have a curl, But, I can't be a pussy-cat, 'cos I'm a little girl!
Down To Earth (After The Style Of Flanders & Swann.)
For many years, geologists have been studying the earth, They poke, and prod with instruments, and dig for all they're worth. And what have they discovered, six miles beneath the sea? It's the mo-hor-o-vic-ic dis-con-tin-u-ity!
You Are What You Eat!
A slender young lady, named Laura Wants to stay slim, so the boys will adore her. So to her mother she said, "Instead of butter on bread, I think that I'd better have Flora!"
Jim's New Image (When the Receptionist at the Vehicle Workshop was given a white coat.)
Before you come into this place, please comb your hair, and wash your face, For if you are a mucky pup, you're bound to show our Jimmy up. And do not take the mickey, please, but humbly fall down on your knees. For when you see our old mate, Jim, you'll wonder what's come over him.
Just like an angel, shining bright, he looks in his new coat of white Please do not smile or crack a joke, by asking for ice-cream or coke, No longer may you snarl and snap, just bow and scrape, and doff your cap. For if you're not nice to the man, he'll take you away in his little green van!
Oor Hieland Laddie.
I have been commissioned tae write a verse or two, Aboot a chap called Angus, (known as Jock tae you). He's awfu' hard tae understand when he starts tae speak, He's full 'o phrases like "Och aye" and "Lang may your lum reek".
But noo, the truth tae you I'll tell, when it comes doon tae brass tacks, There's more worth in that one Hieland man, than in a hundred sassenachs! He bro't a haggis in one day, tae gi' us all a treat, But it could'na dance a Hieland fling, for it had'na any feet.
Sae it sang a song instead, o' Scotland's hills sae green, And when it finished, there was no a dry eye tae be seen! One day, he came in Hieland dress, and strutted 'roond the yard. He tried tae toss the caber, "Och," he said, "It is'nae hard!"
We stood aroond, and cheered him on, we thought that he was magic, However, what happened next could only be called tragic. He was dae'in rather well, 'til he tripped up o'er his kilt, Then the caber came doon on his head, which really made him wilt!
We thought he looked sae funny then, he had us a' in fits. And his voice became quite shrill, ye ken, when he did the Hieland splits! His sporran lay in tatters, a sad and sorry sight, We had tae shoot the puir wee thing, tae save it frae its plight!
He thought tae throw the hammer next, but forgot tae let it go, And he landed up in Aviemore, beneath ten feet o' snow! Well, now my story has been told o' this Hieland lad sae braw, There's one mair thing that I must say, afore I gang awa',
If you're feeling hamesick Angus, and for the heather your heart yearns, Just read my poetry,and say, "Who needs ye, Rabbie Burns?"
Oh! Heck!
The boy stood on the burning deck, whence all but he had fled. The flames that licked the battled wreck, shone round him o'er the dead. And that was how this famous saying happened to be coined, He said "It serves me jolly well right, I knew I shouldn't have joined!"
Which Is Switch?
I really must write a few words tonight, to let you know just how we feel. For you are so kind, to take the trouble to find a switch for our automobile. The one that we had was so very bad, it left us without any light, We'd be driving along, and then it was gone, I tell you, it gave us a fright!
I don't know what we'd do, if it wasn't for you, 'cos I could see nothin' at all. With that dodgy switch, we could land in the ditch, or even run into a wall! So when Postman Pat went rat-a-tat-tat,and handed the parcel you sent, With a feeling so grand, new switch in my hand, out into the garage I went
To fit the new one, I thought would be fun, ever so easy to do. But now I must tell the things that befell, in case it should happen to you! I removed the old bit, then I placed it, beside the new one that you gave, I went for my tea, then had a wee, you know what I mean, don't you, Dave?
When I came back, alas and alack! Two switches lay there, side by side, Now I was in a fix, 'cos which switch was which, I really just couldn't decide! In total despair, I called for a chair, and sat with my head hanging low. Now I'm telling you, what I ought to do, was one thing I just didn't know.
