The Web Poetry Corner
Homesick in Geelong
by
Francis Duggan
She cannot hear the currawong
In the shopping centres of Geelong
Nor yellow robin piping low
Where the traffic buzzes to and fro.
Yet by her parents home in the freshening breeze
Upon the sunlit wattle trees
In her flights of fancy she can hear
The butcherbird pipe loud and clear.
She has lived in Geelong since last May
And though her old home only ninety kilometres away
Nostalgia as it would appear
Cannot measure distance far or near.
She works as a secretary for a Geelong city lawyer
This teenager from the Southern Grampians shire
Just eighteen years on her last birthday
And perhaps she's in Geelong for to stay.
Jobs in her small country town so few
And nothing there for her to do
And her nostalgia will fade in time
Long before she will have reached her prime.
From her office desk along the street below
She hear the noisy cars buzz to and fro
But she cannot hear the voice of the currawong
And she is feeling homesick in Geelong.
Poetry Competition
On receiving a letter from Connie Taylor
by
Francis Duggan
He wrote Francis pay that visit soon don't leave it go too late
For time as ever ticking on and time on none do wait
Old friends you know now getting old and age weaken the strong
And Millstreet changing all the time you've been away too long.
Words of advice from an erstwhile friend though he now lives far away
From Millstreet in the County Cork in San Franscisco U.S.A.
But years ago I still recall I often heard Connie say
Are you still in this boring place what's here for you to stay?.
He drummed with Millstreet Pipers band when he was in his prime
And that is going back more than twenty years and that seems a long time
Till lust for wander got to him and he too left Millstreet
He's one I have not seen for years and one I'd like to meet.
He told me of people I knew in Tanyard field they lay
They still live on in memory their flesh only decay
Pakie Coffee, Brendan Moynihan, Andy Salle and Ted 0
And Bina Taylor still lives though she died thirteen years ago.
And Dan and Nora Sullivan also gone and their cottage has been sold
And of all of those good and kind people good stories could be told
Around the homes where they once lived their spirits living still
And they will live forever in that town by Clara hill.
His letter took me back the years to places far away
To 'the Glasheen' that little rill where as children we did play
To Inchaleigh and Claraghatlea where Finnow journey down
The bond that seems to bind us still we once lived near Millstreet Town.
Are you still in this boring place? such words he used to say
When he returned from distant lands for his brief holiday
And now he advise me to visit home coming from him that sounds strange
But then in people's thinking one has to allow for change.
A letter from Connie Taylor living in the U.S.A.
I've known him since he was a boy in Millstreet far away
I had not heard from him for years but still so nice to know
That I'm still remembered from the past from all of those years ago.
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Billy the humble champion
by
Francis Duggan
When Billy Coleman won his second circuit of Ireland rally
What year it was offhand I do not know?
It was either the latter seventies or the early eighties
On looking back it seems so long ago.
He was the Irish champion rally driver
And he brought great honour to Millstreet Town
But a lot of days and weeks and years have passed on
Since Billy drove to glory and renown.
Back then the champion Irish rally driver
With the best in the world he did compete
When Billy Coleman took part in a rally
The experts had him as the one to beat.
The hands of time keep turning ever turning
And the clock as ever keeps on ticking on
And since Billy Coleman was a champion driver
A lot of days and months and years have gone.
I still have memories of that humble champion
When bonfires blazed for him in Minor Row
He raced against and beat the best in Europe
And that was almost twenty years ago.
He never boasted of his great achievements
To wallow in his glory not his way
He left his driving skills do all the talking
And Billy was a champion in his day.
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I, Myself and Me
by
Francis Duggan
The three most important to him are I, myself and me
And I'll take care of my own self and my own family
And to hell with all of the others and would you not agree
That there are many others as insular as he?.
When you talk to him of poverty and hunger he shake his head and say
It's not my fault if people are dying of hunger every day
It's their own fault and theirs alone when of hunger they die
The three important to me mate are me, myself and I.
The I, myself and me syndrome seems to be in us all
And I know that it is in me in ways I am so small,
What do I do for hunger and world poverty?
Only the best of people beyond themselves can see.
At his local social and football club with his mates he drink beer
And us, ourselves, our kids and wives from them mostly you hear
And about their take home pay and their new car and about their football team,
The I, myself and me syndrome in most of us 'twould seem.
The hardships others must endure we happily ignore
And we feel it's not our problem if people suffer on a distant shore
And only truly great people beyond themselves can see
And I too suffer from the syndrome known as I, myself and me.
Poetry Competition
The future's all that matter
by
Francis Duggan
I not unlike many others tend to remember the past
And say back then how times were better and the good days do not last
Always thinking of long dead years and dreading to look ahead
And what I'm writing of this instant by so many has been said.
Boyhood years I still remember long ago and far away
In the meadows of my childhood the sweet scent of new mown hay
And the warm lamp of summer glowing in the mid day sky
And the swallows I still see them and hear them twittering as they fly.
In the shallows of river pool brown trout basking in the sun
And the little dipper singing on rock where the rapids run
These are things I still remember such fond memories with me stay
Yet we cannot live forever back there in our childhood day.
No we cannot live forever in the times forever gone
For the future's all that matter and the clock keeps ticking on
And we can keep the old memories till they go into decay
Though the boy of forty years back is now looking old and gray.
There are many others like me who say the old days are best
But the fledgeling bird of summer when he leaves his mother's nest
Flies off to another woodland to stake his own territory
And he don't yearn for what he once knew but then he is truly free.
The fields that I knew in childhood are still in my memory
And the past I tend to cling to or do the past cling to me?
But what's gone is gone forever and the past years are long dead
And the future's all that matter for the future is ahead.
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Old Tony
by
Francis Duggan
Old Tony is a man who do not say much
Grey as a badger hard times he's been through
Perhaps one of the last survivors living
From the trenches in Europe of world war 2.
From Blackpool an old coastal town in England
A hardy breed live by the Irish sea
And Tony still a fit looking old fellow
For one of eighty two or eighty three.
He came out to Australia in the early fifties
As he will tell you for the better life
But it has been the rocky road for Tony
Since the day he farewelled his young son and wife.
His wife Beth and their five year old Jack died in a house fire
Whilst Tony drove a Melbourne V line train
His cross in life for him to bear is heavy
He's been through years of grief and mental pain.
He never re-married nor fathered more children
And he is in his twilight years alone
Yet he is one who does not seem unhappy
Despite the many sorrows he has known.
One of the few survivors of Europe's war trenches
Many of his young comrades who fought by his side
Did not return home when the war was over
They now lay in a mass grave where they died.
When he returned home from war in Blackpool in his honour
There was a party and a street parade
But he is long one of the war forgotten
And the fame he earned for him did quickly fade.
Poor Tony is a really nice old fellow
And you'll not find a braver man than he
He came to live in Melbourne in the early fifties
From Blackpool in England by the Irish sea.
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Pakie Coffey
by
Francis Duggan
He moved to county Waterford one hundred miles down track
To work for Radley brothers they said he would be back
They said that in County Waterford he could not settle in
That he could never live too far away from kith and kin.
He worked for years in Millstreet and to Millstreet he belong
And that he could never leave the place but Pakie proved them wrong
And though he did return to Millstreet for the brief holiday
Down in the County Waterford he seemed happy to stay.
I recall Pakie Coffey he was as good as gold
A warm hearted type of man and in him nothing cold
He had the gift of making friends one of the chosen few
And if you needed a favour done he'd be one to help you.
Where are the characters of old Millstreet some of them moved away
Whilst some of them by Cashman's hill down at the Tanyard lay
And Millstreet had her characters so many one could name
And each of them seemed different and no two seemed the same.
And I have heard that Pakie Coffey to the after life has gone
But he will be remembered and the memory will live on
Of a man larger than life itself and in him nothing cold
A warm hearted human being he was as good as gold.
Poetry Competition
Through the eyes of Erica
by
Francis Duggan
We left Latvia as young children left with teardrops in our eyes
Mum and daddy took us with them and tearful were those last goodbyes
We left Latvia forever never ever to return
I knew heartache, I knew sorrow, I saw fire and Berlin burn.
