The Web Poetry Corner

When nice things of us are said

by

Francis Duggan

When words to them have a ring of flattery and praise goes to the head
And our egos become swollen when nice things of us are said
We become smug and arrogant consumed by our conceit
The humble one in the house of flattery will never find a seat.

The ego is so cowardly the truth the ego fear
The raw truth on them is something that few people wish to hear
But of an overinflated ego the truth can set us free
It can make us look inward and our true selves we can see.

The Club of Mutual Admiration it is a Worldwide Club
And even some of it's members drink at the Local pub
They sing each others praises words of flattery they enjoy
Praise it seems to keep them happy like a child with a new toy.

How can we improve as people if the truth on ourselves we do not wish to know
If light cannot penetrate the aura 'tis the ego only grow
That's what happens when we fall for insincere words of flattery
Many of us take ourselves too seriously that's how it seems to me.


We should make the most of every day

by

Francis Duggan

We should make the most of every day and life's challenge enjoy
For the longer that we live 'tis said the sooner we will die
The people who have the most power are mere mortals after all
They too have a use by date on them like brown leaves of the Fall.

I'm not the man I used to be the years have left me gray
But I'm determined for to make the most of every day
We age a bit with every hour and short is our time span
But do as honest people do and live long as you can.

So many people doing it hard in the big World out there
And many have the right to say that life to them's unfair
I too could have been born in the slums but luck is on my side
And if I should die tomorrow a good life I'll have enjoyed.

The gap between the haves and have nots is widening and it only grows and grows
And the wealthy getting wealthier that's life I do suppose
And the poor keep getting poorer and their numbers multiply
And only the very privileged life's luxuries can enjoy.

We may be at the wrong end of the great social divide
But we should make the most of living since time's not on our side
On our lives the clock is ticking and it ticks and ticks away
And I feel grateful to be living when I wake to light of day.


Leave Nature be

by

Francis Duggan

With Nature's ways why do we interfere
Of genetic modification and cloning too much we hear
Why tamper with our Earth Mother why not let her be?
Human interference with her seems all wrong to me.

Leave Nature to her own devices please
As humans experimenting with her can give rise to disease
She grows our food and off of her we do live
And we take from her but to her we never give.

In her workings we should not have a say
Leave Nature be to live by her own way
To herself Nature remains ever true
What we do to her to our own selves we do.

We do not own Nature though to her we belong
And to tamper with her to me seems all wrong
Leave Nature be that is my earnest plead
Interference from us is one thing she doesn't need.


In September in Duhallow

by

Francis Duggan

The storm water is gurgling in the swollen roadside drain
And I hear the robin singing in the wind and drizzling rain
And brown Autumn leaves in their thousands to Mother Earth drifting down
Off of the trees and hedgerows in the fields by Millstreet Town.

Old Finnow bank high is flowing babbling loudly on his way
Through the fields of Inchaleigh and Coomlogane and Claraghatlea
And above the loud flood waters I can hear the dipper's song
His voice can't be mistaken one could never get him wrong.

From the old fields by the river I am never far away
In my happy flights of fancy I walk them every day
The man can leave the Townland the wise have been known to say
But the memories of home go with him and the memories with him stay.

It is raining in mid morning through gray clouds the sun don't shine
In September in Duhallow 'tis not always warm and fine
And old Clara hill is hiding behind a blanket of fog
And Finnow bank high is rushing through the wet fields by the bog.


Tammy

by

Francis Duggan

I feel saddened to think that I'll never more see her the one with gray hair and brown eyes
She was such a wonderful person so charming and clever and wise
Her insights and quiet sense of humor in memory with us will live on
Her legacy will remain with us though she from us is forever gone.

I often see her in the Parkland always with a smile on her face
The old Town worse off for her passing since there is none to take her place
She is now with the Town departed though her soul is not where her body lay
Decomposing in her pine coffin surrounded by brown earth and clay.

Tammy she was such a good person and her I shall never forget
And I do recall with great sadness the last time that she and I met
It was down at the shopping centre and clearly she was on the fail
And though she seemed happy and smiling she looked rather sickly and pale.

In retrospect she had a good innings she reached the age of eighty three
But 'tis sad to think that she is gone forever that her we will never more see
The ups and downs of life she knew of but she was not one to regret
And she left us with wonderful memories and her we will never forget.


She has her plans made

by

Francis Duggan

Quite near retirement age she is sixty three
She has her plans made to grow old by the sea
She looks at the real estate ads every day
A one bedroom apartment would suit her okay.

She dyes her hair brown for to cover her gray
Her daughter has Primary School going children today
For one in her sixth decade she does look quite well
Though the passing of time on her beginning to tell.

A Primary Schoolteacher she knows about life
Her ex husband is now with his second wife
She will not re-marry once bitten twice shy
A divorcee she'll remain till the day that she die.

In a quiet sea side Town by car less than two hours away
From polluted Suburbia she will retire she say,
She will go into old age free of stress and care
In a healthier environment in the clean coastal air.


I am a very lucky fellow

by

Francis Duggan

In a World where many go hungry and millions of malnutrition die
I tell myself I am so lucky yes so very lucky am I
To have never known what it feels like to be hungry life is like a game of chance
Things might have been different for me were I born in different circumstance.

Compared to many I may seem poor though I don't see it that way
Since I've never known what it feels like to go hungry even for a day
Thousands of poor homeless people are wandering on no hope street
Searching through rubbish bins in desperation for discarded food to eat.

Of war and terrorism in the news of late we only hear
And the power hungry cling to their power by their broadcasting of fear
And so many homeless people on the long road to nowhere
In the World that they live in compassion is very rare.

I am a very lucky fellow though financially in the red
Never once gone without dinner and I sleep in a warm bed
Millions of others not so lucky lady luck is kind to me
In the bigger World out there so much want and poverty.


The changes keep happening

by

Francis Duggan

The changes keep happening in Millstreet I'm told
And the baby boomer generation are now getting old
And for anybody time never does wait
We are all mortal beings on us a use by date,
It seems a changed Parish from the one I did know
But the old Finnow river through Inchaleigh flow
Down to the Blackwater it gurgles along
Where in fancy I can hear the dipper in song
The dark brown river bird with breast white as snow
His ancestors I did know many Seasons ago
And where mine was as one might say a familiar face
I would be a stranger now in the home place
But Clara mountain by Millstreet Town I surely would know
The bracken on his face as ever does grow.


Inverloch in South Gippsland

by

Francis Duggan

For your ideal holiday location Inverloch is such a place
For to sunbake on the wide beach there is always heaps of space
Free of dirty factory chimneys puffing black smoke to the sky
'Tis a place well worth a visit and a place you will enjoy.

Inverloch in coastal South Gippsland it is lovely in the Spring
In the Parklands on the gum trees all day long the magpies sing
And the pleasant song of the blackbird a familiar song to me
And the gray shrike thrush is piping as he flies from tree to tree.

Once the hunting, fishing and meeting place of the Indigenous Bunurong
To the culture of the Dreamtime their history belong
They had their festive gatherings in the shadow of the trees
Where they laughed, sang and made merry and danced their corroborees.

Inverloch in South Gippsland a nice place to holiday
Or to spend a few days by saltwater for a weekend getaway
From the polluted and noisy suburbs where the air is never clean
Though the birds too sing in the Suburban Parklands and Suburban parks are green.


A Literary Dinosaur

by

Francis Duggan

I'm close to the three score years and well beyond my prime
A literary dinosaur a minor man of rhyme
In the modern Literary World an outsider looking in
Suppose there must be many losers for even one to win,
My only god is Nature none so wonderful as she
Her wild born birds they chirp and sing on bush and hedge and tree
For years she has sustained me in her bosom I will lay
When her reaper will claim me in a not too distant day,
A literary dinosaur one more forgotten name
Many fall by the wayside for one to know of fame
Yet the reaper does not respect fame and though their fame will live on
The World's most famous people back to Mother Earth have gone
And the little mouse that lives in the ceiling is no less a mortal than I
Though I may well outlive him one day I too must die.


Why do you wish to make yourself an enemy

by

Francis Duggan

Why do you wish to make yourself an enemy when your friends are so few
That person he is harmless and he does not speak ill of you
You know so little of him and yet you put him down
And doubtless if you had your way you'd run him out of Town.

You say you do not like him yet for what reason you cannot say
If he seems quiet and withdrawn that is his natural way
He does not go to the local pub or talk about football
Respect him for the one he is and a fair go for all.

He is new to the neighbourhood which goes in some way to explain
Why to you he is an outsider and as an outsider must remain
For you are a parochial type of person with a narrow point of view
And to the truth of live and let live you never could be true.

Why do you wish to make an enemy of one you hardly know
He is new to the neighbourhood why not give him a fair go
If everyone were like you he would have to move to elsewhere
For by you passing judgement on him do you not think you are unfair?


In a World where money only matters

by

Francis Duggan

When your amount of money can say more about you than words of you can ever say
It does not speak volumes of the society that we have to live in today
If that only speaks of our true worth it does not say much for humanity
When you say money only matters you seem spiritually bankrupt to me.

In a World where money only matters how poor indeed we all must be
Not surprising that so many people are living in dire poverty
If a few have the most of the money what does that mean for the majority
they struggle just for to make ends meet and they are poor financially.

In this 21st century of big Corporations we now have the privileged few
The wealthy are only growing greedier as more millions in cash they pursue
And thousands they have to grow poorer for every new millionaire
And for millions all around the World about life there is nothing fair.

When we are valued by our worth in money we surely are spiritually poor
The wealthy they keep getting wealthier and for the disease of greed there is no cure
And thousands every day dying of starvation and thousands are dying of disease
And in the refugee camps of the World there are thirty million refugees.


Paddy Casey (re-written)

by

Francis Duggan

When Paddy Casey left the Clara road forever
The feeling was widespread he would be back
For he could never be happy in heaven
If heaven did not have a greyhound track.

Three times a week to Cork track he did journey
From Inchaleigh just out of Millstreet Town
Sometimes through Macroom and sometimes on the narrow high road
That winds along by Mushera up and down.

I doubt that he could feel happy in heaven
If he could not watch two greyhounds course a hare
In January at the Millstreet Coursing meeting
In the Town park I fancy he's still there.

He is one I still remember Paddy Casey
I knew him since I was a five year old
He was a cheerful and kindhearted fellow
And you well might say he had a 'heart of gold'

I recall his renowned track bitch Rainbow Lady
Duhallow's fastest greyhound in her prime
At Cork track she won many open races
And bettered thirty seconds every time.

He had so many friends around Cork County
And the feeling was widespread he would be back
For Paddy could not be happy in heaven
If heaven did not have a greyhound track.


On seeing a Nankeen Kestrel being mobbed by Noisy Miners.

by

Francis Duggan

Around a nankeen kestrel a pair of noisy miners fly
And they drive him from their territory across the morning sky
They have their nest with young in it on a tree somewhere nearby
And to protect their nestlings their outmost they wil try.

