Patrick Joseph Griffin (Lisbawn)
Lisbawn Slopes
I wish that I was back again beside the mountains steep
listening to the gushing streams, the lambs and bleating sheep
to see again the grey mist steal over the bogs and fields
and the skylarks gleeful twitter like silver trumpet peels
The aurora of the heather the heath and woodbine too
Of new mown hay in Meadows that now has changed its hue
Of seaweed on the seashore the perfume of wildflowers
All struan in profusion and the peaceful summer colours
This vivid dream I long have had I wish it would come true
for I was born mid Kerrys hills with Patriots I knew
They died to vent the shackles that bind our native land
before the throne of heaven now they stand at God's right hand
Patrick Joseph Griffin was born on 14 March 1908, in Lisbawn. Cahersiveen, Kerry, to Timothy Griffin of Gortnagree and his mother Bridget O Sullivan of Lisbawn. He married Margaret J O'Connell, East End, on 26 July 1934. They had six children during their marriage. He died on 8th April 1987 at the age of 79. He is buried in the Holycross Cemetary, Cahersiveen.
After being arrested at the age of fifteen for civil war activities, his is parents decided he would be off sent to boarding school in Rockwell County Tipperary. Was was recognised as a pioneer and innovator in local development, initiating in the early thirties the idea of formidable tourism and turf industry development.
While working in Acton, England, he was best known as secretary of ‘Acton Trades Council’ and the branch secretary of ‘Acton Trade and General Workers’. He was involved in many cultural Organisations and was founder member and secretary of ‘Harrow Branch Northern Ireland Civil Rights’.
Iveraghs Gallant Fifteen
(Written in The Strand, London 21/10/1956)
Hurrah old Iveragh’s gallant 15
who conquered Strand Road in gold and green
they fought a hard fight for its plain to be seen
that the Gaels of The strand are no footballers mean.
From defense to attack they were there to a man
and brimful of thrills the excitement it ran
blood pressure was high as the scoring began
and the cheers could be heard on the banks of the Bann
O'Neill playing goal was a glorious sight
Dennis Bailey fullback leaped for balls at great height
Frank O'Connor and Murphy in defense left and right
showed the boys from the North how South Kerry can fight
Jerome Shea,O Dwyer and Sugrue were there,
To stalwarts of valor excelled in the air
For place kicking straight so few can compare
It was the pleasure to watch the most satisfying fare
O'Neill at midfield was a resplendent of course
When McCarthy, O'Connell or always in force
Ned Fitz and McAuliffe sent balls always close
For the Griffins and Gerald to shoot at the posts
And here for good measure, reserves are at hand
Tadhg Connell, June Murphy can well take their stand
Mossy Fitz and Bill Keating, two footballers grand
Will rank with the names who defeated The Strand
Sure it was a fine game with thrills they are galore
Fuse all such fine football played ever before
Their names will make history a thousand times o'er
Like the famed Kerry players in fond days of yore
Then lift up your glass and give them a toast
For the Gaels of South Kerry of football can boast
We send you fond greetings from far distant coasts
In the manner we send the proud vanquished a toast.
Romantic Kerry
There is not in old Ireland a county so fair
As my dear native county, there is none can compare
With its heather clad mountains, lakes, rivers and streams,
From the town of Kenmare to Clashmelcom deep caves.
Round the rough coast there are inlets galore
And cosy coves sheltered from wild winds that soar.
Whilst the wild waves make music entrancing and grand
Conducted each beat by God’s right hand.
And off shore the islands resplendent in green
Where cockle shells shimmer beneath the suns beam
Here dwells such fair beauty no artist can paint
Sure you’d swap heaven for it if you were a saint.
If you are a tourist in search of fine scenes
There’s the Lakes of Killarney mid woodlands and streams;
There’s Lough Curran, Derrynane and Caragh Lake grand,
There’s the Vale of Tralee near to famed Banna Strand.
There’s Dingle near Brandon where the Dingle Puck Goat
Was sold at the fair for a single pound note.
There’s O’Connell’s own birthplace near dear Caherciveen,
Parkenesell, Stake Fort and the Village of Sneem.
There’s the town of Killorglin, the Laune at its feet
Where the King Puck is crowned every year in the street.
Ballyheigue, Ballybunion, Ballylongford, Astee
At the mouth of the Shannon as it sweeps to the sea.
If you think I’m romancing you just wait and see
Contact old Gay Byrne’s late show on R.T.E,
Or write Eamonn Kelly that comedian rare
Both are and about Kerry and its beauty so rare.
I could well write a book if I had but the time
About Romantic Kerry in prose or in rhyme;
Here words seem to fail me I’ll tell you just why
It surpasses description and that is no lie.
To the air ‘My Beauty of Limerick’
A Water Scandal
Oh Knocknagoshel mute and tame upon the sloping hill,
you sure remind me of that rhyme about fine Jack and Jill
For each time that I visited you be it summer fall or spring
I have to fetch the water in a bucket made of tin
In this jet age we live in not to mind the EEC
it sounds incredible to think you can't flush the lavatory
for water just like Guinness will fill your toilet bowl
and runs like black Calcutta will decorate your home
now why are you so tolerant or perhaps subservient.
The country that you live in is yours by any stint
so wake up demonstrators and show you can't be fooled
it's the only thing that listen to when they know you can't be ruled
Now water is a basic right it's used by man and beast
it's needed when they christen you and laid out facing East
but there's one thing really certain it must be crystal clear
that Knocknagoshel water won't make Harp nor Smithwicks beer.
