Poems By James Geraghty

Poems of James Geraghty

Year: 1949

To “Boss” Moran, Ballyglass

Potatoes and primal makes a nice homely meal,

The second is a notion that often roused your zeal

Take a third when weary, your weariness will cease.

The final caused war and retards world peace.

Year: 1948

To: Mr. M. Smyth; Broackloon East, Ballyhaunis

A river in Eire for primal please get,

A precious stone is next

You’ll find it I bet

The genus of frogs or where they do breed,

Will suit for the third

You’ll find it with speed

Impetuosity or dash

The final will spell;

The parts are quite simple

I will now say farewell

Year: 1948

To: Joe Kavanagh; Dublin

A Hero who Died on Hunger Strike

(Written after funeral)

prize 2/6

The funeral cortege bore no trace.

Had you but scanned each passing face;

Of vanquished manhood in our isle.

Manly hearts are throbbing all the while;

And his death –so foul, so grim;

Shall fill the measure to the brim.

Almighty God have mercy on his soul,

Sounds forth a nation’s mournful dole;

Had he but lived, his prize to see,

Erin a nation, proud and free.

Year: 1947

To “One who Understands.”

To be eager or greedy for primal you’ll mix

Two plants in conjunction for final just fix;

Join the two parts and a great patriot you will see,

Who suffered and fought to make the landholders free.

Year: 1947

To: “The Northern Lass.”

Where e’er I wander, my heart grows fonder

Of my native place, from day to day;

And that love I’ll cherish, and fondly relish,

‘Till I am laid to rest in the cold damp clay.

There are scenes more fairer and perchance more rarer,

But they ne’er can efface the sweet memory;

Of the love I bear for my natal birthplace,

“Tis the dearest spot on this earth to me.

Year: 1947

To: Thomas McManomon

To be eager or greedy for primal (?) you’ll mix

Two plants in conjunction for final just fix:

Join the two parts and a great patriot you will see,

Who suffered and fought to make the landholders free

Year: 1943

To: Thomas McManamon

A genus of birds, the blue titmouse,

Neatly pen down in the first place;

A foreign coin of small value,

For second you will easily trace.

The third is the least whole number,

You’ll find it without bother or care;

The crown of your head write for final,

To finish this crude little square.

Year: 1943

To: “The Northern Lass”

“Tis forty years and over,

Since first I wrote for Di;

And changes I have seen galore,

As the years went rolling by.

The ration card was then unknown,

When I was young and gay,

And I could light my baccy pipe

Before and after “tay”.

My old dudeen is now empty

I am told there’s nought same;

Although the “big nobs” passing

Have baccy in full flame.

They have the best of everything

In Erin’s Isle to-day;

While we must nibble a tiny end (?)

Without a smoke or “tay”.

Alas! The good old days are gone

And gone I fear aye,

When one half-crown in any town,

Would buy a pound of “tay”.

Now for that same, oh! What shame,

Near thirty “bob” to-day

So good-bye my two old favorite

My baccy pipe and “tay”

They made us believe poor Ireland was

A self-supporting land;

Then let us have that self support

We urgently demand.

Come to our aid before it’s late,

There’s danger in delay;

Can we fight if we’re invaded

Without baccy, flour and “tay”?

I fear we wouldn’t have final

Until the primal be,

And second would a blessing have

To all humanity.

And now to God in heaven above

Let all good Christians pray

For to restore the tout once more

Then we’ll have a smoke and “tay”.

Year: 1942

To: “The castle bar boy”

No wonder your nice curly head was near ruined,

For my vocal cords were painfully dilated;

Endeavoring to pronounce that jaw breaking word

And my jaw-bones were badly dislocated

Transpose the four-sixths of a riddle

You and me deftly tag to the rear;

You’re clever, bright total at punning

I solemnly avow and declare.

Year: 1908

My Native Land

The orb of day may brightly beam

In strange lands far away

And nature with a lavish hand

Choicest gifts display;

But I’ll revere my native land

What e’er her fate may be,

And humbly pray God speed the day

When she will be once more free

There is music in her rushing streams

That hasten towards the sea

The murmuring brooks and rippling hills

Makes pleasing melody,

The sun and shade play on the hill and vale

In wild and joyous glee

My native land so fair and grand

I long to see you free

In former days her gallant sons

Did try to break her chains

How all their hopes did vanish her

Own sad story reveals,

But freedoms lag they kept aloft

In spite of tyranny,

That dear old flag we will uphold

Till Ireland shall be free

Let others pride in distant lands

Where freedoms ray does shine

My love for you shall e’er be true

Dear native land of mine

Oh, Erin, home of kindly hearts

-An emerald in the sea,

No land e’er with thee compare

I wish that you were free

1948

Acushla Machrie

Acushla Machrie, you’ll be thinking of me

In that far foreign land where you toil;

And often you’ll sigh for the good day’s gone by

And the lovely green fields of Rathmoyle

So I’ll send you today a green shamrock sprag

Plucked from the green mossy bank on the hill;

You’ll remember the scene where of times you’ve been

With playmates who grieve for you still

When you see this green sprag that for St. Patrick’s day,

Is sent o’er the wild waves to thee;

Your thoughts will come back to the cosy thatched cot,

Where in childhood you gambled in glee.