The kestrel would steal and eat their nestlings of that they are aware
And to drive him from their territory no effort do they spare
On behalf of their next generation the songsters of next year
The ever agressive miners of danger lose all fear.

The gray feathered miners with the brown nankeen kestrel their territory they won't share
They keep mobbing him in the sky till he fly to elsewhere
They have their invisible borders and their borders they will defend
And in their breeding Season they trust none as a friend.

They kept mobbing the nankeen kestrel until they had moved him on
And then they returned to a nearby tree when from their borders he had gone
When they feel their young are threatened great courage they display
And the much bigger nankeen kestrel from their territory they chase away.


Keep singing your own praises

by

Francis Duggan

Keep singing your own praises you surely may as well
For to even those who care to listen to you 'twould seem you cannot sell
Your notion of self achievement they smile at you and say
You've done well for yourself mate greatness from you not far away,
Your sense of yourself as one of life's successes in your presence they embrace
But what they say of you behind your back they will not say to your face
They do not wish to hurt your feelings though your false sense of greatness grows
The ego can be a strange one that's life I do suppose,
Though success from you seems distant and far up the steep hill
If you do not sing your own praises there is none other who will
Even tell of your existence to the bigger World out there
We can be such selfish beings and for our own selves only care
So keep on singing your own praises heaping praise upon your name
For most others not unlike you too are seeking their own fame.


Lily

by

Francis Duggan

The World only dark shadows in her sightless eyes
And colours are a thing that she can only visualize
But she can tell the bird it is just by the chirp or song
Her ears her link to her environment and have never proved her wrong.

Lily doesn't need your pity she feels her sightlessness to her is not a drawback
And in confidence and optimism she surely does not lack
Her three years old brown labrador Meg for her eyes is a substitute is with her where ever she goes
A greater friend to her than any Human being and their bond of friendship grows.

Her sightlessness to her she will tell you does not impair her in any way
And she lives her life as others do in their lives of every day
A fluent reader in braille and short stories and essays she does write
As gifted as most people are blessed with the gift of sight.

To recognize me by the sound of my voice Lily does never fail
And her dog Meg to greet me always wags her tail
And often on Sunday mornings in the park off the by street
Out walking in the sunshine them I happen to meet.


The famed Millstreet Web Site

by

Francis Duggan

Millstreet Town has it's own World wide web site few dreams like that come true
And for that Web-master Hannelie O Connor credit is only due
A great achievement for her and for her back up team
Though lot's of honest effort goes into this 'twould seem.

To Millstreet migrants living around the World their Hometown web site is a marvellous thing
Photographs of familiar faces from the past nostalgic memories to them bring
The old friends may have visibly aged but time on none do wait
And on each and every one of us there is a use by date.

John Tarrant keeps us well informed on sports and the G A A
And Eily Buckley keeps us up to date on the local happenings of today
And Sean Radley 'In passing' to the recent local deceased due respect pay
The present is linked to the past 'tis always been that way.

They are Hannelie's main back up team as well there are many more
Who help to bring the news from Millstreet to many a distant shore
And what better way for any Duhallow migrant than spending half an hour at night
On a nostalgic visit to the famed Millstreet Web site.


When the Angled Onions are in bloom

by

Francis Duggan

They are considered as a noxious weed by those who profess to know
But the angled onion look pretty in their blossoms as white as snow
Nicknamed the angled onion because of their oniony smell
In woodlands and shady damp places they seem to thrive quite well.

In September and October when yellow flowers are on the broome
In the Woodlands around Sherbrooke the angled onions are in bloom
The flowers of Mother Nature are blooming everywhere
And the loud screechings of the white cockatoos are in the morning air.

When the angled onions are in bloom you know 'tis early Spring
And on bush and tree and scrub clad places the wild birds nest and sing
The pied currawong sing in the wood and gray clouds tell of rain
And the tiny frogs are singing in the pool and watery drain.

When the angled onion are in bloom you know that Spring is here
The piping of the gray shrike thrush is sweet music to the ear
The soft chirps of the crimson rosella one never could mistake
And the white backed magpies are fluting in the faint light of daybreak.


I've never said

by

Francis Duggan

I've never said that I was a great person
And I've never said that I climbed the Paps of Shrone
And I've never said that I am one without sin
So I won't be the one to cast the stone.

I hail from Millstreet a place in Duhallow
Far north of here even as the crow does fly
And though I am a migrant in this Southern Country
Do not think that makes you better than I.

You are lucky to be born in this great Nation
But that doesn't give you the right to look down
On any man as well as any woman
Who came to live here from a foreign town.

You boast your eldest son is a brave soldier
He fights for his Country in a war waged far away
But many they would look on that quite differently
And they would not agree with what you say.

You tell me that on Anzac day you always
At the war memorial salute your Nation's flag
But this does not tell me of your patriotism
Seems to me far more like an idle brag.

A true patriot loves all creeds and races
And a true patriot will not tell you war is good,
True patriots love and only defend their own Country
The word patriot is often used but seldom understood.

I've never said that I was a great person
I am just a doggerel writer nothing more
Yet it does not give you the right to look on me as inferior
Because I arrived here from a foreign shore.


Farewell to Humphrey Kelleher

by

Francis Duggan

Farewell to the great Humphrey Kelleher though his was not a lengthy life span
In his prime in the sixties and seventies he was a mighty man
Full back for the Millstreet and Cork Gaelic football teams fearless in the field of play
But a kind and generous man at heart he surely had his day.

I recall him from my schoolgoing days a year older than I
In the class-room in the Millstreet Primary school he was the classroom strong boy
A huge lad for his age then and a giant in his prime
He became the Humphrey Kelleher who inspired the bards to rhyme.

Farewell to Humphrey Kelleher he scaled the heights of fame
In the annals of Gaelic football his is a household name
In September in nineteen seventy three along with three of his famed Clubmen
John Coleman, Con Hartnett and Denis Long he helped Cork to an All Ireland win.

In that marvellous All Ireland final Humphrey was brilliant at full back
And for the highly rated Galway forwards he proved too tough a nut to crack
It is sad to think that at fifty nine to the reaper he has gone
But good memories of the man himself are certain to live on.

Farewell to Humphrey Kelleher memories of him stir up tears
He was a legendary Gaelic footballer way back in the bygone years
A folk hero in his own right yet unaffected by conceit
And one renowned beyond Duhallow and the Parish of Millstreet.


The Superb Lyrebird's song

by

Francis Duggan

Amongst the songbirds of Australia with the superb lyrebird as a mimic there is none to compare
He can incorporate the songs of the local songbirds in his song something that is quite rare
The voices of the kookaburra, blackbird, butcherbird and currawong
Are just three of the many voices in the master mimic's song
With the World's best songbird mimics the lyrebird he does rate
The voices of the cockatoos, rosellas, whipbirds and shrike thrush he can easily imitate
The songs of the robins, magpies and scrubwrens in his song you can recognize
Yes the lyrebird is a mimic who never ceases to surprise,
His varied song is beauitiful and his voice it carries far
He can imitate the noise of a chainsaw or the horn of a motor car,
On his display mound with his lyre shaped tail feathers above his back fanned out in a great display
He imitates the songs of the other birds in the woodland every day
And in his breeding Season he gushes forth in miming song
And the notes of any local bird he never does get wrong.


The Homeless Street Kids

by

Francis Duggan

For them life is an uphill battle the Children of the lesser Gods
Yet they are the greatest of survivors they survive against all of the odds
From broken homes and of poor parents the future for them looking bleak
Just to survive in their environment they cannot be mentally or physically weak,
As young teenagers on the street and homeless their sorry lives only lead them to crime
They become addicted to narcotics and they look worn and old in their prime
They spend most of their time in prison like their parents as parents they are doomed to fail
You do not reform a person by sending that person to jail,
If they feel the whole World is against them one cannot blame them for feeling this way
In their circumstance of birth and in their parents they never did have any say,
A minority of those born to poor parents against all of the odds succeed
Despite their less privileged childhood a successful life they do lead
But the majority of the homeless street kids they turn to drugs and live by crime
And some of them by the Law wanted and some of them in jail serving time.


Time does not wait for anybody

by

Francis Duggan

Her mirror tells her she looks older she feels time is not on her side
She use hair dyes as well as makeup but the ageing signs she cannot hide
Her body does not look as shapely as it was in her beautiful prime
But then she is not alone in that we all become victims of time.

High cholestrol foods she does not eat one might say she watches her diet
She does not eat chocolate,cream or sugar she does not have a big appetite
She wakes before dawn in the morning and jogs a few miles of the town
Her pet hates are putting on weight and ageing and she has to keep the kilos down.

She cannot recapture her beauty nor she cannot recapture her youth
And she not unlike many others have a problem with facing the truth
That time does not wait for anybody and their better days forever gone
The clock on our lives it is ticking and it never will cease to tick on.

She looks well for one in her sixties she wears makeup and dues her hair
And she is conscious of her appearance and of herself she takes good care
Yet despite that her body is ageing and her youth and beauty she cannot regain
And in the darkness of the morning she jogs through the town in the rain.


On a morning in late September

by

Francis Duggan

Above the sunlit paddock just like a small speck in the sky
The little brown skylark is carolling as up to the high clouds he fly
On a beautiful morning in September approaching the prime of the Spring
On bushes and trees all around me the nesting birds whistle and sing.

Each species of bird distinctive by their voice Nature is a marvellous thing
The skylark to proclaim his borders is obliged to take to the wing
In a tussock of grass quite well hidden her eggs kept warm by the heat of her breast
Incubating the next generation his partner she sits in her nest.

A small mob of kangaroos hop through the paddock to the scrub dotted with trees nearby
Away from prying eyes they feel safer their privacy they too enjoy
They stay in cover till twilight and as night fall nears they venture out
And under the cover of darkness they feed and go on hop about.

On a morning in late September the lark o'er the paddock in song
Even by his voice he is distinctive a bird one can never get wrong
And kangaroos hopping to cover they are not often seen by day
Amongst the scrub surrounded by gums and wattles hidden from prying eyes in safety they lay.


It is not

by

Francis Duggan

It is not for how long that you live 'tis only for how well you live
Are you one of those selfish people who only know how to take but not give?
In society's eyes very successful and financially a huge success
Out of your business you make a huge profit though your workers must make do on less.

For three score and ten he looks fit and healthy and the reaper for him has to wait
One who has many millions in money and one society celebrate
Yet one who is not to be trusted and to the higher self far from true
Though money does speak every language and to that saying some credit is due.

So many they seem to grow poorer for every known new millionaire
And you tell me all people are equal and you tell me that life is fair
There is nothing wrong with being wealthy when you live in the honest way
If you reward your employess for their hard work for you with what is considered fair pay.

It is not for how long that you live or how much money you accumulate
And though many may see you as successful these things do not prove you to be great
You ought not to be judged by your money or the size of your house or your car
You ought to be judged by your sense of values by the sort of a person you are.


Mt Rouse

by

Francis Duggan

Mt Rouse in the Southern Grampians it rise above old Penshurst Town
Surrounded by wide open country of dry paddocks stony and brown
Way back when Australia was younger centuries before the first people came
To live in the Southern Country Rouse coughed up his rivers of flame.

Mt Rouse in the Southern Grampians so little about him is known
He was even old in the Dreamtime he seems lonely all on his own
He has inspired many an artist he has inspired the poets to rhyme
The black tribes who once hunted on him they too have gone to father time.

Mt Rouse in the Southern Grampians brown grass on his stony face grow
He surely has been in existence since the first creek downhill did flow
On it's journey to the big river the big water-way to the sea
The things even quite old in Nature that long predate Human history.

The people are much like the Seasons the people they come and they go
And of Nature's ways we're always learning but of Nature so little we know
And Mt Rouse in the Southern Grampians was there centuries before the first crow
And centuries before the dinosaurs and that was a long time ago.


Timmy Carroll

by

Francis Duggan

His remains lay in St Mary's in Millstreet where he rests at peace I've been told
He passed on in his latter fifties he did not live on for to grow old
Of Dan and John a younger brother his sisters I vaguely did know
May he rest in peace Timmy Carroll my school friend from decades ago.

A strong and healthy youngster and I can well recall
The rough and tumble games of the school yard did not faze him at all
In the wrestling games in the school-yard he never came out second best
And he was never found wanting when he was put to the test.

A year or at the most two older than me
In the early sixties he went off to England him I never more see
But good memories of that good man with me still remain
And what was a great loss to Millstreet was surely England's gain.

A kind hearted fellow in him so much good
And he was one who would help you if he could
In my memory he has not aged he remains as young
And surely his praises deserve to be sung.

The reaper who claimed him will claim us all one day
In Millstreet his Hometown his remains now lay
Farewell Timmy Carroll may you rest in peace
From life's cares and worries you found your release.


Lets face it

by

Francis Duggan

Lets face it all cannot be winners for one to win many must lose
And success it never can be bought for the price of a bottle of booze
Success it does never come cheaply the big World out there a rat race
In life there is always some challenge and each day a new challenge to face,
Lets face it all cannot be winners though sour is the taste of defeat
The winners they bask in the glory and winning is always so sweet
The champion team is celebrated though some tell you 'tis only a game
And to them go all of the plaudits and they know of the glory and fame,
Lets face it winners are remembered the others we tend to forget
The one who would swap first place for second is the one that I have never met
The loud applause is for the winner that's how 'tis and 'twill always be
The others are quickly forgotten and they quickly fade from memory
But lets face it not all can be winners suppose such is life one might say
The winner is always remembered the loser forgotten in a day.


Jim the Farmer

by

Francis Duggan

He sold off all of his milk cows last year at an auction the years have left him looking gray
His son a computer technician works in the City his wife in the cemetery lay
He now farms sheep and beef cattle he will never milk cows ever more
He has just had his seventieth birthday he hopes to outlive the four score.

His father a dairy farmer before him his farm to the son he did pass on
But his own son will be selling the farm when dad to the reaper has gone
To be laid with his wife in the graveyard the farm in the family name
Will be in the name of a stranger I suppose nothing in life stays the same.

He says he will live till he die in the farmhouse what better place for him to die
For more than thirty years he lived with his wife there each others company they did enjoy
She was such a beautiful woman so feminine charming and tall
Good memories we always remember and the good times we tend to recall.

A likeable man Jim the farmer quiet spoken and just a tad shy
He has never made himself an enemy and he would not harm a fly
In the farmhouse he was born and raised in and he has lived there all of his life
And when the grim reaper will claim him he will go to join his deceased wife.


Mid Autumn in the Northlands

by

Francis Duggan

From the high ground of Claramore the old rill gurgles down
Through flatter fields of Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
And robin on the hedgerow sing his brief song of the Fall
And no mistaking the magpie by his hoarse and chattering call,
The wind from the cold Northlands it blows with a damp chill
And the low clouds only promise rain and the fog crawls down the hill
A cold and wet start to October the wind soughing in the trees
And a forecast high for the day of a cool thirteen degrees,
The first of Winter nearer with every passing day
And the swallows will soon be leaving for warmer climes far away
Mid Autumn in the Northlands and few wildflowers to be seen
And the fields are looking barer though they retain their green
And grass flattened by the river tell of where the floods have been
And a forecast low of seven and a cool high of thirteen.


Why do we always have with us

by

Francis Duggan

Why do we always have with us this sense of self esteem
When to the eyes of the judgemental we are not what we seem
Many dream of wealth and success on their highway to renown
But for the one that builds you up there are two to drag you down.

In the minds of the judgemental a fair go does not exist
Of expressing negative opinions on others they cannot seem to resist
In their assessment of others a fair go they don't apply
You show them a happy person they say appearances can lie.

We all have great dreams for ourselves even the battered wife
She once dreamed of love and happiness and success in her life
But of the man she loved and married she now lives in fear
Of happy dream come true stories we do not often hear.

'Tis everybody for themselves in the big World out there
And as in love and war and other things life is not always fair
For those who dream of greater things there is so much at stake
The uphill road to success is full of casualties and disappointment and heartbreak.

Why do we always have with us this desire in life to succeed
When the only pathway from success us to the reaper lead
And I speak for myself when I ask am I any greater than the short lived butterfly
It lives for a week at the very most and I too like it must die.


Do not take yourself too seriously

by

Francis Duggan

Do not take yourself too seriously that's my advice to you
And always to your higher self you ought to remain true
And never steal from poor people that is an awful crime
And if you wish to be a poet never dabble in doggerel rhyme.

Free advice from a poetaster who happens to be me
And this I say not out of sense of a false humility
In the history of humanity I feel like a tiny grain of sand
And like many my own self I struggle to understand.

Do not take yourself too seriuosly as some of the naive do
And do not crave recognition and feel it is your due
That others should look up to you and in your success take pride
In the big picture you are small and the World is big and wide.

Do not take yourself too seriously and enjoy life if you can
For the clock on our lives ticks and ticks and short is our time span
Give credit where credit is due and a fair go to none deny
And though perfection we cannot achieve for it we ought to try.


The Judas Sheep

by

Francis Duggan

The judas sheep up the slaughter-house ramp leads her kindred to die
Yet as a reward for her act of treachery a long life she'll enjoy
The slaughter bound sheep trusted her to lead but she led them to their death
She does not have a sense of right or wrong or a sense of regret.

Tomorrow she will lead more sheep to their deaths and the day after that the same
She is not born with a sense of guilt or with a sense of shame
The slaughter men to save themselves exhaustive work exploit her for her natural need
For many sheep are born as followers and few are born to lead.

In the Human World are born leaders too just like the judas sheep
And for themselves and their close kin huge financial rewards they reap
But humans have a sense of right and wrong and a sense of guilt and shame or so we have been told
And some of our leaders are far more narcissistic and at heart far more cold

Than the poor innocent judas sheep one without a sense of sin
Each day to their deaths up the slaughter ramp she calmly leads her kin
To where the slaughter men for her followers wait she always leads the way
She is doing what she was born to do and she does that every day.


When we speak of Good and Evil

by

Francis Duggan

When we speak of good and evil we know not what we say
As we all have those traits in us or to me 'twould seem that way
Our so called honourable leaders who condemn crimes of hate
In truth only condemning what they've helped to create.

More bombings in Indonesia and Iraq and Afghanistan every day
And people dead and many left with horrific injuries does it have to be this way?
Where there is want, exclusion and discrimination only anger and mistrust to be found
And for violence of the extreme sort poverty can be a breeding ground.

When war men drop their bombs of death on foreign cities it would be far better instead
If they dropped large parcels of food containing rice and milk and meat and bread
The results would be far better we receive what we sow
We cannot expect respect from others if respect to them we do not show.

When we speak of good and evil we only speak of how great we are
For to bomb foreign cities our Government's war planes travel far
And violence breeds more violence or so it would appear
And peace is suffocating in a World ruled by fear.


The Gray Shrike Thrush

by

Francis Duggan

How can anyone mistake him this gray feathered minstrel of the Spring
On the sunlit gums and wattles all day long he whistle and sing
Nature lovers of Eastern Australia recognize him by his song
Once heard he cannot be mistaken the next time you won't get him wrong.

In wood, park and country garden one quite often heard and seen
In his slate gray to grayish plumage he stands out amongst the green
He is known as the gray shrike thrush no finer songster than he
He sings for only one reason to proclaim his territory.

wild-born birds love their freedom born with the wings for to fly
Though some are restricted by their borders they have the freedom of the sky
Some birds by their songs familiar a bird one cannot mistake
Is the gray shrike thrush in the garden piping in the cool of daybreak.

How can anyone mistake him with his distinctive melody
The gray shrike thrush of the rural Town garden piping on the wattle tree
Not that very pretty to look at but he pipes a beautiful air
And as a wild feathered songster few with him can hope to compare.


Lets hear it

by

Francis Duggan

Lets hear it for the unsung heroes our toasting glasses to them we'll raise
Those who volunteer their time free of charge for good causes they are surely worthy of our praise
They go off to third World Countries for to help out those in dire poverty
They surely deserve to be honoured for their love of Humanity.

Lets hear it for the men and women some of them well beyond their prime
Who dedicate their lives for others we should laud them in song and in rhyme
They are such altruistic people they care not for wealth and renown
They devote their skills to the poor and the needy a World away from their Hometown.

Lets hear it for all of the unselfish they never think of their own need
They give hope to the innocent victims of those who grow wealthy by greed
They help the poor and the malnourished, the Homeless and Stateless refugees
Who live in the harshest environments and are dying of hunger and disease.

Lets hear it for those worthy people who for the less privileged do care
With those who are poor and malnourished their great gift of caring they share
They devote themselves to helping others and to their higher self remain true
And why not we give them some credit since credit they are overdue.


It would be nice

by

Francis Duggan

It would be nice to lay amongst the woolly looking clouds of the sky
To where the lark to sing his songs does fly
Of such a thing suppose one can only dream
Though nothing is impossible 'twould seem,
It would be nice to live in a World of violence free
Where difference would not lead to disharmony
In a peaceful World free of offensive crime
This well may be in some distant future time,
It would be nice if everyone knew wealth and fame
If everyone were seen as equal and the same
And everyone seen as a V I P
And no such a thing as inequality
Of such things one can only hope and dream
Though nothing is impossible 'twould seem.


He is now in the Land of the Reaper

by

Francis Duggan

He is now in the land of the reaper the one who penned many a song
One of if not the last of the rhymers to the bardic tradition he belong
A fellow who loved life and nature he surely had the gift of rhyme
Right up till his end he was writing the greatest song man of his time.

He wrote about people and nature and he was a man who loved life
And he penned some beautiful love poems to the one he loved his long dead wife
'Tis sad to think he's gone forever that him we shall never more see
Sitting on the park bench in the sunshine in the shade of the blackwattle tree.

He was such a likeable fellow one who made friends quite easily
He had no illusions of greatness and few were as humble as he
On saturday he'd have a few drinks at the Local and he entertained us all night
He told us some wonderful stories and some of his poems did recite.

