(With sincere and profound apologies to Roger Angell and The New Yorker)
Happy Christmas, Bogside Rogues
And you, John Byrne Band, playing the Pogues.
Slainte, Santa Fergus Carey,
And Shannon who’s the brand new Mary.
At the risk of sounding silly
We serve you wassail, IN-Philly.
There’s a gift for you under the tree,
Maria Walsh, Rose of Tralee.
And woolen mufflers and matching gloves
For everyone Mike Bradley loves.
Wishing sellouts at O’Hara
For the Blackthorn guys and McDade Cara.
Happy New Year, Commodore Barry,
The Irish Center where many marry,
Where John Shields and Cass Tinney too,
Teach ceili dancing to a few.
Santa got your list, Sean Breen:
The GAA has a field of green.
The Delco Gaels will make the feile
Thanks to the Dancing Like a Star gala.
See the angel as she turns
For Parade Grand Marshal Kathy Burns.
There’s Comet, Cupid, Donner and Prancer,
Leaping like a Cummins dancer.
Of course we could always say the same
About the girls of Celtic Flame,
And Coyle, Fitzpatrick, and Rince Ri,
Broesler, Rainbow, and Timoney.
May the Haverford Irish gloat
Over their kudos for fanciest float,
And may Yelp be good to all our bars,
Like Irish Times and Plough and Stars,
Fergie’s, Slainte, McGillicuddy’s
Where everyone dances with their buddies,
St. Declan’s Well and other venues–
You should check out all their menus.
What’s in the package, Tommy Keenan?
A pack of batteries from Bobby Henon,
Wrapped with Tony Byrne’s permission
In last month’s issue of the Edition.
A merry festivus to you, Miss Haley,
To Jamison, Slainte, and Frank Daly
Who kicks off every Christmas season
With the show that gives us reason
To believe in Christmas magic
Even in a year that’s tragic.
Let us give a great big whoop
For the Philadelphia Ceili Group
And all the music that they bring:
They can make the angels sing.
Not to mention Gerry Timlin,
Gabe Donohue—let’s get him in—
Kanes, Tom and Terry, and Ellen Tepper,
A harpist who’s as hot as pepper,
McDermott’s Handy, Karen Boyce
McCollum of the lovely voice,
Vincent Gallagher and his band;
That’s Pat Kildea at his right hand;
Marian Makins, she’s Gabe’s wife,
They’re locked in a duet for life;
Rosie McGill’s the finest singer,
Though not a fan of the right-winger.
A hearty shake of Santa’s belly
To you, good pal, John “Lefty” Kelly.
Hooligans, we think you’re swell,
Merry Christmas, Luke Jardel!
With winter’s chill we think it best
To ponder the Midwinter Fest
Where we hear the best of rock
With Celtic flair (and Albannach).
We know Bill Reid will never nag us,
Though he wants us to try haggis.
At the Immigration Center
Siobhan and Leslie are there to mentor
Immigrants both young and old,
Undocumented and uncontrolled,
But the seniors are the draw,
Like Declan Forde and Kathleen Murtagh.
What’s that we hear: a ho ho ho?
For Julia Walsh, our Miss Mayo,
For Donegal and Cavan too,
And Derry known for derring-do,
For Galway and our other home,
The Ulster county of Tyrone.
And another “ho” we hear again
For all the suits at IABCN,
For Inis Nua that brings our rage
And Irish humor to the stage,
And to Marianne on the radio,
We also give a three-time ho!
AOHers, you’re so jolly,
Please accept this sprig of holly.
Likewise, Emerald Pipes and Drums,
A great big box of sugarplums,
To thank you all for bringing joy
To our own little drummer boy.
Even though the experts told us
We’d never find a rhyme for Comhaltas
We couldn’t let this poem pass
Without a nod to lad and lass
Who keep the Irish culture lit
With music, dancing, and great wit.
And so we’ll use the Christmas season
To tell you all that you’re the reason
Why we do this site for free:
You’re the angel on our tree,
You’re our favorite Irish story,
Nollaig shona from me, Jeff, and Lori.
