In Hamilton in the Southern Grampians the population grow
Of a more industrial Inland own I cannot say I know
In the heart of farming country that in summer looks so brown
There is a city atmosphere about this rural Town.
One hundred kilometres from Warrnambool and from the ocean shore
What has been said of Hamilton that's not been said before?
It seems to keep on growing getting bigger by the day
The Melbourne of the outback some have been known to say.
The old bloke in his seventies and his seventy year old wife
In Hamilton were born and there live a happy life,
Said to me most of those born in Hamilton in Hamilton do stay
Our children and their children still live in the Town today
A big Town in rural Victoria and far inland from the sea
In Hamilton for the visitor there is much to do and see
There are theatres, night clubs and hotels and cafes and restaurants by the score
And what have I said of Hamilton that's not been said before.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Casterton
The hills surrounding Casterton are looking rather brown
And not much in the line of commerce in the old colonial Town,
The Glenelg river is not flowing for the weather's been too dry
For months on end day after day the sun's blazed in the sky.
The birthplace of the Kelpie breed dogs bred for herding sheep
In Casterton in Victoria house prices seem so cheap
For forty thousand dollars there one can buy a house as good as new
But that's to be expected where jobs are only few.
In the shires of Glenelg and Southern Grampians the paddocks brown and dry
And in a land where trees are rare few green spots meet the eye,
In Casterton and Sandford, Merino and Coleraine
In summer the flowering gums bloom fair but the land is parched for rain.
In the few times I've been in Casteron few changes I have seen
The hills were looking dry and brown and hardly any green
And forty thousand dollars would buy a house as good as new
In a place of little commerce where jobs are only few.
And not much in the line of commerce in the old colonial Town,
The Glenelg river is not flowing for the weather's been too dry
For months on end day after day the sun's blazed in the sky.
The birthplace of the Kelpie breed dogs bred for herding sheep
In Casterton in Victoria house prices seem so cheap
For forty thousand dollars there one can buy a house as good as new
But that's to be expected where jobs are only few.
In the shires of Glenelg and Southern Grampians the paddocks brown and dry
And in a land where trees are rare few green spots meet the eye,
In Casterton and Sandford, Merino and Coleraine
In summer the flowering gums bloom fair but the land is parched for rain.
In the few times I've been in Casteron few changes I have seen
The hills were looking dry and brown and hardly any green
And forty thousand dollars would buy a house as good as new
In a place of little commerce where jobs are only few.
In The Wide Brown Country
To the wide brown country the seasons come and go
South in South Australia where the Murray flow
Through the wide brown country where the brown dust fly
When the gales are rushing down the southern sky.
In the wide brown country woods not there to see
Where the mighty Murray crawls on towards the sea
Through the bone dry paddocks that are never green
Mother Nature in this landscape in her brown only seen.
Where the black tribes fished and hunted centuries ago
Little of their culture others seem to know
Through the wide brown country they travelled far and wide
And theirs was a great culture but their culture with them died.
In the wide brown country wildering flowers are rare
And the sun parched paddocks always looking bare
And where only the hardiest can hope to survive
Emu, wombat and wallaby and grey roo seem to thrive.
In the wide brown country where the Murray flow
Onwards towards the ocean onwards ever slow
And the grass is growing brown even where the rains have been
In that brown old country that man has failed to green.
South in South Australia where the Murray flow
Through the wide brown country where the brown dust fly
When the gales are rushing down the southern sky.
In the wide brown country woods not there to see
Where the mighty Murray crawls on towards the sea
Through the bone dry paddocks that are never green
Mother Nature in this landscape in her brown only seen.
Where the black tribes fished and hunted centuries ago
Little of their culture others seem to know
Through the wide brown country they travelled far and wide
And theirs was a great culture but their culture with them died.
In the wide brown country wildering flowers are rare
And the sun parched paddocks always looking bare
And where only the hardiest can hope to survive
Emu, wombat and wallaby and grey roo seem to thrive.
In the wide brown country where the Murray flow
Onwards towards the ocean onwards ever slow
And the grass is growing brown even where the rains have been
In that brown old country that man has failed to green.
Us Prisoners Of Fear
We lock our doors us prisoners of fear
And dread our neighbour to us ever near
And we close our blinds for to keep prying eyes away
And fear surrounds us every night and day.
We leave our fortress for to work and play maybe
But in our hearts we never can live free
For we even fear the things we cannot see
And we are prisoners of our insecurity.
Around our homes no prison walls topped with razor wire
And we can come and go as we desire
Yet we are not free though many may feel so
And fear is with us everywhere we go.
We lock our door and close our window blind
And we hide ourselves away from our own kind
But freedom as such we may never gain
And as prisoners of our fear we will remain.
And dread our neighbour to us ever near
And we close our blinds for to keep prying eyes away
And fear surrounds us every night and day.
We leave our fortress for to work and play maybe
But in our hearts we never can live free
For we even fear the things we cannot see
And we are prisoners of our insecurity.
Around our homes no prison walls topped with razor wire
And we can come and go as we desire
Yet we are not free though many may feel so
And fear is with us everywhere we go.
We lock our door and close our window blind
And we hide ourselves away from our own kind
But freedom as such we may never gain
And as prisoners of our fear we will remain.
John
He is one who can write thirty poems a day
And what some say in forty lines in three lines he can say
And in the world of literature he has built his name
And give the poet John credit for he has earned his fame.
By the poesy goddess he must have been blessed
For he writes with a passion like a man possessed,
A fair go for all people John McGrath embrace
It's there in all of his verses without seeing his face.
There ought to be more poets as poets write for a cause
Poets stand for truth and justice not for man made laws
In man made laws the loopholes exploited time after time
The super rich unpunished for bureaucratic crime.
All credit to the poet John since credit he is due
To what is good and truthful in his verse he is true,
What can anyone do but live good as they can
That goes for all people every woman and man.
He's a natural wordsmith and with words he play
And he writes with a passion up to thirty poems a day
And he is one of insight and one of the exalted few
And give the poet credit since credit he is due.
And what some say in forty lines in three lines he can say
And in the world of literature he has built his name
And give the poet John credit for he has earned his fame.
By the poesy goddess he must have been blessed
For he writes with a passion like a man possessed,
A fair go for all people John McGrath embrace
It's there in all of his verses without seeing his face.
There ought to be more poets as poets write for a cause
Poets stand for truth and justice not for man made laws
In man made laws the loopholes exploited time after time
The super rich unpunished for bureaucratic crime.
All credit to the poet John since credit he is due
To what is good and truthful in his verse he is true,
What can anyone do but live good as they can
That goes for all people every woman and man.
He's a natural wordsmith and with words he play
And he writes with a passion up to thirty poems a day
And he is one of insight and one of the exalted few
And give the poet credit since credit he is due.
On Over Hearing Two Arguing About Poverty
I over heard two fellows arguing about poverty
Whilst I sat in the cafe drinking coffee
And in truth I could not help but overhear them
As they sat at the next table to me.
The older of the two a silver gray haired fellow
Said to rid the world of want and poverty
We would need to depose every despotic leader
But the younger bloke with him did not agree.
He said in so called wealthy societies there's want and hunger
And where affluence is poverty too abound
From here you don't walk far to see poor people
For poverty is everywhere around.
The older bloke countered but this is a free country
And those in poverty have themselves only to blame
And if hungry people in our midst are living
Do not expect me to feel any shame.
The younger man again with him did differ
Saying want is caused by those who only care
For themselves alone and their own self interest
Many must grow poorer for to make one millionaire.
I left them there in the cafe to argue
And not for me to say who is wrong or right
For both of them looked well dressed and well fed fellows
And they won't go to bed hungry tonight.
Whilst I sat in the cafe drinking coffee
And in truth I could not help but overhear them
As they sat at the next table to me.
The older of the two a silver gray haired fellow
Said to rid the world of want and poverty
We would need to depose every despotic leader
But the younger bloke with him did not agree.
He said in so called wealthy societies there's want and hunger
And where affluence is poverty too abound
From here you don't walk far to see poor people
For poverty is everywhere around.
The older bloke countered but this is a free country
And those in poverty have themselves only to blame
And if hungry people in our midst are living
Do not expect me to feel any shame.
The younger man again with him did differ
Saying want is caused by those who only care
For themselves alone and their own self interest
Many must grow poorer for to make one millionaire.
I left them there in the cafe to argue
And not for me to say who is wrong or right
For both of them looked well dressed and well fed fellows
And they won't go to bed hungry tonight.
Joyce
The poesy inspiration to her comes easily
The poetess from Sunderland by the Atlantic sea
Sharing with the universe her great gift of joy
She will live forever her sort never die.
In February in England the morning fields are gray
But her poems fresh and lovely as the first flowers of May
And though the flowers of summer will be long gone by fall
Joyce's poems will live on and verse lovers will recall
How she make many happy with her gift of song
Her verses light and breezy they just float along
Like a windblown feather in the summer air
Floating in the heaven's free of any care.
She's one in a billion people like her rare
Joyce Hemsley from Sunderland her great gift of poetry share
With all lovers of poetry, she's known far and wide
Greatness of the lady cannot be denied.
She has written so much verse and all of her verse is good
Quite uncomplicated and easily understood
And to her inspiration comes quite easily
The poetess from Sunderland by the Atlantic sea.
The poetess from Sunderland by the Atlantic sea
Sharing with the universe her great gift of joy
She will live forever her sort never die.
In February in England the morning fields are gray
But her poems fresh and lovely as the first flowers of May
And though the flowers of summer will be long gone by fall
Joyce's poems will live on and verse lovers will recall
How she make many happy with her gift of song
Her verses light and breezy they just float along
Like a windblown feather in the summer air
Floating in the heaven's free of any care.
She's one in a billion people like her rare
Joyce Hemsley from Sunderland her great gift of poetry share
With all lovers of poetry, she's known far and wide
Greatness of the lady cannot be denied.
She has written so much verse and all of her verse is good
Quite uncomplicated and easily understood
And to her inspiration comes quite easily
The poetess from Sunderland by the Atlantic sea.
The Morning Is Bright And Sunny
The morning is bright and sunny it is a pleasant day
And magpie larks are calling on trees not far away
And sparrows in the sunshine chirp on the young pine trees
And there is a sort of freshness in the freshening coastal breeze.
The morning is bright and sunny in the old coastal town
And the cars on the esplanade slowly driving up and down
In the quiet southern coastal towns there are many days like these
Sunshine and birdsong in the parks and a freshening coastal breeze.
The morning is bright and sunny and the southern sky is blue
And all around on the sunlit trees I hear the town pigeons coo
And silver gulls are mewing on the sand dunes by the sea
And where people live you also have the wildborn and the free.
The morning is bright and sunny and not a rain cloud in the sky
And the lorikeets are chirping as from tree to tree they fly
And the terrier with his master on the beach chase the gulls who take to flight
And saltwater waves lap on the shore in the beautiful sunlight.
And magpie larks are calling on trees not far away
And sparrows in the sunshine chirp on the young pine trees
And there is a sort of freshness in the freshening coastal breeze.
The morning is bright and sunny in the old coastal town
And the cars on the esplanade slowly driving up and down
In the quiet southern coastal towns there are many days like these
Sunshine and birdsong in the parks and a freshening coastal breeze.
The morning is bright and sunny and the southern sky is blue
And all around on the sunlit trees I hear the town pigeons coo
And silver gulls are mewing on the sand dunes by the sea
And where people live you also have the wildborn and the free.
The morning is bright and sunny and not a rain cloud in the sky
And the lorikeets are chirping as from tree to tree they fly
And the terrier with his master on the beach chase the gulls who take to flight
And saltwater waves lap on the shore in the beautiful sunlight.
Jack And Joe
Jack would not sell his dog not even for a billion he says my dog Joe is just not for sale
One cannot buy such things as trust and loyalty and in such tests my best mate never fail
A bone from the butcher and a can of dog food that seems to fulfil his needs every day
For his companionship and his undying devotion that does not seem such a big price to pay.
Joe is a black labrador cross border collie just a mongrel the less informed would say
He bought him off of the dog pound a few years back and just 100 dollars for him he did pay,
He was a playful seven months old puppy and very bright for a non pedigree
But labradors and border collies are smart canines as most who know about dogs would agree.
To Jack he is a devoted companion and where ever you will see him you'll see Joe
And Jack says his dog more trustworthy than any human and a better friend than him he'll never know,
His dog has shown him more love and affection than shown to him at anytime by his ex wife
And he will tell you the day he went to the dog pound was the luckiest ever day for him in life.
When he drives down the street or to the town park Joe his black mate is always in the back
He would not even sell him for a billion Joe's the greatest mate I ever had says Jack
He loves his dog as much as he loves his children and the bond between them only seem to grow
And where ever you'll see one you'll see the other they are the best of mates old Jack and Joe.
One cannot buy such things as trust and loyalty and in such tests my best mate never fail
A bone from the butcher and a can of dog food that seems to fulfil his needs every day
For his companionship and his undying devotion that does not seem such a big price to pay.
Joe is a black labrador cross border collie just a mongrel the less informed would say
He bought him off of the dog pound a few years back and just 100 dollars for him he did pay,
He was a playful seven months old puppy and very bright for a non pedigree
But labradors and border collies are smart canines as most who know about dogs would agree.
To Jack he is a devoted companion and where ever you will see him you'll see Joe
And Jack says his dog more trustworthy than any human and a better friend than him he'll never know,
His dog has shown him more love and affection than shown to him at anytime by his ex wife
And he will tell you the day he went to the dog pound was the luckiest ever day for him in life.
When he drives down the street or to the town park Joe his black mate is always in the back
He would not even sell him for a billion Joe's the greatest mate I ever had says Jack
He loves his dog as much as he loves his children and the bond between them only seem to grow
And where ever you'll see one you'll see the other they are the best of mates old Jack and Joe.
Fear Mongering
The favourite weapon used by some governments is fear and they use fear in many a different way
The fear of torture suffering and death and the fear of terror we hear of every day
And it's sad to think that people do believe them and believe everything that they have to say
The world is ruled by those expert at fear mongering by ageing men who in dyes hide their gray.
The weapon of fear is a powerful weapon the war lords use it to justify war
And the death of enemy civilians them don't seem to bother their lives are not as important as ours are,
They say they were our enemies though they were civilians and their deaths in some way we can justify
It's not our fault if a few of our bombs missed their targets in any war civilians also die.
Fear mongering nowadays is a lethal weapon and by powerful and ruthless people it is used
To undermine in us our love of others that is what happens when power is abused
They cause mistrust and mistrust leads to hatred and by them the fear of terror it is spread
And war and suffering and death is inevitable when propaganda to the flames of fear is fed.
The weapon of fear is a lethal weapon and power corrupts and men abuse their power
They prey on our fears and our human frailties and the flower of peace it is a decaying flower,
Upon the flower of peace they spray their poison and war and terror from them all we hear
And not much chance for love and harmony amongst people when the men of power use their weapon of fear.
The fear of torture suffering and death and the fear of terror we hear of every day
And it's sad to think that people do believe them and believe everything that they have to say
The world is ruled by those expert at fear mongering by ageing men who in dyes hide their gray.
The weapon of fear is a powerful weapon the war lords use it to justify war
And the death of enemy civilians them don't seem to bother their lives are not as important as ours are,
They say they were our enemies though they were civilians and their deaths in some way we can justify
It's not our fault if a few of our bombs missed their targets in any war civilians also die.
Fear mongering nowadays is a lethal weapon and by powerful and ruthless people it is used
To undermine in us our love of others that is what happens when power is abused
They cause mistrust and mistrust leads to hatred and by them the fear of terror it is spread
And war and suffering and death is inevitable when propaganda to the flames of fear is fed.
The weapon of fear is a lethal weapon and power corrupts and men abuse their power
They prey on our fears and our human frailties and the flower of peace it is a decaying flower,
Upon the flower of peace they spray their poison and war and terror from them all we hear
And not much chance for love and harmony amongst people when the men of power use their weapon of fear.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
I Long For A Place
I long for a sunny place where it is shady far from this street of heavy traffic noise
Where birds are singing on the gums and wattles and from flowering shrub to bush fair butterflies
Display the beauty on their wings whilst in flight their purple, pink and red and blue and gold
They flit around the wildering flowers of Nature a thing of beauty is a joy to behold.
I long for a quiet place beside a river that ever babbles as it flows along
By hedge and grove where blackbird in the morning heralds the day with his territorial song
And where grey shrike thrush he comes to tune his whistle his voice once heard one never could mistake,
I long for a quiet place alone with Nature where there are trees beside a stream or lake.
I long for a place untainted by pollution where one can hear the buzz of the nectar gathering bees
And where the pleasant smells and sounds of Nature come wafting to you in the freshening breeze
From the factory chimney the black smoke is billowing near where the noisy traffic passes up and down
Where Mother Nature lives there's peace and beauty close to the river not that far from town.
I long for a place in Mother Nature's garden where there are trees with stream or creek nearby
Where all day long the wild birds chirp and whistle the voice of Nature is a thing of joy,
Here in a place that smells of rank pollution I long for a place where the air is clean
And where Nature wears her cloak of many colours her many hues that bloom amongst her green
Where birds are singing on the gums and wattles and from flowering shrub to bush fair butterflies
Display the beauty on their wings whilst in flight their purple, pink and red and blue and gold
They flit around the wildering flowers of Nature a thing of beauty is a joy to behold.
I long for a quiet place beside a river that ever babbles as it flows along
By hedge and grove where blackbird in the morning heralds the day with his territorial song
And where grey shrike thrush he comes to tune his whistle his voice once heard one never could mistake,
I long for a quiet place alone with Nature where there are trees beside a stream or lake.
I long for a place untainted by pollution where one can hear the buzz of the nectar gathering bees
And where the pleasant smells and sounds of Nature come wafting to you in the freshening breeze
From the factory chimney the black smoke is billowing near where the noisy traffic passes up and down
Where Mother Nature lives there's peace and beauty close to the river not that far from town.
I long for a place in Mother Nature's garden where there are trees with stream or creek nearby
Where all day long the wild birds chirp and whistle the voice of Nature is a thing of joy,
Here in a place that smells of rank pollution I long for a place where the air is clean
And where Nature wears her cloak of many colours her many hues that bloom amongst her green
Small Things Bother Me
He wore dark glasses I could not see his eyes
And the mirror to his soul he did disguise
He hid from the world his personality
Without the eyes a face you only see.
Perhaps his eyes from the bright sun he shade
The main reason why dark glasses are made
And though he lives nearby him I shall never get to know
As he wears dark glasses rain or sun shine or snow.
Any acknowledgement of me he never seems to show
And we pass each other by without saying hello
Through his dark glasses into my soul he peer
And he's still a stranger though to me he lives near.
Perhaps I'm small in ways and small things get to me
But it bothers me when others eyes I cannot see
Whether their eyes be blue, brown, green or grey who can say
As the mirror to their soul behind dark glasses hidden away.
I see him often though not every day
And his eyes behind dark glasses always hidden away
The mirror of his soul is not for others to see
Perhaps I'm small and small things bother me.
And the mirror to his soul he did disguise
He hid from the world his personality
Without the eyes a face you only see.
Perhaps his eyes from the bright sun he shade
The main reason why dark glasses are made
And though he lives nearby him I shall never get to know
As he wears dark glasses rain or sun shine or snow.
Any acknowledgement of me he never seems to show
And we pass each other by without saying hello
Through his dark glasses into my soul he peer
And he's still a stranger though to me he lives near.
Perhaps I'm small in ways and small things get to me
But it bothers me when others eyes I cannot see
Whether their eyes be blue, brown, green or grey who can say
As the mirror to their soul behind dark glasses hidden away.
I see him often though not every day
And his eyes behind dark glasses always hidden away
The mirror of his soul is not for others to see
Perhaps I'm small and small things bother me.
We Do Not Want To Hear You Say
We do not want to hear you say how very great you are
Or if up the high hill to success you've climbed and climbed so far
To leave others talk of your success seems a better idea
Self praise is no praise so they say and that appeals to me.
We do not want to hear you say that you are god's gift to woman kind
But young women you fancy say that better than you are not hard to find
That women do not like egostical young men you seem to fail to see
And the few who say they like you do not like you only your money.
We do not want to hear you tell us of your successful life
And that the woman that you marry will be a wealthy fellow's wife
And that money speaks all languages may happen to be true
Few men in their early thirties would be as immature as you.
We do not want to hear you boast about your great success
It would seem that your money cannot buy you happiness
On the hill of financial success you may have climbed up far
But you should leave it to others tell the world of how great a man you are.
Or if up the high hill to success you've climbed and climbed so far
To leave others talk of your success seems a better idea
Self praise is no praise so they say and that appeals to me.
We do not want to hear you say that you are god's gift to woman kind
But young women you fancy say that better than you are not hard to find
That women do not like egostical young men you seem to fail to see
And the few who say they like you do not like you only your money.
We do not want to hear you tell us of your successful life
And that the woman that you marry will be a wealthy fellow's wife
And that money speaks all languages may happen to be true
Few men in their early thirties would be as immature as you.
We do not want to hear you boast about your great success
It would seem that your money cannot buy you happiness
On the hill of financial success you may have climbed up far
But you should leave it to others tell the world of how great a man you are.
The Coorong
Some say that this is a barren land where mostly saltbush grow
But more species of birds live here than anywhere else of that I know
There is more to the Coorong than at first meets the eye
The memories I'll take with me and later them enjoy.
Wattlebirds and babblers and honeyeaters by the score
Chirp on small coastal trees and flowering shrubs along the quiet foreshore
This is a birders paradise though few birders come here
The Coorong a great place for birds at anytime of year.
A woman friend of mine she often talks about the old Coorong
She complains between visits to there the time seems to drag along
If I could afford to I'd love to buy a house close to Salt Creek she say
One can only hope she will have her wish in the not too distant day.
In summer in the Coorong on the mudflats by the sea
Little waders from the Arctic far from their home country
Are searching for invertebrates they have to gain body weight
Before they fly north to their breeding grounds and time on them doesn't wait.
In the Coorong in South Australia where mostly saltbush grow
The black tribes fished and hunted many centuries ago,
On the sea, mudflats and foreshore birds in plentiful supply
It's a land of peace and beauty for a naturalist to enjoy.
But more species of birds live here than anywhere else of that I know
There is more to the Coorong than at first meets the eye
The memories I'll take with me and later them enjoy.
Wattlebirds and babblers and honeyeaters by the score
Chirp on small coastal trees and flowering shrubs along the quiet foreshore
This is a birders paradise though few birders come here
The Coorong a great place for birds at anytime of year.
A woman friend of mine she often talks about the old Coorong
She complains between visits to there the time seems to drag along
If I could afford to I'd love to buy a house close to Salt Creek she say
One can only hope she will have her wish in the not too distant day.
In summer in the Coorong on the mudflats by the sea
Little waders from the Arctic far from their home country
Are searching for invertebrates they have to gain body weight
Before they fly north to their breeding grounds and time on them doesn't wait.
In the Coorong in South Australia where mostly saltbush grow
The black tribes fished and hunted many centuries ago,
On the sea, mudflats and foreshore birds in plentiful supply
It's a land of peace and beauty for a naturalist to enjoy.
The Greek People Across The Street
The Greek people across the street on their c d recorder play
The music of their homeland from the Islands far away
And often with the music I hear them sing along
Their culture remains with them their love of homeland strong.
The Greek people across the street wave to me as they drive by
Perhaps I ought to thank them for their music I enjoy
And if ever I get to talk to them perhaps to them I'll say
I could listen to your music every night and every day.
The Greek man and woman from across the street have a primary school going girl and boy
Beautiful dark haired children they seem so quiet and shy
yet every time they see me they smile and say hello
I'm just a bloke they often see and who by sight they know.
The Greek couple across the street are in their early thirties maybe
Perhaps they still feel nostalgic for their homeland beyond the sea
For every evening after tea Greek music I can hear
And it makes for pleasant listening to as I sit and drink a beer.
The Greek people across the street Greek music only play
They brought their culture with them from their Islands far away
The pleasant sounds waft to me every evening after tea
And perhaps I ought to thank them for the joy they give to me.
The music of their homeland from the Islands far away
And often with the music I hear them sing along
Their culture remains with them their love of homeland strong.
The Greek people across the street wave to me as they drive by
Perhaps I ought to thank them for their music I enjoy
And if ever I get to talk to them perhaps to them I'll say
I could listen to your music every night and every day.
The Greek man and woman from across the street have a primary school going girl and boy
Beautiful dark haired children they seem so quiet and shy
yet every time they see me they smile and say hello
I'm just a bloke they often see and who by sight they know.
The Greek couple across the street are in their early thirties maybe
Perhaps they still feel nostalgic for their homeland beyond the sea
For every evening after tea Greek music I can hear
And it makes for pleasant listening to as I sit and drink a beer.
The Greek people across the street Greek music only play
They brought their culture with them from their Islands far away
The pleasant sounds waft to me every evening after tea
And perhaps I ought to thank them for the joy they give to me.
A Summer's Day In South West Victoria
The morning was cool and windless in that old Victorian Town
And the rain came down in drizzles as we drove from Camperdown
The paddocks dry from the long dry spell and looking bare and brown
And in the first week of february Mother Nature wore her russet gown.
The creeks had all but dried up and the river trickled slow
And in miles of sun parched paddocks the grass needs more rain to grow
This is a dry old country and the summer's been so dry
And despite the mid morning drizzle there's not much rain in the sky.
It was drizzling only slightly as we drove out of Camperdown
But the sun was out and shining driving into Terang Town
And the farmers in bare paddocks to their cattle feeding hay
And for South Western Victoria it looks like another warm day.
The morning calm and drizzly and for february it seemed cool
But the sun was brightly shining driving into Warrnambool
And the silver gulls were mewing in the parks beside the sea
In the sunshine of Victoria on a day in february.
And the rain came down in drizzles as we drove from Camperdown
The paddocks dry from the long dry spell and looking bare and brown
And in the first week of february Mother Nature wore her russet gown.
The creeks had all but dried up and the river trickled slow
And in miles of sun parched paddocks the grass needs more rain to grow
This is a dry old country and the summer's been so dry
And despite the mid morning drizzle there's not much rain in the sky.
It was drizzling only slightly as we drove out of Camperdown
But the sun was out and shining driving into Terang Town
And the farmers in bare paddocks to their cattle feeding hay
And for South Western Victoria it looks like another warm day.
The morning calm and drizzly and for february it seemed cool
But the sun was brightly shining driving into Warrnambool
And the silver gulls were mewing in the parks beside the sea
In the sunshine of Victoria on a day in february.
Worrying
Why should one even waste their time in worrying when worrying eats one's energy away
When most worriers end their days with cancer or other diseases that cause physical decay
You well may be a very wealthy person but due to worry your hair prematurely gray
In life there really isn't that much value if you can't have a few good laughs each day.
I feel for every financially well off person who of the cross of worrying never does feel free
I pity them their money to them useless though they may not feel that they need my sympathy
Of happiness one might say they seem bankrupt and their millions they do not seem to enjoy
Such people seem to go young to the reaper and few of their type of old age ever die.
'Twould seem that worrying magnifies your problems as well as reducing years off of your life
The young wealthy bloke he dies and leaves his empire for to be enjoyed by his children and his wife
And though she may not be the best of lookers with his money there is little doubt she can
If the mood takes her find herself another a younger and a far more handsome man.
Why should you lose your energy to worry if worrying your problems only magnify
The one who never loses sleep to worrying is the person who has learned to enjoy
The gift of life for that can lead to happiness but the worriers worries grow bigger by the day
And he or she are old in their mid forties they bring on themselves physical decay.
When most worriers end their days with cancer or other diseases that cause physical decay
You well may be a very wealthy person but due to worry your hair prematurely gray
In life there really isn't that much value if you can't have a few good laughs each day.
I feel for every financially well off person who of the cross of worrying never does feel free
I pity them their money to them useless though they may not feel that they need my sympathy
Of happiness one might say they seem bankrupt and their millions they do not seem to enjoy
Such people seem to go young to the reaper and few of their type of old age ever die.
'Twould seem that worrying magnifies your problems as well as reducing years off of your life
The young wealthy bloke he dies and leaves his empire for to be enjoyed by his children and his wife
And though she may not be the best of lookers with his money there is little doubt she can
If the mood takes her find herself another a younger and a far more handsome man.
Why should you lose your energy to worry if worrying your problems only magnify
The one who never loses sleep to worrying is the person who has learned to enjoy
The gift of life for that can lead to happiness but the worriers worries grow bigger by the day
And he or she are old in their mid forties they bring on themselves physical decay.
Back In Semaphore
I've not been in this Town for a year or maybe more
But some familiar faces here that I 've seen before
And people walk their dogs in park by the sea shore,
It is good to be back in Semaphore.
Off of the jetty in the bright sunshine
The old fishing fellow casts his fishing line
He hopes to catch a few good sized fish for tea
Though of such there is not a guarantee.
Some Australian Aboriginals still live here
In the shade of norfolk pine they sit and drink their beer
They socialize as one big happy family
In Semaphore the old Town by the sea.
The silver gulls in large flocks congregate
By picnic tables in the sun they wait
Like hungry beggars crying to be fed
On scraps of uneaten fish and meat and bread.
On canvas an artist might capture the scene
Of sunlit park of shades of brown and green
Where the recreational cricket players cricket play
And enjoy themselves on their weekend holiday.
In the late afternoon a freshening sea breeze
And miners chirping on the sunlit trees
And saltwater waves lap on the sandy shore,
It feels good to be back in Semaphore.
But some familiar faces here that I 've seen before
And people walk their dogs in park by the sea shore,
It is good to be back in Semaphore.
Off of the jetty in the bright sunshine
The old fishing fellow casts his fishing line
He hopes to catch a few good sized fish for tea
Though of such there is not a guarantee.
Some Australian Aboriginals still live here
In the shade of norfolk pine they sit and drink their beer
They socialize as one big happy family
In Semaphore the old Town by the sea.
The silver gulls in large flocks congregate
By picnic tables in the sun they wait
Like hungry beggars crying to be fed
On scraps of uneaten fish and meat and bread.
On canvas an artist might capture the scene
Of sunlit park of shades of brown and green
Where the recreational cricket players cricket play
And enjoy themselves on their weekend holiday.
In the late afternoon a freshening sea breeze
And miners chirping on the sunlit trees
And saltwater waves lap on the sandy shore,
It feels good to be back in Semaphore.
Harmers Haven
On old gum tree by sleepy Harmers Haven the magpie always sings at dawn of day
His flute like notes are carrying in the sea breeze Australia's finest feathered songster many say
And kookaburra family cackling nearby they call perhaps to proclaim territory
And from quiet old Harmers Haven Village at high tide one can hear the rumblings of the sea.
The lucky people who live there will tell you that lucky lady luck did them embrace
They could not live outside of Harmers Haven and to them it is a very special place
The jewel in the crown of South West Gippsland at least that's what the Harmers Haven people say
From that old peaceful Village by the ocean the gates of heaven can't be far away.
A pretty place untouched by man's pollution no factory chimney billowing black smoke to the sky,
Could I afford to I would buy a house there and live happy there until the day I die
Amongst the cosy lap of Mother Nature the chats in the paddock are chirping nearby
And grey shrike thrush and butcherbird are singing and welcome swallows twitter as they fly.
Were I a poet I'd sing of Harmers Haven perhaps the jewel in South West Gippsland's crown
The Village just a short walk from the ocean five to six miles from old Wonthaggi Town
It is a place of peace and natural beauty where people with Nature live in harmony
Where the predominant voice belongs to Mother Nature, the songs of birds and the rumblings of the sea.
His flute like notes are carrying in the sea breeze Australia's finest feathered songster many say
And kookaburra family cackling nearby they call perhaps to proclaim territory
And from quiet old Harmers Haven Village at high tide one can hear the rumblings of the sea.
The lucky people who live there will tell you that lucky lady luck did them embrace
They could not live outside of Harmers Haven and to them it is a very special place
The jewel in the crown of South West Gippsland at least that's what the Harmers Haven people say
From that old peaceful Village by the ocean the gates of heaven can't be far away.
A pretty place untouched by man's pollution no factory chimney billowing black smoke to the sky,
Could I afford to I would buy a house there and live happy there until the day I die
Amongst the cosy lap of Mother Nature the chats in the paddock are chirping nearby
And grey shrike thrush and butcherbird are singing and welcome swallows twitter as they fly.
Were I a poet I'd sing of Harmers Haven perhaps the jewel in South West Gippsland's crown
The Village just a short walk from the ocean five to six miles from old Wonthaggi Town
It is a place of peace and natural beauty where people with Nature live in harmony
Where the predominant voice belongs to Mother Nature, the songs of birds and the rumblings of the sea.
We Have Not Learned That Much From The Past
We have not learned that much from past history the men of power repeat the same mistake
By threatening war on the Iraqi people for in war there's death and suffering and heartbreak
And in war there's never happiness and laughter the bomber jets they drop death from the sky
Why to kill or capture the Iraqi leader will so many innocents have to suffer and die?
I wonder when I hear talk of 'a just war' since any war it never has been just
And war gives rise to vengeance and to hatred and between peoples build the barriers of mistrust,
Who ever coined that phrase was far from clever though many of those words have taken note
And too many far too many silly people that awful saying are too inclined to quote.
We have not learned much from man's past history if we have learned anything at all
The innocents of Baghdad and Basra will suffer when the big bombs from the night sky will fall
For bombs don't always hit their designated targets and for war mistakes it's the innocents who pay
With their lives or the most horrific injuries and the scars of war till death with them will stay.
We have not learned much from the mistakes of our forefathers for talk of war we hear now every day
And only on the day of the election do the people ever seem to have a say
And the hawkish leaders who see war as okay from the path that leads to war cannot be cowed
They never seem to listen to their people though the voice of protest in their ears ring loud.
By threatening war on the Iraqi people for in war there's death and suffering and heartbreak
And in war there's never happiness and laughter the bomber jets they drop death from the sky
Why to kill or capture the Iraqi leader will so many innocents have to suffer and die?
I wonder when I hear talk of 'a just war' since any war it never has been just
And war gives rise to vengeance and to hatred and between peoples build the barriers of mistrust,
Who ever coined that phrase was far from clever though many of those words have taken note
And too many far too many silly people that awful saying are too inclined to quote.
We have not learned much from man's past history if we have learned anything at all
The innocents of Baghdad and Basra will suffer when the big bombs from the night sky will fall
For bombs don't always hit their designated targets and for war mistakes it's the innocents who pay
With their lives or the most horrific injuries and the scars of war till death with them will stay.
We have not learned much from the mistakes of our forefathers for talk of war we hear now every day
And only on the day of the election do the people ever seem to have a say
And the hawkish leaders who see war as okay from the path that leads to war cannot be cowed
They never seem to listen to their people though the voice of protest in their ears ring loud.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Those Who Laugh Last
Those who laugh last will always laugh the loudest and the laugh last is the sweetest laugh of all
And when victory goes to the rank outsider the lucky winning punter will recall
How he backed the winner because his name appealed to him he bet one hundred dollars at odds of 100 to 1 for a win
His friends they laughed but he laughed last and loudest it was his lucky day his luck was in.
Those who laugh last as always laugh the longest that's how it is and it will always be
I too have laughed at what I thought was the folly of others only to find that the laugh was on me
And like they say laugh with and never at me for to laugh at is such a derisive thing
And those who laugh last always laugh the heartiest and their laughter to it has the happiest ring.
Those who laugh last will always laugh the loudest those words to life one also can apply
The poor and honest person who sows the seeds of good karma the fruits of those seeds one day will enjoy
And the dishonest one to the bank may go laughing only to pay through karma for ill gain
The money people come by through deception with them as we well know will not remain.
Those who laugh last will always laugh the loudest that's how it is and it's always been that way
The one who laughed last week at what he thought was another's folly is not the one who is laughing today
And like the one who bet on the 100 to 1 outsider he was even laughed at by his dearest friend
But that outsider stormed home the winner and he was the one who laughed at the end.
And when victory goes to the rank outsider the lucky winning punter will recall
How he backed the winner because his name appealed to him he bet one hundred dollars at odds of 100 to 1 for a win
His friends they laughed but he laughed last and loudest it was his lucky day his luck was in.
Those who laugh last as always laugh the longest that's how it is and it will always be
I too have laughed at what I thought was the folly of others only to find that the laugh was on me
And like they say laugh with and never at me for to laugh at is such a derisive thing
And those who laugh last always laugh the heartiest and their laughter to it has the happiest ring.
Those who laugh last will always laugh the loudest those words to life one also can apply
The poor and honest person who sows the seeds of good karma the fruits of those seeds one day will enjoy
And the dishonest one to the bank may go laughing only to pay through karma for ill gain
The money people come by through deception with them as we well know will not remain.
Those who laugh last will always laugh the loudest that's how it is and it's always been that way
The one who laughed last week at what he thought was another's folly is not the one who is laughing today
And like the one who bet on the 100 to 1 outsider he was even laughed at by his dearest friend
But that outsider stormed home the winner and he was the one who laughed at the end.
Underpaid Worker
Here am I with good cause for lament
For eighty dollars a day shovelling sand and cement
Shovelling sand and cement for eighty dollars a day
And on this day and age that must rate as poor pay.
The boss he has made it quite clear
That he doesn't want workers union in here,
He says if the men unionise he will close the works down
And where else could a man get a job in this town?
Last week I asked him for a pay rise
And the answer he made me it did not surprise
He said there's nothing to stop you if you want to quit
For eighty dollars a day better men I can get.
He has ordered the foreman to sack
Any man who is inclined to slack
To keep the men working and going
And give them no chance to start slowing.
With a wife and two children to feed
It is money, more money I need
But with eighty dollars a day I must do
Because of men there are plenty and of jobs only few.
For eighty dollars a day shovelling sand and cement
Shovelling sand and cement for eighty dollars a day
And on this day and age that must rate as poor pay.
The boss he has made it quite clear
That he doesn't want workers union in here,
He says if the men unionise he will close the works down
And where else could a man get a job in this town?
Last week I asked him for a pay rise
And the answer he made me it did not surprise
He said there's nothing to stop you if you want to quit
For eighty dollars a day better men I can get.
He has ordered the foreman to sack
Any man who is inclined to slack
To keep the men working and going
And give them no chance to start slowing.
With a wife and two children to feed
It is money, more money I need
But with eighty dollars a day I must do
Because of men there are plenty and of jobs only few.
Mid Autumn On The Cork And Kerry Border
From the small green fields of Inches near the old Town of Rathmore
The barn swallows have departed for the north African shore
And the oak so green in summer changing colour looking brown
And with every gust of wind that blows some of her leaves drift down
To Mother earth who receives them, Earth will take back life she give
Every thing that grows and breathes air has a certain span to live
And the oak so green in summer by december will be bare
She will stand her branches exposed in the frosty winter air
On the Cork and Kerry border dunnock silent in hedgerow
And the temperatures are dropping and the weather glass is low
And flood waters spill onto the fields from flooded dykes and drains
And the river bank high flowing swelled by recent heavy rains.
And o'er field and valley and o'er many a country town
To the Cork and Kerry border Redwing thrushes journey down
From their breeding grounds in cold north countries they travel far each year
To winter in the southlands in climates less severe.
On the Cork and Kerry border this morning the fields look gray
And colder days of winter can't be too far away
And in the windswept hedgerows the birds refuse to sing
And five long months or even more before first signs of spring.
From the Cork and Kerry border near the old Town of Rathmore
The swallows have departed for the North African shore
And in Rathduane and Inches cows are bellowing for hay
And the redwings from the northlands to the southlands wing their way.
The barn swallows have departed for the north African shore
And the oak so green in summer changing colour looking brown
And with every gust of wind that blows some of her leaves drift down
To Mother earth who receives them, Earth will take back life she give
Every thing that grows and breathes air has a certain span to live
And the oak so green in summer by december will be bare
She will stand her branches exposed in the frosty winter air
On the Cork and Kerry border dunnock silent in hedgerow
And the temperatures are dropping and the weather glass is low
And flood waters spill onto the fields from flooded dykes and drains
And the river bank high flowing swelled by recent heavy rains.
And o'er field and valley and o'er many a country town
To the Cork and Kerry border Redwing thrushes journey down
From their breeding grounds in cold north countries they travel far each year
To winter in the southlands in climates less severe.
On the Cork and Kerry border this morning the fields look gray
And colder days of winter can't be too far away
And in the windswept hedgerows the birds refuse to sing
And five long months or even more before first signs of spring.
From the Cork and Kerry border near the old Town of Rathmore
The swallows have departed for the North African shore
And in Rathduane and Inches cows are bellowing for hay
And the redwings from the northlands to the southlands wing their way.
Song Of A Hillman
The hill I once lived near is far away back there in old Duhallow
But where ever to where the Hillman go the mountains seem to follow
The skylark from the bracken rise and upwards he goes winging
And o'er the slopes of Clara Hill I still can hear him singing.
The redbreast in the wind and rain is singing in the wild-wood
And the gray fog is stealing down o'er the mountain of my childhood
And the sun it shows it's face again as the wind driven rain clouds scatter
And the territorial magpie in the wood around his borders chatter.
The hillman he returns home when he starts visualizing
He sees the hill in the gray dawn just as the sun is rising
The birds sing in the mountain wood the joy in him awaken
And each bird he recognize by song the voice can't be mistaken.
The hillman he may leave the hill but wherever his journey take him
The hill to him is always near it never will forsake him
Wildflowers bloom by the babbling stream down from the high field flowing
And he hear again the skylark sing and the cock pheasant crowing.
But where ever to where the Hillman go the mountains seem to follow
The skylark from the bracken rise and upwards he goes winging
And o'er the slopes of Clara Hill I still can hear him singing.
The redbreast in the wind and rain is singing in the wild-wood
And the gray fog is stealing down o'er the mountain of my childhood
And the sun it shows it's face again as the wind driven rain clouds scatter
And the territorial magpie in the wood around his borders chatter.
The hillman he returns home when he starts visualizing
He sees the hill in the gray dawn just as the sun is rising
The birds sing in the mountain wood the joy in him awaken
And each bird he recognize by song the voice can't be mistaken.
The hillman he may leave the hill but wherever his journey take him
The hill to him is always near it never will forsake him
Wildflowers bloom by the babbling stream down from the high field flowing
And he hear again the skylark sing and the cock pheasant crowing.
For One Of His Age He's Not Learnt Much
The old fellow Bill he spoke quite loud he must have had drank a few beers
And it would seem he do not have that much between his ears
And anyone of Irish race at him would take offence
For one his age he's not learnt much and he doesn't make much sense.
Of his fellow golf club members he did not like they are Irish he did say
And these of course are put down words when used in such a way
And by putting down a few he disliked he put down a whole race
As he spoke into a microphone in a very public place.
To Bill it might have seemed a joke but such a joke can go too far
When used in a golf club rooms or tavern or in a public bar
One would think he would have more sense that he'd have reached that stage
But to him it doesn't seem to apply that wisdom comes with age.
At the Eastwood Golf Club Rooms in Kilsyth he took the microphone
One who ought to have better sense he should have stayed at home
For by putting down a few he disliked he put a whole race down
And the victims of racism not always black or brown.
And it would seem he do not have that much between his ears
And anyone of Irish race at him would take offence
For one his age he's not learnt much and he doesn't make much sense.
Of his fellow golf club members he did not like they are Irish he did say
And these of course are put down words when used in such a way
And by putting down a few he disliked he put down a whole race
As he spoke into a microphone in a very public place.
To Bill it might have seemed a joke but such a joke can go too far
When used in a golf club rooms or tavern or in a public bar
One would think he would have more sense that he'd have reached that stage
But to him it doesn't seem to apply that wisdom comes with age.
At the Eastwood Golf Club Rooms in Kilsyth he took the microphone
One who ought to have better sense he should have stayed at home
For by putting down a few he disliked he put a whole race down
And the victims of racism not always black or brown.
My Life Hereafter
A young looking St Peter he stood by heaven's gate
He said you cannot enter and for penance now too late
On Earth you were a sinner and to see you I'm not glad
You never worshipped god at all and your rhymes were even bad.
The road downhill it leads to hell you will be welcome there
For satan welcomes everyone he will have room to spare
And as I walked downhill I thought to myself doesn't it seem so unfair
I've been locked out of heaven for what seems my lack of prayer.
The keeper of the gate to hell said there's room for you inside
Entry in here to anyone has never been denied
And though satan will not ask of you to worship him and pray
Like everyone condemned to hell you're here for the long stay.
He said satan in his office waits and he will talk to you
And as I passed through the office door my trepidation grew
But the one who sat inside the desk to my relief and surprise
Did not have horns and a goat like face and fire glowing in his eyes.
And though seated I judged him to be of average build and height
And with shoulder length brown hair and well trimmed beard not the repulsive sight
That Earthlings make him out to be no hoof like hands and feet
He welcomed me with a hand shake saying will you take a seat.
I'm monarch of this world called hell and it's true what earthlings say
That once in here you cannot leave you are obliged to stay
But I am not the evil type that earthlings make me out to be
It's just that I disagreed with god and he ostracized me.
There are no churches in this world no need to worship me
For prayer and belated remorse of hell won't set you free
And though you may meet some in this world that you have known before
This is the last time we will meet goodbye forever more.
On earth I'd heard of the fires of hell that hell's the hottest place
That sinners there forever burn the price of their disgrace
And bigger fool I must have been to believe all I'd been told
Up here there are not any fires I've never known such cold.
Up here no spring, summer and fall it's winter all year round
A dormant world where nothing grow on frost and snow clad ground
No trees for shade no fauna to leave their footprints on the snow
It is a cold and barren land where nothing ever grow.
I visualize the life I knew when I go back in time
Victoria in december a bright and warm clime
The magpie fluting on gum tree in sunlit park I lay
Up here the sun doesn't ever shine it's freezing cold and gray.
St Peter said you can't go through as on me he locked the gate
The road downhill it leads to hell for to repent now too late
And satan will welcome you in to his world of despair
And suffer on forever more 'tis freezing cold down there.
He said you cannot enter and for penance now too late
On Earth you were a sinner and to see you I'm not glad
You never worshipped god at all and your rhymes were even bad.
The road downhill it leads to hell you will be welcome there
For satan welcomes everyone he will have room to spare
And as I walked downhill I thought to myself doesn't it seem so unfair
I've been locked out of heaven for what seems my lack of prayer.
The keeper of the gate to hell said there's room for you inside
Entry in here to anyone has never been denied
And though satan will not ask of you to worship him and pray
Like everyone condemned to hell you're here for the long stay.
He said satan in his office waits and he will talk to you
And as I passed through the office door my trepidation grew
But the one who sat inside the desk to my relief and surprise
Did not have horns and a goat like face and fire glowing in his eyes.
And though seated I judged him to be of average build and height
And with shoulder length brown hair and well trimmed beard not the repulsive sight
That Earthlings make him out to be no hoof like hands and feet
He welcomed me with a hand shake saying will you take a seat.
I'm monarch of this world called hell and it's true what earthlings say
That once in here you cannot leave you are obliged to stay
But I am not the evil type that earthlings make me out to be
It's just that I disagreed with god and he ostracized me.
There are no churches in this world no need to worship me
For prayer and belated remorse of hell won't set you free
And though you may meet some in this world that you have known before
This is the last time we will meet goodbye forever more.
On earth I'd heard of the fires of hell that hell's the hottest place
That sinners there forever burn the price of their disgrace
And bigger fool I must have been to believe all I'd been told
Up here there are not any fires I've never known such cold.
Up here no spring, summer and fall it's winter all year round
A dormant world where nothing grow on frost and snow clad ground
No trees for shade no fauna to leave their footprints on the snow
It is a cold and barren land where nothing ever grow.
I visualize the life I knew when I go back in time
Victoria in december a bright and warm clime
The magpie fluting on gum tree in sunlit park I lay
Up here the sun doesn't ever shine it's freezing cold and gray.
St Peter said you can't go through as on me he locked the gate
The road downhill it leads to hell for to repent now too late
And satan will welcome you in to his world of despair
And suffer on forever more 'tis freezing cold down there.
Don't Ask Jack Iversen For His Opinion On Wonthaggi
Don't ask Jack Iversen for his opinion on Wonthaggi
For he will only tell you it is great
And you'd swear by him that it is sheer utopia
The very next step down from heaven's gate.
If you offered him one hundred thousand dollars
He would feel hard put for to put Wonthaggi down
His own small piece of heaven in south west Gippsland
His heart and soul is in old Wonthaggi Town.
He always speaks in glowing terms of Wonthaggi
Where he says you have the best of both worlds land and sea
And he has never yearned for distant places
You'll hear him say Wonthaggi will do me.
He has a fishing boat and he goes fishing
Out of San Remo 20 K's away
With his dear friend Rina and his good mate Kenny
They leave Wonthaggi at the dawn of day.
He has lived all of his years around Wonthaggi
A happy and helpful bloke and good to meet
Sturdy built and silver haired and in his seventies
And for many years the Mayor of old Loch Street.
Don't ask Jack Iversen for his opinion on Wonthaggi
For he will only tell you it is great,
He loves the place it is his own utopia
The very next stop down from heaven's gate.
For he will only tell you it is great
And you'd swear by him that it is sheer utopia
The very next step down from heaven's gate.
If you offered him one hundred thousand dollars
He would feel hard put for to put Wonthaggi down
His own small piece of heaven in south west Gippsland
His heart and soul is in old Wonthaggi Town.
He always speaks in glowing terms of Wonthaggi
Where he says you have the best of both worlds land and sea
And he has never yearned for distant places
You'll hear him say Wonthaggi will do me.
He has a fishing boat and he goes fishing
Out of San Remo 20 K's away
With his dear friend Rina and his good mate Kenny
They leave Wonthaggi at the dawn of day.
He has lived all of his years around Wonthaggi
A happy and helpful bloke and good to meet
Sturdy built and silver haired and in his seventies
And for many years the Mayor of old Loch Street.
Don't ask Jack Iversen for his opinion on Wonthaggi
For he will only tell you it is great,
He loves the place it is his own utopia
The very next stop down from heaven's gate.
The Most Important Thing Of All
Out of scribbling verses I've never made a penny
There's surely easier roads to wealth and fame
A waste of time and energy and money
It really is a 'hungry belly game'.
But penning doggerels always keeps me happy
Although my rhymes are not seen as much good
I am a migrant with the broadest accent
And what I say not always understood.
I do not see myself as an advantage
To this land of the marsupial and gum tree
And though I love this big and scenic country
Australia could do nicely without me.
Yet I am one who adores Mother Nature
And her great beauty I can appreciate
She has the power of life and death in her four seasons
The power to wither and to re-create.
And Australia has such splendid natural beauty
From Cape York to Tasmania on the Tasman sea
A vast and scenic land of many hues and colours
And open spaces and so much to see.
Out of penning verse I've never made a penny
And though I know my name the literary critics won't recall
Just making up rhymes seems to keep me happy
And that's the most important thing of all.
There's surely easier roads to wealth and fame
A waste of time and energy and money
It really is a 'hungry belly game'.
But penning doggerels always keeps me happy
Although my rhymes are not seen as much good
I am a migrant with the broadest accent
And what I say not always understood.
I do not see myself as an advantage
To this land of the marsupial and gum tree
And though I love this big and scenic country
Australia could do nicely without me.
Yet I am one who adores Mother Nature
And her great beauty I can appreciate
She has the power of life and death in her four seasons
The power to wither and to re-create.
And Australia has such splendid natural beauty
From Cape York to Tasmania on the Tasman sea
A vast and scenic land of many hues and colours
And open spaces and so much to see.
Out of penning verse I've never made a penny
And though I know my name the literary critics won't recall
Just making up rhymes seems to keep me happy
And that's the most important thing of all.
Pat Corkery
Pat Corkery was a quiet pipe smoking fellow
And he was one who never caused offence
He made his point and seldom from it wavered
And when he spoke he made a lot of sense.
Pat Corkery owned the Corner House Pub in Millstreet
Where he held the licence with his faithful wife
For years they ran a good and honest business
And honesty with them a way of life.
His many arguments with Danno Mahony about greyhounds
Each held to their point but a victory could not score
They argued without once raising their voices
And it often went on for an hour or more.
And still they were good mates when it was over
Though on greyhound matters each felt he was the better judge
Each from their point of view once never wavered
But they could argue and not hold a grudge.
Pat Corkery is a man I still remember
A character in his own quiet way
And if there's a heaven doubtless he is up there
Where he still argues with Danno today.
And he was one who never caused offence
He made his point and seldom from it wavered
And when he spoke he made a lot of sense.
Pat Corkery owned the Corner House Pub in Millstreet
Where he held the licence with his faithful wife
For years they ran a good and honest business
And honesty with them a way of life.
His many arguments with Danno Mahony about greyhounds
Each held to their point but a victory could not score
They argued without once raising their voices
And it often went on for an hour or more.
And still they were good mates when it was over
Though on greyhound matters each felt he was the better judge
Each from their point of view once never wavered
But they could argue and not hold a grudge.
Pat Corkery is a man I still remember
A character in his own quiet way
And if there's a heaven doubtless he is up there
Where he still argues with Danno today.
Dan Connor's Barbed Wire Gate
In the Townland of Claraghatlea North from Millstreet Town hill just a mile
Lives a man who lived in Oregon who brought with him a new gate style
He's the envy of the Parish and there's none can imitate
The genius of Dan Connor and his Oregon barbed wire gate.
Three strands of barbed wire nailed to wood spans and tied to posts on either side
And there's none can imitate him though I know a few have tried
And they work as good as steel gates and they keep his cattle in
And they keep his overheads down and in cost cutting he win.
When first I saw the barbed wire gates I thought them simple enough
But then I tried to make one and my effort far too rough
A simple barbed wire fence gate but in truth a work of art
And from all would be imitators Dan Connor stands apart.
On his Oregon style barbed wire gates Dan Connor can take pride
And I've never seen their equal though I've travelled far and wide
And they work as good as steel gates and they keep his cattle in
And they keep his overheads down and in cost cutting he win.
Lives a man who lived in Oregon who brought with him a new gate style
He's the envy of the Parish and there's none can imitate
The genius of Dan Connor and his Oregon barbed wire gate.
Three strands of barbed wire nailed to wood spans and tied to posts on either side
And there's none can imitate him though I know a few have tried
And they work as good as steel gates and they keep his cattle in
And they keep his overheads down and in cost cutting he win.
When first I saw the barbed wire gates I thought them simple enough
But then I tried to make one and my effort far too rough
A simple barbed wire fence gate but in truth a work of art
And from all would be imitators Dan Connor stands apart.
On his Oregon style barbed wire gates Dan Connor can take pride
And I've never seen their equal though I've travelled far and wide
And they work as good as steel gates and they keep his cattle in
And they keep his overheads down and in cost cutting he win.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Perhaps He's Not Been Well Of Late
The Chief of staff in the White House on his war drum is beating
Perhaps he's not been well of late and his brains are over heating
For he talks of war and only war and he is brewing for trouble
And his bombers will reduce Baghdad to one big heap of rubble.
In his State of the Union address he talked of war with an angry facial expression
And the removal of Iraqi dictator Saddam from power with him is an obsession
Wisdom comes with age to most apply but not to this Texan fellow
And just like the very dangerous bull be wary when he bellow
Some men in positions of power for to handle power not able
He and his right hand men only talk of war as they sit around the table
The table in the White House where decisions are made and where dreams of peace are torn asunder
For only death and tears and pain from the guns of war men thunder.
They tell the people of Iraq that they are doing them a big favour
But the majority of the Iraqi people do not see them as their saviour
From Saddam's autocratic regime who they loathe as oppressive
But they fear the to be invaders more as more dangerous and aggressive.
The Chief of Staff in the White House on his war drum is beating
Perhaps he's not been well of late and his brains are over-heating
For he can only talk of war and fear of terror he is spreading
And the fighter planes are set to go and the troops to war are heading.
Perhaps he's not been well of late and his brains are over heating
For he talks of war and only war and he is brewing for trouble
And his bombers will reduce Baghdad to one big heap of rubble.
In his State of the Union address he talked of war with an angry facial expression
And the removal of Iraqi dictator Saddam from power with him is an obsession
Wisdom comes with age to most apply but not to this Texan fellow
And just like the very dangerous bull be wary when he bellow
Some men in positions of power for to handle power not able
He and his right hand men only talk of war as they sit around the table
The table in the White House where decisions are made and where dreams of peace are torn asunder
For only death and tears and pain from the guns of war men thunder.
They tell the people of Iraq that they are doing them a big favour
But the majority of the Iraqi people do not see them as their saviour
From Saddam's autocratic regime who they loathe as oppressive
But they fear the to be invaders more as more dangerous and aggressive.
The Chief of Staff in the White House on his war drum is beating
Perhaps he's not been well of late and his brains are over-heating
For he can only talk of war and fear of terror he is spreading
And the fighter planes are set to go and the troops to war are heading.
The Forsaken Man
Songbirds pipe their melodies
On green clad boughs of leafy trees
And cattle chew their cud at ease
By shady hedge in lush green leas.
And multicoloured butterflies
Flit to and fro in sunny skies
And skylark pipes his merry Lay
On this bright evening in late May.
Beside his porch door old Ned stood
Listening to birds sing in the wood
Old Ned a well built loner type
Thoughtful and sad faced smoked his pipe.
A luckless sort of man poor Ned
With silver hair on balding head
A pensioner in his sixty ninth year
With bright grey eyes bedimmed with tears.
And all around the voice of bliss
The sound of wildborn happiness
The pleasant scent like sweet perfume
Of glowing wildflowers in their bloom.
But old Ned felt aloof from this
His heart was touched by loneliness
He felt in sad reflective mood
The side effects of solitude.
His mind went back in years and time
When he was young and in his prime
He had his wife and Tim their boy
And living life to him meant joy.
With pretty wife and growing son
Ned felt like god's own chosen one
And gift of happiness he knew
A gift enjoyed by very few.
Ned worked to earn a livelihood
As a tree planter in State owned wood
And tree planting is no easy job
For a man to earn his living bob.
The work was hard and the hours were long
But Ned was young and his back was strong
And he laboured for the take home pay
With bended back ten hours a day.
And though planting of young forest trees
Is toilsome work as hard can be
Yet not even work of the hardest kind
Is hard on man with happy mind.
But happiness can oft be like a flower
That bloom and glow in summer hour
That quickly age and fade away
And lose it's petals and decay.
And happiness with Ned had such brief stay
It ended on an august day
When he came home early from work and found his wife Nan
In bed with her secret love man.
The infuriated tree planter lost his head
And he dragged the young man from the bed
And banged his head ten times or more
Against the hard board bedroom floor.
From the beating his wife's lover nearly died
And Ned in jury court was tried
For the attempted murder on the life
Of the adulterous lover of his wife.
The jury returned a verdict of guilty
But due to circumstance the judge he acted leniently
And sentenced the tree planter from Greenwood Vale
To three years in the County jail.
Those years in jail were years of woe
The days were long and time dragged slow
And the nights were dark and drear as hell
In his cold and gloomy prison cell.
But one hope made bright the melancholy
And eased his sense of misery
And he waited in expectancy
For a visit from his family.
But his reconciliation hopes proved all in vain
As his wife and son they never came,
His wife's lover took them both from him
Whilst he was in the County pen.
His wife and son he never more did see
As they sailed for land beyond the sea
With the man who'd caused him much regret
The one he'd almost beat to death.
On leafy boughs birds carolling
And skylark in the heavens sing
And hedgerows buzz with nestling sound
And voice of happiness abound.
And sleepy fishes bask and dream
In sunlit pool bed of the stream
And swift winged swallows dip and sail
O'er flower decked meads of Greenwood vale.
Golden sunshine and songbird bliss
But one lonely heart amidst all this
Where joy and peace play major part
There's still room left for lonely heart.
Beside his porch door old Ned stand
With pipe in mouth and stick in hand
And teardrops in his eyes of grey
On this delightful evening in May.
On green clad boughs of leafy trees
And cattle chew their cud at ease
By shady hedge in lush green leas.
And multicoloured butterflies
Flit to and fro in sunny skies
And skylark pipes his merry Lay
On this bright evening in late May.
Beside his porch door old Ned stood
Listening to birds sing in the wood
Old Ned a well built loner type
Thoughtful and sad faced smoked his pipe.
A luckless sort of man poor Ned
With silver hair on balding head
A pensioner in his sixty ninth year
With bright grey eyes bedimmed with tears.
And all around the voice of bliss
The sound of wildborn happiness
The pleasant scent like sweet perfume
Of glowing wildflowers in their bloom.
But old Ned felt aloof from this
His heart was touched by loneliness
He felt in sad reflective mood
The side effects of solitude.
His mind went back in years and time
When he was young and in his prime
He had his wife and Tim their boy
And living life to him meant joy.
With pretty wife and growing son
Ned felt like god's own chosen one
And gift of happiness he knew
A gift enjoyed by very few.
Ned worked to earn a livelihood
As a tree planter in State owned wood
And tree planting is no easy job
For a man to earn his living bob.
The work was hard and the hours were long
But Ned was young and his back was strong
And he laboured for the take home pay
With bended back ten hours a day.
And though planting of young forest trees
Is toilsome work as hard can be
Yet not even work of the hardest kind
Is hard on man with happy mind.
But happiness can oft be like a flower
That bloom and glow in summer hour
That quickly age and fade away
And lose it's petals and decay.
And happiness with Ned had such brief stay
It ended on an august day
When he came home early from work and found his wife Nan
In bed with her secret love man.
The infuriated tree planter lost his head
And he dragged the young man from the bed
And banged his head ten times or more
Against the hard board bedroom floor.
From the beating his wife's lover nearly died
And Ned in jury court was tried
For the attempted murder on the life
Of the adulterous lover of his wife.
The jury returned a verdict of guilty
But due to circumstance the judge he acted leniently
And sentenced the tree planter from Greenwood Vale
To three years in the County jail.
Those years in jail were years of woe
The days were long and time dragged slow
And the nights were dark and drear as hell
In his cold and gloomy prison cell.
But one hope made bright the melancholy
And eased his sense of misery
And he waited in expectancy
For a visit from his family.
But his reconciliation hopes proved all in vain
As his wife and son they never came,
His wife's lover took them both from him
Whilst he was in the County pen.
His wife and son he never more did see
As they sailed for land beyond the sea
With the man who'd caused him much regret
The one he'd almost beat to death.
On leafy boughs birds carolling
And skylark in the heavens sing
And hedgerows buzz with nestling sound
And voice of happiness abound.
And sleepy fishes bask and dream
In sunlit pool bed of the stream
And swift winged swallows dip and sail
O'er flower decked meads of Greenwood vale.
Golden sunshine and songbird bliss
But one lonely heart amidst all this
Where joy and peace play major part
There's still room left for lonely heart.
Beside his porch door old Ned stand
With pipe in mouth and stick in hand
And teardrops in his eyes of grey
On this delightful evening in May.
A Day In May
A time of year when growth is all but dormant though the grass has grown an inch or two of late
And the peach tree in the garden almost leafless and winter just around the corner wait
And male blackbird save for a few chirps remains silent he does not have to sing to keep a mate
And just a few winter plants bloom in the garden and Mother Nature herself hibernate.
Yet late autumn it can be very pleasant the weather not cold at this time of year
And though the mornings can be a bit chilly the skies more often than not are quite clear,
Deciduous trees their summer coats are losing and the leaves upon the oak have turned to brown
And there's such beauty in the contrasting colours in country places and the parks of town.
The birds in winter flocks have now assembled and the migratory waders on their northern breeding ground
In a few months from now their broods will be independent and for the southern lands they will be bound
And in a few months from now the winter will be ending and the magpie will pipe before the dawn of day
And in Victoria the winter months not that cold and September is not that distant from May.
A day in late May and the autumn all but over and deciduous trees beginning to look bare
And though the weather not at all unpleasant the first brisk nip of winter in the air
And Mother Nature is now hibernating she will awake and spread her green in spring
And trees will bud their new leaves in september and birds will build their nests and chirp and sing.
And the peach tree in the garden almost leafless and winter just around the corner wait
And male blackbird save for a few chirps remains silent he does not have to sing to keep a mate
And just a few winter plants bloom in the garden and Mother Nature herself hibernate.
Yet late autumn it can be very pleasant the weather not cold at this time of year
And though the mornings can be a bit chilly the skies more often than not are quite clear,
Deciduous trees their summer coats are losing and the leaves upon the oak have turned to brown
And there's such beauty in the contrasting colours in country places and the parks of town.
The birds in winter flocks have now assembled and the migratory waders on their northern breeding ground
In a few months from now their broods will be independent and for the southern lands they will be bound
And in a few months from now the winter will be ending and the magpie will pipe before the dawn of day
And in Victoria the winter months not that cold and September is not that distant from May.
A day in late May and the autumn all but over and deciduous trees beginning to look bare
And though the weather not at all unpleasant the first brisk nip of winter in the air
And Mother Nature is now hibernating she will awake and spread her green in spring
And trees will bud their new leaves in september and birds will build their nests and chirp and sing.
A Song Of Joy And Sorrow
The literary critics tend to ignore me and my verses they don't even rate
I'm seen as lacking in inspiration without the genius to create
What one would call something of literary value something that would live on in time
I am one of the last poetasters to dabble in old fashioned rhyme.
When I am in the mood for singing songs of joy and sorrow I sing
The sorrow of the jilted lover, the joy of the lark on the wing
The babe he knows of joy and sorrow months before he learns to crawl
With such feelings we are familiar they are part of life after all.
The old bloke immersed in sorrow feels maudlin after a few beers
He thinks of the great love of his life a woman he's not seen for years,
She left him back in the late fifties when he was approaching his prime
It's not always true time is the healer, love's hurt don't always heal in time.
The happy face of the young mother as she holds her new born baby boy
A sibling for her year old daughter for her a moment of great joy
Her husband is only too happy to share in the joy with his wife,
A moment for them to remember and a memory to cherish for life.
So sing songs of joy and of sorrow if you feel like singing a song
They are such familiar emotions to living and life they belong,
Joy the happy mother of laughter and sorrow the father of tears
And they have been living together for millions and millions of years.
I'm seen as lacking in inspiration without the genius to create
What one would call something of literary value something that would live on in time
I am one of the last poetasters to dabble in old fashioned rhyme.
When I am in the mood for singing songs of joy and sorrow I sing
The sorrow of the jilted lover, the joy of the lark on the wing
The babe he knows of joy and sorrow months before he learns to crawl
With such feelings we are familiar they are part of life after all.
The old bloke immersed in sorrow feels maudlin after a few beers
He thinks of the great love of his life a woman he's not seen for years,
She left him back in the late fifties when he was approaching his prime
It's not always true time is the healer, love's hurt don't always heal in time.
The happy face of the young mother as she holds her new born baby boy
A sibling for her year old daughter for her a moment of great joy
Her husband is only too happy to share in the joy with his wife,
A moment for them to remember and a memory to cherish for life.
So sing songs of joy and of sorrow if you feel like singing a song
They are such familiar emotions to living and life they belong,
Joy the happy mother of laughter and sorrow the father of tears
And they have been living together for millions and millions of years.
For Matilda
For baby Matilda Mitchell life's trials have started early
And one might say by lady luck she has not been treated fairly
But since her operation for her cleft palate she seems healthier and brighter
And on her mum and dad Gwen and Richard the burden of care lighter.
She had trouble in breast feeding and it should go without mention
That she was one in the need of great attention
And her grandma Yvonne gave her mum and dad great backing
And on Matilda's behalf she was not found lacking.
Baby Matilda Mitchell the greater gods are with her
And she has already proven that she will never be a quitter
To a career in the theatre or the arts her pathway to destiny is leading
One well might say it's all there in her breeding.
For Matilda Mitchell the world out there is waiting
And in years from now we will be celebrating
The girl from 'The Patch' in her moment of glory
Her life to date already a great story.
And one might say by lady luck she has not been treated fairly
But since her operation for her cleft palate she seems healthier and brighter
And on her mum and dad Gwen and Richard the burden of care lighter.
She had trouble in breast feeding and it should go without mention
That she was one in the need of great attention
And her grandma Yvonne gave her mum and dad great backing
And on Matilda's behalf she was not found lacking.
Baby Matilda Mitchell the greater gods are with her
And she has already proven that she will never be a quitter
To a career in the theatre or the arts her pathway to destiny is leading
One well might say it's all there in her breeding.
For Matilda Mitchell the world out there is waiting
And in years from now we will be celebrating
The girl from 'The Patch' in her moment of glory
Her life to date already a great story.
One Of The Great Mysteries Of Nature
A bird or wild animal when they sense death is upon them will crawl under thick cover for to die
Why this should be great minds have often pondered though they did not come up with the answer why
Beast or bird to die will try to crawl to cover it's something way beyond them to explain
It's one of the great mysteries of Nature and as a mystery forever 'twill remain.
There are so many mysteries in Nature and us humans despite our advanced technology
Cannot unlock Mother Nature's deepest secrets and Nature to us still a mystery
Some seem to think that wild creatures die in cover from their enemies to hide themselves away
But that is just one of a thousand theories and I would rather stick with 'who can say'.
There are so many mysteries in Nature and her secrets she doesn't share with you and I
And Mother Nature to me still remains a mystery though I've lived near her since I was a young boy
And those who say they know of Nature's secrets they kid themselves or if not that they lie
For Mother Earth to us remains a mystery though to understand her ways we never cease to try.
The bird or beast for to die will try to crawl to cover even from their own kind they wish to die alone
And why this should be to us remains a mystery and none of Nature's secrets to us known
As the years go by we acquire greater knowledge but people like the seasons come and go
But Nature with secrecy will guard her secrets and her secrets are not for us to know.
Why this should be great minds have often pondered though they did not come up with the answer why
Beast or bird to die will try to crawl to cover it's something way beyond them to explain
It's one of the great mysteries of Nature and as a mystery forever 'twill remain.
There are so many mysteries in Nature and us humans despite our advanced technology
Cannot unlock Mother Nature's deepest secrets and Nature to us still a mystery
Some seem to think that wild creatures die in cover from their enemies to hide themselves away
But that is just one of a thousand theories and I would rather stick with 'who can say'.
There are so many mysteries in Nature and her secrets she doesn't share with you and I
And Mother Nature to me still remains a mystery though I've lived near her since I was a young boy
And those who say they know of Nature's secrets they kid themselves or if not that they lie
For Mother Earth to us remains a mystery though to understand her ways we never cease to try.
The bird or beast for to die will try to crawl to cover even from their own kind they wish to die alone
And why this should be to us remains a mystery and none of Nature's secrets to us known
As the years go by we acquire greater knowledge but people like the seasons come and go
But Nature with secrecy will guard her secrets and her secrets are not for us to know.
Hands Of Stone
Perhaps Panama's greatest ever boxer if not one of the greatest ever known
He is as tough as nails and a true battler and he lived up to his nick name 'hands of stone'
He fought Sugar Ray Leonard, Tommy Hearns and Marvin Hagler in world middleweight boxing three of the very best
He took big hits and he hit back much harder and he is one who passed the greatness test.
He was the world champion in his twenties and he regained the title years beyond his prime
And he is one who does not surrender easily as others do to good old father time
In the boxing annals he will live forever and his will always be a household name
He was a world champion in his forties and he is one who fought hard for his fame.
Roberto Duran is a boxing legend and boxing purists ever will recall
That he was tough as nails and a great champion and one of the greatest battlers of them all
He is not one of the most stylish boxers and he did not mind it when the going got tough
And he did not show respect for his opponents and twelve rounds with him for most more than enough.
One of his country's greatest ever fighters the legend of Duran will never die
He only fought the best men of his era and his record to his greatness testify,
A world champion even in his forties and in the fight game he is quite well known
And you cannot say you know much about boxing if you have never heard of 'hands of stone'.
He is as tough as nails and a true battler and he lived up to his nick name 'hands of stone'
He fought Sugar Ray Leonard, Tommy Hearns and Marvin Hagler in world middleweight boxing three of the very best
He took big hits and he hit back much harder and he is one who passed the greatness test.
He was the world champion in his twenties and he regained the title years beyond his prime
And he is one who does not surrender easily as others do to good old father time
In the boxing annals he will live forever and his will always be a household name
He was a world champion in his forties and he is one who fought hard for his fame.
Roberto Duran is a boxing legend and boxing purists ever will recall
That he was tough as nails and a great champion and one of the greatest battlers of them all
He is not one of the most stylish boxers and he did not mind it when the going got tough
And he did not show respect for his opponents and twelve rounds with him for most more than enough.
One of his country's greatest ever fighters the legend of Duran will never die
He only fought the best men of his era and his record to his greatness testify,
A world champion even in his forties and in the fight game he is quite well known
And you cannot say you know much about boxing if you have never heard of 'hands of stone'.
Big Mark
Of losing brain cells big Mark holds no fear
As at the weekends he drinks heaps of beer,
A can to two to three and then to four,
To five six seven and often times even more.
In Yorkshire he first saw the light of day
In England more than half of a world away
And to Australia he came with his family
When he was ten in seventy two or three.
If ever you're in Dandenong he say
Call in to see me if you pass that way
I live at sixty three on David Street
And my wife and children I'd like you to meet.
He's quite a character this fellow Mark
And there's nothing he likes better than good lark
And laughter's flame in the work place he stoke
As he never fails to come up with good joke.
How kind of him to ask me to his house
To have a beer and meet his kids and spouse
And who know some day I might knock on his door
With a six pack and with them spend an hour or more.
As at the weekends he drinks heaps of beer,
A can to two to three and then to four,
To five six seven and often times even more.
In Yorkshire he first saw the light of day
In England more than half of a world away
And to Australia he came with his family
When he was ten in seventy two or three.
If ever you're in Dandenong he say
Call in to see me if you pass that way
I live at sixty three on David Street
And my wife and children I'd like you to meet.
He's quite a character this fellow Mark
And there's nothing he likes better than good lark
And laughter's flame in the work place he stoke
As he never fails to come up with good joke.
How kind of him to ask me to his house
To have a beer and meet his kids and spouse
And who know some day I might knock on his door
With a six pack and with them spend an hour or more.
To Denise On Her Fiftieth
She's such a marvellous character Denise
And she always comes up with a good party piece
And any joke of her's is good so good to hear
And she has told good ones the best I've heard for years.
To Denise there is more than a humorous side
She's a family woman with a sense of pride
And she's admired for her courage and honesty
And with what I say there's none to disagree.
And her fiftieth birthday at Kallista Hall
Will be one for the memory to recall
And I am hanging out for the invite
To be asked to Denise's special night.
And if invited I won't be saying no
I will be there come rain or hail or snow
To be with Denise on her fiftieth birthday
From such a party who could wish to stay away.
To have a happy ale and sing along
And join with the others in the birthday song
And to the lady raise the glass of cheer
In Belgrave's biggest party of the year.
And she always comes up with a good party piece
And any joke of her's is good so good to hear
And she has told good ones the best I've heard for years.
To Denise there is more than a humorous side
She's a family woman with a sense of pride
And she's admired for her courage and honesty
And with what I say there's none to disagree.
And her fiftieth birthday at Kallista Hall
Will be one for the memory to recall
And I am hanging out for the invite
To be asked to Denise's special night.
And if invited I won't be saying no
I will be there come rain or hail or snow
To be with Denise on her fiftieth birthday
From such a party who could wish to stay away.
To have a happy ale and sing along
And join with the others in the birthday song
And to the lady raise the glass of cheer
In Belgrave's biggest party of the year.
To Mr Rundy Who Wrote An Angry Letter To The Newspaper
Dear Mr Rundy I could see your anger in your letter
To provoke you this anti gun person ought to have known better
Than to paper commit his thoughts and write what you call drivel
You spat him out in angry words and gave him to the devil.
You say you are close to the ground than many you are smaller
But perhaps with a gun in your hands you feel just that bit taller
For men who hunt with gun and dog think themselves men of action
To watch a wildborn creature die a sense of satisfaction.
You know the latin names for sambar deer oh my don't you seem clever
And it seems a pity all the same that your name won't live forever
And you show you know how to spell 'something going out of fashion'
And you have got this way with words and you write with a passion.
You've offered Mr MacIntosh this great chance to go hunting
Perhaps he's never shot at roo or heard a wild pig grunting
But who knows when you are through with him he'll join your pro gun lobby
Though to shoot wild animal or bird don't seem such a nice hobby.
If you are true to how you speak you vote for the shooters party,
You kill the creatures wild and free and then laugh loud and hearty
These creatures are no threat to you, you kill them for your pleasure
I know of better things to do in hours of ease and leisure.
When someone speak out against guns you feel the need to holler
You scream about your right to arms, get hot under the collar
But Mr Rundy you should know that guns are made for killing
And when Martin Bryant did evil things his gun was all too willing.
I would even rather sit for an hour or two and play a game of bingo
Than go out bush with a firearm to shoot a fox or dingo,
They shoot the wild duck from the sky and call their pleasure sporting
I know of better things to do and worthy of supporting.
I don't know much about firearms to such I am a stranger
Their only purpose is to kill, I see in them great danger
And though Mr Rundy I admit your point of view seemed clever
All guns and fire arms of all shapes should all be banned forever.
To provoke you this anti gun person ought to have known better
Than to paper commit his thoughts and write what you call drivel
You spat him out in angry words and gave him to the devil.
You say you are close to the ground than many you are smaller
But perhaps with a gun in your hands you feel just that bit taller
For men who hunt with gun and dog think themselves men of action
To watch a wildborn creature die a sense of satisfaction.
You know the latin names for sambar deer oh my don't you seem clever
And it seems a pity all the same that your name won't live forever
And you show you know how to spell 'something going out of fashion'
And you have got this way with words and you write with a passion.
You've offered Mr MacIntosh this great chance to go hunting
Perhaps he's never shot at roo or heard a wild pig grunting
But who knows when you are through with him he'll join your pro gun lobby
Though to shoot wild animal or bird don't seem such a nice hobby.
If you are true to how you speak you vote for the shooters party,
You kill the creatures wild and free and then laugh loud and hearty
These creatures are no threat to you, you kill them for your pleasure
I know of better things to do in hours of ease and leisure.
When someone speak out against guns you feel the need to holler
You scream about your right to arms, get hot under the collar
But Mr Rundy you should know that guns are made for killing
And when Martin Bryant did evil things his gun was all too willing.
I would even rather sit for an hour or two and play a game of bingo
Than go out bush with a firearm to shoot a fox or dingo,
They shoot the wild duck from the sky and call their pleasure sporting
I know of better things to do and worthy of supporting.
I don't know much about firearms to such I am a stranger
Their only purpose is to kill, I see in them great danger
And though Mr Rundy I admit your point of view seemed clever
All guns and fire arms of all shapes should all be banned forever.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Working Man
He is not a philosopher, he is not a poet
And he is not a man of note
And though he yearns for wealth and fame
There's many like him feel the same.
The job he work at has no trade
And as a labourer he is paid
And though his is a menial job
He owes not any one a bob.
He wake at five thirty each day
And to pick up spot he makes his way
An hour's drive in the old work van
Such is the lot of labouring man.
He lives a good and decent life
And he doesn't go home and beat his wife
But honest man 'twould seem to me
Remains at base of social tree.
He work and live from day to day
And government tax deducted from his pay
And he help the country in no small way
Still working man doesn't have a say.
And he is not a man of note
And though he yearns for wealth and fame
There's many like him feel the same.
The job he work at has no trade
And as a labourer he is paid
And though his is a menial job
He owes not any one a bob.
He wake at five thirty each day
And to pick up spot he makes his way
An hour's drive in the old work van
Such is the lot of labouring man.
He lives a good and decent life
And he doesn't go home and beat his wife
But honest man 'twould seem to me
Remains at base of social tree.
He work and live from day to day
And government tax deducted from his pay
And he help the country in no small way
Still working man doesn't have a say.
Song Of A Woe Begotten Man
Wildflowers bloomed by hedgerow near roadway
As I walked up the by road through Belcray
And sun shone brightly on a summer's day
And songbirds piped flushed with the joys of May.
But I felt no good reason for to share
In the happiness around me everywhere
And my poor heart it ached for one I knew
For one I loved and always will love true.
My thoughts are of the raven haired Doreen
With sparkling blue eyes like the sunlit stream
'Twould be best for me if her I never met
As I love her still and her I can't forget.
This morning with her husband at her side
She knelt at altar rails a sweet young bride
And though invited I did not attend
As I'd show my feelings I'm not one to pretend.
A young man walks through Belcray upper bog
And at his side a lurcher hunting dog
And his only thought a good course of a hare
Wish I were him then I'd not have a care.
As I walked up the by road through Belcray
And sun shone brightly on a summer's day
And songbirds piped flushed with the joys of May.
But I felt no good reason for to share
In the happiness around me everywhere
And my poor heart it ached for one I knew
For one I loved and always will love true.
My thoughts are of the raven haired Doreen
With sparkling blue eyes like the sunlit stream
'Twould be best for me if her I never met
As I love her still and her I can't forget.
This morning with her husband at her side
She knelt at altar rails a sweet young bride
And though invited I did not attend
As I'd show my feelings I'm not one to pretend.
A young man walks through Belcray upper bog
And at his side a lurcher hunting dog
And his only thought a good course of a hare
Wish I were him then I'd not have a care.
The Man From Ballinspittle
Come in me boy and I'll make you tea and I'll put on the electric kettle
That's how they make you feel at home back home in Ballinspittle
And take a chair and rest your feet this life's too short for hurry
The happy man lives on for years because he never worry.
If they have worries they don't show of problems they make little
That's why they grow to ripe old age back home in Ballinspittle
Out here it's go from dawn till dusk the clock it seems our master
A month seems like a year back home and time seems to go faster.
I yearned for wander from young age to live in foreign places
To see what life might offer me and all that life embraces
So in august nineteen fifty nine all home ties I did sever
And I left Ireland and west Cork to live abroad forever.
My mum and dad begged me to stay they cried you are only twenty
And there's no shortage of food here in this house there is plenty
But there is more far more to life than food upon the table
And I'd resolved to see the world whilst I was young and able.
My mum and dad shed tears for me though I did not need their pity
On the day I boarded a ship in Cobh that sailed for New York City
Nine days at sea and so sea sick a nauseating feeling
Another sea trip not for me I'd not find that appealing.
I worked for ten years in New York though I don't like urban living
And most people there seemed cold at heart with far more take than giving
It is a dangerous place to live your life's always in danger
And murder to the 'Big Apple' has never been a stranger.
From there I went to Canada big land of lake and river
But Montreal winters were so cold in bed at night you'd shiver,
I lived and worked there for nine years till wanderlust did beckon
The wanderlust that never die at least that's what some reckon.
And wanderlust had possessed me and I found it my duty
To follow it to New Zealand a land of striking beauty
I worked near Christchurch on a farm in valley green and pretty
And it made a change a welcome change from working in a city.
I find myself in Melbourne now a place of changing weather
But I will soon be out of here soon as my fare's together
The world is big and there's much to see and I've no desire to settle
You'll have another cup of tea I will re-boil the kettle.
He says the world is big so big and of it he's seen so little
But he's still a Cork man at heart the man from Ballinspittle
And more than four decades have gone since he commenced to wander
Since he left Cork in fifty nine to see the great wide yonder.
That's how they make you feel at home back home in Ballinspittle
And take a chair and rest your feet this life's too short for hurry
The happy man lives on for years because he never worry.
If they have worries they don't show of problems they make little
That's why they grow to ripe old age back home in Ballinspittle
Out here it's go from dawn till dusk the clock it seems our master
A month seems like a year back home and time seems to go faster.
I yearned for wander from young age to live in foreign places
To see what life might offer me and all that life embraces
So in august nineteen fifty nine all home ties I did sever
And I left Ireland and west Cork to live abroad forever.
My mum and dad begged me to stay they cried you are only twenty
And there's no shortage of food here in this house there is plenty
But there is more far more to life than food upon the table
And I'd resolved to see the world whilst I was young and able.
My mum and dad shed tears for me though I did not need their pity
On the day I boarded a ship in Cobh that sailed for New York City
Nine days at sea and so sea sick a nauseating feeling
Another sea trip not for me I'd not find that appealing.
I worked for ten years in New York though I don't like urban living
And most people there seemed cold at heart with far more take than giving
It is a dangerous place to live your life's always in danger
And murder to the 'Big Apple' has never been a stranger.
From there I went to Canada big land of lake and river
But Montreal winters were so cold in bed at night you'd shiver,
I lived and worked there for nine years till wanderlust did beckon
The wanderlust that never die at least that's what some reckon.
And wanderlust had possessed me and I found it my duty
To follow it to New Zealand a land of striking beauty
I worked near Christchurch on a farm in valley green and pretty
And it made a change a welcome change from working in a city.
I find myself in Melbourne now a place of changing weather
But I will soon be out of here soon as my fare's together
The world is big and there's much to see and I've no desire to settle
You'll have another cup of tea I will re-boil the kettle.
He says the world is big so big and of it he's seen so little
But he's still a Cork man at heart the man from Ballinspittle
And more than four decades have gone since he commenced to wander
Since he left Cork in fifty nine to see the great wide yonder.
It Should Not Be
It should not be survival of the fittest if we lived in a world where all is fair
And it should not be that many should grow poorer just for one person to become a millionaire,
On Planet Earth of course there is Utopia but that is only for the privileged few
And like they say money speaks every language and in these times those words ring oh so true.
It should not be that in third world countries people should have to work for pittance pay
For to benefit the wealthy and the famous in countries from where they live far away
In a fair world this would never happen and not one person would know of poverty
The gap between the rich and poor keeps widening at least that's how it would appear to me.
It should not be because of political disputes that some poor people have to live in fear
They cannot flee they have no place to flee to and news of war the only news they hear
In wars the wealthy never seem to suffer in a fair world this would never be
And in a fair world war would never take place and we would enjoy peace and harmony.
It should not be that people who are different should be seen as inferior in some way
It would not take an Einstein for to make out that discrimination is alive and well today,
In a fair world everyone would be equal and people would not know of poverty
But I can only change myself not others and I can only say it should not be.
And it should not be that many should grow poorer just for one person to become a millionaire,
On Planet Earth of course there is Utopia but that is only for the privileged few
And like they say money speaks every language and in these times those words ring oh so true.
It should not be that in third world countries people should have to work for pittance pay
For to benefit the wealthy and the famous in countries from where they live far away
In a fair world this would never happen and not one person would know of poverty
The gap between the rich and poor keeps widening at least that's how it would appear to me.
It should not be because of political disputes that some poor people have to live in fear
They cannot flee they have no place to flee to and news of war the only news they hear
In wars the wealthy never seem to suffer in a fair world this would never be
And in a fair world war would never take place and we would enjoy peace and harmony.
It should not be that people who are different should be seen as inferior in some way
It would not take an Einstein for to make out that discrimination is alive and well today,
In a fair world everyone would be equal and people would not know of poverty
But I can only change myself not others and I can only say it should not be.
Charlie Callaghan
He lived by the Killarney Road a few miles from Rathmore
And he was one that I had known since I was three or four
A character he was of sorts and though from life long gone
In the hearts of those who knew him well Charlie is living on.
He drove trucks for Jacksy Lucey in the distant long ago
And he never broke a speed limit he always drove quite slow
But Charlie did a good job and he worked hard for his pay
And those who still remember him will tell you so today.
A slightly built though hardy type he wasn't very tall
But he was quite strong for his weight as I can well recall
I once saw him lift a ten stone sack unto his back from the ground
Quite an amazing feat of strength with none to help around.
With none to witness his feat save me a seven year old boy
And when I told others what I'd seen him do they said how come you lie?
How can a nine stone man lift a ten stone sack something most twice his weight can't do?
They would not believe how one small man could lift a weight heavy for two.
He drove trucks for a living often for twelve hours a day
And Charlie Callaghan was one who worked hard for every pay
And I'll recall for as long as I live how he raised a ten stone sack
Without assistance from the ground and placed it on his back
And he was one that I had known since I was three or four
A character he was of sorts and though from life long gone
In the hearts of those who knew him well Charlie is living on.
He drove trucks for Jacksy Lucey in the distant long ago
And he never broke a speed limit he always drove quite slow
But Charlie did a good job and he worked hard for his pay
And those who still remember him will tell you so today.
A slightly built though hardy type he wasn't very tall
But he was quite strong for his weight as I can well recall
I once saw him lift a ten stone sack unto his back from the ground
Quite an amazing feat of strength with none to help around.
With none to witness his feat save me a seven year old boy
And when I told others what I'd seen him do they said how come you lie?
How can a nine stone man lift a ten stone sack something most twice his weight can't do?
They would not believe how one small man could lift a weight heavy for two.
He drove trucks for a living often for twelve hours a day
And Charlie Callaghan was one who worked hard for every pay
And I'll recall for as long as I live how he raised a ten stone sack
Without assistance from the ground and placed it on his back
An October Day In Millstreet
I hear the Finnow gurgling along
And robin sings his brief october song
And on deciduous trees leaves turning brown
In once green groves just out of Millstreet Town.
The winds of rain blow with a freshening chill
Across the old high fields by Clara hill
And skylark who sang in may, june and july
Up to the clouds to sing no longer fly.
At this time of year the flowers of Nature rare
Save for a few late blooming daisies here and there
By windswept hedgerows in the cold winds blowing
Where dormant grasses are no longer growing.
A lot of rain and snow and frost between
Now and before birds building their nests can be seen
Before the golden flowers bloom by the rill
And Skylark sing above old Clara hill.
Leaves on deciduous trees are turning brown
And in the wind to Mother Earth drift down
And many bleak and cold days till the spring
Before the birds their finest songs will sing.
And robin sings his brief october song
And on deciduous trees leaves turning brown
In once green groves just out of Millstreet Town.
The winds of rain blow with a freshening chill
Across the old high fields by Clara hill
And skylark who sang in may, june and july
Up to the clouds to sing no longer fly.
At this time of year the flowers of Nature rare
Save for a few late blooming daisies here and there
By windswept hedgerows in the cold winds blowing
Where dormant grasses are no longer growing.
A lot of rain and snow and frost between
Now and before birds building their nests can be seen
Before the golden flowers bloom by the rill
And Skylark sing above old Clara hill.
Leaves on deciduous trees are turning brown
And in the wind to Mother Earth drift down
And many bleak and cold days till the spring
Before the birds their finest songs will sing.
A Possessive Man
The problem with Sid is that he is paranoid he feels men have the hots for Jane his wife
He guards her like a watchdog guards his back yard he ought be told that there is more to life
Than every day worrying about your woman he could ruin his relationship with her due to his jealousy
He is not mature for one in his mid twenties, his foes his ego and insecurity.
Sid and Jane have one child their little daughter Mandy she will be six at end of february
And every warm weekend in the summer they pitch their tent in camping ground by the sea
And Jane she always swims in her bikini and in the afternoon on the beach sunbake for an hour between two and three
And though she is tall and fairly attractive there are better looking women than she.
But beauty is in the eye of the beholder and in Sid's eyes Jane is world beauty queen
And she is his treasured possession and by his treasured possession I mean
That he think that he is her rightful owner and that to him alone she belong
But one cannot own another person and silly big Sid he has got it all wrong.
Sid's problem is that he is lacking in humor and he takes life far too seriously
And about his wife Jane he is too possessive and he treats her as his property
But secretly Jane she finds him overbearing and she has told her mates Hilda and Don
That he will arrive home from work one evening for to find she has taken Mandy and gone.
He guards her like a watchdog guards his back yard he ought be told that there is more to life
Than every day worrying about your woman he could ruin his relationship with her due to his jealousy
He is not mature for one in his mid twenties, his foes his ego and insecurity.
Sid and Jane have one child their little daughter Mandy she will be six at end of february
And every warm weekend in the summer they pitch their tent in camping ground by the sea
And Jane she always swims in her bikini and in the afternoon on the beach sunbake for an hour between two and three
And though she is tall and fairly attractive there are better looking women than she.
But beauty is in the eye of the beholder and in Sid's eyes Jane is world beauty queen
And she is his treasured possession and by his treasured possession I mean
That he think that he is her rightful owner and that to him alone she belong
But one cannot own another person and silly big Sid he has got it all wrong.
Sid's problem is that he is lacking in humor and he takes life far too seriously
And about his wife Jane he is too possessive and he treats her as his property
But secretly Jane she finds him overbearing and she has told her mates Hilda and Don
That he will arrive home from work one evening for to find she has taken Mandy and gone.
He Has Got Humility
To talk of his achievements he's reluctant it would seem
And those who think that they know better say he's low in self esteem
But they seem to overlook one thing or either are too blind to see
That the man is not conceited he has got humility.
And those who know him better say he's good at what he do
And that 'empty vessels make the most noise' still so happens to be true,
He leaves others do the talking, he takes success in his stride
And he doesn't have an inflated ego that comes from too much of self pride.
Those into self promotion say in self esteem he's low
But the meaning of humility such people would hardly know,
To them boasting is a natural thing to talk of self they are not shy
And three words that they use often are me, myself and I.
He doesn't boast of his achievements he has got humility
Though those into self promotion with that hardly would agree
To them to brag is natural at least that's how 'twould seem
And they see every quiet achiever as one with low self esteem.
And those who think that they know better say he's low in self esteem
But they seem to overlook one thing or either are too blind to see
That the man is not conceited he has got humility.
And those who know him better say he's good at what he do
And that 'empty vessels make the most noise' still so happens to be true,
He leaves others do the talking, he takes success in his stride
And he doesn't have an inflated ego that comes from too much of self pride.
Those into self promotion say in self esteem he's low
But the meaning of humility such people would hardly know,
To them boasting is a natural thing to talk of self they are not shy
And three words that they use often are me, myself and I.
He doesn't boast of his achievements he has got humility
Though those into self promotion with that hardly would agree
To them to brag is natural at least that's how 'twould seem
And they see every quiet achiever as one with low self esteem.
Densy
On back of lorry at Millstreet Town Square I first saw the gray haired man
Speaking on behalf of Jimmy Connors when Jimmy for the Council ran
He introduced himself as Densy Buckley better known as 'Dogs' he said
And those who could not laugh that morning of all humor must be dead.
In the audience that morning not one sad face to be found
There was humor in his satire and much laughter all around,
He was larger than life Densy I still picture him today
And I still laugh when I remember the funny things he had to say.
Not born to be a Politician for Politicians can't be made
And he was too straight forward he called a spade a spade,
Politicians are evasive and their feelings they can hide
He was more of a comedian for he had a humorous side.
Only knew him as an old man when his hair was silvery gray
And Densy Buckley gone forever in eternal rest he lay
But he will always be remembered and the memory will remain
Of a very humorous fellow who was born to entertain.
Speaking on behalf of Jimmy Connors when Jimmy for the Council ran
He introduced himself as Densy Buckley better known as 'Dogs' he said
And those who could not laugh that morning of all humor must be dead.
In the audience that morning not one sad face to be found
There was humor in his satire and much laughter all around,
He was larger than life Densy I still picture him today
And I still laugh when I remember the funny things he had to say.
Not born to be a Politician for Politicians can't be made
And he was too straight forward he called a spade a spade,
Politicians are evasive and their feelings they can hide
He was more of a comedian for he had a humorous side.
Only knew him as an old man when his hair was silvery gray
And Densy Buckley gone forever in eternal rest he lay
But he will always be remembered and the memory will remain
Of a very humorous fellow who was born to entertain.
Old Annie
Old Annie up the street she is my heroine
She is not proud she does not hide her gray
She's eighty seven wise and bright and lucid
You are only old as you feel so she say.
She once told me the story of her great love
She fell in love when she was seventeen
With Andy Rice the son of 'Jim the Baker'
The father of her daughter sweet Raelene.
Two years her senior he was just nineteen
A handsome dark haired man nearing his prime
And that is going back three score and ten years
In average human span a whole lifetime.
Andy was brave a man who knew no fear
And he was strong as any grizzly bear
And from a challenge he would not climb down
And he was quite willing to take a dare.
One saturday evening he had one too many
And his young drinking mates dared him to try
To walk the steel rail on bridge above the highway
And to take the challenge Andy wasn't shy.
Half way across he seemed to lose his balance
From a recent shower the railing had been wet,
He fell his shocked mates were powerless to help him
And she still feels tearful about his death.
And though she's had many affairs and all of those were short lived
You will not hear old Annie bad mouth men
Her one true love he died whilst a teenager
In love and life it's never easy win.
Her daughter Raelene is now a grandmother
And Annie's oldest great grandchild is twenty three
And she says no I don't feel over eighty
And I will live beyond the century.
Old Annie up the street she is my heroine
And the only one great love she ever knew
He lost his life because he diced with danger
But to his memory she is ever true.
She is not proud she does not hide her gray
She's eighty seven wise and bright and lucid
You are only old as you feel so she say.
She once told me the story of her great love
She fell in love when she was seventeen
With Andy Rice the son of 'Jim the Baker'
The father of her daughter sweet Raelene.
Two years her senior he was just nineteen
A handsome dark haired man nearing his prime
And that is going back three score and ten years
In average human span a whole lifetime.
Andy was brave a man who knew no fear
And he was strong as any grizzly bear
And from a challenge he would not climb down
And he was quite willing to take a dare.
One saturday evening he had one too many
And his young drinking mates dared him to try
To walk the steel rail on bridge above the highway
And to take the challenge Andy wasn't shy.
Half way across he seemed to lose his balance
From a recent shower the railing had been wet,
He fell his shocked mates were powerless to help him
And she still feels tearful about his death.
And though she's had many affairs and all of those were short lived
You will not hear old Annie bad mouth men
Her one true love he died whilst a teenager
In love and life it's never easy win.
Her daughter Raelene is now a grandmother
And Annie's oldest great grandchild is twenty three
And she says no I don't feel over eighty
And I will live beyond the century.
Old Annie up the street she is my heroine
And the only one great love she ever knew
He lost his life because he diced with danger
But to his memory she is ever true.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Jeff Kennett Has This Great Plan For The Nobbies
Jeff Kennett has this great plan for the Nobbies
But the Nobbies wild beauty he could not tame
The Nobbies will be long there after he's departed
And the Nobbies was long there before he came.
In fact the Nobbies will be there forever
Those cliffs have seen the seasons come and go
For centuries overlooking the Pacific
The sea coast and the black rocks down below.
Why people elect people such as Kennett
Is something I will never understand
I only have respect for Mother Nature
What Right have we to desecrate her land?.
Why people vote for people such as Kennett
Again I ask myself the question why?
That we cannot see the madness in our folly
When we vote for those who wilfully destroy.
For centuries the natives lived with Mother Nature
Till white man the developer came along
To desecrate the last untouched land of this Planet
Can we not see the folly in our wrong?
Some may dismiss me as an active greenie
Though I've never joined a greenie protest I recall
And those who condemn me for loving Mother Nature
Are paying to me the greatest compliment of all.
Jeff Kennett's name may live for a few centuries
And there's a time limit to the fame of man
But the ageless Nobbies will be there forever
And the Nobbies have been there since time began.
Jeff Kennett has this great plan for the Nobbies
But such wild beauty he could never tame
The Nobbies will be there long after he's departed
And the Nobbies was long there before he came.
But the Nobbies wild beauty he could not tame
The Nobbies will be long there after he's departed
And the Nobbies was long there before he came.
In fact the Nobbies will be there forever
Those cliffs have seen the seasons come and go
For centuries overlooking the Pacific
The sea coast and the black rocks down below.
Why people elect people such as Kennett
Is something I will never understand
I only have respect for Mother Nature
What Right have we to desecrate her land?.
Why people vote for people such as Kennett
Again I ask myself the question why?
That we cannot see the madness in our folly
When we vote for those who wilfully destroy.
For centuries the natives lived with Mother Nature
Till white man the developer came along
To desecrate the last untouched land of this Planet
Can we not see the folly in our wrong?
Some may dismiss me as an active greenie
Though I've never joined a greenie protest I recall
And those who condemn me for loving Mother Nature
Are paying to me the greatest compliment of all.
Jeff Kennett's name may live for a few centuries
And there's a time limit to the fame of man
But the ageless Nobbies will be there forever
And the Nobbies have been there since time began.
Jeff Kennett has this great plan for the Nobbies
But such wild beauty he could never tame
The Nobbies will be there long after he's departed
And the Nobbies was long there before he came.
Kathleen Looney
Kathleen Looney left Claraghatlea in the fifties to start a new life far away
In the land of opportunity the good old U S of A
There was not much work in Ireland then and job opportunities were few
And the young people were leaving they had their dreams to pursue.
She returned a few years later just for a brief holiday
For in Millstreet in Duhalllow she had no desire to stay
She fell in love in her new country and there she raised her family
And the last time that I spoke to her was in sixty one or two or three.
She was such a lovely person always happy and carefree
And she remains young and vibrant at least in my memory
And though now with the departed to a new life she has gone
But in those who knew and loved her she's alive and living on.
She was such a lovely person people like her are so rare
And she left Millstreet in the fifties to start a new life elsewhere
And though now with the departed in eternal rest she lay
The soul of Kathleen Looney is alive and well today.
In the land of opportunity the good old U S of A
There was not much work in Ireland then and job opportunities were few
And the young people were leaving they had their dreams to pursue.
She returned a few years later just for a brief holiday
For in Millstreet in Duhalllow she had no desire to stay
She fell in love in her new country and there she raised her family
And the last time that I spoke to her was in sixty one or two or three.
She was such a lovely person always happy and carefree
And she remains young and vibrant at least in my memory
And though now with the departed to a new life she has gone
But in those who knew and loved her she's alive and living on.
She was such a lovely person people like her are so rare
And she left Millstreet in the fifties to start a new life elsewhere
And though now with the departed in eternal rest she lay
The soul of Kathleen Looney is alive and well today.
Why Should I Waste My Future On Regret
I do not feel sad that my better days are behind me and I do not wish for to be young again
But I'll make the most of what time I am granted and my only wish that good health with me remain
Until the reaper on me pays a visit the reaper whom so many seem to dread
It would be nice to go to sleep one evening and die a painless death in one's own bed.
I have grown tired of hearing people saying that so and so had a good life and lived for eighty years
How could he have had a good life if he had known great heartbreaks and he was one who shed his grief in tears
How could they say that the man enjoyed a good life if in an accident he'd lost his kids and wife
Some people find it hard to differentiate between a very long and a good life.
Not much point in living beyond your eighties if you feel haunted by bad memories
Of your brave young mates who bravely fought beside you and who died in battle far beyond the seas,
You left the army without any counselling and of needless guilt you never have been free
And even in your old age you still wonder how come they died and how come the lucky one was me?
I do not regret that my prime years are behind me for why should I waste my future on regret
But I'll make the most of what time I've been granted for there's lots of life in my ageing body yet
And when the reaper finally will take me perhaps some one who knows me may recall
My life and say he lived to be a good age and he did not seem a bad sort after all.
But I'll make the most of what time I am granted and my only wish that good health with me remain
Until the reaper on me pays a visit the reaper whom so many seem to dread
It would be nice to go to sleep one evening and die a painless death in one's own bed.
I have grown tired of hearing people saying that so and so had a good life and lived for eighty years
How could he have had a good life if he had known great heartbreaks and he was one who shed his grief in tears
How could they say that the man enjoyed a good life if in an accident he'd lost his kids and wife
Some people find it hard to differentiate between a very long and a good life.
Not much point in living beyond your eighties if you feel haunted by bad memories
Of your brave young mates who bravely fought beside you and who died in battle far beyond the seas,
You left the army without any counselling and of needless guilt you never have been free
And even in your old age you still wonder how come they died and how come the lucky one was me?
I do not regret that my prime years are behind me for why should I waste my future on regret
But I'll make the most of what time I've been granted for there's lots of life in my ageing body yet
And when the reaper finally will take me perhaps some one who knows me may recall
My life and say he lived to be a good age and he did not seem a bad sort after all.
A Woman With A Sad Story
Only two of us rode in the carriage and she sat next to I
And she looked nice I watched her out the corner of my eye
A woman over thirty years with curly locks of brown
On seat near me on late night train going out of Melbourne Town.
She wore brown shoes and dark blue slacks and cardigan of green
And she leafed through the pages of a woman's magazine
But in her brown eyes she had a sad look and on her face no joy
And why pretty woman looked so sad to self I wondered why?
She stopped on page and gazed at photograph of little boy
And then she trembled and I watched the tears roll out her eyes
And then a sob and another sob till her grief out of control
And here was I alone in train with woman to console.
I asked her why do you grieve my dear? and she wiped her tears away
And still sobbing she looked towards me and here's what she did say
The young boy in this photograph reminds me of little Joe
The only child I've ever had he died a month ago.
I'm sorry sir to bother you I should control my grief
But as I glanced through this magazine I stopped on the wrong leaf
And the little boy in the photograph at the corner of the page
Looks very like my baby Joe and around the same age.
Says I you have a right to grieve and to choke your grief not wise
And why should you for the way you feel to me apologize?
And I understand for the way you feel and you have my sympathy
And I'd feel no different to you if such happened to me.
In Upper Gully Station as she left the train she gently pressed my hand
Saying thank you sir for kindness shown you seemed to understand
And as the train sped towards Belgrave I pitied her, her loss
That poor woman who goes through life shouldering her heavy cross.
And she looked nice I watched her out the corner of my eye
A woman over thirty years with curly locks of brown
On seat near me on late night train going out of Melbourne Town.
She wore brown shoes and dark blue slacks and cardigan of green
And she leafed through the pages of a woman's magazine
But in her brown eyes she had a sad look and on her face no joy
And why pretty woman looked so sad to self I wondered why?
She stopped on page and gazed at photograph of little boy
And then she trembled and I watched the tears roll out her eyes
And then a sob and another sob till her grief out of control
And here was I alone in train with woman to console.
I asked her why do you grieve my dear? and she wiped her tears away
And still sobbing she looked towards me and here's what she did say
The young boy in this photograph reminds me of little Joe
The only child I've ever had he died a month ago.
I'm sorry sir to bother you I should control my grief
But as I glanced through this magazine I stopped on the wrong leaf
And the little boy in the photograph at the corner of the page
Looks very like my baby Joe and around the same age.
Says I you have a right to grieve and to choke your grief not wise
And why should you for the way you feel to me apologize?
And I understand for the way you feel and you have my sympathy
And I'd feel no different to you if such happened to me.
In Upper Gully Station as she left the train she gently pressed my hand
Saying thank you sir for kindness shown you seemed to understand
And as the train sped towards Belgrave I pitied her, her loss
That poor woman who goes through life shouldering her heavy cross.
The Travelling Entertainers
Sweet are the notes the guitarist play
And sweeter still the songman's lay
As he sings the songs of bygone day
Of his homeland many miles away.
In the lounge room of this city pub
Known as the dog and horseman's club
Sit customers sipping their beers
And listening with attentive ears.
The guitarist's pale and wrinkled face
Showed he had been to many a place
The dark striped suit and shirt he wore
Were relics of a foreign shore.
His unkept hair so long and black
Seemed to grow along his back
His musical fingers long and slight
Played music to the heart's delight.
The songman dark haired flecked with gray
Told middle age was on it's way
His craggy features also showed
That he too had travelled many a road.
With open necked shirt, brown pants, dark coat
He looked just like a travelling poet
And his audience learned to their delight
That he did write poems and could recite.
He'd been around he'd travelled far
And he'd sung in many an inn and bar
His sweet and mellow singing voice
Made all his listeners hearts rejoice.
A hushed silence fell o'er one and all
In the lounge room of the bar room hall
As the guitarist plucked his guitar strings
And the songman he commenced to sing.
He sang of a young beauty queen
The lovely brown haired woman Eileen
With soft and silky and fair skin
Her beauty won the hearts of men.
Oh she had beauty, beauty rare
A lovely head of nut brown hair
A well curved body charm and grace
A winning smile and pretty face.
But this woman lovely to behold
Died young just twenty two years old
And with her she took to her tomb
Her unborn baby in her womb.
Had the babe been born the songman would have been a dad
But the paths of life are strange and sad
And the song he sang was true to life
Because Eileen was the songman's wife.
At the song's end there was a short pause
Followed by a loud burst of applause
And when the applause had ceased the guitarist struck a note
For another song from the songman poet.
In his next ballad the songman told
Of the courageous men so true and bold
Who died under gunfire of invader hand
Fighting for their native land.
The blood these gallant heroes shed
Turned the green, green grass to red,
Men who fought and did not cower
From the forces of a greater power.
Men who had nothing to gain
But loved their country Just the same
Their fight to set their country free
Made them a part of history.
There was more applause when the song did end
For the songman and his guitarist friend
His ballad they warmly did applaud
And the guitarist backing music laud.
He next sang of his homeland in spring
When the little birds commenced to sing
With the lengthening day and shortening night
And the mild spring showers and sun's warm light.
When the mountain hare it left the heath
And moved to where the grass was sweet
And hedge and tree grew leaves of green
And moorhen chirped in peaceful stream.
With the green grass growing
And the soft winds blowing
And pheasants in the meadows crowing
And mothers to their young calves lowing.
And leggy foal suckled mother mare
And gold billed blackbird sang his share
And skylark sung his song of joy
Between the earth and serene sky.
And red haired vixen beast of prey
Felt hungry and eager to slay
She had to work hard to survive
And keep her fast growing cubs alive.
And nature's flowers adorned the meads
And wild duck nest midst tall swamp reeds
And sparrows busy all the day
Building their nest with bits of hay.
Under their mothers watchful eye
Young lambs in pastures pranced with joy
And songthrush piped his sweet, sweet song
And robin sang the whole day long.
There was more applause for the songman poet
And the song that he himself had wrote
And the guitarist's heart it got a raise
With further words of well earned praise.
The songman sang in his next lay
Of the summer days so bright and gay
When the sun it spread it's glowing warm ray
O'er his homeland many miles away.
The dark winged swallows kings of flight
Were back home where they first saw light
And the old familiar cuckoo sound
Of the cuckoo back on his homeground.
To his audience it seemed a dream
As he sang of flower fringed mountain streams
Of trout that wore the rainbow hue
And grass sprinkled with morning dew.
The blind and naked nestlings eat their fill
Of the food their parents brought in bill
Whilst the fledgelings busied themselves trying
To master the crafty art of flying.
He sang of sunny days and cloudless skies
Full of bees and moths and butterflies
Of cool evenings and gentle breeze
And birds piping on leafy trees.
Fair roses bloomed in sun's warm heat
And new mown meadows scented sweet
And schoolboys holidaying from school
Enjoyed themselves in river pool.
By the listeners applause one could easily tell
That the song of summer pleased them well
And the songman showed his appreciation
By thanking them for their great ovation.
And then he changed from song to rhyme
As he told of his homeland in Autumn time
When the cornfields turned from green to gold
A sight of beauty to behold.
The apples ripe were picked to eat,
The juicy pear it tasted sweet
And the maiden sang her song so merry
As she picked for jam the wild blackberry.
And winds less warmer blew more strong
And birds indulged less in sing song
And though pleasant enough the shortening day
One could sense winter on the way.
The swallow flew with family
Towards warmer climes beyond the sea
And shabby looked the shedding tree
With it's leaves parting company.
October winds and cold, cold showers
Stunted grass growth and killed the flowers
The sky turned dull and overcast
And winter was approaching fast.
And thus ended the songman's rhyme
Which he told so well of autumn time
And he immediately commenced his final song
of the winter months so cold and long.
The leafless trees once green and fair
Looked bleak without their leafy hair
The gale force winds were blowing violent
And the little birds they now were silent.
And with the gales came heavy rains
To swell the rivers streams and drains
And then came frost followed by snow
And cold the bitter winds did blow.
Many the bird lay in death sleep
Amidst the snow so cold and deep
Winter with perishing breath
Had blown the icy winds of death.
The blackbird worked hard with his feet
As he scratched by hedge for worms to eat
And hungry robin by back door fed
on crumbs of after tea time bread.
Came rain and sun to melt the snow
And signs of spring commenced to show
The daisy's face showed overground
A sign that spring was coming round.
Cruel winter had blown itself out
And trees new leaves began to sprout
And singing birds were welcoming
The death of winter, birth of spring.
He ended to a loud encore
Of we want more please sing some more
But the songman said sorry folk we've got to go
it's closing time the clock says so.
Tomorrow night these travelling men
Will entertain in holly inn
A fairly well known rural pub
Thirty miles from dog and horseman's club.
And sweeter still the songman's lay
As he sings the songs of bygone day
Of his homeland many miles away.
In the lounge room of this city pub
Known as the dog and horseman's club
Sit customers sipping their beers
And listening with attentive ears.
The guitarist's pale and wrinkled face
Showed he had been to many a place
The dark striped suit and shirt he wore
Were relics of a foreign shore.
His unkept hair so long and black
Seemed to grow along his back
His musical fingers long and slight
Played music to the heart's delight.
The songman dark haired flecked with gray
Told middle age was on it's way
His craggy features also showed
That he too had travelled many a road.
With open necked shirt, brown pants, dark coat
He looked just like a travelling poet
And his audience learned to their delight
That he did write poems and could recite.
He'd been around he'd travelled far
And he'd sung in many an inn and bar
His sweet and mellow singing voice
Made all his listeners hearts rejoice.
A hushed silence fell o'er one and all
In the lounge room of the bar room hall
As the guitarist plucked his guitar strings
And the songman he commenced to sing.
He sang of a young beauty queen
The lovely brown haired woman Eileen
With soft and silky and fair skin
Her beauty won the hearts of men.
Oh she had beauty, beauty rare
A lovely head of nut brown hair
A well curved body charm and grace
A winning smile and pretty face.
But this woman lovely to behold
Died young just twenty two years old
And with her she took to her tomb
Her unborn baby in her womb.
Had the babe been born the songman would have been a dad
But the paths of life are strange and sad
And the song he sang was true to life
Because Eileen was the songman's wife.
At the song's end there was a short pause
Followed by a loud burst of applause
And when the applause had ceased the guitarist struck a note
For another song from the songman poet.
In his next ballad the songman told
Of the courageous men so true and bold
Who died under gunfire of invader hand
Fighting for their native land.
The blood these gallant heroes shed
Turned the green, green grass to red,
Men who fought and did not cower
From the forces of a greater power.
Men who had nothing to gain
But loved their country Just the same
Their fight to set their country free
Made them a part of history.
There was more applause when the song did end
For the songman and his guitarist friend
His ballad they warmly did applaud
And the guitarist backing music laud.
He next sang of his homeland in spring
When the little birds commenced to sing
With the lengthening day and shortening night
And the mild spring showers and sun's warm light.
When the mountain hare it left the heath
And moved to where the grass was sweet
And hedge and tree grew leaves of green
And moorhen chirped in peaceful stream.
With the green grass growing
And the soft winds blowing
And pheasants in the meadows crowing
And mothers to their young calves lowing.
And leggy foal suckled mother mare
And gold billed blackbird sang his share
And skylark sung his song of joy
Between the earth and serene sky.
And red haired vixen beast of prey
Felt hungry and eager to slay
She had to work hard to survive
And keep her fast growing cubs alive.
And nature's flowers adorned the meads
And wild duck nest midst tall swamp reeds
And sparrows busy all the day
Building their nest with bits of hay.
Under their mothers watchful eye
Young lambs in pastures pranced with joy
And songthrush piped his sweet, sweet song
And robin sang the whole day long.
There was more applause for the songman poet
And the song that he himself had wrote
And the guitarist's heart it got a raise
With further words of well earned praise.
The songman sang in his next lay
Of the summer days so bright and gay
When the sun it spread it's glowing warm ray
O'er his homeland many miles away.
The dark winged swallows kings of flight
Were back home where they first saw light
And the old familiar cuckoo sound
Of the cuckoo back on his homeground.
To his audience it seemed a dream
As he sang of flower fringed mountain streams
Of trout that wore the rainbow hue
And grass sprinkled with morning dew.
The blind and naked nestlings eat their fill
Of the food their parents brought in bill
Whilst the fledgelings busied themselves trying
To master the crafty art of flying.
He sang of sunny days and cloudless skies
Full of bees and moths and butterflies
Of cool evenings and gentle breeze
And birds piping on leafy trees.
Fair roses bloomed in sun's warm heat
And new mown meadows scented sweet
And schoolboys holidaying from school
Enjoyed themselves in river pool.
By the listeners applause one could easily tell
That the song of summer pleased them well
And the songman showed his appreciation
By thanking them for their great ovation.
And then he changed from song to rhyme
As he told of his homeland in Autumn time
When the cornfields turned from green to gold
A sight of beauty to behold.
The apples ripe were picked to eat,
The juicy pear it tasted sweet
And the maiden sang her song so merry
As she picked for jam the wild blackberry.
And winds less warmer blew more strong
And birds indulged less in sing song
And though pleasant enough the shortening day
One could sense winter on the way.
The swallow flew with family
Towards warmer climes beyond the sea
And shabby looked the shedding tree
With it's leaves parting company.
October winds and cold, cold showers
Stunted grass growth and killed the flowers
The sky turned dull and overcast
And winter was approaching fast.
And thus ended the songman's rhyme
Which he told so well of autumn time
And he immediately commenced his final song
of the winter months so cold and long.
The leafless trees once green and fair
Looked bleak without their leafy hair
The gale force winds were blowing violent
And the little birds they now were silent.
And with the gales came heavy rains
To swell the rivers streams and drains
And then came frost followed by snow
And cold the bitter winds did blow.
Many the bird lay in death sleep
Amidst the snow so cold and deep
Winter with perishing breath
Had blown the icy winds of death.
The blackbird worked hard with his feet
As he scratched by hedge for worms to eat
And hungry robin by back door fed
on crumbs of after tea time bread.
Came rain and sun to melt the snow
And signs of spring commenced to show
The daisy's face showed overground
A sign that spring was coming round.
Cruel winter had blown itself out
And trees new leaves began to sprout
And singing birds were welcoming
The death of winter, birth of spring.
He ended to a loud encore
Of we want more please sing some more
But the songman said sorry folk we've got to go
it's closing time the clock says so.
Tomorrow night these travelling men
Will entertain in holly inn
A fairly well known rural pub
Thirty miles from dog and horseman's club.
Roy
He is arrogant and haughty and headstrong
The type who never think he can be wrong
Just twenty one and all but at his prime
And wisdom may yet come to him in time.
He is educated and I don't doubt he's bright
But as wisdom goes he is a lesser light
Some times he say things that he ought not say
And his main fault is his tongue gets in the way.
He may never climb the stairway to renown
As he think nothing of putting others down
But one day he may say wrong thing in wrong place
And go home with black eyes and swollen face.
But there is more than one side to young Roy
At times he can be kind hearted though shy
But he spoils it all by cruel things that he say
And he can't help his argumentive way.
And all in all he has wrong attitude
Though he can't help it if at times he's rude
But in book of life a lesson in each page
And wisdom may yet come to him with age.
The type who never think he can be wrong
Just twenty one and all but at his prime
And wisdom may yet come to him in time.
He is educated and I don't doubt he's bright
But as wisdom goes he is a lesser light
Some times he say things that he ought not say
And his main fault is his tongue gets in the way.
He may never climb the stairway to renown
As he think nothing of putting others down
But one day he may say wrong thing in wrong place
And go home with black eyes and swollen face.
But there is more than one side to young Roy
At times he can be kind hearted though shy
But he spoils it all by cruel things that he say
And he can't help his argumentive way.
And all in all he has wrong attitude
Though he can't help it if at times he's rude
But in book of life a lesson in each page
And wisdom may yet come to him with age.
Maori Joe
The dark skinned fellow from New Zealand locals call him Maori Joe
Broad shouldered with great big muscles must be six foot two or so
He is well liked in Boronia good as you could wish to know
And every time I happen to meet him he flash big smile and say hello.
He returns every Christmas to his home in Auckland Town
To spend three weeks with his family he could never live it down
If he was not home with his tribe for to welcome the new year
For the dining and the dancing and the sing song and the beer.
His ancestors were great warriors and of his background he feels proud
And he always speaks with reverence of that land of 'the long white cloud'
Says for New Zealand he feels homesick and he's been too long away
And the next time he goes back home it will be for the long stay.
Maori Joe is just a nickname he has got a tribal name
And to a background of great warriors with some pride he can lay claim
He can sing and dance the haka with the fervour of a boy
He was born and raised a Maori and a Maori he will die.
From the famed land of the kiwi comes big hearted Maori Joe
And he wins you if you meet him when he smiles and says hello
And though he is well liked in Boronia in Boronia he won't stay
He will return to New Zealand to re-settle so he say.
Broad shouldered with great big muscles must be six foot two or so
He is well liked in Boronia good as you could wish to know
And every time I happen to meet him he flash big smile and say hello.
He returns every Christmas to his home in Auckland Town
To spend three weeks with his family he could never live it down
If he was not home with his tribe for to welcome the new year
For the dining and the dancing and the sing song and the beer.
His ancestors were great warriors and of his background he feels proud
And he always speaks with reverence of that land of 'the long white cloud'
Says for New Zealand he feels homesick and he's been too long away
And the next time he goes back home it will be for the long stay.
Maori Joe is just a nickname he has got a tribal name
And to a background of great warriors with some pride he can lay claim
He can sing and dance the haka with the fervour of a boy
He was born and raised a Maori and a Maori he will die.
From the famed land of the kiwi comes big hearted Maori Joe
And he wins you if you meet him when he smiles and says hello
And though he is well liked in Boronia in Boronia he won't stay
He will return to New Zealand to re-settle so he say.
You May Imitate My Accent
You may imitate my accent and your judgement may not be fair
And you may laugh at me I'm different but I really do not care
You don't seem to like my manner and like the look of my face
Don't like anything about me, you don't even like my race.
You look on me as inferior because of the work I do
But since you feel that way about me then the problem is with you
Words you use could never hurt me I pay no heed to what you say
I will lose no sleep to worry and why should I anyway?
There's some good in every human that's how it would seem to me
And I take people as I find them and that's how it ought to be,
I take people as I find them don't call any out of name
There's no difference amongst races all are equal all the same.
You may laugh at me I'm different and my accent try to imitate
But unlike you I'm not racist and I don't discriminate
And I feel proud that I am different and proud of the work I do
And I'll not be losing sleep at night and worrying about you.
And you may laugh at me I'm different but I really do not care
You don't seem to like my manner and like the look of my face
Don't like anything about me, you don't even like my race.
You look on me as inferior because of the work I do
But since you feel that way about me then the problem is with you
Words you use could never hurt me I pay no heed to what you say
I will lose no sleep to worry and why should I anyway?
