Whisky in the bottle
County Donegal
The flowing river swilly
In the distance Errigal
I don't know how I made it
To the port of letterkenny
Nor where I'm going next
As my bottles almost empty

I am just a poor boy
Born in county Tipperary
I left my family farm
And the maiden I would marry
I made my way to Ulster
Searching for the town of Derry
I spend all my gold on whiskey
Now I cant afford the ferry

Met a man from cork
In a pub where I was drinking
Why come so far north
We were talking and were thinking
Kilometres from home
And from anyone we've known
County Donegal
And there's whisky in the bottle

Whack-fol de daddy-ol

i saw bluebirds singing in the valley of donegalsinging there song of love in the season of the fall i sat there and listened to there song so sweet.hoping maybe one day me and love would meet.i sat there for a while with teardrops in my eyewith there song so sweet it almost made me cry.now ive found love and i always will recallwhen i heard the blue birds sing in the valley of donegal

there was a  once a leprecaun he came from donegal
a friendly little chap and very very small
he lived in the  woods inside a big oak tree
living of the land living life for free
one day while he was walking on his little stroll
he heard a little yell coming from a hole
the little man climbed in and took a look around
to see if he could find what  made the yelling sound
it was his friend the badger somehow he got stuck
trapped inside the  hole surrounded by the muck
so he started digging to  free him from the ground
and cleared all the muck that fallen all around
badger he was free he was trapped no more
now he could roam around again like he did before

Half asleep, driving for hours
with Budweiser bottles,
warm from the heating.
The windows were all down,
we were smoking rollies,
all sharing one lighter because the driver
dropped his in a can of fanta.

Next thing,
the roar of an army of twincams.
VTECs, something insanely beautiful,
and incredibly ridiculous,
a convention of petrol heads—
Gardaí everywhere, searching for tax
and insurance. My God, I was in it.
Hundreds of thousands of them,
all excited like children,
the screaming of a million voices,
no exhaustion in the exhaust fumes.

The hills rose around us, the traffic
packed backwards,
expensive cars all sardined in a roundabout.
How loud can you get it?
Can she sing like a canary?
Can she find herself at the Letterkenny rally?

theres legend of a dragon they tell in donegal
he  has great big wings nearly ten foot tall
soars around the valleys. when the moon is bright
blowing out is fire lighting up the night

shakes his big long tail as he goes flying by
flying through the night all across the sky
maybe it is true  a dragon could be there
flying all around flying every where.

this is just a legend just what people say
the dragon we believe in will be there to stay
one day we will see it as it goes flying by
blowing out his fire lighting up the sky.

I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.

this girl I know
who always wears summer dresses
and a smile
lent me a book on awareness
but wants it back before
she goes to work in a conflict zone
for the red cross in september

she travelled in a big red bus
to a surfers festival in donegal
where she worked
in the big red bus café
on her breaks she surfed
smoked loads of ****
listened to reggae and ate falafel

last Wednesday she received a
back payment from the social welfare
and felt guilty about it
so she donated half of it to charity
bought donkeys for three Ethiopian families
spent a small fortune on ingredients for a friends dinner
and paid for my vegetable soup

she stopped at a chocolatier
to buy one solitary chocolate
and then ate it hurriedly
while she chatted to
a circus guy she knew
about a party she had missed when she
was on the big red bus

while skimming through books
in the spirituality section
wearing her summer dress and a smile
she said she felt sick
from having eaten the chocolate too
quickly and was sad that she hadn’t
taken the time to enjoy it

today the red cross sent her for
a chest x-ray

.
I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.

I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.

Beach walking alone.
Never, short as Donegal strands,
Endless— without her.

SCATTERED IRISH THOUGHTS

Leprechauns with fairy dust will sneak into your dreams
so make a wish then go to sleep in the morning you'll believe
but a *** of gold you may not find by the morning light
cause life itself is the only gift you'll ever need to find
and by the midnight moon the Leprechauns you'll hear
they dance and sing upon your roof and drink their mugs of beer
they sing about Killarney - Donegal and County Cork
the treasures of old Ireland they protect for evermore
and if you catch a Leprechaun three wishes and no more
or Elves and Dwarfs and Unicorns will be knocking at your door

and an Irish man can drink alone but alone he'll never be
cause a pint of beer and all his dreams is all he'll ever need
for an Irish man can spin a tale of times long now forgot
paint his words in metaphors you decide what's true or not
and in the corner of the pub they're singing Danny Boy
sad songs the Irish like to sing but live a life of joy
and an Irish lass may smile at you with her emerald eyes
you'll swear to all the Saints above - ya think ya went and died
the Irish welcome one and all and they'll make you feel at home
but a part of you will never leave once you've kissed the Blarney Stone

                                       by vjkelly  (c) 2011
                                  vincentjkelly@yahoo.com
                               from the song SCATTERED IRISH THOUGHTS

Beach walking alone.
Never, short as Donegal strands,
Endless— without her.

there was once a leprecaun who lived in donegal
he live in a cave beneath a waterfall
always very friendly with manners so polite
he just loved to stroll beneath the pale moonlight
while he was on his travels through the valley green
he saw a big bright light the that he had never seen
walking in the beam to see what it could be
he saw a great big lighthouse shinging out to sea
inside he saw his friend a funny littlemouse
he had crawled inside and made himself a house
mouse had put the lights so  he get around
to brighten up his home that the mouse had found
leprecaun he laughed at what the mouse had done
giggled with delight he found it so much fun.
mouse he settled down as happy as can be
in home with lights that  shone across the sea

Beach walking alone.
Never, short as Donegal strands,
Endless— without her.

I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.

From the Giant's foot-prints of the Causeway,
And to the way old Donegal Bay,
His home of County Down,
Where all's sound as a pound,
We'll all celebrate the Irish way.

.
I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.

I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.

Beach walking alone.
Never, short as Donegal strands,
Endless— without her.

Beach walking alone.
Never, short as Donegal strands,
Endless— without her.

there was once a leprecaun who lived in donegal
he lived in a cave beneath a waterfall
always very friendly with manners so polite
he just loved to stroll beneath the pale moonlight.

while he was on his travels through the valley green
he saw a big bright light the that he had never seen
walking in the beam to see what it could be
he saw a great big lighthouse shining out to sea.

inside he saw his friend a funny little mouse
he had crawled inside and made himself a house
mouse had put the lights on. so  he get around
to brighten up his home that the mouse had found.

leprecaun he laughed at what the mouse had done
giggled with delight he found it so much fun.
mouse he settled down as happy as can be
in his home with lights that  shone across the sea.

The border between Ireland
and Ireland is a skipping rope
held by counties Donegal and
Down, but the problems is this,
Donegal are turning it clockwise,
whereas Down are anticlockwise.

XV

God almighty,
Have you ever seen such
a gorgeous vessel?
Linin’ up before it makes
all us lads from Southampton
gleam like steel ourselves
--right, and westward we go

Maybe this’ll be my ticket,
men
to a life worth living above ground
wherever this miracle ship sails me
I’ll go
just the sea and I.

If I marry someday,
it’ll be a **** near sign from God.
I’ve got me a lassie back in
Donegal,
Pretty as they come;
Her hymns are as soft as angel
Wings
In a world too cruel.

Yes, I’ll tell her
soon as I reach shore

but for now, It’s westward
I go…

theres legend of a dragon they tell in donegal
he  has great big wings nearly ten foot tall
soars around the valleys. when the moon is bright
blowing out is fire lighting up the night

shakes his big long tail as he goes flying by
flying through the night all across the sky
maybe it is true  a dragon could be there
flying all around flying every where.

this is just a legend just what the people say
the dragon we believe in will be there to stay
one day we will see it as it goes flying by
blowing out his fire lighting up the sky.

At a dinner dance for dogs at
Derrybeg in County Donegal,
a sign at the door instructed
each and every species, to
undo their *** holes and hang
them in the cloakroom on
hooks provided.

This was of course, as a result
of the previous years mess on
the dance floor.

All the dogs respected the
request and everything was
going fine, without incident,
until a Dalmatian got into an
argument with a Dachshunde.

During the fracas, a kerosene
lamp was knocked to the floor,
before long, the hall was ablaze.

Smoke filled the corridors, panic
set in, barking howling is all one
could hear as all the dogs rushed
to the cloakroom picking up the
first ******* they could find.

That is why, to this day, in Ireland,
one can see canines in the parks
sniffing other dogs derrieres in
an effort to find their own.

He wins the nobbly knee contest coz he is so very bony..haha his legs goes right up to his pants, two sticks of skinny polony..and he laughs just like a hyena with no teeth left in his gob..hes abit of a museum piece and isn’t a heartthrob..

But everyone adores Irish Micky Flynn with his Ballymoney Blarney..from County Donegal down to the southwest shores of Killarney..coz all he ever does allday is banter on his jokes, keeping people happy he is the jolliest of folks..and he chats to absolutely everybody, infact he is just a blether..with his thin arms waving high in the air as he forecasts the weather..he talks the hind legs of a donkey and still he doesn’t stop, as he sits with his mug of cocoa in his local coffee shop..