We arrived in Melbourne city and I've lived here for many a day
Many thousands of miles from Latvia my old homeland far away
Soviets came and took my country and robbed it of democracy
And though Latvia is now a free country I now live where I wish to be.
I've got good friends here in Melbourne and to them I can relate
And my best friend Babs she come from Ireland and we get along just great
Babs came here to live in Melbourne many, many moons ago
From Connacht in the west of Ireland and the county of Mayo.
We go to the Irish pubs together and I love the atmosphere
Rebel songs and Irish music mixes well with Aussie beer
Music always makes me happy, music lifts the spirits high
I love music dancing music, music spreads the gift of joy.
I was once a misplaced person and I have known the pangs of tears
But I have never felt so happy the happiest I've been for years
Still I sometimes think of Latvia and it cause me twinge of pain
I brought bits of Latvia with me memories of home remain.
I have reached the happy gateway walked up through the paths of strife
And one day I will write the story write that story of my life,
Tell about my homeland Latvia before the invader came
And tell the world about the Soviets those who know no guilt or shame.
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Us and they
by
Francis Duggan
They are words that we often hear the words us and they
And as a weapon they are used by some leaders of today
To villify their opponents the game of words they play
Those not with us our enemies that's what you hear them say.
The words us and they are often used by those who demonize
And some politicians as we know renowned for telling lies
About their opposition to all who wish to hear
They tell us who we ought to trust and who we ought to fear.
Politicians not a worldly type they bend their words in two
And when they speak one cannot say if they speak false or true
And us and they words they often use division they create
You are against us they imply if you are not our mate.
The words us and they by powerful people used to justify
Their verbal attacks on their enemy those that they villify
And every day in the news you will hear some politician say
When talking of his opponents the words of us and they.
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I know, I know
by
Francis Duggan
I know, I know the fields are lush and green
And in summer an average temperature of nineteen
And there's no need to tell me for I know
That from October to March most days are cold enough to snow
And that from April to June in the cool days of spring
In leafy groves and woods the finches sing
And wildflowers bloom in the lush month of May
Though rain 'twould seem is never far away.
For days on end in summer's prime July
the sun refuse to shine in cloudy sky
And in new mown meads on damp and misty day
I still recall the smell of rotting hay.
When one ask me 'mate' why do you linger here
I always answer surely not for the beer
I stay because the weather mostly fine
And there are many days of warm sunshine.
And I well may add what happen to be true
That the options and choices I have are few
And I won't hear the lark sing in the homeland sky
Since a flight ticket I cannot afford to buy.
I know, I know on balmy days in May
The birds sing in the woodlands far away
And hawthorn wear her blossoms white as snow
And pheasant in the meadow cuck and crow.
And when someone ask why do you linger here
I only tell them what they wish to hear
That I like the weather and the scenery
And this the land of opportunity.
Poetry Competition
The pitiable
by
Francis Duggan
I saw sad sights in Cork city
And I saw woe and misery
And all that go to form pity
In the city by the Lee.
Met a man in Barrack street
At the street corner he sat
Without hands and without feet
By his side the beggar hat.
Into the hat threw 50p,
May god bless you kind sir says he,
May you never know despondency
or feel inadequate like me.
Saw a woman in South Mall,
Sad looking and bent and grey,
With walking cane she tapped the wall
As she cautiously felt her way.
I pitied her as she was blind
Her world was dark she could not see,
God help her and all of her kind
How hard life for them must be?.
Saw a man down by Coal Quay
Stupefied from drunken bout
By the quay side wall he lay
Like Ko'd prize fighter stretched out.
Wan looking and worst for wear
On himself he's made life tough
Unshaven with tousled hair
He looked like person sleeping rough.
Saw wandering man on western road
Walking by the greyhound track
Burdened by a heavy load
That he carried on his back.
Labouring under his heavy tent
And watching him reminded me
Of son of god under cross bent
Struggling up towards Calvary.
That day my heart cried out in pity
For those living in earthly hell,
Like those poor souls that I saw in Cork city
Where so many rich folk dwell.
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The Badger dig
by
Francis Duggan
They came with shovel, pick and bar
The three men from the south
And along with them in Shannon's motor car
They brought three terriers for to drag the badger out.
Tom Hardy brought his wheaten dog named crown
Of strength and fighting skill
With tousled coat of lightish brown
And powerful jaws to make the kill.
Ned Canty brought his fiery dog Dave
Of short legged Sealyham breed
A white and brown and truly brave
And a great earth dog indeed.
Bill Shannon brought his bull terrier Jack
A powerfully built dog
Last month he broke a fox's back
In a field near Blackstone bog.
The grey badger lay sleeping
In his dark underground set
Unaware that men had come with dogs
For to savage him to death.
The voices of men and the barking dogs
Roused the badger from his sleep
And he snorted like a startled hog
In his set sandy and steep.
Said Tom this is a sandy set
And the brock's a long way in
A steeper set we've not yet met
And I doubt that we'll get him.
Ned Clancy in reflective mood
Said we may never get him out
He must be in at least one half a rood
But it's worth a try no doubt.
Said Bill there's no need to lose heart
Why we've yet to begin
We've come to dig so lets make a start
And we'll see what happens then.
They started in to work all three
Ned dug with pick in hand
Whilst Tom made holes with his hunting bar
And Bill shovelled out loose sand.
Whilst the men were working over head
The badger used his paws
And burrowed deeper into his sandy bed
With his long and powerful claws.
After two hours work the men took a break
And had a bite to eat
But the badger went on tunnelling
In his under ground retreat.
Whilst the men enjoyed their sandwiches
And drank from their flasks of tea
The badger went on burrowing
He worked on tirelessly.
After tea break Bill said unleash the sealyham
Ned let his dog go free
And he crawled into the badger set
Displaying true bravery.
Said Tom this badger's way in deep
And he's far too deep for hope
And in such a steep and sandy set
The terrier with him will not cope.
Said Ned my dog has not yet failed to draw
A fox or badger from the ground
He has got great strength and powerful jaws
And I will bet with you ten pound.
Said Tom I will accept that bet
If so you wish to choose
Today you won't see badger death
And this is one bet that you're going to lose.
Said Ned the bet is on provided
That the dog and badger clash
And if he fails to reach the badger
Then we both can keep our cash.
Said Tom well that's okay with me
I'd have it no other way
For he who wagers money
Is entitled to fair play.
The badger prepared himself for fight
As the terrier to him drew near
He had to fight and claw and bite
This was no time for fear.
The badger had fought for life before
With poacher's Corbet's bull terrier bitch
But he left the terrier feeling sore
When she jumped him in a ditch.
The terrier grabbed hold of the badger by the scruff
And tried to drag him out
But with his paws the badger cuffed
The terrier across the mouth.
Outside the wheaten and bull terrier were yapping
In anticipation of blood spill
With excitement they were panting
As they waited for the kill.
The terrier held on to his firm grip
And tried to drag the badger fro
But the badger used his claws and flesh did rip
And canine blood did flow.
The sealyham uttered forth a painful yelp
And he backed out of the set
And the badger had won his fight for life
And Ned had lost his bet.
Dave the type of dog that all badger baiting men admire
Had met up with defeat
He lay there looking weak and tired
Badly bruised and truly beat.
Said Bill we'd best be out of here
As the moon will soon be up
And we'll stop on the way home in Dromleer
For a thirst quenching sup.
In Dromleer Village they stopped at a bar
And there had a couple of drinks
And then Bill he drove the motor car
Towards their homes in Rossalink.
Stars twinkled in the November sky
And the moon shone round and pale
As the badger crept out of his set
In lonely Dromleer vale.
He'd come unscathed from the underground strife
And he'd proved himself quite brave
And he'd won the battle for his life
And humbled the great dog dave.
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A dream of Buninyong and the Crown hotel
by
Francis Duggan
Oh I am back in Buninyong back with the pipeline boys
One hundred kilometres from Melbourne and man made smoke and noise
It's friday night in the Crown hotel and handshakes all around
And we feel glad that we are back in our old stomping ground.
