The Gifted Poet Bob

He is more than a few years beyond his life's prime
Yet the gifted poet Bob pens his comments in rhyme
The rhymes from his pen without any effort flow
And as a poet his reputation does grow
It is said of true poets they are born not made
And he is a credit to the wordsmith trade
He pens comments in rhyme a remarkable feat
And he is one that one day I would like to meet
Now here is a poet for the critics to rate
And here is a poet that we should celebrate
The gifted poet Bob never ceases to amaze
He surely is one who is worthy of praise
An under rated poet and 'twould seem fair to say
That he is one of the few who with words has a way.

We Do Not Live Many Decades

We do not live many decades on an average ten years with three score
For we too are Nature's life forms just that and nothing more
And though many with what I say here many may choose to disagree
That they are entitled to their opinions seems quite okay with me
Only Goddess Nature lives for forever the only God of which I know
The one who feeds all life forms yet respect to her we do not show
We pollute the air and waterways that to the oceans flow
But in Nature's Universal Karma we must reap what we sow
With Nature's other life forms the World we are supposed to share
But due to habitat destruction wildlife are becoming rare
Land clearance and tree clearing is happening everywhere
It is happening all around us in the bigger World out there
Due to climate change the World will be very different in a decade from now or two
And what we do to our Earth mother to our own selves we do.

Were I A Songwriter

Were I a songwriter I would pen a song
Of the river to the sea that babbles along
By ditch and by hedgerow by night and by day
From the valley by the brown hill from here far away.

Were I a songwriter a song I would sing
Of when nesting birds sing in the prime of the Spring
And swallows chasing flying insects in the sunny sky
Above the green valley all day long do fly.

And of warm Summer days full of the buzzings of wild honeybees
As they search for nectar on the blossoming bushes and trees
And of green grassy places bedecked with wildflowers
That bloom in the sunshine after Summer showers.

I would sing of true love that never grows old
And young and not so young women lovely to behold
And of a peaceful World where love reigns supreme
Such a World can exist for those who dare to dream.

Were I a songwriter I would sing of joy
The laughter of a happy young girl and boy
And of the great beauty that's all around me
But a songwriter I can only wish to be.

I Have Been On Life's Road

I have been on life's road for many years now my life's road that to nowhere does lead
But perhaps 'tis the negative streak I possess is the reason I fail to succeed
At achieving what I set out to achieve I now seem further from wealth and renown
Than when I was younger happy and carefree in Claraghatlea near Millstreet Town
But a strong bond to Nature to this day I retain and that cannot be a bad thing
And I always do feel a great sense of joy when-ever I hear a bird sing
I may not have known any success in my life of such I have failed in the test
But many must lose for one for to win and I feel that I gave it my best
My life's road it never did lead me to success at least not in the majority's eyes
But in your mind you can be anyone you wish to be it's not hard for to visualize
The Reaper does never stop swinging his scythe the great trees eventually fall
On the billionaire like the pauper there is a use by date a last day for one and for all
I have been on life's road for many years now the road that leads me to nowhere
But I'm not alone there are billions like me in the bigger World out there.

Poor Lukey

Poor Lukey knows of the black dog of despair
Just thirty years of age with gray in his brown hair
A mental illness has ruined his life
To it he has lost his children who are with their mum his ex wife
In and out of mental institutions his mind in disarray
One without a future that does seem sad to say
At present in a suicidal mood life for him Earthly Hell
In a mental institution in his padded cell
One must pity poor Lukey for the hard life he endure
He is a good person in many ways pure
Of any hope of happiness he lives in despair
For people like him life does seem so unfair
The black dog of despair has entered his mind
But in his saner moments he is honest and kind.

The Once Mighty Bay

Fifteen years ago he could run as fast as the wind
The champion group 1 gelding of the thoroughbred kind
At the big City race tracks big races he won
The big bay in his prime was the Nation's number one
Racehorse and highest stakes winner and the one to beat
In his racing life he never tasted defeat
But in his retirement his face looking gray
A shadow of the horse he once was is the aging big bay
In his younger years he was the Nation's pride
And to watch him race people came from places far and wide
But it has been awhile now since he was in his prime
And he is losing out to the father of time
And like every dog every race-horse has it's day
He can scarce raise a trot now the once mighty bay.

The Legend Of The O Keeffes

It must be a fallacy that dead canines can fly
But of the mystery in myths and legends one cannot deny
And one legend I recall from decades gone by
Is when an O Keeffe dies in Cullen dogs bark in the sky.

The legend of the O Keeffes has travelled far and wide
They hunted with their dogs in Duhallow's country-side
And stories of them in Duhallow abound
Of how with their dogs they hunted on foot covering miles of ground.

'Tis said the O Keeffes the best hunting dogs kept
And with their wives in their beds their dogs with them slept
And for the kindness shown to them their dogs them did repay
The O Keeffes never did know a poor hunting day.

I tell it as I heard it and I don't tell you a lie
It is said that in Cullen when an O Keeffe die
The dogs of their dead ancestors bark in the moonlight
In the starry sky in the dead of the night.

You can make out of this whatever you may
But in Duhallow the legend is living today
Of when a Cullen O Keeffe dies canines bark in the sky
The ghosts of their ancestors dogs on them have wings to fly.

A Song To Nature

For to save our natural environment some say 'tis too late
But the beauty of Nature we should celebrate
Smoke from factory chimneys and motorized vehicles polluting the air
And due to habitat destruction Wildlife becoming rare
And though millions of her four Seasons have come and have gone
Our immortal Earth Mother she is living on
Us humans are part of her to her we belong
And the poets celebrate her in poetry and song
The one we live off of for as long as we live
We take and take from her and back to her little give
So little about her I can claim to know
And my wonder of her it only seems to grow
For each of her life forms a last night and day
And our remains in her bosom forever will lay.

The Universal Karma

The Universal Karma has found a believer in me
And though many with what I say may not agree
In karma we reap the fruits of what we sow
All things about us karma does seem to know
Karma is for me as much as it is for you
What we do unto others unto our own selves we do
When talking of karma some are known to say
What goes around comes around it does work that way
For each of us there is a reckoning day
To karma for our sins there is some price to pay
The Universal Karma it is for us all
And our sins it never does fail to recall
What goes around comes around does seem so true
And we all will receive the karma we are due.

How Can One make An Aussie Out Of Me

How can one make an Aussie out of me
Since an Aussie on paper is all that I would be
I'm an Irish person that and nothing more
One who lives far south of old Hibernia's Shore.

On where I was born I did not have a say
Birth is by chance and things happen that way
I've lived in time what does seem a lengthy span
Out of Duhallow but I'm still a Duhallow man.

I'm one who could never lay claim to be brave
And any Nation's flag I never once did wave
Since love of National flags and Nationalism to war are known to lead
And of such things in my life I've never felt the need.

In my flights of fancy I can hear the babbling rill
As it hurries down the high field by the hill
And I hear and see the lark as upwards he does fly
Above the bog a small speck in the sky.

Everytime one feels the urge to visualize
Familiar faces are in the memory eyes
And though I've not seen the Homeland for twenty one years
For what has been i don't shed any tears.

The Coorong Is Slowly Dying

The huge saltpans of the Coorong circular and white as snow
With time's passage getting bigger in the land where saltbush grow
The Coorong is slowly dying where waterfowl did once abound
In the countryside of many dried out lakes few birds now to be found
in the Land known as the Coorong climate change has left it's mark
A Coastal National Park in name only is the Coorong National Park
Where most of the lakes have dried out the Coorong has known a better day
And with less lakes far less water birds that does seem sad to say
The saltpans of the Coorong getting bigger as the weeks and months go by
The land where only saltbush grow has never been so dry
One more victim of Climate change the once beautiful Coorong
A place that inspired the artists and inspired the bards to song
Few waterbirds in the Coorong that does seem sad to say
What was once a birders paradise has gone into decay.

If You Cannot Say Good

If you cannot say good about someone say nothing at all
Those words from a wise person I do recall
But few heed those words and the few does not include me
Suppose what we dislike in others in ourselves we do see.

Some people are gentle they just cannot be rude
Whilst others with their words can be offensive and crude
In hurting others feelings some pleasure does find
So blessed are they who are caring and kind.

It is harder by far to make a friend than a foe
And you cannot expect respect if respect you do not show
But offensive people for want of better sense
They never do consider the consequence

That their cruel and careless words could cost them a friend
In such a manner some friendships do come to an end
It is said that offensive people suffer of low self esteem
We are what we are that is how it does seem.

John Kelleher Of Lackabawn

In Lackabawn or in Millstreet Town he will not be seen again
But fond memories of John Kelleher with his friends and family will remain
Let's hope he did not die slowly from life his was not a painful release
For each and everyone of us there is a lasting peace
Perhaps in his mid to late fifties that seems young for one to die
I would even say that he was one perhaps younger than I
Amongst the dead of Millstreet forever he now lay
The Reaper claims the life of everyone his lot will be ours one day
John Kelleher was a good person as those who knew him can recall
And he never harmed anyone in any way at all
He did not live to a ripe old age that does seem sad to say
He spent most of his years in Millstreet and in Millstreet his remains lay
From Lackabawn and Millstreet Town in the flesh forever gone
But good memories of John Kelleher are destined to live on.

Stuart

In Semaphore Stuart's is quite a well known face
And he feels so much at home in the old place
His late dad was a sailor from old Aberdeen
One who in his lifetime much of the world had seen.

For one in his late forties in his hair little gray
July the second it is his birthday
He does not have any plans to take a wife
For he is one who enjoys the single life.

In the A F L the Carlton Club his favourite team
He hopes the Blues will again reign supreme
He care not if they are based in another State
Each win they have he is glad to celebrate.

So down to earth and untainted by conceit
And as nice a person as one could wish to meet
He is happy to live near the ocean shore
And he is one who does love Semaphore.

One Might Laugh At This

One might laugh at this but it is not a joke
He thinks the 'Indian Myna' is about Indian Culture one must feel for the poor bloke
He does not know that the myna is a bird born with wings for to fly
That ignorance is bliss to him has to apply
His right to his opinions him none should deny
But why he comments on others one has to wonder why
Since he hasn't a clue what he's talking about
Of his lack of knowledge he doesn't leave one in doubt
Why he should think that an indian myna should have anything to do with Indian Culture seems perplexing to me
As knowledge goes he is one in poverty
I do honestly feel he should call it a day
By that I mean give writing comments away
He does show his ignorance by the comments he write
And his type not an asset to any poetry web site.

On Semaphore Road

Nothing better I'd like than spend an hour or more
Sipping coffee in a cafe in old Semaphore
In a place I could live in until my last day
In that Town by saltwater in view of Largs Bay.

On Semaphore Road a long and wide street
Such likeable characters one often does meet
Of every background and of every Race
They help for to make Semaphore such an endearing place.

On Semaphore Road great characters I've met and seen
To a more memorable place I can say I've not been
You visit there once you return to there again
Fond memories of that old Town with me remain.

Great characters always one does meet and see
On Semaphore Road that leads down to the sea
Where the voices of the silver gulls and the pee wee
In the park by the ocean are calling to me.

It Is A Big Country

Where sheep and cattle are in plenty and houses and people are rare
It is a big country the country out there
A flat open country-side looking gray to brown
At least fifty kilometres from the nearest Bushtown.

The people who live here are a hardy breed
And though stories of their lives few may wish for to read
But of them it would only be fair to say
That they are heroines and heroes in their own way.

Out there in the bush from the nearest town far
A half an hour drive at the least by car
It is a big country this Land of the south
A Land that has often been ravaged by drought.

Must be a quiet place to live in where silence abound
Miles of open countryside for miles around
Mostly flat and brown paddocks with hardly any green
And few very few houses for to be seen.

It is a big country flat open and dry
And the nearest town far even as the crow fly
To the nearest small Bushtown fifty kilometres or more
And four hundred miles inland from the ocean shore.

The Cassowary

Not as big a bird as the emu but a big bird just the same
Dark feathered with a bony sort of a helmet cassowary is it's name
Flightless like the emu but having said that far more rare
In the rain forest and through thick scrub it can run fast as a hare
Three to five light blue to green eggs the male bird incubate
Whilst his faithless bigger partner searches for another mate
And like male emu without any help from the female he raises the chicks on his own
Such devotion to fatherhood in Nature is not often known
Far more dangerous than the emu humans it's been known to kill
It can do a lot of damage with it's powerful feet and bill
It only attacks when provoked otherwise it runs away
And their bad reputation is mostly unwarranted that would seem fair to say
Only found in Australia in the rain-forests of North Queensland and they are known to be rare
And like the emu the male hatch to life and raise the chicks though little else in common they do share

Those Who Tell Me To Quit Writing

You've written too much stuff some I know to me say
And 'tis time you gave penning of doggerel away
But I am quite stubborn their advice I don't heed
Though as a writer I know I won't succeed.

I know I am many years past my life's prime
But I am addicted to doggerel rhyme
I'm not one you would call of literary note
And I do not even warrant the title of a minor poet.

An addictive person I pen doggerel
One might say I am in my own Earthly Hell
To say I could quit would only be a lie
I will be penning stuff till the day that I die.

Those who tell me to quit writing I don't heed their advice
And though the high price of failure I have paid that price
I will pen till to the scythe of the Reaper I'll fall
The one who does claim the life's breath from us all.

Human Blood Is Shed For Power

Human blood is shed for power in the African Sun
In Zimbabwe the only law is by the gun
Robert Mugabe now Africa's greatest despot an old man in years
Has turned his Country into a Land of oppression, hunger, Bloodshed and tears
A so called freedom fighter behind his so called military he cower
The awful crimes some do commit for to hang on to power
Arguably Africa's worst living despot where many despots are
For to hang on to power Mugabe has gone far too far
Most poor people in Zimbabwe do not have God on their side
By a power hungry octogenarian their lives have been destroyed
No fool like an old fool some are known to say
With Robert Mugabe it sure is that way
Despite his education he is not a wise man
He has not learned from life in his lengthy life span.

Prolific But Not Terrific

Prolific but surely not terrific his comment I read
From people like him one don't get a swollen head
Sometimes the farmyard's top rooster doesn't have the loudest crow
And he was only telling me something that I already know
Had he read some of my stuff he would have taken note
That I never refer to myself as a poet
And having read his unsolicited comments I could only conclude
That here is a person less informed than rude
A person I do not know or may never meet
Yet he told me the truth and the truth one must cop sweet
Perhaps he is one who likes to have his say
As for me I am different his is not my way
I am not a poet but my best I do try
And to this person's comment you have read my reply.

Good People

Good people to say the least in the World are not rare
They know how to give and they know how to share
They know that to receive you must learn how to give
And they firmly believe in live and let live.

A good person of others ill never does say
And to help you out would go out of their way
Compassion and understanding of others they do show
A good person is a person who is nice to know.

A good person is non judgemental never puts one down
And never causes trouble on a night out in the town
They make their community for to live in a much better place
Let us drink to good people of every Race.

Good people for all believe on a fair go
And the good seeds of good karma for themselves they do sow
Few stories of them we do hear of or read
Though of more of their type in the World we do need.

Please Sing Me A Song

Please sing me a song of the clear mountain rill
That babbles on down from the foot of the hill
By many a ditch and many a hedgerow
To join the big river it ever does flow.

Please sing me a song of the birds and the bees
Of the blossoms in Spring on the fruit bearing trees
Of Nature's there's so much to learn and know
And my wonder of her as I age seem to grow.

Please sing me a song of a sunny Summer's day
With a cool freshening breeze and the sweet scent of hay
Which brings to the nostrils a sense of delight
When the soul of Nature is happy and bright.

Please sing me a song of Nature in the Spring
When her nesting wild birds do whistle and sing
Of Winter and Summer of Spring and the Fall
The songs about Nature I love best of all.

Since You Never Harm Anyone

Since you never harm anyone in any way
What matters what others of you have to say
As long as they do not besmirch your good name
Or with their comments your character do not defame.

You too have to live your life from day to day
And you have to work hard for your every pay
Some people their idea of success to money is tied
Of their opinions they cannot be denied.

We all look at life through different eyes
But people who judge success through money are not known to be wise
These people in their ways are shallow and small
They hardly would know of a 'fair go for all'.

You live your own way and you do your own thing
And though others your praises are not known to sing
You never harm anyone and of yourself never boast
And you are a good person that's what should matter most.

In Sydney She Will Stay

Though in Sydney she has lived for three years going on four
At times she does feel homesick for Semaphore
The Town in South Australia a short walk to the sea
Though Sydney she feels is where she's meant to be.

The twenty five years old beautiful brunette is in her life's prime
With a career she feels for marriage and children she has plenty of time
She does have a lover one day they may wed
Buy a home and have children on planning ahead.

Her mum and her dad live by Semaphore Road
Twice a year she visits them in her old home abode
She miss Semaphore, Port Adelaide and Largs Bay
But in Sydney 'twould seem she is destined to stay.

So lovely and friendly in her nothing vain
Semaphore and South Australia's loss is surely Sydney's gain
And though fond memories of her Hometown she retain
In Sydney 'twould seem she's destined to remain.

Where The Bog Cotton Grow

Of the rural lifestyle he is one who know
The one from the place where the bog cotton grow
In the warm clime he says he won't grow old
He'd prefer to live where it is damper and cold.

'Twas his lust for adventure brought him this far south
To this often brown Country often ravaged by drought
Far from the house by the bog by the clear mountain rill
That babbles on down from the field by the hill.

As years go a young man only twenty three
And much more of the World he's determined to see
To reach this far south from his northern home-shore
He must have travelled ten thousand miles or more.

In the prime of his life and unburdened by care
He comes from the place of the shy mountain hare
Though he does like the Country in this Land he won't stay
The climate for him that bit too warm he does say.

Of landscapes of brown and of landscapes of green
In three years of travelling so much he has seen
But next year he'll return to where the babbling stream flow
From the hill through the place where the bog cotton grow.

The Poetess Of Fourteen Lines

In her soul the light of Goddess Poesy shines
The one known as 'The Poetess of fourteen Lines'
The Town's Poet Laureate is held in high esteem
One can say of her she is a poet supreme
As a writer of sonnets she has earned her fame
With hundreds of beautiful poems to her name
For the Town's Poet Laureate our toasting glasses we'll raise
She surely is one well worthy of our praise
Beautiful and single in her early thirties with wavy brown hair
Of her striking beauty she does not seem aware
Intelligent to talk to and nice for to meet
And so down to earth she is free of conceit
As 'The Poetess of fourteen lines' she is known of in the Town
And she is on the highway to literary renown.

I Was Born And Raised In Ireland

I was born and raised in Ireland in North Cork near Millstreet Town
And it has been awhile believe me since my hair it was dark brown
I have done a bit of travelling far south of Hibernia's Shore
Far from where old Clara Mountain overlooks green Claramore
Many of those I grew up with I may never see again
But fond memories of old friendships till my end I will retain
We went on different life journeys in Duhallow some did stay
Whilst others just as I do from home live far away
I first fell in love with Nature when I was a Schoolgoing boy
Recognizing birds by their songs was a thing I did enjoy
The finches and the robin, wren, blackbird and song thrush
When flowers of Spring were in the old fields sung on hedge and tree and bush
But memories are all I have left of the past forever gone
And time as ever in a hurry and the clock is ticking on.

On Money

The praises of moneyed people many like to sing
And though money is quite important it cannot buy everything
Those with very poor health money cannot enjoy
That is something I learned as a very young boy
The great lure of money so many pursue
And that money speaks every language happens to be true
But the Reaper with his scythe any life does not spare
The Reaper of lives does claim the life of the billionaire
And though money can buy one friends as well as esteem
Money cannot buy one happiness or so it does seem
Though lack of money too can make one unhappy and as everyone know
That money on bushes and trees does not grow
And though money of course can buy one a good time
Lack of it can lead one to jail the price of serious crime.

Nicos

He said to me I am not right in the head
And at times I feel I'd be better off dead
Dark clouds in his heart on a beautiful day
I wished him happiness what more could I say.

He is on medication and mentally unwell
And life for him has to be an Earthly Hell
Yet a very nice person he did seem to me
Life's not always fair that's how 'twould seem to be.

In his early thirties just out of his prime
With an illness that will not fade out in time
Without any children or partner or wife
How can anyone envy him his lot in life.

The sun shining bright in a clear Winter sky
And I wished him well as he bid me goodbye
The pee wee he sang in the parkland nearby
And the pied oystercatchers o'er the beach piped as they did fly.

From The Wooded Hill Of The Weerloo

The man from the wooded hill of the weerloo
The bird known to many as yellow tail black cockatoo
Is finding it hard to adjust to the City lifestyle
From Melbourne his old home many a road mile.

The creek from the high ground is babbling on down
Through the scrubland and paddocks of his small Countrytown
And in his flights of fancy he hear and he see
The grey shrike thrush piping on a black wattle tree.

Like it has been said nothing venture nothing win
To life in the City he will settle in
No future for him in the little Bushtown
Where the creek from the high ground it winds it's way down

Through scrublands and paddocks by night and by day
From where he lives now by car four hours away
Where the boobook owl calls mopoke in the moonlight
And the fox can be heard in the dead of the night.

Don't Ask Me About Poets And Poetry

Don't ask me for my opinions on poets and poetry
For of such little i can claim to know
Every writer to the wordsmith trade contributes
And from humble beginnings every legend grow.

The debate now on about blank verse and rhyme poetry
On such my thoughts one can say are well known
But everyone as such have their opinions
And like 'tis often said to each their own.

I'm not qualified to say what is good poetry
Or I'm not qualified to say who is a good poet
That i will leave to the literary experts
To say who they think are worthy of note.

Many famous poets died as paupers
And that does seem such a sad thing to say
To them now it is not of any value
If their poems are read and recited today.

Don't ask me for my opinions on poetry
Since on literature i do not have a degree
Of good poets there have never been many
At least that's how it does seem to me.

The Heroes Of Tureengarriffe

'Tis part of Duhallow and Sliabh Luacra history now how Sean Moylan and his men
Ambushed and inflicted heavy losses on the Black and Tans at Tureengarriffe Glen
Almost three decades before i was even born and all but nine decades ago
Since the heroes of North Cork and East kerry into the status of legends did grow
One thing that can be said of war is that heroes it never does fail to create
And even the victors of the smallest battles we always do see fit to celebrate
The winners write the history of the battles that's how it is and will always be
In the annals of Sliabh Luachra and Duhallow the heroes of Tureengarriffe created their own history
Around the fire-grate when i was young boy the old men stories of battles told
They took up arms for Irish Independence when they were younger men in days of old
Long past their prime and they had done their fighting bu at the end it did not matter much at all
The British left and the civil war then started which gave rise to the birth of Fine Gael and Fianna Fail,
The heroes of Tureengarrife now are resting in their towns and villages in cemeteries far away
Eventually they fell to the scythe of the reaper it can be said of them they had their day.

You Can Only Learn From The Past

Regrets seem such a waste of time or lamenting what might have been
The one who is twenty today can never again be nineteen
Your biological clock ticking on and fleeting has been your life's prime
And yesterday to forever has gone we cannot turn back the hands of time.

You can only learn from the past the past that to forever has gone
We can only live in today old father time is ticking on
You should make the most of each day you seem far too young for regret
More opportunities will come your way many good days ahead of you yet.

Why waste your time in lamenting the past tomorrow is another day
The clock on our lives it ticks on and keeps ticking and ticking away
The one you love is with another and about it nothing you can do
She has gone from you and won't be back the fact is she did not love you.

Sad songs of unrequited love one does hear the balladeer sing
But thinking about what might have been one more sadness to you does bring
The one you love to another makes love and you cannot hope to change the past
Love's feelings must be felt by two one sided love never does last.

You Are Proud

You are proud of your Nationality and of your National Flag
And of your Nation's heroes and heroines you do like to brag
But it can be true that pride does come before a fall
And do you believe On 'a fair go for all'?

Remember that the worth of a person cannot be judged by Race
Or by creed or by gender or the color of one's face
Or by how much money you have or the size of your car
Your worth as a person is the type of person you are.

Many may see you as successful and your praises may sing
But to be a good person that's another thing
Between good and successful the difference is great
Though the successful one many do celebrate.

You are proud of your Nationality and proud of your beautiful wife
And proud of your children and of your successes in life
But are you a good person and do you believe
That in life you must learn to give as well as receive?

On The Forums

On the internet literary websites the opinionated are not rare
Their idea of what is or is not good writing with the World they do like to share
The praises of those they think write well they do sing
A small bit of knowledge is a marvelous thing.

They forget that seemingly gifted writers are born that way not made
And that everyone that writes is of benefit to the wordsmith trade
That all writers for the benefit of literature their own part does play
Though success and money seen as important in the World of today.

On writers and writing they like to have their say
But that is how they are some are born this way
But having said that one must give them their due
For without them there would not be literary internet forums that is obviously true

On the internet literary website forums they offer free advice
And they do not seem shy their opinions to voice
On very few subjects they find harmony
It does take all kind with that would you not agree?