Then I hit on a plan, I'd send for a man, to test 'em with meter and wire, To find out which one I had to put on, and which one to throw in the fire. I got on the phone, but he wasn't home, and I went back to feeling quite blue Then your dear old Mum, who is my best chum, said "I know what we can do
It would make sense, to toss twenty pence, to see if it lands head or tail Then we'll know, which switch has to go, and which one to keep, it can't fail” So my little mate, who really is great, had got an idea so bright, She saved the day by finding a way to fix that perishing light!
It didn't take long to put right the wrong, and get it all working again. Now I've got the time to write, on paper with my ball-point pen. You lightened my load, and lit up our road, so here's a wee verse or two, To thank you so much for your magic touch, we're ever so grateful to you!
Transports Of Delight. (To My Boss)
Dear Stan, I know you like my rhymes, and find them quite exciting. But you wonder how I find the time to do all this here writing, You picture me, in your mind's eye, parked in some quiet lane, While consignees all moan and sigh, and wait for goods in vain.
You see me sitting, pen in hand, for hour after hour, As wild roses twine around the van, to form a fragrant bower.
But really, guv'nor, it's not true, my duty I'm not shirking, The honest truth I'll tell to you, in fact, I'm overworking! Thro' Bedfordshire and Bucks. and Herts. I go in leaps and bounds, And Middlesex and other parts, I cover several rounds.
I've worn out seven lorries, (and some we've had on hire), Around the villages I'm known as Chariots of Fire! I travel through the country like an eagle on the wing, Through Chipperfield and Bovingdon, and Berkhamsted and Tring.
I cannot stop for cups of tea, there is no time to lose, I'm on my way to Heathrow with another load of booze! 'Tis while I sit at traffic lights, waiting for the green, That I find the time to write of things that I have seen.
So let your heart not troubled be, I'm busy all the while, And, as you can plainly see, I'm very “verse-a-tile!”
Puir wee Donald!
I just came up frae the Isle o' Wight, I had tae walk, sae it took a' night. And noo I look an awfu' sight, and I had’nae on ma troosers!
I just came here frae the Isle of Man, I missed the bus, sae I nicked a van, And noo I'm banged up in the can, and I had’nae on ma troosers!
Inisfree?
I will arise, and go now, and go to Inisfree, And if I get a move on, I'll be back in time for tea!
The Flyer.
When I got into work today, I met up with the Boss, Who said "Now John, be on your way, and make for Gerrard's Cross With thirty-one deliveries, ten for Wycombe too, Plus eighteen drops for Rickmansworth, as you'll be passing through. You should get that lot finished by twenty-five to one, Then there's half-a-dozen Oxfam shops to clear before you're done!”
I said to him, "now, guv'nor, I can see that you're all heart, But there's one thing that I must do, before I make a start." "I'll have to go a-searching, a telephone box to find, To don my costume, red and blue, with cape that flows behind! The reason for this quick-change stunt, is plain for all to see. You must think that I'm Superman, the things you ask of me!"
Sorry, Mr. Lear!
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea, in a beautiful pea-green boat, But, the boat had sprung a nasty leak, and so it wouldn't float. As it began to sink, the Cat cried out, "I fear we're going to die!" But the wise old Owl said, "Speak for yourself, you're forgetting, I can fly!"
Because You're Mine, I'll Tell The Time!
I keep a wrist-watch on this arm of mine, I wear it there so that I can tell the time, But the darn thing's stopped at half-past nine. This watch of mine ain't worth a dime!
Poetry In Motion.
There was a young woman called Sue, who while going upstairs to the loo, Said to hubby Dave, "Think of what it would save, if instead of just one, we had two" "The thing is , you see, when I go for a wee, If I leave too late, I find that my mate, has often got there before me!"
"Now, when you're in the middle of wanting a tiddle, And you find that the race you have lost, You can do nothing more, than to wait by the door, With your legs and arms and your eyes crossed!"
Downstairs, all we've got, is Emily's pot, and that just simply won't do. It's o.k. for a pee, when youve had your tea, but what if you want number two? So, Dave, being wise, was quick to surmise, that what his wife said was true, And being a man who could work out a plan, he knew just what he should do.
So, the very next morn, at first light of dawn, the project was got under way, To get it alright, he worked thro' the night, and finished it early next day. Now, Emily-pooh has her very own loo, and has no need to get short of breath, We might also find, that she will be kind, and share it with her brother, Seth.