And Ron the pub house landlord he greets us with a smile
Saying nice to see you fellows we have missed you all the while
We missed you since the day you left to go to Melbourne town
And we are glad to have you back in Buninyong and the Crown.
And Heather she look radiant dressed in her favourite black
And she smile in her sweet child like way saying fellows welcome back
We missed you from the Village and you are welcome here alway
And I hope the job go well for you and do enjoy your stay.
And Nuffa is there to greet us and there's warmth in his handshake
Oh it is nice to see you boys it's just like old times sake
And he even offered to buy us beer such generosity
Though we said Nuffa thank you no but it's the thought that counts you see.
Jim Ellis he was first to buy the one who'd travelled far
He smiled at barmaid Alison the pride of Buninyong bar
Oh Alison you do look great no need to feel so shy
Are you not glad to welcome back your wild colonial boy?
And Alison she blushed a bit saying good to see you Jim
It's nice to see you back in town you do look fit and trim
Nine pots of beer I do presume, nine pots of beer will do
And here's your change and thank you Jim and Alison thank you.
Then Mick Kelleher started reminiscing about valleys far away
And the green meads around Millstreet town where he spent his boyhood day
And the green groves of Mountleader and Clara mountain wood
And the things he'd done and the things he'd seen in the days of his boyhood.
And Murray chimed in such memories stirs in my heart a tear
As he rose to face the counter for another round of beer
Nine sparkling pots of Buninyong beer our thirst to satisfy
It's home from home the Crown hotel when one feel hot and dry.
And then the talk it switched to Aussie rules to that game of macho men
Where the lightweights never seem to cope and the heavies always win
And the Aussies love their football and they love it hard and rough
And to play this game of Aussie rules one must be born tough.
Bill Cunningham started moaning of how Hawthorn lost the flag
'Twas over confidence that beat us we thought we had it in the bag
But Spud the Carlton barracker said when all is said and done
The Blues were by far a better team and the better team they won.
This was the cue for Charlie he knows about football
And the great games of the V.F.L. he readily can recall
To him the year's unlucky team were definitely Geelong
And watch out next year fellows the Cats won't get it wrong.
For next year's flag brave Murray Quick was tipping Collingwood
But Mick Kelleher went for the Kangaroos saying those Magpies are no good
And Taff went for the eagles and Brian Chute he tipped Footscray
Though they all agreed on one thing wait for next grand final day.
And Brendan Glass through all of this had little much to say
His love was down in Melbourne his heart felt far away
He seemed aloof from all of us his mood had turned to change
Yes love can change a man complete the ways of love are strange.
Nine more pots to our table and another round of cheer
Nine pots of Buninyong special the very best of beer
Tonight we'd stay till closing time and gorge ourselves with grog,
Tonight we'd gluttonize ourselves and drink like thirsty hogs.
And Skinny came to our table to join our company
As usual in a cheerful mood he always seems carefree
Of cutting pine and redgum he has good memories
Yes Buninyong's senior logger has knocked his share of trees.
And Lal came to our table with another top class joke
And the way he tell the funny ones good laughter he provoke
And Nuffa and Bull Holloway to liquor give full vent
In their old usual banter a friendly argument.
Mike English he welcomed us back to his own Buninyong
And we felt joy rise in our hearts when Jim burst into song
And Wilbur was buying the bingo cards in his face the losers look
But he kept buying and he kept trying and he hoped for a change of luck.
Ray Coxall came to our table and we offered him a seat
Sit down there Ray and rest your bones and take the weight off your feet
We have always looked on him as friend in Aussie terms a mate
One of the best in Buninyong to us he can relate.
And Trevor was in humorous mood his spirits always high
And happy as he ever is to him this world's a joy
And Billy from Newcastle and Bones and little Roy
And the character Neil Williamson dressed in collar and tie.
The Macker as usual talking of the Sheilas that he knew
Of the ones that he'd been out with and the ones who loved him true
Of the many that he'd slept with and the few who'd turned him down
As a drinker and a lover he has carved his own renown.
And Macker's quiet spoken brother he don't have that much to say
He's a different man to Macker different in every way
And Bambi was there with them Bambi works hard for his bread
And he makes his living honest by the honest sweat he shed.
The Lloyd brothers Darren and Nicholas and they having a good time
Two Buninyong casanovas and they yet not in their prime
And they too can get the Sheilas, Sheilas flocking to their door
They've got women crawling to them could one ask for any more?.
And Buninyong's pretty ladies of their worries making light
Jose Lloyd and lovely Linda socializing for the night
And Bernette and sweet Cindy with the head of golden hair
It's a home from home in Buninyong and I do feel happy there.
And Whykes the merry butcher as usual in good mood
Truly a gentleman this Whykes I've never seen him rude
He'd make a good Shire President such confidence he inspire
A good replacement for Ted Sutherland the greatest President of the Shire.
And Graham Hanna sipping beer the Crown his favourite place
He is one who has worked hard and he has an honest looking face
And Jim McKay selling tickets a dollar lads a line
And those of you who buy more than one are real good friends of mine.
And Whitey the sheep shearer I've heard it said before
That he has shorn a lot of sheep fifty thousand maybe more
And I've heard it said that he's a better shearer than Brian Chute
But the man who made that statement gave a slight twist to the truth.
Young Barrel seemed in a good mood he is such a happy lad
He makes light of his worries and I've never seen him sad
And the painter by trade Garry out with his darling wife
A city man from Melbourne grown to love the country life.
Andrei looked sickly from the booze he'd been drinking all day long
perhaps the greatest drinker of hard liquor in all of Buninyong
And the Cambells up the Village they come of Scottish stock
And they even called their dog a Scottish name their one eyed canine Jock.
Mick Henderson and Norman James were having a tongue wag
Talking of diesel engines to mechanic Jimmy Vagg
And big Mick who hangs around with bones that man must weigh a ton
But for a fellow of his size he is a gentle one.
Nine more pots to our table and the laughter ringing loud
And Bob Harrington and Billy came to add to Ronnie's crowd
And gray haired Norman smacks his lips that beer is sure good stuff
In the Crown hotel on friday night one never drinks enough
Into the bar strode Graham Ward with his side kicks Ray and Tim
They don't come here that often 'twas we invited them
A dozen fellows in our shout I wish it could stay nine
As I could feel a rattle in this grogful gut of mine.
And Tony the postmaster was having a quiet drink
A gentleman before he speak he never fail to think
And the Crown's lovely dark haired waitress was working up a sweat
This was a busy night for her perhaps her busiest yet.
And Arnold the Shire gardener had come out of his shell
And Jack O was in happy mood he'd some good jokes to tell,
It's friday night in the Crown hotel and laughter all around
And we feel happy to be back in our old stomping ground.
And Ross the bearded genius quoting from the works of John Clare
He think Clare an under rated poet such thoughts with him I share
He quoted from the famous poems Clare wrote when at his best
Lines from I am and Helpstone and from The thrush's nest.
In walks fair haired young Turner back in town for brief stay
I love my own dear Buninyong you always hear him say
Such is the lure of Buninyong you've been there for some while
You'll always want to go back there though parted by long mile.
the alarm clock is ringing and I am wide awake
And I am back in Melbourne town in Melbourne at daybreak
I'd been in Buninyong in a dream to Buninyong miles away
And it up from bed to dress myself and face a working day.
Poetry Competition
Lines on seeing a Lyrebird
by
Francis Duggan
We walked up through Sherbrooke forest one sunday evening in middle spring
On the ninth day of October listening to wild songbirds sing
I was with a lovely lady one whom I consider brave
Nature lover Janice Trencher from the high hills of Belgrave
In the twilight of the evening rain fell from a sunless sky
And behind clouds the sun was hiding day now had the darkening eye
But the little birds were singing carolling their songs of joy
For their audience two humans Janice E Trencher and I.
We had come in search of lyrebird, lyrebird we had come to see
Lyrebird quite near to extinction all ornithologists agree,
Lyrebird like the cool damp evenings well informed sources say
Maybe we might see a lyrebird this might be our lucky day.
