🎭Recitation for Scor na nOg🎭
We will be publishing a poem every week, to give the children something to do after they have finished their tin whistle classes.
We will be aiming mostly at the Primary School children but we will also be looking to some of our Scor competitors who might be interested in branching out into recitation. Whether or not you compete, this is still a great skill to have so give it a go.
All poems will be posted on Facebook and also available to view here
Saw my teacher on a Saturday
Saw my teacher on a Saturday!
I can’t believe it’s true!
I saw her buying groceries,
like normal people do!
She reached for bread and turned around,
and then she caught my eye.
She gave a smile and said, “Hello.”
I thought that I would die!
“Oh, hi…hello, Miss Appleton,”
I mumbled like a fool.
I guess I thought that teacher types
spend all their time at school.
To make the situation worse,
my mom was at my side.
So many rows of jars and cans.
So little room to hide.
Oh please, I thought, don’t tell my mom
what I did yesterday!
I closed my eyes and held my breath
and hoped she’d go away.
Some people think it’s fine to let
our teachers walk about.
But when it comes to Saturdays,
they shouldn’t let them out!
Counties of Ireland.
We are Munster’s counties fair,
Cork, Kerry, Limerick, Clare.
Waterford, Tipperary , here we are
welcoming you from near and far.
Leinster is beyond compare
Dublin, Wicklow, Carlow Kildare
Wexford, Offally, Laois, Kilkenny
Longford and Louth are as good as any
Meath, West Meath and that is all.
Now to a province that is small.
Connacht is the smallest though,
Galway Leitrim and Mayo
Roscommon Sligo that’s the lot.
Just one verse for you we’ve got.
We are Ulster’s counties nine,
let’s forget the dividing line.
Donegal, Derry, Antrim, Down,
all are counties of renown.
Armagh Monaghan and Tyrone,
Cavan, Fermanagh. Now all are known
The Old Woman of the Road – by Padraic Colum
O, to have a little house!
To own the hearth and stool and all!
The heaped up sods against the fire,
the pile of turf against the wall!
To have a clock with weights and chains
and pendulum swinging up and down!
A dresser filled with shining delph,
speckled and white and blue and brown!
I could be busy all the day
clearing and sweeping hearth and floor,
and fixing on their shelf again
my white and blue and speckled store!
I could be quiet there at night
beside the fire and by myself,
sure of a bed and loth to leave
the ticking clock and the shining delph!
Och! but I’m weary of mist and dark,
and roads where there’s never a house nor bush,
and tired I am of bog and road,
and the crying wind and the lonesome hush!
And I am praying to God on high,
and I am praying Him night and day,
for a little house – a house of my own
out of the wind’s and the rain’s way.
I know a funny little man,
as quiet as a mouse,
who does the mischief that is done
in everybody’s house!
There’s no one ever sees his face,
and yet we all agree
that every plate we break was cracked
by Mr. Nobody.
’Tis he who always tears out books,
who leaves the door ajar,
he pulls the buttons from our shirts,
and scatters pins afar;
That squeaking door will always squeak,
for prithee, don’t you see,
we leave the oiling to be done
by Mr. Nobody.
He puts damp wood upon the fire
that kettles cannot boil;
his are the feet that bring in mud,
and all the carpets soil.
The papers always are mislaid;
who had them last, but he?
there’s no one tosses them about
but Mr. Nobody.
The finger marks upon the door
by none of us are made;
we never leave the blinds unclosed,
to let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill; the boots
that lying round you see
are not our boots,—they all belong
to Mr. Nobody.