Sue has a mind of the historic kind, and while sitting there taking her ease, Said "We're not first, I think, to kick up a stink about shortage of w.c.'s" “If you care to check on a chap named Lautrec, a man of considerable fame, Who, when wanting the loo, could choose between two and that's how he got his first name!”
Said Seth to his Dad, "I expect you are glad, now all's gone according to plan, To be able to say, at the end of the day, that everything's gone down the pan!"
Oh! Terry!
There was a young feller called Terry, Who went out fishing, one day, in a wherry. He hadn't gone far, when he was hit by a car, That fell off a cross-channel ferry.
Oh! My Hat!
While loading up my van today, a cold and frosty morn, I had on my woolly hat, to keep my ear'oles warm. The guv'nor came walking by, looking and inspecting, And I could tell that towards me, his step he was directing.
He stopped, and looked at me, and said "Where did you get that hat?" "I bet a pound you couldn’t write a poem about that!" There! He'd flung a challenge down, just like a knight of yore! Quick as a flash, I countered it with "Don't you be so sure!"
At once, my brain went into gear, he'd really got me going, And soon, from pen to paper, the words were quickly flowing. "Where did you get that hat?" he'd asked, I wish that he had not, For asking questions of that sort, could put me on the spot!
However, now he's asked me about this hat I wear, 'Tis nothing but the truth I'll tell, if secrecy he'll swear, For if it were to get about, my future won't be rosy, Whatever will I tell my wife, when she misses her tea-cosy!
Road Tae The Gaols. To the tune of "Road tae the Isles."
There’s a black Paddy Wagon takin’ me awa’ And it’s heading off towards Barlinnie Gaol. And a big polisman is sittin’ next tae me, Because I tried tae rob the Royal Mail.
Then, escorted by Securicor, In handcuffs, I will go, Then they’ll lock me up and throw away the key. So will ye dae a favour for me noo, And call ma little wife, And tell her that I’ll no be hame for tea!
The Pile Of Debris.
T’was in an old Ford Capri that I found her, At the side of the M23, Bits of wreckage lay strewn all around her, Because she had run into a tree.
I had the ‘flu & was running a fever, And my warm, cosy bed beckoned me. But I could not just drive on & leave her, ‘Cos I’m an AA Patrolman, you see.
She whispered softly, “I think something’s broken.” & as I turned the ignition key, I saw the truth of the words she had spoken, As she sat in her pile of debris.
She tried to turn the engine over, As the rain trickled down from above. I said, “Lady, it’s not like a Rover, You’ll have to get out & give it a shove!”
I then dislodged the bonnet stay with my shoulder And it came crashing down on my thumb. I said, “Blow this for a game of tin soldiers!” And I called for the tow truck to come.
She said, “How can I thank you for your endeavours, Trying to fix my Capri?” I said, “Lady, just do me a favour. Next time, please call out the RAC !!!!!!!!!”
Oh! What a Miserable Mornin’!
Oh! What a miserable morning’! Oh! What a miserable day! I’ve got a terrible feeling, Ev’rythin’s goin’ astray!
There’s a dark, murky smog on the meadow, There’s a dark, murky smog on the meadow, The corn is as low as a grasshopper’s toe, An’ it looks like it’s never, never goin’ to grow!
Oh! What a miserable morning’! Oh! What a miserable day! I’ve got a terrible feeling, Ev’rythin’s goin’ astray!
All the whole of the earth is in chaos, All the whole of the earth is in chaos, The wind is so strong, it’s uprootin’ the trees, And the ole weepin’ willow’s just fallen on me!
Oh! What a miserable morning’! Oh! What a miserable day! I’ve got a terrible feeling, Ev’rythin’s goin’ astray!
All the cattle are standin' like zombies, All the cattle are standin' like zombies, They don’t turn their heads as they see me ride by. That’s prob’ly ’cause they are all waitin’ to die!
Oh! What a miserable morning’! Oh! What a miserable day! I’ve got a terrible feeling, Ev’rythin’s goin’ astray!
Home Down In Oz. Alternative to the old cowboy song, "Home on the Range"
Oh, give me a home, Where the kangaroos roam. Where the emus and wallabies play. Where the koala bear will just sit and stare, From the branch of a gum tree all day.
Home, home down in Oz, Where I once used ter wish that I was. Where the dust and the flies, Get up yer nose and in yer eyes, And the bushfires keep burnin’ all day!
Oh, give me a land, where yer can walk on the strand, But yer dare not go in fer a swim. Cos the white pointer shark’s bite is worse than ‘is bark, An’ yer don’t want ter meet up with ’im!
Home, home down in Oz, Where I once used ter wish that I was. Where the dust and the flies, Get up yer nose and in yer eyes, And the bushfires keep burnin’ all day!
Where the Bush Tucker Man, drives around in ‘is van, Through Kakadu National Park, And each day fer ‘is tea, ‘e’ll climb up a tree, Getting’ witchety grubs from under the bark.
Home, home down in Oz, Where I once used ter wish that I was. Where the dust and the flies, Get up yer nose and in yer eyes, And the bushfires keep burnin’ all day!
But I no longer yearn ter ever return, Ter the land of the coolabah trees. So I think I’ll just stay here in the UK, And let the winter winds blow ‘round my knees!
The Burglar
A burglar named Mary, Was robbing a dairy, One night by the light of the moon. When a copper from Leicester, Said he would arrest her, If she didn’t pack it in soon.
But she paid him no heed, So his very next deed, Was to clout her ‘round the head, with his baton. But it did no good, It was like striking wood, Because Mary had got her hard hat on!
So, this crafty copper, Seeing he couldn’t stop her, Decided to join her instead. So he said, “If you like, We’ll escape on my bike” And off down the road they both sped!
The Loafer
Over in Killarney, many years ago, My Mother said these words to me, “My son, you’ll have to go!
I can’t afford to keep you, While you sit around all day. You’ll have go and get a job, And bring me home some pay.”
So I went down to the shipyard, And said “My name is John, My Mother said I need a job, So will you take me on?”
The foreman took one look at me, And said “You’re very small, I don’t think we could find a place, In this yard for you at all!”
So I went off to the bakery, And to the boss I said, “D’you think you could put me to work, In the job of makin’ bread?”
“What experience do you have?” Was all that he did say, I said, “I’m fully qualified, Sure, I loaf around all day!”
I started in the bakery, But I got the sack next day. Now when I go back home to her, I’ll hear my Mother say,
“You useless lookin’ article! You stupid omadhaun! I should have given you away The day that you were born!”
The Gnome. Another alternative to "Home on the Range"
Oh, give me a gnome that I can take home, With a beard that's all whiskery & grey, To sit on a log, with the resident frog, Fishing for tiddlers all day.
Or maybe an elf, to sit on a shelf, Beside the living room door. And a Fairy or two, the washing to do, And a Goblin to vacuum the floor.
Will ye come, Johnny Keogh to Ballymackeogh.
The poets of Ireland have vanished, they say, But I know where one can be found. ‘Tis meself, Johnny Keogh, tho’ I’m old and grey, There’s life in me yet, I’ll be bound.
They say ‘tis from Irelands High Bards that I came, And I’ve no reason to doubt that it’s true So ARD FILE na hEIREANN. is the title I claim, That’s High Poet of Erin to you.
I’ve heard of a place that’s called Ballymackeogh, A place that I have yet to see. But it must be a nice place, this Ballymackeogh, For sure, ‘cos it’s named after me!
So will ye come, Johnny Keogh to Ballymackeogh, From England far over the sea, For they say that it‘s lovely in Ballymackeogh, The place that I’m longing to be.
Sure, I was born in Kilkenny, in ould Slieveroe, In a cottage beside the Suir stream. Then off to England my parents did go, Now I only go back in my dreams.
Now I wouldn’t recognize ould Slieveroe, They’ve changed it beyond all compare, There’s a container port there, sure, wouldn’t ye know, So I won’t bother goin’ back there!
So will ye come, Johnny Keogh to Ballymackeogh, From England far over the sea, For they say that it’s lovely in Ballymackeogh, The place that I’m longing to be.
Thanks to Percy French now, for inspiring me, With his poems and songs of good cheer. There’s The Mountains Of Mourne and Paddy Reilly, As well as Abdulla Bulbul Ameer!