Saw pheasant sized type bird fly upward to low branch of gum tree
That, that there is a lyrebird Janice whispered unto me
And on much closer inspection Janice proved so very right
'Twas a wild born superb lyrebird felt my pulses race with delight.
It would have been much better had the evening been more bright
As we did not have good view of him due to the fading light
Then he flew off from the gum tree with slow and awkard flight
To not too distant pine tree for to shelter for the night.
I have a dream a good dream that in some future day
That I will watch male lyrebird in his courtship display
But is that asking too much? how lucky can one be
Aa male lyrebird at his courtship dance few humans ever see.
In Belgrave's Sherbrooke forest beneath a darkening sky
We saw rare superb lyrebird J.E.Trencher and I
On an evening in October made damp by drizzling rain
A memory to cherish and a memory to retain.
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Riverside walk
by
Francis Duggan
The wildering flowers bloom beautiful and gay
Along the green banks of the water way
And joyful songbirds whistling merrily
With tiny hearts brimful of ecstasy.
And all seem perfect save for water flowing gray
But pollution is a common thing nowaday
And keeping rivers clean don't appeal to modern man
As it's not part of his progression plan.
From her nest midst water reeds dark moorhen fly
And she utter forth a shrill like chirping cry
A warning to her little moorhen chicks
To leave their nest and head for cover quick.
From reed built nest four young dark moorhens creep
With bright orange bills and as they swim they cheep
And head for cover towards the river bank
And hide themselves midst rushes green and rank.
I walked along in pensive solitude
And a quarter mile down stream from Moorhen brood
I came upon what I don't often times see
A mallard out swimming with family.
From mother duck a warning sound did ring
She beat the water with her flapping wings
And her seven ducklings her signal did obey
And dived under water and hid themselves away.
The mother duck was circling in the sky
Whilst all of the time on me she kept an eye
And her anxiety for her family did grow
And she quacked aloud warning them not to show.
And as I walked homeward in the gloam of day
The wildborn birds piped with the joys of May
And my thoughts were of wild duck and moorhen
And tainted water for man a shameful sin.
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Sea side greed
by
Francis Duggan
I have been to Ballybunion I've been there ten times before
And I've only bought tea once there but I've had surprise in store
More than five pounds for a sandwich and a lousy cup of tea
That's not honesty in business, call that daylight robbery.
There's not much in Ballybunion just a little stretch of strand
And why so many people go there I will never understand
How it holds such an attraction is a thing I'll never know
Could it be that in warm weather the sea side is the place to go?.
There's not much in Ballybunion it has no claim to renown
Just a village by the ocean that some people call a town
A village of gambling houses, chipper shops and boozer pubs
And hotels where tourists pay well for their bed and for their grub.
By the sea at Ballybunion I came face to face with greed
Met with those whose god is money a repulsive sort of breed
Met a lot of get rich quick types in that god forsaken place
those who by their over charging taint the name of Irish race.
I have been to Ballybunion, Ballybunion by the sea
And I left the sea side village with the unpleasant memory
Of excessive over charging carried out in business name
By ruthless and greedy people for the love of money gain.
Poetry Competition
To Murray on his birthday
by
Francis Duggan
He works for Cunningham and Kelleher their kato operator
And he is good at what he do perhaps nobody greater
His thirtieth birthday hours away and time is on the hurry
And we can only wish him well a happy birthday Murray.
He's a decent man this Murray Quick he'll not do you any harm
In fact if he think much of you he'd give you his 'right arm'
But if you go in his bad books then better you start running
As 'twould be unwise to stick around if for you he is gunning.
I've never heard that man complain he's not a whinging wimper
But do not tread upon his toes he's got a nasty temper
And I've heard it said that Murray Quick was quite a wild young fellow
But years can blow the winds of change and time can turn one mellow.
His people came from outback land from banks of Murray river
Where mozzie gives a nasty bite and stars in night sky shiver
And that's how his name came about his name tells it's own story
His Granddad was fox shooting man and sought no gold or glory.
And life's been good to Murray Quick to Murray from Bayswater
He's got himself a lovely wife two young sons and a daughter
He works hard for his livelihood and he don't owe to any
And he's admired for what he is and his friends are in the many.
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Bernette
by
Francis Duggan
I'll remember her forever till the last day of my life
That good lady from Buninyong Bernette Bambi's wife
She liked us Pipeline workers and we owe her quite a lot
And the kindness she showed to us won't be easily forgot.
But I don't envy Bernette that good woman with blond hair
As she is prone to suffer and she suffer her own share
But she don't deserve to suffer as she's far too kind and good
And why God do this to kind people I have never understood.
She's one great lady Bernette and she's worked hard down the years
And every time I think about her feel my heart well up with tears
You can bet you'll not meet many who are quite so good as she
And she's one woman in a million you can have that straight from me.
She's a noble hearted woman who has felt her share of pain
But she always shows her bright side she don't easily complain
And for her courage and her bravery she has carved her own renown
And she always comes up smiling you can't keep a good one down.
She was our true friend in Buninyong and we loved her as a friend
And we'll hold good memories of her right up to the very end
She's the famed 'Lollipop lady' and she take life day by day
And for to help you out dear Bernette she would go out of her way.
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Just an ageing battler
by
Francis Duggan
In Wales I picked potatoes some thirty years ago
And in Ireland I logged pine trees by the mountains in the snow
Yet for my rough and tumble life I don't have much to show
And I have not learned that much from life and so much to learn and know.
I've never been a high achiever and my dreams are only small
And to New York in the mid sixties when I look back I recall
How the big city life seemed hectic to a teenage Irish boy
Who was green to city living and was homesick, young and shy.
Worked on building sites in Melbourne with people from every land
And the value of multiculturalism I have come to understand
That it takes every Nationality for to make a Nation great
And one of a different culture can become your greatest mate.
I have worked in cherry pickers by high power lines trimming trees,
It is dangerous work and sweaty hardly knew a moment's ease
And toilsome work wearies the body and it don't enrich the brain
And I'm just an ageing battler and a battler I'll remain.
I have done a bit of travelling and I've worked at this and that
Spent time with Pipeline contractors in Buninyong and Ballarat
Worked with people of all Nations of every creed and race
And I do feel multiculturalism is something we ought to embrace.
In a materialistic world I have never known success
I am just an ageing battler nothing more or nothing less
Never driven by ambition and my dreams are only small
But I do believe on fair play and on a fair go for all.
Poetry Competition
Those marvellous Morris dancers
by
Francis Duggan
Those happy Morris dancers make for a happy sight
They wear bright scarlet ribbons and their shirts and trousers white,
They clash their sticks whilst dancing and you hear the timbers ring
Though 'twould seem that Morris dancing is not a female thing.
I've never seen a female Morris dancer I stand corrected if I'm wrong
It has it's roots in England and to England it belong
And I hope that Morris dancing will not go the way of rhyme
That in a changing world it won't lose out to time.
They brought their culture with them from England far away
A culture perhaps fading like many of the old cultures are today
With the old dances of Europe I see a link somewhere
And sad to hear that Morris dancers are now becoming rare.
At the Dandenong Ranges festival east of Melbourne they perform every year
And after in the booze tent they laugh as they drink their beer,
They brought a thing of beauty when they brought their dancing here
And to those marvellous Morris dancers let us raise our glass of cheer.
Morris dancing vary from English Village to Village or so I have been told
Though the times they are a changing and fading are the ways of old
But those marvellous Morris dancers may they dance forever more
In the sunshine of Australia far from England's rainy shore.
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No they won't go to Iraq
by
Francis Duggan
They ought to go to Iraq when their so called just war is won
And have a real life look at the damage their bombs will have done
To the Iraqi cities the damage will be great
And in mass deaths and sufferings what is to celebrate?.
But they won't go to Iraq no the real truth they will not face
That their toppling of Saddam will bring more shame and disgrace
On us the human family who slaughter our own kind
To Moses fifth commandment I feel we must be blind.