And if there was no beer my friends what would the people do
the revenue to rule us all from where would it accrue
so cheer up and be merry and claim your civil rights
for the toilets that you sit in contains some hundred shites
And should it all accumulate oh what a stink there would be
the water from the buckets that's used to make the tea
would scarcely flush the toilet plus a little drop of pee
so carry out your protest as quickly as can be.
Ode to Sigerson Clifford
He was tall and straight and handsome
With a shock of nut-brown hair
He was affable and courteous
Without ambition or care
He had no guile or cunning
He was meek and gentle too
Like the ivy in the woodland
That never changes hue.
He loved his native country
His country he adored
He loved the simple old folk
The travelling people too
He loved their songs and music
Their propensities he knew
They were minor and forgivable
and no harm did they brew.
His gift of phrase was heavenly
As his poetry plainly showed
It came to him spontaneously
And there it was, it glowed:
Like a bright star in the firmament
Where heavens beams are stored
God’s bounty in perfection
Unstintingly bestowed.
God rest you Eddie Bernard
Between the hills and hay
Where your mouldering bones lay deep in tranquillity
Until the final judgment day
When the trumpet will resound
To joyfully assemble in the great eternal fold.
May your presence up in Heaven
Adorn all around
As your allotted seat you take
‘Mid the great celestial crowd
With God himself presiding upon the golden throne
Imparting benediction to the faithful in His home.
Kerry vs Dublin
in 1975
It was a day full of Glory for Kerry the boys in the green and the gold
when they conquered bold heffos great army a team that was brave and was bold
Twas the 28th day of September and the dark clouds hung low over head
but the boys from the kingdom were rearing as over the green pitch they sped
They were fleet as the hair on the moorand pursued by the hounds in full cry
as they gritted their teeth with a mission at the football the boot they let fly
There were as accurate as prize winning soldiers or the aim of the famed William Tell
as the long drawn out minutes ticked over they were sounding old Dublin's death knell
Bold Dublin drew first blood that evening as soon as the ball was thrown in,
Hill 16 almost went crazy, they made such a hell of a din.
What time like a Blue streak of lightning or a jet plane that sweeps through the sky
the ball found its way over the crossbar to level the score with a cry
From that very moment the cheering was vibrant and truly was loud
still the stalwarts of heffernan's army were hectic determined and proud.
The battle it raged at a frenzy such a game so seldom had been seen
but the boys from the greens hills of Kerry were masters, twas plain to be seen.
I could praise them each man in his glory but alas to describe the great scene,
would be painting the lilly believe me and that to my mind would be mean.
We're content with our laurels brought dearly for Dublin in truth must be seen
they were worthy opponents but vanquished by the boys in the gold and the Green.
So here's to the fame of the Kingdom old warriors as history recalls
will drink a toastand be merry and cut out all the boasts and the brawls.
And soon we'll be home to the mountains where many a brave Gael has died
For dark Rosaleen our dear mother Whose chorus we honour with pride
At length to round off my story and make it just right and complete
a word to the valiant young minors who pulled off a victory so sweet
They are the sure future champions of Kerry I'm sure that no one will deny
so we will wave the old standard believe me and a pat on the back for each boy.
I gaze upon the hollowed spot
I gaze upon the hollowed spot where Casement stood of yore
on Bannas lonely windswept shore some 60 years before
I paused beside McKenna's fort and a tear came to my eye
for its here that Roger Casement to freedom said goodbye
For Ireland's freedom long he toiled and German aid he sought
some 20,000 rifles to Banna beach he brought
but the cruel hand of destiny ordained things otherwise
for the Aud and all the rifles were claimed as England's prize.
The valiant German cargo ship was soon to meet its fate
as Ireland's cup of destiny was in a sorry state
the Aud she was arrested by England's high sea power
but the gallant crew they scuttled her in that historic hour.
I'm a lonely cell in Pontenville, Sir Roger awaited trial,
While the crown and prosecution packed the jury with a smile
Sir Roger wrote his dock speach before the trial began
for trying to free old Ireland he knew he'd surely hang
The trial it was all over the verdict it was said
then camely and unflinchingly his speech Sir Roger read
He spoke; his words we're noble with dignity and grace
He faced the hangman's gallows with a measured steady pace
May God above have Mercy on old Ireland's noble sons
Who fought the mighty tyrant with pike and sword and gun
They died for faith and fatherland on mountains Street and glen
May the Irish Saints embrace them amen amen amen.
This ballad was awarded three medals on being the best submitted for competition in 1972 first in local first in regional and first in all England
The Autumn Of My Life
The faded autumn hues of summer's brilliant colours
Surround me as I walk among the shimmering heath and heather.
I scan for horizon where blue sea meets and kisses the mountain.
Where ships and yachts and sailing boats play gracefully together.
I sit beside the place the Rocky Road joins the town and Carhan River together.
Inspecting woodcock, pheasant, grouse; their plumage, gay as ever.
The silver birch and copper beech, the mountain ash;
They charm the quiet and peaceful scene as the season gently ebbs and flows.
Enchanting scenes of Oisin's hills with silver lakes and sleepy river.
The bracken groves and sitka spruce guard against the weather.
Shadowed mountains black with sparkling rock, they'll go to sleep.
Great bastions strong, both watch unfettered.
I feel as if I were a King, with stories of gold and treasure so rich, to challenge Rome.
The bells sing distantly and I stroll in carefree joy and leisure.
I praise the day I came to grow in Kerry's seventh heaven
With the friends, I know, all loyal and true,
I hope I'll live to eighty seven.