Sean Clifford Poems

The Rambling House

Do you remember the roving house when neighbours called each night,
to chat and talk the hours away beside the turf fire bright.
But they have vanished from the scene, like a feather in the wind,
I’d like if they came back again, it would be a Godsend.

One man would always start the chat, with some daring, personal feat,
then the others would join in and with him they’d compete.
And little Johnny was the best, he’d stand up on the floor, no matter what the story was he had seen a quite bit more.

I remember one particular night, the topic it was ghosts,
and Johnny had seen the biggest one, at least that was his boast.
“He was surely ten foot tall”, say he, “with glaring eyes of red,
another man would faint of course or maybe drop down dead”.
“I’ll eat you”, says the ghost to John, “before the night is through”,
and Johnny looked up at the ghost said “that’s what you look like too”.
The ghost then had enough of John, he retired through the wall,
and Johnny cycled home once more no fear in him at all.

O' Brien's Hall

Tonight my memory takes me back and clearly I recall,
of the happy dancing nights we spent in Newmarket’s O’ Brien’s Hall.
I can see them queuing at the door, those happy laughing pairs,
and watched them as they climbed those steps, for the ‘dance hall’ was upstairs.
A half-crown a head, the poster said, dancing ten `till three,
should you hang around till after ‘till after twelve, you’d get in for half the fee.
This hall went on for years and years oh! twenty years or more,
t’was famous for it’s music and it’s inlaid maple floor.
 
The mineral bar was down the stairs, as was the cloakroom too,
and quite adjacent to this spot was a spacious patron’s loo.

Lismire

As I walked through the village, Twas forty years on,
the new school unchanged just the chimneys gone.
Central heating had come and that’s good enough,
it must be much better than four wet sods of turf.
 
Then onto the church and not much of a change,
just the road wall was gone and the grounds re-arranged.
And I though of the priests of yesteryear,
with the sermons about hell you would shake with fear.
Of if you were a “server” inside the rail,

The Stranger

A stranger passed by our house to-day.
his step was light as his way.
“Good Day” says he with a friendly smile,
I returned his greeting in similar style.
There was something about him, I tried to define,
yet his travels of course was no business of mine.
But curiosity’s funny, and cannot be concealed,
so I watched while he gazed into Casey’s big field.

The Rambling House

Do you remember the roving house when neighbours called each night,
to chat and talk the hours away beside the turf fire bright.
But they have vanished from the scene, like a feather in the wind,
I’d like if they came back again, it would be a Godsend.
 
One man would always start the chat, with some daring, personal feat,
then the others would join in and with him they’d compete.
And little Johnny was the best, he’d stand up on the floor, no matter what the story was he had seen a quite bit more.
 
I remember one particular night, the topic it was ghosts,
and Johnny had seen the biggest one, at least that was his boast.
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