This Saddam bloke is evil at least that's what we hear
And he's a callous bully who for years has ruled by fear
But are they any better those who lead the crusade?
To rid the world of despots the price in blood is paid.
They ought to go to Iraq and for their own selves see
That they too will have paid a huge price for their so called victory
Where thousands will have perished and millions are dispossessed
They will have removed the oppressor and rendered homeless the oppressed.
No they won't go to Iraq and honour the Iraqi dead
They will stay at home in comfort and sleep in their warm bed,
To have empathy for others you must walk in similar shoes
And the saddest thing about war is that the winners even lose.
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Jose the pride of Winter street
by
Francis Duggan
How can one describe dear Jose she's the pride of Winter street
And she's honest and she's lovable and untainted by conceit
And foremost she's real lady kindhearted and sane of mind
And she truly is good advert to the race of womankind.
If she can't help you out dear Jose then she'll not do you any wrong
And you'll not find a better person in the Shire of Buninyong
And though I never more may see her I'm not sorry that we've met
As I've got mental pictures of her and she's one I'll not forget.
For her years she do look lovely bright blue eyes and rich blond hair
But there's much more to Jose Lloyd than the beauty that she wear
Yes there's much more to Jose Lloyd than a pretty looking face
And she's one of those good Aussies and a credit to her race.
And good people like dear Jose you'll not meet with every day
If you need her help she'll help you she will not turn you away
And she's given to life something got herself three handsome boys
And they all look like their mother rich blond hair and bright blue eyes.
She's the pride of Buninyong Village from 607 Winter street
And she's a decent sort of a person one you'd always love to meet
I have been in her house two times known her hospitality
Treated me to eggs and bacon, buttered toast and cups of tea.
Something lost forever
by
Francis Duggan
They roamed the roads of Ireland in horse drawn caravan
And I envied them their freedom the carefree wandering clan
Their favourite horses Pinto in colours white and brown
And two weeks at most their longest stay in any country town
I often sat by their campfire as a primary school going boy
The sparks from the burning timbers flew upwards in the sky
From the old fellow's squeeze box sweet music it did ring
And I watched on in wonder as the travellers did dance and sing.
Their ancestors tenant farmers that Cromwell put on the road
And left them to the wandering life of the no fixed abode
They became expert tinsmiths and they sold their tin pots and cans
And they drove around the countryside in their horse drawn caravans.
Though their nomadic lifestyles others could not understand
They were such gifted people the most gifted in Ireland
They had the gifts of happiness and of music, dance and song
And to a dispossessed race their ancestors belong.
The mid to late fifties in Ireland brought with them such great change
And to see them driving motor vans to say the least seemed strange
And something lost forever and I longed for what had been
And their Pinto horse drawn gipsy caravans no longer to be seen.
And though something's lost forever the memories with me remain
And I fancy I am sitting by their warm camp fire again
And from the old bloke's squeeze box such pleasant music ring
And I watch on in wonder as the travellers dance and sing.
The madness of John Clare
by
Francis Duggan
Some say that'twas the environmental damage to his countryside caused the madness of John Clare
That the removal of the mature trees had driven him to despair
Of any hope for Mother Nature and her creatures wild and free
One reason that's put forward for his loss of sanity.
In the Helpston of his boyhood years his friends were only few
But to his beloved Village till death he remained true
Even in his old age from his beloved fields inspiration he still drew
And he became the greatest Nature poet that England ever knew.
The madness that was in John Clare perhaps in some small way is in us all
We struggle through this thing called life since the day we've learned to crawl
We may be looked upon as sane but in all of us the mad seed is still there
And perhaps it was his sensitivites that stirred it to life in Clare.
Disadvantage of birth as it has been proved is not a barrier to renown
As great people rise above adversity and cannot be kept down
And Clare is one example his poems still alive today
Whilst all of those he knew in his childhod years from history fade away.
The tiny seed of madness in us all as well as passion for life
The Mary Joyce that John Clare loved did not become his wife
And so few people very few have married their true soul mate
To the story of the Helpston bard all of us can relate.
The immortal poems of the peasant poet will live forever more
And his fame has spread around the world far distant from England's shore
Yet he died in the Northampton asylum by all accounts completely mad
And he had lived a most unhappy life and his life story so sad.
As well as a great Poet a great Naturalist of wood, field and hedgerow
And despite the ravages of time his legend only grow
And the seed of madness that was in John Clare in some small way is in us all
As we struggle through this thing called life since the day we've learned to crawl.
Eddy McGrath from Tipperary
by
Francis Duggan
Eddy McGrath from Tipperary from Greenrath near old Tipp town
He's a helpful sort of fellow type who'd never see you down
Roamed the bushlands of Australia homeland of the kangaroo
Worked for a while in Melbourne city and spent some time in Sydney too.
He's returned to Tipperary where the fields are evergreen
And the dipper sings his sweet song on tree branch o'er murmuring stream
And bet he'll tell his friends in Greenrath of the things he's done and seen
Of the jobs that he has worked in and the places he has been.
He picked fruit up in Mildura and in Melbourne pulled cable for Daff
Worked for Tim Ryan and for Comdain and spent some time in Ridgeway's staff
Drank beer in the Homestead tavern, the Normandy and Clifton hill hotel
And in that part of Melbourne Eddy is remembered well
He has returned home to Ireland gone to greet the Irish spring
When the dunnock and the chaffinch have their sweetest notes to sing
When the wildflowers start a blooming and new leaves come on the trees
And the green vales start a ringing to the birds sweet melodies.
He has gone home for the hurling, hurling is his favourite game
And most people in Tipperary about hurling feel the same
And in the county of Tipperary hurling is played everywhere
And I have heard much talk of hurling every time that I've
been there.
He has heard old timers talking of Tipp stars of bygone day
Of famous Tipperary hurlers and the great games they did play
Martin Kennedy, Tony Reddan, big John Doyle and Tony Wall,
Jimmy Doyle and Liam Devaney he has heard tell of them all.
He's heard stories of Munster finals in the days of Christy Ring
In the days when a great hurler was admired as a true king
When the Corkmen faced Tipperary in the park at Thurles town
And great hurlers played their hearts out for their counties and renown.
Eddy is a Tipp supporter he's a Tipp man to the core
He's supported them through lean times applauding their every score
He say Tipp will win All Ireland in the year of 89
That they'll dethrone champions Galway and victory will be their this time.
And like swallow wandering swallow who return to place of birth
Eddy has gone home to Ireland home to Tipp his native earth
But he'll be missed from Queens Parade that runs through Clifton hill
And in that part of Melbourne they'll remember him they will.
Eileen Regan, Eileen Regan
by
Francis Duggan
Eileen Regan, Eileen Regan pretty barmaid of Oak bar
With your good looks and your charm methink you could yet go far
You are the darling girl of Oak lane and Oak bar's blushing flower
Fair as any rose of summer blooming in a sunlit bower.
Eileen Regan, Eileen Regan unaffected by conceit
You are a down to earth type of person lady like and so petite
I have been to many places and I've walked down many a street
But a nicer or more gentle person than you I've yet to meet.
Eileen Regan, Eileen Regan raven hair and bright blue eyes
To hear that the fellows love you it don't fill me with surprise
You are the type of girl men dream of when they think about a wife
And you'll make some fellow happy when you walk into his life.
Eileen Regan, Eileen Regan free of arrogance and guile
When you are serving in the Oak bar it is service with a smile
Unlike some other bar maids whose attitude turn the customers away
You are good for Oak bar business make the people want to stay.
Joe Dinneen
by
Francis Duggan
His brother Patrick compiled the first Irish-English Dictionary and was big in the Irish literary scene
But things were very different for the old poet Joe Dinneen
And though he penned the marvellous ballad of Sliabh Luachra's moving bog
It's been said that his barrier to greatness was his fondness of the grog.
An aged man I knew in Duhallow years ago and far away
Said he once met Joe in Cullen it was on Latiaran day
He said the old poet of Sliabh Luachra then was looking old and gray
But the genius that was in him till his end with him did stay.
