Archives

Storms Never Last.

Storms Never Last.

Lyrics: American country singer Mirriam Johnson, known professionally as Jessi Colter.
Vocals: American rock band Dr. Hook & the Medicine Show.

Storms Never Last.

Storms never last do they baby.
Bad times all pass with the wind.
Your hand in mine stills the thunder,
And you make the sun wanna shine.

You followed me down so many roads, baby.
I picked wild flowers and sung you soft sad songs,
And every road we took lord knows our search was for the truth,
And the clouds brewing now won’t be the last.

But storms never last do they baby. (they don’t last, no, no).
Bad times all pass with the wind.
Your hand in mine (your hand in mine) stills the thunder,
(Stills the thunder, stills the thunder, yeah).
And you make the sun wanna shine. (shine, shine, shine).

Storms never last (storms never last) do they baby. (They don’t last, no, no).
The bad times, the bad times, the bad times all pass.
Your hand in mine (your hand in mine) stills the thunder,
(Stills the thunder, stills the thunder, yeah).
You make the sun wanna shine. (shine, shine, shine).

Storms never last (storms never last) do they baby. (They don’t last, no, no)
Bad times all pass with the wind.
Your hand in mine stills the thunder,
(Stills the thunder, stills the thunder, yeah).
And you make the sun wanna shine. (shine, shine, shine).

END

A Taste of Indigestion.

“A Taste of Indigestion” by the award-winning writer, director and actor from County Leitrim, Seamus O’Rourke.

The madness of a simple rural man, who goes through bouts of depression, obesity and anger issues.

A Song For A Sunday.

A Letter To My Mama.

We write, to warn all our readers in advance, that Sunday next, March 30th 2025, is Mothers Day.

Lyrics and Vocals: American singer, songwriter and musician Vince Gill (Vincent Grant Gill).

A Letter To My Mama.

Oh, I need to write a letter,
Put it down in black and white,
No a phone call just won’t cut it,
Not the way I feel tonight.
A letter to my mama,
From the bottom of my heart,
“I’m sorry”, is a real good place to start.
I’m sorry I was selfish,
Just chalk it up to youth.
I got too old to need you,
That’s just running from the truth.
I’m sorry things didn’t work out,
For you and my old man.
Sometimes life don’t turn out like you plan.
Looking back I wonder how,
You ever pulled us through,
I can’t imagine walking in your shoes.
If I could stop this pen from shaking,
I’d write these words down too,
There’s no one in this world I love like you.
Oh, I’ve written down the memories,
Of these sixty-some-odd years,
Trying hard to just say “Thank you”,
As I wipe away the tears.
I hear my grandson calling,
So I guess I’d better go.
I can never pay you back the love I owe.
Oh, I finished up the letter,
Put it down in black and white,
No, a phone call wouldn’t cut it,
Not the way I feel tonight.
A letter to my mama,
From the bottom of my heart,
The very bottom of my heart.

END

Battle of Thurles.

Saddened to observe recently, that a plaque which commerated the battle of Thurles, has been damaged beyond repair, during efforts to prise same from its walled position, at the entrance to ‘Ard Carraig’ housing estate, situated east of the town, on the Dublin Road out of Thurles town.

“The Battle of Thurles”
by the late Michael Hogan (31st October 1828 – 19th April 1899) known as the ‘Bard of Thomond’.

The war-fires light gleamed red all night, along the mountain gloom.
King Dónal’s men are up again, from Limerick to Slieve Bloom.
From glen and wood, the bone and blood of his fierce and fearless clan,
In wild array, at dawn of day, o’er Ormond’s plains swept on.

From Waterford the Norman hoarde to the plains of Ikerrin came,
In vengeful haste the land to waste with sword and destroying flame.
Left and right with sweeping might, the headlong hosts engaged,
And life ne’er bled, in a strife so red, while that combat of bloodhounds raged.

But, as the heave of the mad sea wave is barred by the crag filled shore,
So that iron tide, on Durlas’s* side, was stopped by King Donald Mór.
There’s revelry high and boisterous joy from Cashel to Shannon’s shore,
And Luimneach waits to open the gates, for her conquering Donald Mór.

END

*Durlas – Irish for Thurles.

The above named Irish poet Michael Hogan was born in Thomondgate, Co. Limerick. His father was a wheelwright and musician, who crafted the flutes and fiddles that he played.
In his early years he worked at Russell’s Mill, Lock Quay, located at the entrance of the canal flowing into the Abbey River and later in life with Limerick Corporation.
In the year 1858, he married Ms Ann Lynch. They parented no known children.
A life-size statue of Michael Hogan today stands, erected to his memory at King John’s Castle Plaza, in Limerick city, since 2005.

Soon, between elected local Councillors, County Council officials and ‘idle hands’, nothing will be left of our local history.

Lá Fhéile Pádraig – My Land.

My Land

Lyrics: Irish songwriter and novelist Brendan Graham.
Vocals: Secret Garden.

My Land

How green are your valleys, how blue your great skies,
Your mountains stand tall in their glory.
Your rivers run free – the bright stars are your eyes,
Your beauty is endless before me.
For you are the song ever singing in me,
And you are the heart ever true.
For you are my land and you always will be,
The voice ever calling me home to you.
When to your green valleys some day I return,
When you lay your mantle around me.
At rest I will be where the heart will not yearn,
That my land will ever surround me.
For you are the song ever singing in me,
And you are the heart ever true.
For you are my land and you always will be,
The voice ever calling me home to you.
For you are the song ever singing in me,
And you are the heart ever true.
For you are my land and you always will be,
The voice ever calling me home to you.
The voice ever calling me home to you.
END.

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh.