FAMOUS IRISH FILM STARS
MAUREEN O’HARA
And other film stars of fame
Fiery red head,
tall beautiful,
Dublin’s daughter,
eighty years young,
Still charming,
With her Irish lilt
And sea blue eyes.
“The Quiet Man,”
The strains of
The isle of Innisfree
Won all hearts
At home and abroad.
Bringing laughter
Re Mary Kate Danagher,
Whose teasing flirtation
Stole John Wayne’s affection,
Her wild Irish customs
And her childlike mannerisms
Mixed with innocence
So beautiful long ago…
Her very first Movie
“Jamaica Inn”
When Hollywood realized
This Irish maid
Was there to stay
until to day,
Fifty plus films later.
Hollywood’s Irish Greats.
Irish wit, good humour,
Made actors second to none,
Frank Quinn produced young Anthony,
He proudly called him “Son”.
The Cagney Dad, a barman,
In New York, he filled the jars,
Fathered our childhood idol,
James the man for spars.
Martin Sheen’ s beloved Mum,
She came from Borrisokane,
In the county of Tipperary,
A county of hurling fame.
Delaney was his Mammy’s name,
Kevin Kline from Louis, Missouri,
Harrison Ford had an Irish Mum
Catholic and good humoured.
How many tears of joy we wept,
At Charlie Chaplin’ s antics,
From his Mother,Hannah Hill from Cork,
Inherited his gifted acting.
Walt Disney , who gave us Donald Duck,
As well as the mouse named “Mickey”
Was born to an Irish country lass,
Mary Richardson young and pretty..
Then Patrick Duffy , the gorgeous Pat,
Hitchcock from Emma Whelan,
Maureen O’Sullivan and Tyrone Power,
Gregory Peck sent hearts a leaping.
So proud we were of the Crooner,Bing,
And the smiling Barry Fitzgerald,
We loved to hear the former sing,
The latter brought such laughter.
I could go on about many more,
Who proved their worth as actors,
Their fame has spread in many shores,
Erin’s lovely sons and daughters.
GRACE KELLY
Beautiful Grace, Princess of Monaco,
Swan like in shape, actress supreme,
From the County Mayo, Ireland’s western coast,
Her ancestors sailed in a foul famine boat.
They were hardworking people, loyal to their faith,
And in the Old land of Erin, the name ”Kelly” was great.
The blonde, beautiful Grace, Monaco’s uncrowned queen,
Met her death on the road, ruined her life’s dream.
ST. PATRICK’S DAY, 1992
St. Patrick‘s Day is blooming around this lovely globe,
But it can be a lonesome time for parents on their own,
A family stays close with you, when they are young and small,
But all too soon they disappear, sweet memories we recall.
I guess it‘s just what life entails, from the beginning of this life
Parents rear their children and like birds they learn to fly.
And float away far from their nests and find friends and foes alike,
Forgetting the old birds at home, who miss their fledglings bright
To day I feel nostalgic, I miss my kin and home,
I watch the parades through out the world, and still feel quite alone
But I am only one of those many lonely beings,
who sit at home in silence,
And slumber in by gone dreams.
CLIMBING CROAGH PATRICK IN CO.MAYO
(Croagh Patrick , where St.Patrick spent 40 days and 40 nights)
In the eerie light of early dawn,
Standing, one gazes in awe.
One’s spirit seems to falter
At the glimpse of the summit tall,
Soaring high into the open sky
On this the final Sunday in July.
Shadows creeping near you,
Movement as pilgrims walk,
Some are bent with sticks in hand
Faces serious, minds in thought.
The three hour climb is starting,
A head, a line of pilgrims talk,
Tapping with stick on stone and twig,
Following the footsteps of Patrick’s walk.
They kneel and pray, then climb with dare,
Two and a half thousand feet above,
Here Patrick cared with love, his sheep,
Gazing down on the desolate moors.
The fields of Murrisk, to Erris Hill,
Clew Bay so far beneath,
forty days and forty nights,
St. Patrick prayed with zeal.
O’er the wind swept crest in Mayo,
Midst the Baa Baa from the
MAUREEN O’HARA
And other film stars of fame
Fiery red head,
tall beautiful,
Dublin’s daughter,
eighty years young,
Still charming,
With her Irish lilt
And sea blue eyes.
“The Quiet Man,”
The strains of
The isle of Innisfree
Won all hearts
At home and abroad.
Bringing laughter
Re Mary Kate Danagher,
Whose teasing flirtation
Stole John Wayne’s affection,
Her wild Irish customs
And her childlike mannerisms
Mixed with innocence
So beautiful long ago…
Her very first Movie
“Jamaica Inn”
When Hollywood realized
This Irish maid
Was there to stay
until to day,
Fifty plus films later.
Hollywood’s Irish Greats.
Irish wit, good humour,
Made actors second to none,
Frank Quinn produced young Anthony,
He proudly called him “Son”.
The Cagney Dad, a barman,
In New York, he filled the jars,
Fathered our childhood idol,
James the man for spars.
Martin Sheen’ s beloved Mum,
She came from Borrisokane,
In the county of Tipperary,
A county of hurling fame.
Delaney was his Mammy’s name,
Kevin Kline from Louis, Missouri,
Harrison Ford had an Irish Mum
Catholic and good humoured.
How many tears of joy we wept,
At Charlie Chaplin’ s antics,
From his Mother,Hannah Hill from Cork,
Inherited his gifted acting.
Walt Disney , who gave us Donald Duck,
As well as the mouse named “Mickey”
Was born to an Irish country lass,
Mary Richardson young and pretty..
Then Patrick Duffy , the gorgeous Pat,
Hitchcock from Emma Whelan,
Maureen O’Sullivan and Tyrone Power,
Gregory Peck sent hearts a leaping.
So proud we were of the Crooner,Bing,
And the smiling Barry Fitzgerald,
We loved to hear the former sing,
The latter brought such laughter.
I could go on about many more,
Who proved their worth as actors,
Their fame has spread in many shores,
Erin’s lovely sons and daughters.
GRACE KELLY
Beautiful Grace, Princess of Monaco,
Swan like in shape, actress supreme,
From the County Mayo, Ireland’s western coast,
Her ancestors sailed in a foul famine boat.
They were hardworking people, loyal to their faith,
And in the Old land of Erin, the name ”Kelly” was great.
The blonde, beautiful Grace, Monaco’s uncrowned queen,
Met her death on the road, ruined her life’s dream.
ST. PATRICK’S DAY, 1992
St. Patrick‘s Day is blooming around this lovely globe,
But it can be a lonesome time for parents on their own,
A family stays close with you, when they are young and small,
But all too soon they disappear, sweet memories we recall.
I guess it‘s just what life entails, from the beginning of this life
Parents rear their children and like birds they learn to fly.
And float away far from their nests and find friends and foes alike,
Forgetting the old birds at home, who miss their fledglings bright
To day I feel nostalgic, I miss my kin and home,
I watch the parades through out the world, and still feel quite alone
But I am only one of those many lonely beings,
who sit at home in silence,
And slumber in by gone dreams.
CLIMBING CROAGH PATRICK IN CO.MAYO
(Croagh Patrick , where St.Patrick spent 40 days and 40 nights)
In the eerie light of early dawn,
Standing, one gazes in awe.
One’s spirit seems to falter
At the glimpse of the summit tall,
Soaring high into the open sky
On this the final Sunday in July.
Shadows creeping near you,
Movement as pilgrims walk,
Some are bent with sticks in hand
Faces serious, minds in thought.
The three hour climb is starting,
A head, a line of pilgrims talk,
Tapping with stick on stone and twig,
Following the footsteps of Patrick’s walk.
They kneel and pray, then climb with dare,
Two and a half thousand feet above,
Here Patrick cared with love, his sheep,
Gazing down on the desolate moors.
The fields of Murrisk, to Erris Hill,
Clew Bay so far beneath,
forty days and forty nights,
St. Patrick prayed with zeal.
O’er the wind swept crest in Mayo,
Midst the Baa Baa from the
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