There are mountains
Benbulben is a beacon

There are lakes tied
to rivers and brooks

There are bye-ways
of The Drovers era

And romantic villages
with poetical names

It is bordered to Donegal
by a seminal chord

Which gives it a melodic
accent in regional intonation.

Imagine if you will, that
the current border was a
skipping rope, where the
children of both sides
could play, while some-
body from Donegal held
one end and the other, a
person from County Down.

All we need to resolve now,
is, will it be turned clockwise,
or anti clockwise ?

there was once a leprecaun who lived in donegal
he lived in a cave beneath a waterfall
always very friendly with manners so polite
he just loved to stroll beneath the pale moonlight.

while he was on his travels through the valley green
he saw a big bright light the that he had never seen
walking in the beam to see what it could be
he saw a great big lighthouse shining out to sea.

inside he saw his friend a funny little mouse
he had crawled inside and made himself a house
mouse had put the lights on. so  he get around
to brighten up his home that the mouse had found.

leprecaun he laughed at what the mouse had done
giggled with delight he found it so much fun.
mouse he settled down as happy as can be
in home with lights that  shone across the sea.

theres legend of a dragon they tell in donegal
he  has great big wings nearly ten foot tall
soars around the valleys. when the moon is bright
blowing out is fire lighting up the night

shakes his big long tail as he goes flying by
flying through the night all across the sky
maybe it is true  a dragon could be there
flying all around flying every where.

this is just a legend just what the people say
the dragon we believe in will be there to stay
one day we will see it as it goes flying by
blowing out his fire lighting up the sky.

I can't see beyond the hill,
nor do I need to, because
the grass is no greener, and
besides, it's those far away
cows came up with that one.

I can see the wind, shaking
everything, except the mist,
which stands its ground,
despite a long queue of it
right out to the horizon.

It's a day for ducks and sails
and turf fires semaphoring
inky blue smoke which looks
like graffiti against the low
white marshy mono cloud.

I'm at Belgooley, a birdcall
from Kinsale where the
Wild Atlantic Way begins,
(or ends), pending on whether
you're from Cork or Donegal.

there was once a leprecaun who lived in donegal
he lived in a cave beneath a waterfall
always very friendly with manners so polite
he just loved to stroll beneath the pale moonlight.

while he was on his travels through the valley green
he saw a big bright light the that he had never seen
walking in the beam to see what it could be
he saw a great big lighthouse shining out to sea.

inside he saw his friend a funny little mouse
he had crawled inside and made himself a house
mouse had put the lights on. so  he get around
to brighten up his home that the mouse had found.

leprecaun he laughed at what the mouse had done
giggled with delight he found it so much fun.
mouse he settled down as happy as can be
in his home with lights that  shone across the sea.

there was once a leprecaun who lived in donegal
he lived in a cave beneath a waterfall
always very friendly with manners so polite
he just loved to stroll beneath the pale moonlight.

while he was on his travels through the valley green
he saw a big bright light the that he had never seen
walking in the beam to see what it could be
he saw a great big lighthouse shining out to sea.

inside he saw his friend a funny little mouse
he had crawled inside and made himself a house
mouse had put the lights on. so  he get around
to brighten up his home that the mouse had found.

leprecaun he laughed at what the mouse had done
giggled with delight he found it so much fun.
mouse he settled down as happy as can be
in his home with lights that  shone across the sea.

Over Ireland currently
we are experiencing
the annual mono cloud
of summer which migrates
south from the Arctic
circle forming a rectangle
directly above the Republic.

Some say it is Karma by
the Leprechauns for
copyright theft plagiarising
their KerryGold and marketing
it as butter.

Others are blaming God
but they are in a minority
because those who believe
in him would never even consider
to attribute anything negative
against him.

There are some who believe
we should employ all foreigners
in the meteorological society
especially at RTE the ones who
are in control of the weather.

More say that Pat The Postman
from Donegal should be made
redundant and employ The Wizard
from Christchurch in New Zealand.

For now we are stuck with it
and as the pubs are closing
at the rate of 10 a week, there
is likely to be some serious
cases of depression and psychosis
in the near future.

.      Ireland  Untied
      

     Imagine if you will,
     the border used as
        a skipping rope
       not a tug of war.

    Children both sides
      could participate.

Someone from Donegal
holds one end, the other
person from Co. Down.

Now, all that needs to be
  resolved is which way
  it's going to be turned.

Forwards or backwards?