Fond memories will rise to bring tears to your eyes,

And in fancy you’ll mingle with those;

Who silently pass every Sunday to Mass;

Full of faith that still feverently glows

Now Acushla Machrie when this emblem you see,

In that far foreign land where you toil;

Think of friends that yearn for the day you’ll return

To your happy old home near Rathmoyle

We’ll all say a prayer that the good Lord me spares

You and guard you wherever you roam;

And that next Patrick’s day the green shamrock sprag

Will adorn your bosom at home

The Lovely Sweet Plains of Rathmile

Rathmile Thursday night 30^th Dec. 1926

One morning for sweet recreation

I carelessly rambled alone

To gaze on the grand works of nature

Where the warbling sweet choristers roam

I stood in deep contemplation

Whil’st phoebus did brilliantly shine

And I whished I could spend my whole days

In the lovely sweet plains of Rathmile

It is there you will see the best horses

And stall-fed oxen beside

A recess for the hare and the rabbit

And den’s for the foxes to hide

When the huntsman cry’s hark in the morning

Poor reynard puts on a way face

And that valiant brave horseman J Irwin

I always in front of the chase

To this splendid and noble old mansion

The gentry for miles do resort

And the yelps of the hounds in the morning

Invites them attend at the sport

You can see there the trout and the salmon

The quail and the parrot doth smile

And the Phoenix all over from the Indies

In the groves and the plains of Rathmile

You can see the brown nut and the hazel

In bloom all the months of the year

The orange, the lemon and cherry

The red rosy apples and pear

The flowers they bloom in all seasons

Sweet-Williams, the pink and the thyme

And in Europe there is no place can equal

The lovely sweet plains of Rathmile

I have traveled the East and West Indies

Through Egypt, through France and proud Spain

In have see Olympiads vast temples

And Ulysses castles of fame

I saw the great mountains of Etna

And the flowery sweet banks of the Nile

But paradise only can equal

The lovely sweet plains of Rathmile

Oh had I the talent of Homer

That genius of fame and renown

The charm’s that I see here around me

How quickly I would pen them down

When Adam and Eve were in Eden

They only lived there a short while

But the serpent could not them inveigle

If they had come to Rathmile

Now to conclude and to finish

I hope I have said nothing wrong

May God prosper brave Richard Irwin

May he and his consort live long

They belong to a militant line

May their off spring forever inherit

The lovely sweet plains of Rathmile

To: The Editor “Old Moore’s “

Year: 1955

What is distant or extended

When blended with a kind of strong ale

Will a game bird’s name reveal?

To: All the bards and ?

Year: 1957

Two vowels, three hooks and numbers will spell

What I wish to “Old Moore’s” bid him farewell

A jump and a trick transport espy

What I found in “Old Moore’s since I was a boy

To: Sean

Year: 1954

To drink by the lips transpose the primal

A color reversed procure for the final;

The parts united will help the revealing

The name fo an insect and expert at weaving

To: E. Geary

Year: 1955

As the years roll onward my heart grows fonder

Of my natal place from day to day;

And that love I’ll relish and fondly cherish

‘Till I am laid to rest in the cold damp clay

There are places fairer to be found in Eire

But they ne’re could vie were they twice as grand;

With the love I bare from my natal birthplace

That hollowed spot in my native land

A garden tool for the fist procure

A Roman number will the second tell;

They will name this place when deftly blended

Until next year, good-bye, farwell

To: ?

Year: 1953

Reverse a fish without ado,

An Irish river comes in view

Transpose some animals for fu..?

To show what’s spinning round ? sun

A girls Christian name, her parents between

Will show you a landscape picture ? pastoral scene

To: E Geary

Year: 1954

Find a vehicle for the primal

Get ? another for the final

Connect them by an article in the middle

Do it neatly and you’ll find another vehicle

And the answer to this riddle

To: “Boss”

Year: 1949

Potatoes and primal makes a nice homely meal

The second is a notion that often roused your zeal;

Take a third when weary, your weariness will cease

The final caused war and retards world peace

To: P Fitzgerald

Year: 1951

If we wish to end partition

And the vile border to pull down

The watchword must be unity

In countryside and town;

Remember what union

Did a few decades ago

When the savage hordes

The “Black and Tans” had to bundle up-an’ go

Party strife must be discarded

And broadcast it far and wide

That Eire is a free country where

Free men can reside;

Tell the study “Northerners”

That Ireland is their motherland

And their duty as her children

Beneath her flag to stand

What is large go seek for the primal

A twisted toper for final pen down

There are plenty of these gentry to

Be found in Belfast town.