Nothing is like the first weeks of june cutting silage all through the pale blue moon
With the crash and bang of the trailer on old back roads driving over the odd few cones
With the tractor roaring and reving as you race round the feild as you tip the trailer on the pit like a green island on a sea of concrete
With the windows open and the fresh air blowing in to the cab
Smoke flying out the exhaust like old coal fires
With screeching tyres.
– Graham Guinan
Summer is the time when the flowers have grown to the best that they ever can be, its when the children all play on the farm, in the hay and go swimming on the banks on the banks of the Lee.
Its when the farmers go out to cut turf for the winter, spending hours working in the hot sun, and when onlookers gaze at the cows, who do graze on the hills of old Sliabhnamon.
In summer we listen to the boom-blasting beats as the drift through the air with the breeze; and like birds in the sky, the radio glides with each step that these notes do seize.
But when summer is over and boats are birds that go flocking from the marinas on the Shannon. We all go back to school, endure work that is cruel and miss holidays that were once down in Bandon
My Dog Ted
I have a dog. His name is ted he wont play fetch.He won’t shake hands he won’t play dead or say brake he won’t roll over.
He wont do tricks at all
when people ask why
Summer is my favourite season,
‘Grass to cut’ ‘silage to make’
during the season we work like a bee,
But we can’t do any work with out a key.
Cows chewing their cud,
while they sit in the long waving grass,
Silage will be made,
Hay will be sold,
For the cold winters coming.
Without any fertiliser or dung the field would be useless,
So we spread the fertiliser,
Then the farmer stoped and said I could nearly swear the sun went all the way with me that day.
So now the summer is nearly over,
After all the scorching shining days,
But now I have no money to spare.
By Oisin Gannon
The first time I saw his face
I knew I was in the right place,
I smiled at him,
He smiled at me,
Then I knew we were meant to be.
Then I started texting him
But I wouldn’t tell my friend Kim,
Then he started to call,
He asked me to the Christmas Ball,
He asked me would I like to dance,
But then I realisied it was just a trance.
It was not real,
It was only fake,
And then my heart began to break.
The very next day I saw his face,
And this time it was no joke,
I was definitely in the right place.
Hurling was born in Tipp,
by Mr Cusack and Mr Davin.
the only sport worth having.
The ball is thrown in,
the clash of the ash.
Picked up my Shane McGrath,
and over the bar in a flash.
The game moves at lightning spree,
with the giant roar of the crowd.
Suddenly it all falls silent,
as Shefflin steps up to take a free.
And then the final whistle is blown,
the captain goes up to the hogan.
To recieve Mick McCarthy and give his speech,
‘thank god were bringing the McCarthy home’.
Finally the trip back home,
the team on the top of a bus.
And all those who had no interest,
wonder ‘whats all the fuss?’
By Ronan Butler
I believe in miracles
and wishes that come true.
I believe in angels,
and they’re watching over us.
I believe in God,
and all the things he did.
I believe in heaven,
waiting for us all.
I believe in friends,
as kind as can be.
I beleive in family,
thats always for me.
Do you believe in miracles?
or in Angels?
Do you believe like me?