The Army Medical.
Tinkle, tinkle in this jar, We’ll soon see how fit you are. That’s what the Army doctor said to me, So I obliged him with a wee.
What’s that you say? You’ve got flat feet? And your nickname’s Peg-Leg Pete? I can see that you’re just four feet high, And you only have one eye.
You say you’ve got a wonky head, And every night, you wet the bed. Well, never mind about that now, It doesn’t matter anyhow.
Yes, I know you’re ninety two, But your country still needs you. So, we have marked you grade A one, And you are in the ARMY, son!
John Keogh. 4th June 2011.
The Port of Waterford A parody of "The Rose of Mooncoin", lyrics below. Mooncoin is a village a few miles Northwest of the Port of Waterford which is built on the place of my birth!.
Oh, how sweet ‘tis to roam by the sunny Suir stream,
Through the container terminal they built at
Gorteens. Where my Dad used to fish with his small boat & line, On the banks of the Suir, a few miles from Mooncoin.
Sure, they’ve knocked down the cottage in which I was born, Where I first saw the light on that bright Sunday morn. ‘Tis altered completely, sure everything’s new, Since my Dad used to labour for Powers of Belview.
My Dad & John Lonergan used to stretch out their net, In the hope that a couple of salmon they’d get. And up on Snow Hill, a few rabbits would catch, And praties he’d grow in the vegetable patch.
In all kinds of weather, rain, sunshine or snow, My five sisters, all barefoot, to school they would go, And the ould Billy goat would often them join, On the banks of the Suir, a few miles from Mooncoin.
The new Port of Waterford is what is there now, Just a short distance away, sure, from ould Kilmacow. They are loading the ships now, by sun & moonshine, On the banks of the Suir, a few miles from Mooncoin.
John Keogh, Ard File na hEireann, 8th December 2011
The Rose of Mooncoin is a ballad written in the 19th century by a local schoolteacher and poet named Watt Murphy, who met and gradually fell in love with a local girl called Elizabeth, also known as Molly. Elizabeth was just 20 years old, and Watt was then 56, but the difference in age was of no consequence to either of them. Both were intellectuals, and they would often stroll along the banks of the river Suir, composing and reciting poetry. However, Elizabeth's father, who was the local vicar, did not approve of their relationship, and she was sent away to England. Watt was brokenhearted at the loss of his beloved lady, and wrote this song in her memory;
Lyrics
How sweet 'tis to roam by the sunny Suir stream, And to hear the doves coo 'neath the morning's sunbeam. Where the thrush and the robin their sweet notes combine On the banks of the Suir that flows down by Mooncoin.
Flow on, lovely river, flow gently along. By your waters so sweet sounds the lark's merry song. On your green banks I'll wander where first I did join With you, lovely Molly, the Rose of Mooncoin.
Oh Molly, dear Molly, it breaks my fond heart, To know that we two for ever must part But I'll think of you, Molly, while sun and moon shine On the banks of the Suir that flows down by Mooncoin
Then here's to the Suir with its valley so fair As oftimes we wandered in the cool morning air Where the roses are blooming and lilies entwine On the banks of the Suir that flows down by Mooncoin.
Flow on, lovely river, flow gently along By your waters so sweet sounds the lark's merry song On your green banks I wander where first I did join With you, lovely Molly, the Rose of Mooncoin.
I was born on the banks of the Suir not far from Mooncoin now there is a container terminal there, called the Port of Waterford, hence the words of my parody.
The Leprechaun.
If
you see a leprechaun, And
of his left leg you catch hold, He’s
duty bound to tell you , Where
he hid his pot of gold.
But
leprechauns are crafty, And he
might bind you with a spell. Or
perhaps tell you a story, For
they’re full of blarney as well.
Or
he’ll blow some star dust at you, Which
is bound to make you sneeze, Four
or five times in quick succession, That’ll
bring you to your knees.
In
your haste to find your hanky, You’re
bound to lose your grip, And
when you’ve finished sneezin’ You’ll
find he’s given you the slip.
In
this life there’s one thing certain, As
sure as you were born, There’s
no way that you can keep a hold, Of
a slippery leprechaun!