There's some good in every human that's how it would seem to me
And I take people as I find them and that's how it ought to be,
I take people as I find them don't call any out of name
There's no difference amongst races all are equal all the same.
You may laugh at me I'm different and my accent try to imitate
But unlike you I'm not racist and I don't discriminate
And I feel proud that I am different and proud of the work I do
And I'll not be losing sleep at night and worrying about you.
Don't Tell Me To Where My Heart Should Belong
The wide brown land by famous poets made famous, the treeless land is not the land for me
I'd much prefer the breezy coastal country where slow deep waters crawl on towards the sea
Where one can hear the mighty surf waves rumble as they rage against the volcanic rocks on the shore
Like a battle that forever has been raging and is destined to rage forever more.
I've always loved where the land meets the ocean though I was raised far from the ocean shore
By ancient hills in scenic green old country from the saltwater sixty miles or more
But I've always had a soft spot for the coastlands and the big surf waves sweet music to my ears
Though I would never be seen as a coastal man for I have lived by Inland hills for years.
The old bush poets can have their wide brown outback each to their own still happens to be true
I love the sea breeze and the smell of sea weed and the white surf waves and waters deep and blue
And though I may not be seen as a coastal person as I cannot swim or on a surf board ride
Still I love to sit on cliff above the ocean and watch the sea weed washed in by the tide.
The bush lovers can have their wide brown outback for their sort of lifestyle I would not enjoy
I'd rather not live distant from saltwater where gull, gannet and tern fish and fly
The quaint piping of the sooty oystercatcher, the curlew on the mudflats flutes his pleasant song
And though I may not be seen as a coastal person, don't tell me to where my heart should belong.
I'd much prefer the breezy coastal country where slow deep waters crawl on towards the sea
Where one can hear the mighty surf waves rumble as they rage against the volcanic rocks on the shore
Like a battle that forever has been raging and is destined to rage forever more.
I've always loved where the land meets the ocean though I was raised far from the ocean shore
By ancient hills in scenic green old country from the saltwater sixty miles or more
But I've always had a soft spot for the coastlands and the big surf waves sweet music to my ears
Though I would never be seen as a coastal man for I have lived by Inland hills for years.
The old bush poets can have their wide brown outback each to their own still happens to be true
I love the sea breeze and the smell of sea weed and the white surf waves and waters deep and blue
And though I may not be seen as a coastal person as I cannot swim or on a surf board ride
Still I love to sit on cliff above the ocean and watch the sea weed washed in by the tide.
The bush lovers can have their wide brown outback for their sort of lifestyle I would not enjoy
I'd rather not live distant from saltwater where gull, gannet and tern fish and fly
The quaint piping of the sooty oystercatcher, the curlew on the mudflats flutes his pleasant song
And though I may not be seen as a coastal person, don't tell me to where my heart should belong.
Oh I Do Recall Felicity
Oh I do recall Felicity the darling of Geelong
And were I true bard I'd pen for her a worthy poem or song
And though I'm a mere poetaster I'll do the best I can
For to string a piece together for this lovely young woman.
How can one describe Felicity she doesn't stand very tall
But she looks very beautiful and beautiful is small
With short clipped dark hair and light blue eyes and a bright and cheery smile
Your typical young Aussie unstained by guilt or guile.
She's a real lady Felicity or so 'twould seem to me
And she will not embarrass you whilst in her company,
She's got everything to live for and she lead a happy life
And the man that she choose for husband will have got himself good wife.
Wish I were like Felicity but that could never be
As I was born a worrier and small things bother me
And we cannot change the way we are as I have grown to know
And if loneliness gets to your heart you'll ever live in woe.
Oh I do recall Felicity and the memory with me will stay
Of one I knew in Aussie land forever and a day
I've got a picture of a lady etched in my memory
Dark hair, blue eyes and cheerful smile and that's Felicity.
And were I true bard I'd pen for her a worthy poem or song
And though I'm a mere poetaster I'll do the best I can
For to string a piece together for this lovely young woman.
How can one describe Felicity she doesn't stand very tall
But she looks very beautiful and beautiful is small
With short clipped dark hair and light blue eyes and a bright and cheery smile
Your typical young Aussie unstained by guilt or guile.
She's a real lady Felicity or so 'twould seem to me
And she will not embarrass you whilst in her company,
She's got everything to live for and she lead a happy life
And the man that she choose for husband will have got himself good wife.
Wish I were like Felicity but that could never be
As I was born a worrier and small things bother me
And we cannot change the way we are as I have grown to know
And if loneliness gets to your heart you'll ever live in woe.
Oh I do recall Felicity and the memory with me will stay
Of one I knew in Aussie land forever and a day
I've got a picture of a lady etched in my memory
Dark hair, blue eyes and cheerful smile and that's Felicity.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Johnny's Irish Grandmother
His Irish grandmother she told him of her childhood she grew up in the days of the black and tan
And her father was an Irish freedom fighter and by the British was a wanted man
She was fifteen when the civil war was raging when Irishmen against each other fought
A civil war that was caused by partition and death and sorrow to old Ireland brought.
She told of the deaths of Liam Lynch and Michael Collins heroic figures they were known World wide
But sadder still the British did not kill them by the guns of their own countrymen they died
Twenty five thousand died in the civil war in Ireland tragic victims of the bitter civil strife
And all because of those six northern counties it seemed a shameful waste of human life.
Johnny's Irish granny held her Irish accent and in her Irish heritage she had great pride
And all of her faculties she still had with her right up until the moment that she died
She had lived for sixty two years in Australia and despite that she still called Ireland home
One of the strongest feelings is nostalgia one of the strongest human feelings known.
Old Johnny is a good sort of a fellow and on his birthday he will be sixty two
And you might say he is a 'fair dinkum' Aussie and to the Australian colours he is true
But still he talks about his Irish granny she was a major influence in his life
And she told him of the black and tans in Ireland and the tragedy of Ireland's civil strife.
And her father was an Irish freedom fighter and by the British was a wanted man
She was fifteen when the civil war was raging when Irishmen against each other fought
A civil war that was caused by partition and death and sorrow to old Ireland brought.
She told of the deaths of Liam Lynch and Michael Collins heroic figures they were known World wide
But sadder still the British did not kill them by the guns of their own countrymen they died
Twenty five thousand died in the civil war in Ireland tragic victims of the bitter civil strife
And all because of those six northern counties it seemed a shameful waste of human life.
Johnny's Irish granny held her Irish accent and in her Irish heritage she had great pride
And all of her faculties she still had with her right up until the moment that she died
She had lived for sixty two years in Australia and despite that she still called Ireland home
One of the strongest feelings is nostalgia one of the strongest human feelings known.
Old Johnny is a good sort of a fellow and on his birthday he will be sixty two
And you might say he is a 'fair dinkum' Aussie and to the Australian colours he is true
But still he talks about his Irish granny she was a major influence in his life
And she told him of the black and tans in Ireland and the tragedy of Ireland's civil strife.
From Melbourne To Adelaide
I'd packed my tent in the gray dawn of the morning and put it in the car booth ready for the road
The kookaburra laughed on the black wattle and cock bantam in a backyard nearby crowed
Seven to eight hours driving through the outback before I'd reach the hills near Adelaide
And from there an hour at least to the inner suburbs in suburban traffic expect to be delayed.
Australians say that Adelaide from Melbourne is after all not all that far away
And 800 K's is not that long a distance some of them even have been known to say
But to one from a small and distant country a nine hour journey in a motor car
Would be a task he or she would not relish if they had never driven half that far.
From Melbourne to Adelaide in summer from 8 a m till dusk the sun blaze in the sky
And from Dimboola to Nhill the flat and open Mallee from months of drought is looking brown and dry
And for miles on either side of the South Australian border the sunburnt paddocks looking very bare
And in the shadows of lone gum the sheep assembled their only respite from the sun is there.
The cock bantam in the yard nearby was crowing and kookaburra laughed on wattle tree
And grey shrike thrush was singing on the Blackwood the plain looking bird has the sweetest melody
As I packed my tent for the highway to Adelaide 800 K's or maybe more away
And 800 K's is not such a long distance at least that's what you hear some Aussies say.
The kookaburra laughed on the black wattle and cock bantam in a backyard nearby crowed
Seven to eight hours driving through the outback before I'd reach the hills near Adelaide
And from there an hour at least to the inner suburbs in suburban traffic expect to be delayed.
Australians say that Adelaide from Melbourne is after all not all that far away
And 800 K's is not that long a distance some of them even have been known to say
But to one from a small and distant country a nine hour journey in a motor car
Would be a task he or she would not relish if they had never driven half that far.
From Melbourne to Adelaide in summer from 8 a m till dusk the sun blaze in the sky
And from Dimboola to Nhill the flat and open Mallee from months of drought is looking brown and dry
And for miles on either side of the South Australian border the sunburnt paddocks looking very bare
And in the shadows of lone gum the sheep assembled their only respite from the sun is there.
The cock bantam in the yard nearby was crowing and kookaburra laughed on wattle tree
And grey shrike thrush was singing on the Blackwood the plain looking bird has the sweetest melody
As I packed my tent for the highway to Adelaide 800 K's or maybe more away
And 800 K's is not such a long distance at least that's what you hear some Aussies say.
Mother Nature She Will Survive
I feel that we live off of Mother Nature and that to Mother Nature we belong
And if we bite at the hand that feeds us then to ourselves we are doing wrong
Another war now almost certain and more huge bombs will be dropped from the sky
And Mother Nature she will suffer and some of her human children will die.
Harm we do unto others unto our own selves we do
And in these times those words are relevant and those words as ever ring true
Those who drop bombs on distant cities a part of the Planet destroy
And the words what we do unto others to them more than any apply.
Those who order the bombings of foreign cities may think to themselves it's okay
To destroy a small part of the Planet in a country from them far away
But we all breathe the same air and the big bombs poison and pollute
And for everyone the price is big when Nature we persecute.
To Mother Nature who feeds us all, mankind cause much offence
And that we damage her by bombing her makes very little sense
And another war is looming if we believe all we hear
But Mother Nature she will survive though mankind may disappear.
And if we bite at the hand that feeds us then to ourselves we are doing wrong
Another war now almost certain and more huge bombs will be dropped from the sky
And Mother Nature she will suffer and some of her human children will die.
Harm we do unto others unto our own selves we do
And in these times those words are relevant and those words as ever ring true
Those who drop bombs on distant cities a part of the Planet destroy
And the words what we do unto others to them more than any apply.
Those who order the bombings of foreign cities may think to themselves it's okay
To destroy a small part of the Planet in a country from them far away
But we all breathe the same air and the big bombs poison and pollute
And for everyone the price is big when Nature we persecute.
To Mother Nature who feeds us all, mankind cause much offence
And that we damage her by bombing her makes very little sense
And another war is looming if we believe all we hear
But Mother Nature she will survive though mankind may disappear.
She's The Darling Girl Of Nutview
She's the darling girl of Nutview miss delightful Rose O Brien
Like a blushing flower of summer lit by beautiful sunshine
with her Jane Fonda type figure and her locks of chestnut brown
She's admired by all the fellows Rose the pride of Nutview Town.
And though I've never spoken to her my eyes do tell me a share
She seem quiet and unassuming and of her beauty unaware
And her type doesn't scoff at others, at others faults her type doesn't sneer
It's a gift from god the maker to be honest and sincere.
I was cursed and born bashful curse on me a farmer's boy
For a man approaching thirty far too sensitive and shy
I feel choked by inhibition, inhibition weigh me down
And with no one there to help me in my weaknessess I drown.
In my sweetest ever dream last night I walked with Miss O Brien
On the road by hazel forest with her little hand in mine
'Twas like walking through a fairyland as a bright full moon shone pale
On lofty hazel mountain and the fields of hazel vale.
But I may never ask the lady out as 'twould be easier for me to die
And don't ask me for a reason as I've already told you why
I lack the will and courage that go to make a man
But it's my mocking so called buddies who make me the way I am.
Like a blushing flower of summer lit by beautiful sunshine
with her Jane Fonda type figure and her locks of chestnut brown
She's admired by all the fellows Rose the pride of Nutview Town.
And though I've never spoken to her my eyes do tell me a share
She seem quiet and unassuming and of her beauty unaware
And her type doesn't scoff at others, at others faults her type doesn't sneer
It's a gift from god the maker to be honest and sincere.
I was cursed and born bashful curse on me a farmer's boy
For a man approaching thirty far too sensitive and shy
I feel choked by inhibition, inhibition weigh me down
And with no one there to help me in my weaknessess I drown.
In my sweetest ever dream last night I walked with Miss O Brien
On the road by hazel forest with her little hand in mine
'Twas like walking through a fairyland as a bright full moon shone pale
On lofty hazel mountain and the fields of hazel vale.
But I may never ask the lady out as 'twould be easier for me to die
And don't ask me for a reason as I've already told you why
I lack the will and courage that go to make a man
But it's my mocking so called buddies who make me the way I am.
The Ballad of Thomas Hall
Thomas Hall he was a wandering man
And his restless mind forbid him settle down
And in his brief and wanderlust life span
He became well known in many a town.
His father Dan had his own fishing boat
And with him Thomas fished the open sea
But fisher life young Thomas Hall did loathe
He yearned for wander and new sights to see.
Thomas was a fine man to behold
Of sturdy build and standing six foot two
With handsome face under hair of honey gold
And sparkling eyes so beautiful and blue.
Thomas had one older brother Dan
And two younger sisters Sheila and Marie
Dan like his father became a fisherman
And took a living from the salty sea.
The desire to roam in him was always strong
And even in his schooldays Thomas knew
That to the open highway he belong
And his lust for wander increased as he grew.
In his nineteenth year of life Tom bid adieu
To his father and his sisters and his brother
And he hugged and kissed the one who loved him true
Sheila Hall his sobbing grey haired mother.
Thomas Hall he wandered far and wide
And worked and laboured for his living pay
And for a roaming fellow he had pride
He never cadged and always paid his way.
He met and courted many a lovely maid
Yet never contemplated taking wife
Of marriage he felt very much afraid
As he knew that it would change his way of life.
But Thomas proved his own worst enemy
the taverns and the pubs he did frequent
His leisure hours he spent on drunken spree
And his hard earned wages to pub owners went.
In time he formed an alcoholic taste
And he felt he was not drinking half enough
He looked on money spent on food as waste
Quit paying for lodgings and took to sleeping rough.
Thomas on himself was very hard
Liquor had become his only joy
For his good health he showed no regard
And he cared not how he seemed through others eyes.
The wandering way of life and constant drinking
Were two bad habits he could not control
His massive frame it visibly was shrinking
And rough living had commenced to take it's toll.
One winter's morning on a side street in the city
A young man whilst walking towards his place of employment
Came upon a sight that filled his heart with pity
Across his path a man lay prostrate on the pavement.
It was Thomas Hall and he looked pale and sickly
And his appearance caused the young man worry
And to a nearby doctor's house the man ran quickly
And with the doctor returned in a hurry.
Thomas to the hospital was taken
A victim of pneumonia ghostly white
But the strength to fight illness him had forsaken
And he died at seven thirty on that night.
Just two months short of his thirty fourth birthday
And a young enough age for a man to die
But that's the sort of price one has to pay
For sleeping out under a winter sky.
Thomas Hall's remains were put to earth
In a lonely little cemetery
Half of a mile from his own place of birth
A red brick bungalow near to the sea.
And his restless mind forbid him settle down
And in his brief and wanderlust life span
He became well known in many a town.
His father Dan had his own fishing boat
And with him Thomas fished the open sea
But fisher life young Thomas Hall did loathe
He yearned for wander and new sights to see.
Thomas was a fine man to behold
Of sturdy build and standing six foot two
With handsome face under hair of honey gold
And sparkling eyes so beautiful and blue.
Thomas had one older brother Dan
And two younger sisters Sheila and Marie
Dan like his father became a fisherman
And took a living from the salty sea.
The desire to roam in him was always strong
And even in his schooldays Thomas knew
That to the open highway he belong
And his lust for wander increased as he grew.
In his nineteenth year of life Tom bid adieu
To his father and his sisters and his brother
And he hugged and kissed the one who loved him true
Sheila Hall his sobbing grey haired mother.
Thomas Hall he wandered far and wide
And worked and laboured for his living pay
And for a roaming fellow he had pride
He never cadged and always paid his way.
He met and courted many a lovely maid
Yet never contemplated taking wife
Of marriage he felt very much afraid
As he knew that it would change his way of life.
But Thomas proved his own worst enemy
the taverns and the pubs he did frequent
His leisure hours he spent on drunken spree
And his hard earned wages to pub owners went.
In time he formed an alcoholic taste
And he felt he was not drinking half enough
He looked on money spent on food as waste
Quit paying for lodgings and took to sleeping rough.
Thomas on himself was very hard
Liquor had become his only joy
For his good health he showed no regard
And he cared not how he seemed through others eyes.
The wandering way of life and constant drinking
Were two bad habits he could not control
His massive frame it visibly was shrinking
And rough living had commenced to take it's toll.
One winter's morning on a side street in the city
A young man whilst walking towards his place of employment
Came upon a sight that filled his heart with pity
Across his path a man lay prostrate on the pavement.
It was Thomas Hall and he looked pale and sickly
And his appearance caused the young man worry
And to a nearby doctor's house the man ran quickly
And with the doctor returned in a hurry.
Thomas to the hospital was taken
A victim of pneumonia ghostly white
But the strength to fight illness him had forsaken
And he died at seven thirty on that night.
Just two months short of his thirty fourth birthday
And a young enough age for a man to die
But that's the sort of price one has to pay
For sleeping out under a winter sky.
Thomas Hall's remains were put to earth
In a lonely little cemetery
Half of a mile from his own place of birth
A red brick bungalow near to the sea.
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