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terry-jordanPoems
My name is Terry Fitzpatrick I see familiar faces all around Perhaps some long lost relatives Still in County Cork who could be found My grandfather, James William Fitzpatrick Made his way to South Boston, Mass, Just like thousands of Irish refugees Was looked down upon as low class “We don’t hire the Irish” Signs posted on many a door So he played piano and wrote songs To feed his family of four Side by Side and Beer Barrel Polka Were 2 of his most famous songs He sold the rights for so little Few dollars, no credit, so wrong... He had left County Cork in a hurry Like thousands forced to leave town His family, I’m told, were horse thieves But The Famine’s what took them down The Troubles continued in Boston Fifty years before the Kennedys were crowned My Grandfather kept drinking and singing Grandmother died young without a sound One of their 4 sons was my father Clifford Joseph then had 4 sons and me I’m proud of my Irish heritage First one back to visit since 1893
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Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
Return to Ireland
My name is Terry Fitzpatrick I see familiar faces all around Perhaps some long lost relatives Still in County Cork who could be found My grandfather, James William Fitzpatrick Made his way to South Boston, Mass, Just like thousands of Irish refugees Was looked down upon as low class “We don’t hire the Irish” Signs posted on many a door So he played piano and wrote songs To feed his family of four Side by Side and Beer Barrel Polka Were 2 of his most famous songs He sold the rights for so little Few dollars, no credit, so wrong... He had left County Cork in a hurry Like thousands forced to leave town His family, I’m told, were horse thieves But The Famine’s what took them down The Troubles continued in Boston Fifty years before the Kennedys were crowned My Grandfather kept drinking and singing Grandmother died young without a sound One of their 4 sons was my father Clifford Joseph then had 4 sons and me I’m proud of my Irish heritage First one back to visit since 1893
When I arrived in Dublin, I felt like Mohammed Ali when he went to Africa for the Rumble in the Jungle;  everyone looked like my brothers & sisters, every cab driver was a poet or musician;  every town, no matter how small, had lots of live music.  I'm over the moon for Ireland.
terry-jordan
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terry-jordan
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
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