He penned verses for the the locals and joined them in the pub sing song
And he drank dark pints of porter and made merry all night long
And he recited his verses to loud applause and an encore
And they loved old Joe the great bard from the Parish of Rathmore.
He died at Rathmore station under the wheels of the Cork-Killarney train
As he walked the tracks on his way home, his end sudden without pain
But there was sadness in Sliabh Luachra when the news it went around
That the remains of the old poet on the railway tracks were found.
I knew an old man in Duhallow who as a school boy of thirteen
One Latiaran day in Cullen met the old poet Joe Dinneen
He penned verses for the locals and joined them in the pub sing song
And he drank dark pints of porter and he recited all night long.
To Lisa on her birthday
by
Francis Duggan
Happy birthday to you Lisa I hear that you are seventeen
And the years they have flown quickly like waters of a flooded stream
Yes those years have flown so quickly seems like only yesterday
That I was shown a photo of you as a baby by your grandma in Claraghatlea.
And now you've grown into a woman young and lovely to behold
Not too far now from your prime day when you are seventeen years old
And there has to be good future for a good young lady such as you
And bet you will be successful at whatever you choose to do.
You are a nice young lady Lisa that's how you appear to me
And I know you'll be successful it runs in the family
And though life is never easy it has never been that way
Bet that you will come out winning I think you will do okay.
Happy birthday to you Lisa life is yours for to enjoy
Though time is very precious it's thing one cannot buy
And though life is never easy what mater most of all
Is that you always be happy and your biggest problem small.
Written after a visit to Ballinspittle
by
Francis Duggan
I have been to Ballinspittle and my eyes felt strained and sore
From gazing upwards towards a statue for an hour or maybe more
A statue of the lady whose son walked on the waves of Galilee
And died nailed to a timber cross on the hill of Calvary.
Thousands had seen the statue moving and though it did not move for me
Four young women standing nearby cried 'tis moving can't you see
And they chuckled like excited children seeing it move to them a thrill
Oh but I could have stayed my life time and for me 'twould remain still.
There were at least five thousand people gathered on the hillside there
And o'er the public address system rang a female voice in prayer
And though most of the congregation answered in a public show of faith
The tongue in me kept silent as I'd seen nothing to celebrate.
Then a cautionary announcement warning people to watch out
Keep a tight hold on your purse strings 'there are pick pockets about'
There were bad boys in the audience who would steal your final pound
And satan had his pupils working on sanctimonious ground.
I have been to Ballinspittle and the memory I'll long recall
Of four awe struck females saying 'the statue's going to fall'
A statue set in concrete that for them moved to and fro
But it didn't move for my eyes and the thought just galls me so.
Lines written after a difference of opinion
by
Francis Duggan
Why don't you go back to Ireland mate the Aussie bloke did say
As we've got far too many foreigners here at least 'twould seem that way
And there's plenty of Australians can do the work you do
So go back to your own country mate Australia don't need you
You keep an Aussie out of work and don't you think that's wrong
So go back home to Ireland mate to here you don't belong
You foreigners like rabbits keep multiplying each year
So go back home to Ireland mate we do not need you here.
Australia for Australians mate that's how it ought to be
And in this land you don't belong live in your own country
We are sick and tired of Asians mate and tired of Europeans
Australia for Australians mate you must know what I mean.
What value you to Australia mate you who come here from foreign land
And Australians and their country's history you do not understand
And you know nothing about Australian culture mate correct me if I lie
And what value you to Australia mate I leave you to reply?
My reply
So you want me to leave Australia lad well you'll not get your own way
For I too love your country lad and it's here I wish to stay
And why should I want to return to Ireland lad where there's seldom sunny day
Where it's wintery for eight months of year and the frost turn green grass gray.
Australia for Australians lad who am I to disagree
But in this vast, vast country lad there must be room for me
I come from troubled country lad of people proud though poor
And you'll not find many Aussies lad to shovel muck from sewer?
And I know of Australian history lad I know what there's to know
That Blackman ruled this country lad up to two hundred years ago
And I know of Australian white culture lad ballads like Lawson's Cobb and Co
And McKellar's poem My Country and Paterson's Clancy of the Overflow.
It's true you are Australian lad Australian by birth
But white man has not lived so long on this part of Planet Earth
And though by birthright you're an Aussie lad one of the chosen few
the real thoroughbred Australian comes a darker shade than you.
Lowitga for head of State
by
Francis Duggan
I do respect Elizabeth Australia's absent queen
Though in the sunny southern land she is not often seen
She lives in her huge palace in London far away
But she will remain Australia's queen as long as the likes of John Howard have their say .
A few years back the Aussie voters her as their head of State did retain
And as queen of Britain and Australia she is destined to remain
Until her son Charles will take over whenever that will be
But to have a foreign head of State seems very strange to me
Had she been queen of all of Ireland I would even understand
But Australia from the British Isles is such a distant land
But most Aussie white voters found ties with their Mother land far too hard for them to break
And for to become a Republic much too big a step for them to take.
I feel that an Australian Indigenous person should be Australia's head of State
And I know of one who fits the bill she is an Aussie great
Her name is Lowitga O Donoghue and she is one of the honourable few
And to see her as the head of State would be a dream come true.
With no disrespect to Elizabeth her loyalties are elsewhere
She always will put Britain first for she lives over there
And for all Australian Republicans who of a republic dream
For to have an Aussie head of State their wait will be long 'twould seem.
Lowitga for Australia's head of State I hope to see that day
When Australia a Nation will become and Aussies can proudly say
We now have a new head of State and she is one of our own
One of Australasia's oldest race at least the oldest known.
Poet of the sea
by
Francis Duggan
Everybody is good at something with that most would agree
And there is more to anyone than the naked eye can see
And when Hillary and Norgay climbed Mt Everest they made their own history
And John Masefield is remembered as the great poet of the sea.
Long before Masefield became England's poet laureate his was a celebrated name
And he did not need to thank the British monarch for catapulting him to fame
For he was famous already England's best bard of his time
And he was a skilful wordsmith with the marvellous gift of rhyme.
Masefield went to sea as a boy sailed by many a coastal town
And the publishing of his Saltwater ballads was his ticket to renown
And the fame that did come to him one might say was overdue
For he truly was a great poet and his equals only few.
He wrote long poems, he wrote short poems and his rhymes just flowed along
And he made so many happy with his marvellous gift of song
He was the poet of the people as a laureate ought to be
And the one from Ledbury in Herefordshire embraced all of humanity.
That everybody is good at something only happens to be true
And the one you think is not clever may be more gifted than you
And Nelson Mandela became famous despite great adversity
And John Masefield is remembered as the great poet of the sea.
Written for two young children
by
Francis Duggan
Goodbye Peter and Eileen
Soon you leave the woodland green
And sad am I to see you go
As you were nice so nice to know.
Brief too brief has been your stay
And it's back to home base on sunday
Many miles from the high country
And the wood of Renanairee.
Each morning by your grand ma's gate
On my arival you would wait
And whoop aloud in sheer delight
When I'd hand you that chocolate bite.
John Masefield the immortal poet
In his poem The Everlasting Mercy wrote
"That he who gives a child a treat
Make joybells ring in heaven's street".
And those words as ever ring true
Go treat a child and they love you
But cynicism comes with age
When children reach the adult stage.
Now when you return home you can
Tell how you met with mountainy man
Who cut down trees for his livelihood
In high country in State owned wood.
Farewell Eileen and brother Pete
And though we never more may meet
I'll remember you for many a day
Though you be far so far away.
To Francis Ledwidge
by
Francis Duggan
Do you work with pen in heaven Francis ledwidwge poet of Slane
And do your heart rejoice at bird song in god's kingdom free of pain
And are you a dean of lyric in god's paradise above
And do you thrill the hearts of heaven with your songs of joy and love?
Do the angels of god read and laud the poems that you have wrote
And proclaim you as I do an outstanding lyric poet,
Do you stir the hearts of heaven master of the bardic pen
You who gave so much enjoyment to so many earthly men?
