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Other voices, radical notes, views unorthodox and new,
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Come have a cup of Irish coffee,
well top of the morning to you.
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There is no such thing as bad publicity except your own obituary.
[Brenda
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There were red roses, and white roses
At the wedding of Jenny McGill,
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I know a wee bit about luck,
I may be Irish,
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I’ll take my harp upon my knee,
And sing of Finn, and Tara’s hall
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I met a man last night,
Belfast born and bred,
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O Edain, wilt thou come with me,
Where teeth are white and brows are black,
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Glasses of other passengers clink
And to myself I think
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We fell asleep beneath a tree,
My lover, Anne, and me.
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The guy in the store said it was fast / I took his word for it / Couldn't wait to get home and get online / / Turned on the computer, / I flexed my fingers over the keys, they were fast / Typed in 'D:\Install.exe
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I can't upload images but here is a link to the picture http://substanza.com/poem.php?poemid=5413
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(Like all irreverent Irish bar-tales, to be read with a mental brogue...)
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Leaving only his heart behind
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when you hear the sound of the sea may you always think of me
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I'll drink to thee, my bonnie girl My lass with raven curls
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The waft of fustiness and turf
Smoulders in my mind
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From Derry, Kerry, Cork and Armagh;
bring your friends and Ma and Da.
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She started to panic and fuss. She called the police Who never found him
by anon167
37 lines, 3 comments,
on Dec 17 4:45 PM 2006. In irish
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The Mournes sweep low on the Newcastle side;
the misty mountains greet the tide.
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Gaze back to a beginning, out across blue eternity;
beneath the skies above the water, where spirits wander free.
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