Lyrics: Award winning songwriter, composer and lyricist and librettist Gregory Becker and the late American songwriter Troy Jones. Vocals: Neotraditional American country music singer-songwriter Alan Eugene Jackson.
When God Paints.
When God paints, birds sing. He colours every feather on a sparrow’s wing. When God paints, the wind blows, With a stroke of love, he dips his brush in a rainbow. Sometimes I take for granted the simple things. I can be his biggest critic when it starts to rain, But there’s always a bigger picture I can’t explain, When God paints, the heart beats, A life begins, a season ends and lovers meet, And I’ve learned that sometimes, It’s not always black and white or well-defined, When God paints. Sometimes I take for granted the simple things. I can be his biggest critic when it starts to rain, But there’s always a bigger picture I can’t explain, When God paints, we dance, And I reach across the canvas and I take your hand, And my world is so complete, When I look at you, a masterpiece is all I see, When God paints. Sometimes I take for granted the simple things. I can be his biggest critic when it starts to rain. But there’s always a bigger picture I can’t explain, When God paints. I pray I always see the beauty inside the frame, When God paints. END
As part of Cashel Arts Festival, a most interesting discussion by Trinity Assyriologist Dr Martin Worthington, will take place at Cashel Library tomorrow morning, September 13th 2024 at 11:00am sharp.
You canlocate the Cashel Library building, situated on Friar Street, Lady’s Well, Cashel, Co. Tipperary, HERE. (G487+RX) Please Note: For this free event booking is essential to Tel. No.:- 062, 63825
[Note: An Assyriologist is a person who specializes in the archaeological, historical, cultural and linguistic study of Assyria and the rest of ancient Mesopotamia (modern day Iraq). The word Assyriologist derived from Assyriology, the study of the culture, history, and archaeological remains of ancient Assyria]
Ancient symbols on a 2,700-year-old temple, which have long baffled experts, have now been explained by the aforementioned Dr Worthington.
A sequence of ‘mystery symbols’ were located on view at temples in various locations in the ancient city of Dūr-Šarrukīn, present day Khorsabad, Iraq, which was once ruled by Assyria’s King Sargon II, (721-704 BC).
Late 19th century drawings of the eagle and bull symbols first published by French excavator Victor Place. From New York Public Library.
The sequence of five symbols, a lion, eagle, bull, fig-tree and plough, were first made known to the modern world, through drawings published by French excavators in the late nineteenth century. Since then, there has been a spate of ideas about the symbols and what they possibly might mean.
Same have been compared to Egyptian hieroglyphs, understood to be reflections of possibly imperial might, and suspected to represent the said king’s name – but how?
Dr Worthington (Trinity’s School of Languages, Literatures and Cultural Studies) has proposed a new solution in a paper published first last April, in the Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research.
At this completely free event at Cashel Library the public can meet Dr Worthington tomorrow morning and learn at first hand his solution to solving the mystery of these hieroglyphs.
Lyrics and Cords: English musician, songwriter, record producer, animal rights activist and astrophysics Sir Brian Harold May (CBE) and British pianist, songwriter, singer, and lead vocalist in the rock band “Queen” Freddie Mercury. Vocals: British rock band “Queen” with lead vocals Freddie Mercury.
Is This The World We Created… ?
Just look at all those hungry mouths we have to feed. Take a look at all the suffering we breed. So many lonely faces scattered all around, Searching for what they need. Is this the world we created? What did we do it for? Is this the world we invaded, Against the law? So it seems in the end, Is this what we’re all living for today? The world that we created. You know that every day a helpless child is born. Who needs some loving care inside a happy home. Somewhere, a wealthy man is sitting on his throne, Waiting for life to go by. Oh-oh, is this the world we created? We made it on our own. Is this the world we devasted, right to the bone? If there’s a God in the sky, looking down, What can he think of what we’ve done, To the world that He created?
A poem by the late great American acclaimed poet; storyteller; fry cook; street-car conductor; professional dancer; prostitute and lesbian madam; film director; nightclub performer; civil rights activist; playwright; autobiographer and professor of American studies at Wake Forest University, Dr Maya Angelou, [Latter born Marguerite Annie Johnson].
The late Dr Maya Angelou, (1928 – 2014).
“Still I Rise”
You may write me down in history, With your bitter, twisted lies. You may tread me in the very dirt, But still, like dust, I rise.
Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk as if I have oil wells, Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I rise.
Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t take it so hard, ‘Just cause I laugh as if I have gold mines, Diggin’in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your lies, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But like life, I rise.
Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise, That I dance as if I have diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame, I rise. Up from a past rooted in pain, I rise. I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling bearing in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak miraculously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the hope and the dream of the slave. And so, I rise.
Mr MacGowan sadly passed away on November 30th 2023 last, aged 65 years, while being treated in hospital for inflammation of the active tissues of the brain, caused by an infection, (Encephalitis).
His sister, Ms Siobhan McGowan, confirmed the event on her Facebook page, stating that it will be full of “dancing at the crossroads”, with music, refreshments, under a marquee.
At 3:00pm on the day, Ms McGowan will also dedicate “The Broad Majestic Shannon” monument in her brother’s memory.
The Broad Majestic Shannon.
Lyrics: Shane Patrick Lysaght Macgowan.
The last time I saw you was down at the Greeks, There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks, You sang me a song that was pure as the breeze, On a road leading up Glenaveigh. I sat for a while at the cross at Finnoe, Where young lovers would meet when the flowers were in bloom, Heard the men coming home from the fair at Shinrone, Their hearts in Tipperary wherever they go, Take my hand and dry your tears, babe, Take my hand, forget your fears, babe, There’s no pain, there’s no more sorrow, They’re all gone, gone in the years, babe. I sat for a while by the gap in the wall, Found a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball, Heard the cards being dealt and the rosary called, And a fiddle playing “Sean Dun Na Ngall”, And the next time I see you we’ll be down at the Greeks, There’ll be whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks, For it’s stupid to laugh and it’s useless to bawl, ‘Bout a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball. Take my hand and dry your tears, babe, Take my hand, forget your fears, babe. There’s no pain, there’s no more sorrow, They’re all gone, gone in the years, babe. So I walked as the day was dawning, Where small birds sang and leaves were falling, Where we once watched the row boats landing, By the broad majestic Shannon.
END.
On the day previous, Saturday August 17th, as part of the Broad Majestic Shannon Festival in Kilbarron Village, there is an afternoon workshop discussing Mr MacGowan lyrics and highlighting the local places featured in his songs.
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