Are you happy up in heaven, is life in heaven blissful life
And is heaven land a paradise free of sorrow and of strife
A land unstained by hatred or lust or jealousy
Where people love each other and live in harmony?
And is heaven an eden like place where roses all year bloom
And where every day is a summer's day like sunny day in June
A paradise of beauty where flowers never die
And where songbirds pipe the whole year round sweet notes of heaven's joy?
If you could answer me from heaven I am sure that you would say
That heaven is a paradise where there's sun shine every day
And that you still write poems in heaven famous bard from County Meath
You who left sweet earthly memories with poems you did bequeath.
The ballad of Rose O Shea
by
Francis Duggan
She lived with her blind mother beside a purling stream
In their little white washed cottage in the valley of Rosheen
Her hair as dark as raven's wing and her eyes blue as ripened sloes
The sightless widow's only child the lovely maid named Rose.
Her blind and bedridden mother of chronic cancer died
And she sold the little white washed cot in Rosheen country side
And she left the green vale of Rosheen and Rosheen bogland brown
And sailed across the Irish sea for to live in London town.
She settled in to city life this sweet Irish colleen
And she grew used to London traffic and the bustling city scene
She worked and saved some money and she earned her livelihood
As a bar maid in a bar room in London's Cricklewood.
It was here she met the man she loved the man she was to wed
An English son of an Irishman a red haired chap named Fred
And on a blustery morn in March a rainy saturday
Miss Rose Reen from Rosheen became Mrs Rose O Shea.
Ah but Fred he was a wild one a wild, wild man was he
He liked his drink and women and he spent his money free
He liked whiskey and women and was unfaithful to his wife
And he proved unsuited for marriage and the married way of life.
In a London hospital maternity ward on a pleasant August morn
A baby son to Rose O Shea and her husband Fred was born
And Rose was now a mother and Fred he was a dad
And Freddy junior was the name they gave the little lad.
But the added responsibility did not reform Fred Shea
And in the bar rooms at the weekends he still spent most of his pay
He had grown tired of his wife Rose like a bored child with his toy
And he showed very little interest in his little baby boy.
Fred found himself a new love a sexy little miss
And his relationship with her went further than a kiss
He walked out on his Irish wife and his young baby son
And he went to live with his new love his golden haired loved one.
The dark haired female from Rosheen erred in her marriage choice
And for her costly error she paid a heartbreak price
She took her son to orphan home with aching breaking heart
And with her blue eyed six months baby boy a tearful Rose did part.
In life it's very easy lose and very hard to win
And women often times suffer at the hands of callous men
And some women forced to part with their young babe like Mrs Rose O Shea
And for some life's a punishment or so 'twould seem that way.
On seeing a documentary on the Kodiak Island bears
by
Francis Duggan
They had lived on Kodiak Island centuries before man came
And they were called Kodiak for want of a better name
They once were plentiful but nowadays considered rare
And man took his toll on the world's largest bear.
The big game hunters shot them for their skin
And a large male Kodiak a great prize to win
A dried out skin to hang on lounge room wall
Of massive creature over three metres tall.
With the Alutiio people their Island they did share
And the native man got on well with the giant bear
But the big game hunter to the Kodiak Island came
And the bigger the bear he shot the more his fame.
But the United States government eventually stepped in
And silenced the guns of the bear hunting men
And the Kodiak bears protected ever since
And to shoot one now considered an offence.
Each year when spawning season comes around
They fish for salmon bound for spawning ground
The bears put on weight before their winter lie
On salmon that come home to spawn and die.
The Kodiak Island giant the largest bear
By the world wildlife fund considered rare
They lived on the Island centuries before man came
And were called Kodiak for want of a better name.
By the Blackwater
by
Francis Duggan
Rich green fields stretch on either side of the Blackwater
Grazed on by cattle fit for slaughter
Dark brown waters flows slowly along
And orange breasted robin carols his song.
Sun blazing bright in a clear blue sky,
Salmon and trout jumping for fly
On this pleasant sunday afternoon in May
Green meadows are wearing their wildflower array.
A piebald mare and her colt foal
A leggy creature with hair dark as coal
Shelter from the sun and bees
Under boughs of leafy trees.
A pair of swans as white as snow
In sunlit pool swim to and fro,
I find it hard to describe in words
The beauty of these splendid birds.
Here on clover grass I lie
Under a bright and sunny sky
By a river wide and grand
Flowing through the best of land.
Johnny from Macroom
by
Francis Duggan
The chaffinches were singing, the buttercups in bloom
On green banks of the Sullane that flows down through Macroom
But many years have come and gone since Johnny went away
In June in nineteen sixty five I'm quoting what he say.
He has not been back home since then the seasons come and go
And through the green fields of Macroom the Sullane waters flow,
The day that he left Macroom town he was in his prime day
And his hair as dark as raven's wing is now a silver grey.
'Mountmassy the pride of Macroom' that song he often times play
And it takes him back way back the years to places far away
In the Castle ballroom on sunday night they'd dance from nine till two
Where is she now that girl he loved the first great love he knew?.
He still recall his boyhood mates their friendships he did know
Before he left to see the world some thirty years ago
Are some of them still in Macroom and have years too made them gray
And would he recognize them now if he met them today?.
His two sons now are well known players for local cricket team
Long years ago when he was young he had a sporting dream
Of playing senior football for Macroom till lust for wander grew
And there were places to be seen and other things to do.
And though sometimes he thinks of Macroom and places far away
He's happy with his lot in life he's here for the long stay
The years go by and time ticks on and the seasons come and go
And through the green fields of Macroom the Sullane waters flow.
If you support a political party
by
Francis Duggan
A favour paid deserves a favour in return it would be fair to say
And if you support a political party who have helped you in some way
Then you are only paying your debt off but what is beyond me to explain
How anyone can support a political party just for love and not for gain?
For most politicians are deceitful and they flatter to deceive
And they are not to be trusted and them one should not believe
Even to the simplest question an ambiguous answer they will give
And honesty to them a stranger it is by deceit they live.
The three major political parties who in this land legislate
From the federal riff raff in Canberra to the State parliamentarians who run every State,
The Liberals and the National party and Labor their policies much the same
The neglect of the poor battlers is their legacy of shame.
They only serve the middle class type to the wealthy billionaire
And for the poor old Aussie battlers they do not seem to care
In Australia's bigger cities homeless people no longer rare
And in a so called wealthy country many living in despair
Of ever again living with a roof above their head
A disused factory doorway in dark alleyway is what for them is bed
Many cannot afford to pay high rent and the cost of living high
And in the slums of the big city they quickly age and die.
And so you support a political party who have helped you in some way
Then it do seem understandable that the favour you ought repay
But if you support a political party because in their doctrine you believe
Then you are not so enlightened as they flatter to deceive.
Memories of Buninyong and the Crown hotel
by
Francis Duggan
We spent many happy evenings in the Buninyong Crown hotel
And we laughed and we made merry as memory serves me well
And we spent our money freely and we drank our merry fill
And we left some of our wages in Ron and Heather's till.
I spent many happy evenings with those pipe line working boys
We drank our share more than our share and yet made little noise
Though the clothes we wore looked shabby our spirits always high
We drank hard and we worked hard and our throats were always dry.
Mick Kelleher and Bill Cunningham they paid our wages bill
They looked much like the rest of us they never 'dressed to kill'
And if one told you they were bosses of the pipeline working crew
I'd bet you'd not believe them you'd say it were untrue.
Murray Quick the kato driver well used of work and drink
He'd gulp a pot of liquor down as fast as one could blink
A true born native Aussie and full of Aussie pride
And were I to go to battle I'd like him on my side.
And spud the joker Murphy for Wandin he play ball
Came as a babe to Aussie land from Devon in Cornwall
And now he's a true Aussie and truly a top bloke
He drink his share and laugh his share and tell the odd good joke.
And Brendan Glass the big man he hates to be called fat
He thought himself the slimmest man in all of Ballarat
But Brendan is a quiet sort he'd drink all day and night
And never ask for trouble nor never look for fight.