He is now in the land of the reaper the very last bard of the Town
He was more than a local poet though he never wished for renown
He was such a happy old fellow he always had a smile on his face
And he is sadly missed from the Local since there is none to take his place.


Before a fully enlightened Human age

by

Francis Duggan

Before a fully enlightened human age pigs will have learned how to fly
And elephants in huge air ships will trumpet in the sky
And dogs will communicate by email and cats will play guitars
And wombats will be astronauts and taking trips to mars.

Before a fully enlightened human age fish will have learned how to live on land
And miles and miles of lush green grass will cloak the desert sand
And sharks and dolphins will live at peace and all creatures of land and sea
Will not compete for territory and live in harmony.

Before a fully enlightened human age war will be a thing of the past
And snails will be born with long legs and be able to run fast
And people of hunger will not die and a good life enjoyed by all
And humans with each other will live in harmony as well as with all creatures great and small.

Before a fully enlightened human age Heaven will be on Earth
And people will not be privileged by their right of birth
And everyone will live forever more and none will have to die
And the predatory lion in reality with the timid lamb will lie.


Quite different to Patriotism

by

Francis Duggan

Quite different to patriotism 'the stay at home' would not understand
The nostalgia that's felt by the migrant when thinking about the Homeland
The nostalgia that gives rise to sadness for what was and cannot be never more
She fancy she hears the gulls calling above the cliffs of the Homeshore.

Her son and daughter in their early twenties and the clock on her life ticking on
Just a few years short of the fifty her better days surely are gone
In this big City she goes unnoticed she can recall a time when she
Was known and liked by everybody in her old home Village by the sea.

A forty eight years old divorcee she is one who knows about life
Her ex husband left her for a younger woman though to him she was a good wife
She has vowed to never re-marry and she will not give love one more try
Her marriage break-up left her shattered once bitten they say twice shy.

Her teen years were surely her happiest in her old Village far away
But back there now she would feel a stranger and here she is destined to stay
She looks well for one in her late forties with brown dye she covers her gray
Time does not wait for anybody the young even grow old one day.

Quite different to patriotism nostalgia is hard to explain
The migrant is far from the Homeland but the love of Homeland with her does remain
When she was a young one of nineteen she left the Village by the sea
On a morning in Spring when the robin was singing upon the birch tree.


Old Debby is just one example

by

Francis Duggan

There is not any truth in the saying that only the good do die young
Old Debby she died in her eighties and her praises never were sung
On her own she raised her two sons and three daughters her husband Joe in an accident died
She had to work to raise her offsprings when of the family bread winner she was denied.

Her Joe a builder fell from a barn eighteen metres to a concrete floor
Of years he had much life left in him the reaper claimed him at forty four
The youngest of their children was six and the oldest only thirteen
Though on looking back on her hard life she never said hard times she had seen.

It surely would make a great story if the story of her life were told
She is one of many examples that the good too can live to be old
She happens to be one of many since her type have never been rare
Though we only applaud the elitist, the celebrity and the billionaire.

Old Debby is just one example and of course there are many more
Good people who live on to be old some of them beyond the four score
Some good people live to be over one hundred and some good people as teenagers die
And 'the good only die young' a saying that to reality does not apply.


We are from quite different backgrounds

by

Francis Duggan

We are from quite different backgrounds and of a different lifestyle we know
And when we meet we don't hold conversation just a courteous
good day or hello,
Our social lives are very different in high class restaurants he dine
And I often eat at McDonalds and drink only cheap ale or wine.

'Tis said birds of a feather flock together with those words I cannot disagree
Our friends with us have much in common that's how it does seem to me
A person interested in greyhound or horse racing seldom pals around with fans of football
Each to their own sounds very truthful and surely that applies to all.

Bureaucrats and Working class people with each other do not pal around
And one can feel sure that in a Royal palace the Homeless are not to be found,
Money, religion, nationality and culture are things that are known to divide
And between the haves and the have nots the social gap it keeps growing wide.

We are from quite different backgrounds and different in every way
When we meet we don't hold conversation we merely say hello or good day
His social group I'll never be part of though of him nothing ill I can say
To me we are all only mortals we die and our remains decay.


So old

by

Francis Duggan

So old is the stream from the mountain that down to the big river flow
Far older than the first dinosaurs who died out many seasons ago
Forever 'twill flow to the river the river that flows to the sea
On it there cannot be a time span Nature seems so timeless to me.

So old is the cliff by the ocean the cliff that has a face of stone
The child of a volcanic eruption it's birth-date will never be known
far older than the first hairy mammoth it does not seem to grow older with time
The artists have sketched it for it's rugged beauty and the bards by it inspired to rhyme.

So old is the lake in the valley swelled by the waters off the hill
It only gave birth to one daughter the clear and free flowing mountain rill
That flows down to the flatter country it's voice one can never mistake
As old as the hill and that is old and as old as it's mother the lake.

So old is the gray haired old fellow though in time he does seem rather young
He lives in the house by the river and his praises have never been sung
In time's eye humans have a brief span and on looking back time seems to fly
And the longer we live which is not long the sooner we are going to die.


Will I ever again

by

Francis Duggan

Will I ever again see Caherbarnagh or Gortavehy and his face of stone
Though I fancy from the foot of Clara I can see the old Paps of Shrone
That rise towards the skies of East Kerry not that distant from Rathmore Town
In Sliabh Luachra the home of traditional musicians and of legends of literary renown.

Will I ever again see Duhallow and the fields where the Blackwater flow
Back there now I might feel a stranger and few of me would even know
Since I last lived there a new generation into young adulthood have grown
The old home place migrants never forget the past we should never disown.

Will I ever again hear the dipper singing in the clear mountain stream
The beautiful song of the chaffinch last night came to me in a dream
To the old fields to me once familiar the Seasons they come and they go
In the late Fall the redwings from the north migrate to them
when their home woods are covered in snow.

will I ever again see old Clara above the fields of Claramore
Above his face of bracken and heather the larks in their nesting season soar
To carol above their nesting grounds up to the gray cloud world they fly
As for me I may well have my long rest far from the fields under the northern sky.


Janet Frame (1924--2004)

by

Francis Duggan

A film on her life for to honour her fame
The great New Zealand writer the renowned Janet Frame
'An Angel at my table' a film worth seeing
On the life of a great writer and a great human being.

Diagnosed as a schizophrenic which was later proved wrong
She survived life in an asylum she was mentally strong
She had years of electric shock treatment when she was in her prime
In the saddest period of her lifetime.

In film and book form her life story is told
And millions of copies of her books have been sold
From a humble beginning in Dunedin Town
She came up the hard way to literary renown.

Though wrongful detention did not ruin her life
Her story is a story of turmoil and strife
A New Zealand icon none greater than she
In life she was famous and in death legendary.


South Gippsland's First People

by

Francis Duggan

They had their corroborees ages ago
In the shade of the trees near where the Tarwin flow
On it's journey through Tarwin Lower on it's way to the sea
This Southern Land has a black history,
They lived in South Gippsland till the white people came
And for this part of Australia they had another name
And they were displaced now does this not seem wrong?
The South Gippsland we know of was Land of Bunurong,
South Gippsland's first people all but an extinct race
They are not seen now in their once old home place
With their dingos they hunted the emu and roo
And far more about Nature's ways than us they knew
And that they were South Gippsland's First people that fact must remain
But some always must lose out for others to gain.


Speranza's Son

by

Francis Duggan

His poems and plays are literary gems his quotes popular today
A genius and a great poet with words he had a way
Incarcerated in Reading Jail he lived at a time
When for a man to love another man was looked on as a crime.

His mother was a great poet Speranza was her name
In the Dublin literary circles of her time she was one who knew fame
She gave to the World Oscar Wilde the truly enlightened one
What woman would not feel proud to give birth to such a son.

His father the antiquarian and gifted writer became famed far and wide
And as an expert on human diseases his worth could not be denied
But nowadays he is better known as Oscar's father the wit and literary great
A legend for the ages and one to celebrate.

The Importance of Being Earnest, The Ballad of Reading Jail
and Lady Windermere's Fan
From the pen of Speranza's son the renowned literary man
And though he died as a pauper in Paris from Dublin far away
Through his humorous quotes and insightful writings his legend lives today.


A Woman from Derrinagree

by

Francis Duggan

It is a far smaller cuckoo singing on the wattle tree
from the cuckoo that she once knew when she lived in Derrinagree
And his song is very different cuckoo cuckoo he never say
This bird has a high pitched whistle that he repeats through the day.

Far from North Cork and Duhallow where she lived long years ago
And the old fields green and fertile where the great Blackwater flow
Towards where it flows into the sea at Youghal it ever journeys on it's way
When she left her old home Village flowers were blooming in the May.

Sixteen years out of Duhallow seems a lengthy span of time
Thirty five on her last birthday she has now passed her life's prime
Married to an Aussie fellow with a boy of ten and a girl of nine
She is happy living east of Melbourne for the old home she does not pine.

Attractive, brown haired and a nice person free of guile and self conceit
From Derrinagree in Duhallow five or six miles from Millstreet
In Victoria she raises her children and she is happy with her lot in life
And to a decent Aussie fellow she is a devoted wife.


Hell hath no more fury

by

Francis Duggan

He bores me with the sorry details of his life
Of how he was forsaken by his ungrateful wife
She left and took their two young children a few years ago
And where they now live he does not seem to know.

She was aware he was having his 'bit on the side
And that would have hardly done much for her pride
Hell hath no more fury than a woman's scorn sounds ever true
And the karma we receive is the karma we are due.

With tears in his eyes as he sips on his beer
His sad story in the pub we are obliged for to hear
That he does not see his children on him taking toll
But he is one with not much light in his soul.

To karma for him the price was big to pay
His wife left with the children whilst in church he did pray
He came home to find that from him they had gone
But life in the bigger World out there goes on.

Of his infidelities his wife was aware
And he paid the big price for his extra marital affair
She left with the children for some distant Town
And despite his best efforts he cannot track them down.


Marie Reen

by

Francis Duggan

Of late I hear she has been quite ill
But one can only hope in time she will
Recover fully and good health regain
And enjoy a life free of any physical pain.

One I recall from many years ago
On meeting she always smiled and said hello
And my good memories remain evergreen
Of Marie the wife of Frankie Reen.

With long brown hair and a marvellous smile
A lovely lady free of guile
And unaffected by conceit
People like her are nice to meet.

She is close to the three score years maybe
Her husband Frank is one age with me
One of the bright pupils in Millstreet Primary School
Where I sat on the dunce's stool.

My wish for her is to make a full recovery
And of any ache or pain live free
And that to an old age she will live
Since to life she still has much to give.


Where Nature she loses her temper

by

Francis Duggan

The dead are past all cares and sorrows the survivors their life's dreams destroyed
'Tis said that in Nature's moment of anger in Kashmir that thousands of people have died
She leaves behind grief and desolation great buildings toppled to the ground
Where Nature she loses her temper death and destruction to be found.

For our disrespect to Mother Nature there has to be some price to pay
When she flies into fits of anger she flattens everything in her way
Her latest earthquake in Asia proves how destructive she can be
Yet us humans are her benefactors since she feeds all of humanity.

We abuse our marvellous Mother Nature when we pollute her land, rivers and sea
Yet without her we would quickly die of thirst and hunger and none quite so generous as she
And despite her odd fits of bad temper to Humankind she is a friend
And her moods are so very natural since she is not one to pretend.

The dead they are now past all feelings from all cares and sorrows they are gone
And the survivors head for refugee camps and life on the Planet goes on
Where Nature she loses her temper destruction and sorrow are rife
And buildings like pancakes are flattened and there is a huge loss of life.


The less people

by

Francis Duggan

The less people you know the less people to judge you some wise person was known to say
And others drag down the tall poppies that happens in life every day
If others know nothing about you then you they cannot criticize
Those who keep a low profile it would seem are doing what is prudent and wise.

The more people who seem to know you the more people to drag you down
The one who has got the most critics is the most popular person in Town
Not everyone follows the leader the leader some choose to oppose
Not all leaders scent of fresh roses some find them a bit on the nose.

The less people who know of you it would seem is all of the better for you
Some people are not very good at giving credit where credit is due
In a World of so much self promotion some their own praises love to sing
Self love all right in moderation but too much of it is a narcissistic thing.

The less people who know you for you all the better that's how it would appear to me
Us humans are not known to be flawless we can be prone to jealousy
And the less to know of you for you seems the better to say that may seem a bit sad
But if people know nothing about you of you they can't say good or bad.


We live in a Democratic Society

by

Francis Duggan

We live in a democratic society so called it would seem to me
You are all right if you are wealthy and all wrong if you're a refugee
All you ask is a better way of life free of hardship and fear
But they lock you up in a prison and they ask you what brought you here?

We are a freedom loving people as we are often told
But we don't care about the homeless and we don't care about the old
And what worth is so called freedom if we are not fully free
Of the scourge of class distinction and the scourge of poverty.

We are patriotic people our wars we do recall
And we talk about a fair go but not a fair go for all
That person to us is different and our culture does not share
We only trust our own kind not people from elsewhere.

We live in a so called liberal society yet our own reflection we can't see
And we kid ourselves when we think that others know us for our generosity
Our Government is our mirror and they jail boat refugees
When they arrive in search of a better life from war torn Lands beyond the seas.


A True Gentleman

by

Francis Duggan

Tired of his boring existence and tired of his ever nagging wife
And tired of his job and the workplace and generally tired of life
He wakes at 5 A M from monday to friday to go off to work for the day
Nothing in life for him easy he works hard for every pay.

Tired of his demanding children a boy of eight and a girl of ten
It can be truly said of him that he's not the happiest of men
He goes home tired every evening but rest at home he cannot find
His nagging wife and screaming children are driving him out of his mind.

Tired of being taken for granted though the sole bread winner of the house
Lowest in the pecking order ruled by his children and spouse
Some might say that is his own fault but he is not rough in any way
Men like him who are quite gentle never get to have their say.

He does not have anger in him he's good at bottling up stress
And though his personal problems seem many he manages to smile nonetheless
When his youngest becomes self dependent he plans to start a new life elsewhere
Till then he feels bound by duty people like him are so rare.

A true gentleman he is surely his type are hard to be found
Bound by his duty to family not many like him around
Yet he is taken for granted by his children and his spouse
And though he is the family bread winner he is not the boss in his house.


The Coorong of South Australia

by

Francis Duggan

To that old flat brown Country the Seasons come and go
Of the Coorong of South Australia where the mighty Murray flow
On it's journey to the ocean through Tailem Bend and further down
Through Murray Bridge just off of the freeway a big and well known Rural Town.

Of the Coorong of South Australia many stories have been told
At the arrival of South Australia's first people this old land it was old
A wide and open Country with few houses to be seen
Where trees are in minority and far more brown than green.

The Coorong of South Australia was old in the Dreamtime
Sketched by the famous artists and the bards it inspired to rhyme
Yet the Murray flowing saltier as the water table rise
Irrigation by the Coorong farmers as a practice is not wise.

The Coorong of South Australia where the black tribes lived years ago
A Land as old as time itself where the brown Murray waters flow
Where it has flowed forever and will flow forever more
On it's journey through the brown Lands to the distant ocean shore.


For Some

by

Francis Duggan

For some there's not much of a future though everyone does have a past
And Nature is the only immortal all other things do not seem to last
Yes Nature she lives on forever though her Seasons they come and they go
And her rivers born in the high Country downland to the great ocean flow.

Very old people who retain their faculty of memory do look back the decades of time
To when they were much younger people though fleeting the human life prime
The Seasons they seem to pass quickly and on looking back time seems to fly
And the reaper on all of us is waiting though to avoid him our best we do try.

Nature is the only true immortal all other life forms eventually die
The tiny mouse that lives in the wardrobe to Nature is no less important than I
It too serves some purpose in Nature though many with that would not agree
It's tiny body one day will be lifeless the same thing will happen to me.

For some there's not much of a future since the years have left them old and gray
And the clock on our lives it is ticking and ticking and ticking away
The billionaire must die like the pauper and only Nature lives forever more
We are like the leaves of the flooded river that are borne to the great ocean shore.


Just memories

by

Francis Duggan

The school holidays were happy days a time of the year to enjoy
The birds sang in the leafy hedgerows and above the fields of Lisnaboy
The little brown skylark was carolling as up towards the clouds he did fly
A small speck above the green landscape the feathered minstrel of the sky.

I remember in the sunlit meadow with pikes we tossed the hay for to dry
With my uncle Dan and my aunt Mary Ellen I'll recall till the day that I die
Flitting around the hedgerows full of blossoms were many a fragile butterfly
Their beautiful colours amazing they hatched out in early July.

Just memories of times gone forever and nothing forever remain
though often in my flights of fancy the past I do visit again
When I was beginning to learn about Nature going back some five decades ago
And of Nature I have heaps to learn and so little about her I know.

Just memories of a love I once knew long years ago and far away
In the meadow with my uncle Dan and Aunt Mary Ellen in the Summer we tossed the drying hay
The lark in the sunlit sky was carolling with lovely July in her prime
Such moments of heartfelt nostalgia have often inspired me to rhyme.


The Mother

by

Francis Duggan

To the son of some mother she may never have been a wife
But to a son and daughter she gave the gift of life
And she swears by her children and she sings their praises loud
And of their achievements she always feel proud.

The mother to her children is their greatest friend
For unconditional love on her they can depend
Far more than the love of a lover or a husband or wife
The love of a mother will last for a life.

To the mother her children are always number one
She will defend her daughter and she will defend her son
Even though they are in prison and serving time
She will say they are innocent of any crime.

The love of the mother the greatest love known
Her children she love them she'd never disown
She will stand by them in their moment of need
The love of the mother is a great love indeed.


For Some

by

Francis Duggan

For some there's not much of a future though everyone does have a past
And Nature is the only immortal all other things do not seem to last
Yes Nature she lives on forever though her Seasons they come and they go
And her rivers born in the high Country downland to the great ocean flow.

Very old people who retain their faculty of memory do look back the decades of time
To when they were much younger people though fleeting the human life prime
The Seasons they seem to pass quickly and on looking back time seems to fly
And the reaper on all of us is waiting though to avoid him our best we do try.

Nature is the only true immortal all other life forms eventually die
The tiny mouse that lives in the wardrobe to Nature is no less important than I
It too serves some purpose in Nature though many with that would not agree
It's tiny body one day will be lifeless the same thing will happen to me.

For some there's not much of a future since the years have left them old and gray
And the clock on our lives it is ticking and ticking and ticking away
The billionaire must die like the pauper and only Nature lives forever more
We are like the leaves of the flooded river that are borne to the great ocean shore.


Just memories

by

Francis Duggan

The school holidays were happy days a time of the year to enjoy
The birds sang in the leafy hedgerows and above the fields of Lisnaboy
The little brown skylark was carolling as up towards the clouds he did fly
A small speck above the green landscape the feathered minstrel of the sky.

I remember in the sunlit meadow with pikes we tossed the hay for to dry
With my uncle Dan and my aunt Mary Ellen I'll recall till the day that I die
Flitting around the hedgerows full of blossoms were many a fragile butterfly
Their beautiful colours amazing they hatched out in early July.

Just memories of times gone forever and nothing forever remain
though often in my flights of fancy the past I do visit again
When I was beginning to learn about Nature going back some five decades ago
And of Nature I have heaps to learn and so little about her I know.

Just memories of a love I once knew long years ago and far away
In the meadow with my uncle Dan and Aunt Mary Ellen in the Summer we tossed the drying hay
The lark in the sunlit sky was carolling with lovely July in her prime
Such moments of heartfelt nostalgia have often inspired me to rhyme.


The Mother

by

Francis Duggan

To the son of some mother she may never have been a wife
But to a son and daughter she gave the gift of life
And she swears by her children and she sings their praises loud
And of their achievements she always feel proud.

The mother to her children is their greatest friend
For unconditional love on her they can depend
Far more than the love of a lover or a husband or wife
The love of a mother will last for a life.

To the mother her children are always number one
She will defend her daughter and she will defend her son
Even though they are in prison and serving time
She will say they are innocent of any crime.

The love of the mother the greatest love known
Her children she love them she'd never disown
She will stand by them in their moment of need
The love of the mother is a great love indeed.


For Some

by

Francis Duggan

For some there's not much of a future though everyone does have a past
And Nature is the only immortal all other things do not seem to last
Yes Nature she lives on forever though her Seasons they come and they go
And her rivers born in the high Country downland to the great ocean flow.

Very old people who retain their faculty of memory do look back the decades of time
To when they were much younger people though fleeting the human life prime
The Seasons they seem to pass quickly and on looking back time seems to fly
And the reaper on all of us is waiting though to avoid him our best we do try.

Nature is the only true immortal all other life forms eventually die
The tiny mouse that lives in the wardrobe to Nature is no less important than I
It too serves some purpose in Nature though many with that would not agree
It's tiny body one day will be lifeless the same thing will happen to me.

For some there's not much of a future since the years have left them old and gray
And the clock on our lives it is ticking and ticking and ticking away
The billionaire must die like the pauper and only Nature lives forever more
We are like the leaves of the flooded river that are borne to the great ocean shore.


Just memories

by

Francis Duggan

The school holidays were happy days a time of the year to enjoy
The birds sang in the leafy hedgerows and above the fields of Lisnaboy
The little brown skylark was carolling as up towards the clouds he did fly
A small speck above the green landscape the feathered minstrel of the sky.

I remember in the sunlit meadow with pikes we tossed the hay for to dry
With my uncle Dan and my aunt Mary Ellen I'll recall till the day that I die
Flitting around the hedgerows full of blossoms were many a fragile butterfly
Their beautiful colours amazing they hatched out in early July.

Just memories of times gone forever and nothing forever remain
though often in my flights of fancy the past I do visit again
When I was beginning to learn about Nature going back some five decades ago
And of Nature I have heaps to learn and so little about her I know.

Just memories of a love I once knew long years ago and far away
In the meadow with my uncle Dan and Aunt Mary Ellen in the Summer we tossed the drying hay
The lark in the sunlit sky was carolling with lovely July in her prime
Such moments of heartfelt nostalgia have often inspired me to rhyme.


The Mother

by

Francis Duggan

To the son of some mother she may never have been a wife
But to a son and daughter she gave the gift of life
And she swears by her children and she sings their praises loud
And of their achievements she always feel proud.

The mother to her children is their greatest friend
For unconditional love on her they can depend
Far more than the love of a lover or a husband or wife
The love of a mother will last for a life.

To the mother her children are always number one
She will defend her daughter and she will defend her son
Even though they are in prison and serving time
She will say they are innocent of any crime.

The love of the mother the greatest love known
Her children she love them she'd never disown
She will stand by them in their moment of need
The love of the mother is a great love indeed.


A Morning in October

by

Francis Duggan

A beautiful Spring day around twenty degrees
The calmness is profound with just a slight breeze
The sun is not too warm seems perfect to me
And the songbirds are singing on bush hedge and tree.

The song of the magpie lark pleasant to hear
He sings all day long at this time of the year
'Tis said that birdsong is a territorial thing
And they always save their finest songs for the Spring.

A morning in mid October 'tis a beautiful day
The type of weather that is prayed for by those who like to pray
The rosellas are chirping on the trees nearby
And such beautiful weather one ought to enjoy.

On the Nature strip by the roadway yellow flowers on the broom
And in the sunlit paddock wildflowers are in bloom
The beauty of Nature one can only admire
And of singing her praises I never could tire.

The blue and the gray clouds of the sunlit sky
And the miners and wattlebirds sing as they fly
Across the green parkland from flowering bush to tree
On a beautiful morning that seems perfect to me.


The truth may sound bitter

by

Francis Duggan

At the praises of others your ego inflate
When they tell you that you are special and than you none so great
And though you may feel that their words are very sincere
For you such patronizing nonsense might be best not to hear.

The truth to you may sound bitter but at least it is true
Keep in mind there is always one better than you
Even in your home Parish and in your Hometown
Than you there is one more worthy of renown.

Praise is of little worth to you if you form the idea
That you are a true gift to humanity
Conceit is the side affects of too much self esteem
And though the truth may sound bitter 'tis better for you 'twould seem.

Fool you for believeing them when of how wonderful they tell you that you are
And that your talents and wisdom will one day take you far
And though the truth to you seems insulting 'tis not meant to be so
What you do not wish to hear can be what you ought to know.

Of every party you want to be the toast
And the praises of others is what pleases you most
You need to be flattered and you've made it quite clear
That the truth is one thing you do not wish to hear.


The Yarra Ranges Roads

by

Francis Duggan

Through the wooded Parkland and mountain Village and Town
The narrow roads of the yarra ranges they wind up and down
By gum trees well over sixty metres tall
These giants of the forest make others seem small.

Through famed scenic places the roadway does pass
Kalorama, Mt Dandy, Olinda and through Sassafras,
Ferny Creek to Kallista and on to Belgrave
To drive fast on such roads more foolhardy than brave.

Selby to Menzies Creek and through Emerald and on to Cockatoo
Off of the narrow high road many a scenic view
And a visit to Monbulk and Gembrook though a bit out of the way
For the lovers of beauty are trips sure to pay.

On the high and narrow roads of Yarra Ranges people who once drove too fast
Are remembered by those who knew them when they recall the past
Had they driven much slower it would be fair to say
That they would be amongst the living today.


At the end of the rainbow

by

Francis Duggan

At the end of the rainbow in fable 'tis told
The Leprechaun he hides his bronze pot of gold
And if you should catch him hold on to him tight
Or he will quickly disappear out of your sight
If he escapes from you him you may never see again
Whilst firmly in your grasp your eyes on him must remain
Until his hidden fortune to you he will show
Hold on to him tightly do not leave him go,
He will say I will show you where my gold is hidden if you first set me free
But if you do that out of sight he will flee
Then his pot of gold on your own you won't find
In such an instance one has to be cruel to be kind
But 'twould seem 'tis only a mythological story that has often been told
That at rainbow's end the Leprechaun hides his pot of gold.


I am just your average rhymer

by

Francis Duggan

I am just your average rhymer the type of stuff I write don't sell
And if by chance there is a life hereafter I will be in poetaster's hell
And perhaps till the reaper claims me I will be an infidel
Since of a life after death none have come back to tell.

A friend of Mother Nature is all I've ever been
And in her wide green Queendom such beauty I have seen
And though penning verse to Nature is not a waste of time
I hardly do her justice in my slipshod style of rhyme.

The green Goddess of Nature with her none to compare
Before human interference her beauty was everywhere
Her rivers from the high country they flow down to the sea
She is the one immortal or so 'twould seem to me.

Nature rules the World and her creatures live on sea and land
She has been around forever and the centuries she has spanned
Yet we do take her for granted though she is our source of food
And to build more Towns to live in on her Woodlands we intrude.

I am just your average rhymer without pretentions to fame
When the reaper he will claim me none will recall me by name
But I love the Nature Goddess and to her no need to pray
Since her wild birds sing her praises in her Queendom every day.


We are all individuals

by

Francis Duggan

For the crimes of our ancestors we should not shoulder the blame
For their sins against others they lived and they died in shame
But from their mistakes we should learn and their wrongs we should not repeat
Treat others as you'd like them to treat you and them do not belittle or cheat,
For the crimes committed by the father one ought not to blame the son
'Tis not his fault his male parent bad things to others have done,
Each of us is an individual and no two are exactly the same
And why put down the innocent family member because of the family's bad name,
There is such a thing as a fair go and a fair go to all should apply
When you say one comes from a bad family a fair go to him you deny
Treat everybody as an equal and learn from the ways of the wise
For the sins of the individual it is wrong to generalize,
In reality we are all individuals and give credit where credit is due
And when you brand one for the sins of others to a fair go you are not true.


Joe the Bard

by

Francis Duggan

Joe the bard is feeling weary and looking old and gray
And it seems very obvious that he has known a better day
A shadow of the man he once was it would be fair to say
But as ever he is penning verse with words he has a way

He is in his early eighties and long past his writing prime
But age has not taken from him his gift of penning rhyme
A very gifted writer of him that cannot be denied
But the years on him are telling and time is not on his side.

His Kate passed on eight years ago the great love of his life
For half a century of years his dear devoted wife
A good mother to their children together they had happy years
His sad poems to her memory are full of his heartfelt tears.

A poet for all Seasons the last bard of his Town
As an old style classic rhymer Joe the bard has known renown
The seasons on him are telling in a few years he may be gone
But some of his poems and ballads to his memory will live on.


Yesteryear's hero

by

Francis Duggan

Ten years ago he was a hero a parade for him in the Town
But now he is seen as a has been they built him up and dragged him down
Where are they now when he most needs them him they no longer wish to know
He now is one of the forgotten their hero of a decade ago.

When he kicked the winning goal in the final he done himself and the club proud
The band played for him in his Hometown and the cheering for him it was loud
Alcohol now is the only comfort of a man who was a sporting king
His glory days for him are over his praises they no longer sing.

Some of him say he once was a hero his brown hair is now turning gray
And though only in his mid thirties he has known a far better day
In his honour they had big parties to him their toasting glasses they did raise
But now they have another hero another one that they can praise.

Ten years ago he was a hero when he was in his glorious prime
The Town Councillors sung his praises and the poets by him inspired to rhyme
The goal he kicked for his Club in the final happened to be the winning score
But now he is Yesteryear's hero though he is only thirty four.


His truth

by

Francis Duggan

He said to me you're a negative person and such negative things you do say
Spiritually you are poverty stricken and to a god you do not pray
You seem negative towards wealthy people but what use are you to the poor
When you find life such a great battle and you yourself not financially secure.

You seem an anti success person you never praise the millionaire
You seem so down on wealthy people do you not think that is unfair?
I could not get a word in sideways his truth kept ringing in my ears
One might say that he was grog driven he had a few too many beers.

With him I did not wish to argue each to their own as they do say
Suppose we are all very different we look at life in our own way
He usually is a quiet fellow but the grog seems to change him complete
Tonight by him will be forgotten on the next time that he and I meet.

When he said to me you're a negative person his truth to the real truth was near
And the truth can cause hurt to the feelings and the truth few ever wish to hear
The grog it does not seem to suit him for his anger it is a release
With him I did not even argue 'twas the best way for to keep the peace.


At the end of the rainbow

by

Francis Duggan

At the end of the rainbow in fable 'tis told
The Leprechaun he hides his bronze pot of gold
And if you should catch him hold on to him tight
Or he will quickly disappear out of your sight
If he escapes from you him you may never see again
Whilst firmly in your grasp your eyes on him must remain
Until his hidden fortune to you he will show
Hold on to him tightly do not leave him go,
He will say I will show you where my gold is hidden if you first set me free
But if you do that out of sight he will flee
Then his pot of gold on your own you won't find
In such an instance one has to be cruel to be kind
But 'twould seem 'tis only a mythological story that has often been told
That at rainbow's end the Leprechaun hides his pot of gold.


I am just your average rhymer

by

Francis Duggan

I am just your average rhymer the type of stuff I write don't sell
And if by chance there is a life hereafter I will be in poetaster's hell
And perhaps till the reaper claims me I will be an infidel
Since of a life after death none have come back to tell.

A friend of Mother Nature is all I've ever been
And in her wide green Queendom such beauty I have seen
And though penning verse to Nature is not a waste of time
I hardly do her justice in my slipshod style of rhyme.

The green Goddess of Nature with her none to compare
Before human interference her beauty was everywhere
Her rivers from the high country they flow down to the sea
She is the one immortal or so 'twould seem to me.

Nature rules the World and her creatures live on sea and land
She has been around forever and the centuries she has spanned
Yet we do take her for granted though she is our source of food
And to build more Towns to live in on her Woodlands we intrude.

I am just your average rhymer without pretentions to fame
When the reaper he will claim me none will recall me by name
But I love the Nature Goddess and to her no need to pray
Since her wild birds sing her praises in her Queendom every day.


We are all individuals

by

Francis Duggan

For the crimes of our ancestors we should not shoulder the blame
For their sins against others they lived and they died in shame
But from their mistakes we should learn and their wrongs we should not repeat
Treat others as you'd like them to treat you and them do not belittle or cheat,
For the crimes committed by the father one ought not to blame the son
'Tis not his fault his male parent bad things to others have done,
Each of us is an individual and no two are exactly the same
And why put down the innocent family member because of the family's bad name,
There is such a thing as a fair go and a fair go to all should apply
When you say one comes from a bad family a fair go to him you deny
Treat everybody as an equal and learn from the ways of the wise
For the sins of the individual it is wrong to generalize,
In reality we are all individuals and give credit where credit is due
And when you brand one for the sins of others to a fair go you are not true.


Joe the Bard

by

Francis Duggan

Joe the bard is feeling weary and looking old and gray
And it seems very obvious that he has known a better day
A shadow of the man he once was it would be fair to say
But as ever he is penning verse with words he has a way

He is in his early eighties and long past his writing prime
But age has not taken from him his gift of penning rhyme
A very gifted writer of him that cannot be denied
But the years on him are telling and time is not on his side.

His Kate passed on eight years ago the great love of his life
For half a century of years his dear devoted wife
A good mother to their children together they had happy years
His sad poems to her memory are full of his heartfelt tears.

A poet for all Seasons the last bard of his Town
As an old style classic rhymer Joe the bard has known renown
The seasons on him are telling in a few years he may be gone
But some of his poems and ballads to his memory will live on.


Yesteryear's hero

by

Francis Duggan

Ten years ago he was a hero a parade for him in the Town
But now he is seen as a has been they built him up and dragged him down
Where are they now when he most needs them him they no longer wish to know
He now is one of the forgotten their hero of a decade ago.

When he kicked the winning goal in the final he done himself and the club proud
The band played for him in his Hometown and the cheering for him it was loud
Alcohol now is the only comfort of a man who was a sporting king
His glory days for him are over his praises they no longer sing.

Some of him say he once was a hero his brown hair is now turning gray
And though only in his mid thirties he has known a far better day
In his honour they had big parties to him their toasting glasses they did raise
But now they have another hero another one that they can praise.

Ten years ago he was a hero when he was in his glorious prime
The Town Councillors sung his praises and the poets by him inspired to rhyme
The goal he kicked for his Club in the final happened to be the winning score
But now he is Yesteryear's hero though he is only thirty four.


His truth

by

Francis Duggan

He said to me you're a negative person and such negative things you do say
Spiritually you are poverty stricken and to a god you do not pray
You seem negative towards wealthy people but what use are you to the poor
When you find life such a great battle and you yourself not financially secure.

You seem an anti success person you never praise the millionaire
You seem so down on wealthy people do you not think that is unfair?
I could not get a word in sideways his truth kept ringing in my ears
One might say that he was grog driven he had a few too many beers.

With him I did not wish to argue each to their own as they do say
Suppose we are all very different we look at life in our own way
He usually is a quiet fellow but the grog seems to change him complete
Tonight by him will be forgotten on the next time that he and I meet.

When he said to me you're a negative person his truth to the real truth was near
And the truth can cause hurt to the feelings and the truth few ever wish to hear
The grog it does not seem to suit him for his anger it is a release
With him I did not even argue 'twas the best way for to keep the peace.


Damned

by

Francis Duggan

You are damned if you do and you are damned if you don't
And you are damned if you will and you are damned if you won't
And you are damned if you say yes and you are damned if you say no
Since big brother is watching and all about you he know.

Silence in the face of injustice is death to the soul
But with big brother listening our tongues we must control
For big brother is listening whenever we talk
And where-ever we go to our movements he stalk.

Our very existence it is ruled by fear
Of the threat of terrorism so often we hear
Judgemental big brother himself far from pure
Controls us by making us feel insecure.

Damned by our silence and damned when we speak out
Autocratic big brother is always about
A loss of rights to one is a loss of rigths to me and you
And damned if we don't and damned if we do.


Taxed

by

Francis Duggan

Taxed in our groceries and taxed in our pay
The taxman keeps taking from us every day
But of heavy taxes the bureaucrats he spare
Tax every battler not the billionaire.

Who says that everything in life is fair
The wealthy of tax never pay their fair share
The wealthy getting wealthier with advantage on their side
And the gap getting wider in the social divide.

More taxes on petrol and more taxes on beer
Of taxes and more taxes is all that we hear
Taxed in our electricity bills and taxed by our bank
For some of our poverty the tax man we can thank.

Taxes even on the water that we drink
Soon they will tax us on the thoughts we think
We are burdened by taxes it does seem to me
And it's thanks to the tax man for our poverty.


Royal Watchers

by

Francis Duggan

I pity them they do not seem to have much in their lives
On their kind of people class distinction thrives
On Princess Mary and her new born Prince too much to read, hear and see
It seems all old baloney to judgemental me.

In their seemingly harmless hobby royal watchers persist
But without them the royals would cease to exist
Snobbery and class distinction the masses create
Though at the demise of all royals many would celebrate.

They shout god save the monarch as the monarch is driven by
But what does the monarch care for them or I
What with our mortal celebrities and our gods in the sky
Why we need someone to look up to I do wonder why?

A woman born in Tasmania in the southern-most Land
But why all the fuss about her I do not understand
Married to a Danish prince she has given birth to his son
And though I'm not a royalist to Mary well done.


The Redwings return to Duhallow

by

Francis Duggan

The redwings return to Duhallow when the trees and the hedgerows look bare
And the days they are wet and cold and windy with the nip of late Fall in the air
And the swallows to the warmer climes have gone they will be back by the mid Spring
When nesting birds on trees and hedgerows to defend their borders whistle and sing.

The redwings return to Duhallow when the rivers bank high are flowing
Through bare fields and by windswept hedgerows and cattle in the farm sheds for fodder are lowing
At a time of year when growth is dormant and the harsh cold of Winter is near
The chirpings of the redwings in the old fields are heard at this time of the year.

The redwings return to Duhallow when the salmon swim upstream to spawn
When the weather is getting much colder and few birds sing or whistle at dawn
Yet they come from a much colder climate where in Winter the fields and woods are covered in snow
And through the bleak northern Countries the icy winds from the Artic blow.

The redwings return to Duhallow in the cold and wet days of late Fall
When the blackbird with his feathers fluffed to keep the chill out sits silently on the garden wall
And the flooded stream from the high country is flowing rapidly down the hill
for to further swell the swollen river and the wind in it's bfreath has a chill.


From Work to the Pub

by

Francis Duggan

He wonders why females him do not wish to know
But 'tis not him they dislike only his b o
Had he showered occasionally he might smell okay
Take me as you find me to that he might say.

That he does not have a young lady to walk out with hand in hand
Is something that is not hard to understand
His best clothes second hand he seldom combs his hair
And of his appearance he does not take care.

After work in the evenings he is at the pub
Or else in the Barroom of the Football Club
Only in his early thirties he may go through life
Without fathering children or having a wife.

His mates are partnered or married he's the odd one out
But of his type of person there's a few about
From work to the pub and from the pub to bed
For the past ten years this sort of a life he has led.

His friends are in relationships or living with a spouse
And he does not have a woman to keep tidy his house
And though he will never be the best dressed man in the Town
As a worker and a drinker he aims for renown.


Money

by

Francis Duggan

In the Human World money speaks every language some say
And all things have a price on them 'twould seem that way
And though the reaper will one day claim the lives of you and I
It costs money to live and it costs money to die.

The beautiful young woman for a partner has an old billionaire
That he is useless in bed she does not seem to care
He believes her when she tells him she loves him but for his money she lie
Since she will be very wealthy when he die.

So very restricted by their poverty
The working poor cannot take their wives out to tea
To provide for their families on a small wage they get by
But a good sort of life style they don't have to enjoy.

Lack of money may lead to a good appetite
But do not expect to live to an old age on a very poor diet
The old sugar daddy is enjoying the good life
With his twenty four years old blond good looking wife.


Out there in the wide Country

by

Francis Duggan

Out there in the wide country like a small speck in the sky
The small brown skylark is carolling as upwards he does fly
On a warm day in October with a beautiful Spring breeze
With temperatures near perfect around 23 degrees,
October in Victoria in the woodland all the day
The gray shrike thrush is whistling in his cloak of brown and gray
And the white backed magpie is fluting upon the gray gum tree
And the magpie lark is singing pee wee pee wee pee wee
And the kookaburras laughter is ringing loud and clear
Out there in the wide country them one so often hear,
Out there in the wide country the wildflowers are in bloom
And the woods and paddocks scenting of Nature's sweet perfume
And the temperature is perfect days such as this are rare
And the nesting birds are singing and Spring is in the air.


Another Man

by

Francis Duggan

He tries to make some meaning out of his life
Another man is making love to his ex wife
And that other man for his young son and daughter provide
Which has left him with quite a big dent to his pride.

Another man to his children playing the father role
The very thought of it on his ego taking toll
Though biologically a father he doesn't play the role of a dad
That's life one supposes and life can be sad.

He has a few friends but his dog his best mate
After work in the evening he is at the gate
To welcome him home as he wags his brown tail
Whilst others forsake you your dog you won't fail.

Another man making love to his ex spouse
And only his brown kelpie dog with him sharing his house,
Another man to his children the role of father play
About that he's not happy but that's life one might say.


Some People

by

Francis Duggan

Some people to grudges they never do cling
And to forgive to them it is not a big thing
Whilst other do not have it in them to forgive
And they hold a grudge for as long as they live.

Some people seem to make friends easily
Only the good side of them others see
And others have few friends because they are shy
Why we all are so different I do wonder why?

Some people are so easy going and carefree
They go through life without one enemy
Whilst others they make enemies every day
Everyone is different in their own way.

Some people never take life seriously
And they seem quite relaxed in others company
Whilst others in worrying spend their precious time
And laughter to them it almost seems a crime.

Some people never give they only like to take
And the more money they have the more they want to make
Whilst others are generous and helpful and kind
The differences in people are not hard to find.

Some people to others such cruel things do say
It boosts their warped egos when mind games they play
Whilst others they do a good deed every day
We all are so different in our own way.


In a World

by

Francis Duggan

In a World of many writers not everyone's a poet
And not everyone's a playwrite or a novelist of note
We all cannot be winners many must lose for one to win
But to yearn for wealth and glory should never be a sin.

In a World of many artists not all can make the grade
The visual arts no different in that way than to the wordsmith trade
And for one winner many losers to artists too apply
Though you are not a failure if you give it your best try.

In a World of many sports people not everyone knows fame
And not many are destined to hear the masses chant their name
We all cannot be winners that's how 'tis meant to be
And only to one of many go the joy of victory.

In a World of many Roman Catholics only one can become Pope
And many of the top job can only live in hope
And though a Cardinal from leadership is only one step down
For him it does still seem a long hike to religious renown.

In a World of billions of people many dream of wealth and fame
But few ever live to see theirs become a well known name
For one to be a winner and make the headline news
So many disappointed for one to win many must lose.


You may be

by

Francis Duggan

You may be one who come from a long lived line
And you look fit and healthy at one hundred and nine
But the clock keeps on ticking and time seems to fly
And the longer you'll live the sooner you'll die.

You may be some eight decades past your life's prime
And your old school friends all victims to the passing of time
But time is not waiting the clock ticks away
And each day you live nearer to your last day.

You may be the wealthiest by far on your street
With your inflated ego swollen by conceit
Quite disdainful of those who are in poverty
Though time will take care of you just you wait and see.

He once was the greatest athlete in the Town
And on the athletic tracks he carved his own renown
But an old athletic injury has left him in pain
And now he walks slowly with his walking cane.

You may be in your twenties in the prime of your life
A well to do fellow with a pretty young wife
But time keeps on ticking and the days quickly go by
And the longer you'll live the sooner you'll die.


We have seen many Seasons

by

Francis Duggan

We have seen many Seasons since I was a young lad
But do not judge me harshly though you think my rhymes are bad
Since I'm just an old poetaster one from a distant shore
A migrant in this Country just that and nothing more.

I cut down spruce and pine trees some twenty years ago
At the foot of Mushera mountain in the rain and hail and snow
The gray fog cloaked the mountain the rain seeped through my clothes
A hard way for to earn a quid but that's life I suppose.

One born to struggle up life's hill from the cradle to the grave
Some are born to be soldiers I could never be that brave
Some are born to be wealthy and famous and glory is their destiny
But when I look at success mountain it seems too high to climb for me.

I tried to change the World but the World I cannot change
And some of those who know me visually they look on me as strange
That bloke pens reams of doggerel of me it has been said
He must be rather silly or dippy in the head.

My Goddess she is Nature by her I feel inspired
And of singing her praises I never could feel tired
In Claraghatlea by Millstreet Town and that's going back in time
By Nature's natural beauty I was first inspired to rhyme.

We have seen many Seasons since I was a young boy
And my Childhood years were happy years and them I did enjoy
Of good and honest parents they surely raised me well
But I'm sure they did not raise me for to scribble doggerel.


Nicholas Tarrant

by

Francis Duggan

Never more in Gortavehy will he hear the songbirds sing
Or see the swallows flying o'er the old fields in the Spring
And though from his old Townland his bones may rest elsewhere
Forever in Gortavehy his spirit will remain there.

Never more at 45 card drives will he play partners with Margaret his dear wife
For many years together they enjoyed a happy life
But every happy union must come to an end one day
And in the cemetery by Millstreet Town his bones forever lay.

An honest man Nicholas Tarrant witty in his own quiet way
And others listened to him when he had something to say
One of the Duhallow Tarrants a very famous clan
And by everyone who knew him a well respected man.

From the land of the visible living Nicholas Tarrant may be gone
But back home in Gortavehy his spirit will live on
From the great battle that is life he has found his release
And in St Mary's cemetery his remains will rest at peace.


Poor Children

by

Francis Duggan

They are the future of humanity
But many of them living in poverty
And without shelter homeless on the street
Searching through rubbish bins for scraps of food to eat.

Poor children are victims of circumstance
In life they never really get a chance
Or have opportunities as privileged children do
The road from the poor suburb to prison leads them to.

From broken homes they are condemned to fail
Their abusive and drug addicted parents serving time in jail
Their parents too homeless in their teen years
On no hope street no laugther only tears.

The Government does not care about those who live in poverty
No political advantage in philanthropy do they see
Their tally men for them have taken note
That few in the poor suburb ever bother for to vote.

Poor children without homes and sleeping rough
And life for them already hard enough
At the wrong end of the social divide
Any chance of a good future to them is denied.


The Powlett in flood

by

Francis Duggan

From the hilly paddocks the Powlett rushes down
Swollen by stormwater bank high muddy brown
And down in the flat lands it slows and spills out
And covers the paddocks in water for acres about.

'Tis not a great waterway that of we speak
Some call it a river and some call it a creek
But in flood from the Bass coast highway a sight for to see
The paddocks submerged in flood waters a mile out from the sea.

Long before Human Beings of South Gippsland did know
The Powlett downland to the ocean did flow
Through paddocks and by hedgerows where all through the Spring
The wild birds of Nature do whistle and sing.

It will never be known as a great waterway 'twould seem
It has been called a river a creek or a stream
But the Powlett in flood a marvellous sight to see
With the paddocks covered in water a mile out from the sea.


What we want most

by

Francis Duggan

Jim's thoughts they are often on Linda the one with wavy ginger hair
As for her she has no designs on him one might say her thoughts are elsewhere
The fellow she loves not a local he lives overseas and far away
She met him when she was in London on her European holiday.

Though she tells him on him she is not interested that someone else he ought to find
By her he is totally smitten he cannot get her out of his mind
But with him she is very honest she does not try to lead him on
Though parted from him by ocean and distance she is faithful to her English Ron.

In life we cannot always get what we most want those words to them have a true ring
Though love songs are born in their millions and of love the poets often sing
Jim our friendship must remain as platonic to him she has so often said
But he never does see it her way he cannot get her out of his head.

What we want most we never do get at least to Jim that does apply
He cannot win the heart of Linda though he's given it his best try
But she loves another far better though from him she lives far away
They plan to be married in London next year in the green English May.


You are an Individual

by

Francis Duggan

It should not matter to you your family's bad name
For the crimes of your parents and siblings you should not bear any shame
The differences in people are not that hard to see
And you seem quite a decent individual to me.

We all are individuals that's what we really are
And to meet your very equal one might have to travel far
Your parents and your siblings are so different to you
Since to the higher human principles you always do live true.

Of the judgements of others why should you live in fear
What they think is their own business or so it would appear
Your parents and your siblings for their crimes they had to pay
And you are an individual despite what others of you think or say.

Though of the judgements of our judges we never may be free
We all are individuals that's how it ought to be
And you are one good individual most would see you as okay
For to help out other people you go out of your way.


Big Brother is always watching me

by

Francis Duggan

On the flag post above the National Monument the National flag in the winds wave
In honour of the National heroes the war dead and the brave,
The thing known as patriotism part of our National identity
On war memorial avenue a soldier's name is nailed to every tree.

To their chosen house of worship the faithful flock to pray
Our god is the one true god you always hear them say
They mention war in god's name and worship god in song
If they think they are so right then they cannot be wrong.

We often hear 'tis culture that cause the people divide
But that there are other factors should never be denied.
Since religion and patriotism in war plays a major part
But for every death in every war there's many a grieving heart.

'Tis said they died for freedom what is freedom anyway?
'Tis a question that I ask myself a few times every day
I live in a so called Democratic Nation though I do not totally feel free
Since I know that Big Brother is always watching me.

And big brother he is listening to every word we say
And for free speech loss of freedom can be the price we pay
'Tis a crime to speak good of this bad person big brother to us preach
If this be so it would appear we do not have free speech.

And in the wind the National flag is waving above the war monument today
And in their house of worship the faithful to their one true god do pray
And people dying in war zones and every drought ravaged Land
All of this for an ordinary one such as me too complex to understand.


Jessica and Richard's family

by

Francis Duggan

Jessica Veal and her partner Richard for a big family care
In South Belgrave in the Yarra Ranges their home they do share
With orphan black ducklings and ring tail possums and an injured echidna named spike
They are such caring people and about them much to like.

To add to their furry, spiky and wildborn feathered friends four domestic feathered friends they've got
Their chooks Pixie and Peaches, Henry and Apricot,
The task of caring for their varying family they do seem to enjoy
Though less space in their living room as numbers multiply.

To Mother Nature and her creatures these people are so true
And for that one can only give them credit since credit they are due
If everyone were like them a far better World 'twould be
Of the threat of extinction wild-born creatures would live free.

Jessica and her partner Richard are unique people one might say
To wild-born and domestic birds and animals the role of mum and dad they play
So many wild-born creatures from certain death they save
And they nurse them back to full health in their home in South Belgrave.


The Countryman

by

Francis Duggan

The Countryman may go to live in the City but the Countryside in him remain
And often in his flights of fancy he hears the frogs sing in the drain
And he hears the boobook owl calling as he hunt on the moonlit gum trees
That voice once to him so familiar comes to him in the freshening breeze.

The Countryman lives in the City for one reason much higher pay
He has to support a wife and raise a young family in his rural Town he could not afford to stay
He used to work for a dairy farmer from dawn until fading twilight
Working condition in the City far better he now works on a building site.

Yet often in his flights of fancy he walks down the Country Town street
And he stops for to chat to an old friend one that he feels happy to meet
Such things that he miss about his Hometown where his was a familiar face
He may live and work in the City but the City is not his home-place.

The Countryman lives in the City far from the home of the wombat and roo
But in fancy he can hear the shrike thrush and the yellow tail black cockatoo
Huge parrots to him once familiar with strong beaks and feathers dark brown
Shred pine cones for their tiny dark seed on the pine trees in the park of the Town.


I am not that well travelled

by

Francis Duggan

I've been to Gortavehy lake by the hill of het and stone
But I've never been to Africa or climbed the Paps of Shrone
And I've never been to Moscow, Vienna, Paris or Rome
I am not that well travelled but I live far from home.

There is so much of the World that I may never see
Since I am getting older and time is catching up on me
And though I have heard the birds sing in the wood at Claramore
I have not been to the Artic to the frozen northern shore.

Though I have seen some of New Zealand 'The Land of the Long White Cloud'
I have not done anything in my life of which I could feel proud
I have not tried to climb Mt Everest or ran for Olympic Gold
And when I'm gone forever my life story won't be told.

I am not that well travelled many have seen more than me
Never seen the mighty Amazon flowing through the jungle towards the sea
But I have seen Victoria's greatest waterway the Yarra flowing brown
Through Collingwood and Richmond on it's way through Melbourne Town.

I have never been to the Serengeti where the wildebeest range free
And a pride of lions in the wild is a thing I've yet to see
But 'tis been years since I've seen the wildflowers bloom in the home fields in May
Since from old Claraghatlea North I do live far away.


Of Course

by

Francis Duggan

Of course 'tis a fallacy pigs cannot see the wind
But the one eyed man rules in the Land of the blind
And credulous people are not hard to find
A fool leads the way and they follow behind.

Though they were elected by the majority
The Government rules for the minority
'Tis the same old story we've heard it before
The wealthy get the favours the poor they ignore.

How can one give credit where it is not due
Since few politicians to the higher self true
Between the Government and the Opposition the difference is not great
Take care of ourselves and take care of our mate.

To the underclass as always a fair go is denied
And the gap between the haves and the have nots it keeps growing wide
And many grow poorer for each new millionaire
That's life some might say but life's not always fair.

Of course 'tis a fallacy elephants do not fly
Though the blind they are ruled by the man with one eye
And in the corridors of power corruption is rife
And whilst the poor grow poorer some enjoy the good life.


The alcohol seems to go straight to her head

by

Francis Duggan

The alcohol seems to go straight to her head
And after she regrets some of the things she has said
When she has had one too many with her words she can be cruel
For her mental pain alcohol is like a fuel.

Through alcohol she has lost many a friend
That seems such a sad way for a friendship to end
But cruel words can cause hurt and be hard to forgive
And remain with their victims for as long as they live.

Yet she is a nice person so generous and kind
And her very equal might be hard to find
But alcohol to her is a no no since it changes her complete
And when drunk with her words she is never discreet.

Since it brings to the surface her anger within
Her battle with alcohol is one she must win
Her drinking it would seem is out of control
It is bad for her health and poison to her soul.

For her part she has vowed to give alcohol away
I will fight my demons she has been known to say
And 'tis said self appraisal to success can lead
And in conquering her demons she well may succeed.