And little Jimmy Ellis the wild one of our pack
He'd been around Australia he'd been to hell and back
And Jimmy fancied Alison the girl behind the bar
And he swore that he could shift her if he only had a car.
Brian Chute the manhole builder a gun shearer from out west
Once shore two hundred sheep a day one of the very best
And his side kick Welshman Taffy who played football for North Star
Often times missed football training for to drink in Buninyong bar.
The youngster of our party the lad with glasses Mark
We never did confide in him we kept him in the dark
He never done full session he'd go home with his Jean
And he could not understand us as to our ways he was green.
We had happy times in Buninyong and we laughed and drank our share
And the local people liked us and we felt quite welcome there
And we liked the Buninyong people we had high regard for them
And they'll recall in Buninyong those pipe line working men.
And we made good friends in Buninyong in the Buninyong Crown hotel
And we got to know some locals and got to know them well
Old Nuffa would recite a poem and talk the whole night long
And Lal would tell the odd good joke and Jim would sing a song.
Young Turner and the Macker would tell the odd white lie
Of the sheilas that they'd slept with and the ones they'd kissed goodbye
And Jose blond haired Jose she is one I won't forget
And the famed lollipop lady the delightful one Bernette.
Mick Henderson the truckie he used to talk so slow
But he was quite a good chap and one you'd like to know
And Ron the smiling publican the man who ran the show
He liked those pipe line workers they left him heaps of dough.
And the lovely hostess Heather with bright eyes and long blond hair
We'd not feel at home in the Crown if Heather weren't there
And Alison the barmaid so sensitive and shy
The lovely looking lady who caught James Ellis's eye.
And Bambi Bernette's husband and the Coxall fellow Ray
And Trevor humorous Trevor and Norm with hair of gray
And Arnold and old Skinny he was hardy in his day
In the Crown hotel in Buninyong there's good atmosphere alway
And Mike English the School teacher and Ross intellectual wise a millionaire
He could freely quote Will Shakespeare and the immortal bard John Clare
And Charlie the football fanatic Aussie rules number one fan
In the Crown hotel in Buninyong you'll meet every type of man.
And Wilbur who plays the bingo cards he spends his money free
and Whykes the merry butcher often go on drinking spree
And the Crown hotel in Buninyong more than a good memory
and those characters I've met there live in the heart of me.
And big Chris who loved to talk of Europe where he felt so much at home
And that friend of wild man Ellis the likeable young bones
And good old Graham Hanna he truly loves his beer
In the Crown hotel in Buninyong there's good country atmosphere.
Little Roy and Bobby Harrington two good patrons at the Crown
And that bulky man Bull Holloway can sink those glasses down
And the quietly spoken one Billy he's coolness personified
it's the only pub in Buninyong and it's known both far and wide.
Jim of the Childrens hospital fund and that good lady his wife
To the cause of the good and needy they devote part of their life
You'll meet every type of person in the Buninyong Crown hotel
All good and decent people as I remember well.
And there were many others I knew them by their face
Good hearted and kind people though their names I cannot place
But they always made you welcome and one always felt at home
In the Crown hotel in Buninyong one never felt alone.
We had happy times in Buninyong and there made many a friend
Though good times don't last forever and all good times must end
But memories last a lifetime and the memories with me will stay
Of the Crown hotel in Buninyong until my dying day
To a Bullfinch
by
Francis Duggan
Oh bullfinch bird unfettered wild and free
Piping on branch of leafy alder tree
Lit by the bright and warming sun of May
You do seem happy on this pleasant day
Were I a poet I'd write for you a lay
A lyric that might last till amen day
A poem a poet would feel quite proud to write
And school goer would feel happy to recite
Were I an artist your picture I would draw
A masterpiece that art critic dare find flaw
A painting far too splendid to ignore
That well might last five hundred years or more.
But I'm no artist nor neither am I poet
Since doggerel is all I've ever wrote
And what I'd give to desribe you in words
One of the fairest of all wildborn birds.
You've got strong beak designed for cracking seeds
That you find on hedgerows bordering green meads
And you wear the colours favoured most by kings
Dark head, pink breast and beautiful blue wings.
The lark, the thrush and blackbird sing more sweet
As a singing bird with them you can't compete
But beauty wise you do look number one
When lit by rays of brightly glowing sun.
Glen Forbes
by
Francis Duggan
Glen Forbes in the high country ten kilometres from the sea
A place of natural beauty and of marvellous scenery
With houses in the valley and brown hills all around
Amongst the high country of South Gippsland such beauty to be found.
In Glen Forbes after daybreak amongst the blackwood trees
The magpies notes are carrying in the freshening morning breeze
A place free of pollution no black smog in the sky
And larks above the brown hills are carolling as they fly.
Through Glen Forbes in South Gippsland the narrow roads wind up and down
Eighty kilometres from the suburbs and twenty from Wonthaggi town
A twenty minute car drive at most from the ocean shore
And the only sign of commerce there is the one small general store.
Across the hills of Glen Forbes the healthy sea winds blow
It would be nice to live there and Nature's peace to know
And though I am just a visitor I will carry with me
The beauty of old Glen Forbes and it's marvellous scenery.
Good on you Susan Davies
by
Francis Duggan
Good on you Susan Davies you keep the bastards straight
And you give non aligned people something to celebrate
Your's is an independent voice and by party you are not bound
And of independent politicians there should be more around.
If some politicians knock you it's because of jealousy
They envy you for who you are a threat in you they see
Like sheep they follow the party rules for they are not truly free
And they have been known to vote for bills with which they did not agree.
Like sheep they only follow their leader leads the way
And when he tells them to toe the party line his orders they obey
But noble Susan Davies the independent voice
Is free of party shackles and free to make a choice.
These party politicians don't have minds of their own
For following their conscience their kind have not been known
For loyalty to your party there has to be a price
You lose your independence and your freedom of choice.
There should be more like Susan for she stands on her own feet
And at the next Victoria State election hope she regains her seat
Against the big party machines she sucessfully compete
And she has made her presence felt in Melbourne in Spring street.
On Pauline Hanson and her One Nation party
by
Francis Duggan
I read of pauline Hanson every day
And the media publish everything she say
And for one who seems anti society
She gets a heap of free publicity.
We have heard the P.M. Mr John Howard preach
On the beauty of this marvellous thing free speech
But he neglected to say that free speech can be abused
When by racists and xenophobics it is used.
That she is a racist Pauline Hanson deny
But on that you can forgive her when she lie
For ninety per cent of all racists are the same
At their own ideas they feel some guilt and shame.
What you do unto others unto yourself you do
Those words as ever happen to be true
And those who against others discriminate
Will feel the heat of their rebounding hate.
Two centuries or maybe more gone by
Since William Blake wrote 'The little black boy'
Of the equality of the race of man he wrote
But did we heed the lesson of the poet?
The supporters of the One Nation party one and all
Are prejudiced and their world is very small
And though with what they say I strongly disagree
To hold their meetings they should feel quite free.
Anti One Nation protesters stand aside
For by violent protest they won't be destroyed
Leave Hanson be and she will go away
And her notoriety with her will go into decay.
For her attacks on single mothers and her racist views
Miss Pauline Hanson lately in the news
And she gets a heap of free publicity
For one who is so ignorant as she.
Peter Barling's dream
by
Francis Duggan
A ten million dollar jackpot win in lotto
Is not impossible as it may seem
And Peter Barling keeps on buying those tickets
To win the big prize one day is his dream.
To help his friends and family with his winnings
And as a roof tiler call it a day
His dream inspires him to keep buying those tickets
He feels the big win can't be far away.
To purchase a three million beachfront home in Manly
And live a carefree life of luxury
With robin and lucifer on the verandah
As the sun sets looking out on the sea.
To go on a world trip with Anthea, Rachel and Eberny
And to visit places he's not seen before
In America, Africa, Europe, the Middle East and Asia
And exotic lands far from Australia's shore.
His dreams are big and such dreams seldom come true
Still nothing is impossible 'twould seem
And to win ten million dollars in tattslotto
Is the roof tiler Peter Barling's dream.