The Old Stream That Rises In The Foothills

The old stream that rises in the foothills and into a river does grow
Through fields and by groves and by hedgerows on to the great ocean does flow
The artists have sketched it's liquid beauty the poets about it have sung
And none can mistake it for it's babble the one who has the silver tongue
Millions of year before the birth of the first human it's liquid voice has never been still
It has journeyed down from the high ground from it's source at the foot of the hill
As old as the hill that it flows from it's birthdate none does know of to write
Though stories of it have been published and poets their poems of it recite
It has outlived millions of Seasons and is destined to live forever more
Joined by drains, rills and smaller rivers on it's journey to the ocean shore
It babbles on through town and village on down to the flat countryside
And slows and grows on it's approach to the ocean to a mass of water deep and wide
The stream that grows to a huge river it babbles on by night and day
From it's birthplace at the foot of the mountain the mountain from here far away.

On Writers

Some are hobby writers and some do write for pay
But that they all help to make the wordsmith trade it does seem fair to say
And what constitutes good or bad writing why ask someone like me
Since I'm not a literary critic or do not have a literary degree.

Many writers do daydream of fame but for few their dreams come true
But to every writer who try their best credit is surely due
For 'tis better for to try and fail than not to try at all
Though you will never become a writer that others will recall.

It is often said of writers that they are born not made
And only the best can hope to earn a livelihood out of the wordsmith trade
In a World of many writers success stories are rare
Not many millionaire writers of which i am aware.

You may be the best writer in your small Countrytown
But that does seem a long way from literary renown
And in a World of millions of writers few of success would know
But like 'tis said from small dreams a bigger dream can grow.

In A World Of Love

In a World of love of such one can only dream
Joy peace and compassion would reign supreme
The war men would find themselves marginalized
And those who love peace their greatest wishes realized
In a World of love we would not have refugees
Risking their lives in leaky boats for Lands beyond the seas
People in drought ravaged Lands would be supplied with enough to drink and eat
And no person would be Homeless on poverty Street
To all Warlords and Warlike men all power would be denied
And no such a thing as religious zealotry or nationalism or patriotic pride
Love would reach beyond all borders and without borders to defend
Your sworn enemy of the past would become your trusted friend
Love would overcome the desire for war and eliminate poverty
And bring to every person's life peace and joy and harmony.

In Matty Owens Bog

The pipe of the curlew I fancy I hear
In Matty Owens bog many miles north of here
In the calm of a June evening melodious and clear
In Summer a beautiful time of year

By the watery bog hole with her blotched eggs neath her breast
Cloaked by the rank rushes his quiet wife sits on her nest
The curlews of the future to life she will bring
The beauty of Nature is an amazing thing.

The pink breasted bullfinch so lovely to see
Perched on a high branch of a silver birch tree
One that one could stand and admire all day long
The beautiful bird with an ordinary song.

In the river pool the moorhen utters her shrill warning cry
To her young to alert them of danger nearby
Three tiny dark chicks with red faces mum's warning does heed
And swim into cover to hide in the reed.

Above Matty Owens bog in the still of the night
The male snipe with his tail in the Summer moonlight
He proclaims his territory in the night sky
And drums out a warning to other male snipe as he fly.

The Here And Now We Live In

The past has gone forever we can't bring back the past
Though memories of our good times with us our lifetime last
The future is ahead of us and to father time we bow
But we must live in the present in the here and now
The past has gone forever the future is ahead
But we can only live in the here and now that's what the wise one said
I would rather be a pauper with hopes of a better day
Than be a deceased billionaire no joy or hope where the dead lay
Money can buy you most things but it can't buy you happiness
Life is too short for worry the creator of stress
We can only live in the present and what will be will be
The past has gone forever and into the future we cannot see
Tomorrow will come in it's own good time and yesterday has gone
The here and now we live in and the clock is ticking on.

For To Live Long As I Can

To billions of people life after death is not based on a lie
Whilst a minority will tell you we are born to die
And like all other life forms we will not live again
But hope for a life that will not end in physical pain.

As for me I only hope to live for as long as I can
And to die in my sleep as a very old man
I for one am not counting on a life after death
That may be it for us with our life's final breath

I do find it strange it does seem very odd
That people suicide for to kill for their God
When God does not wish us to do others ill
Moses fifth commandment states thou shalt not kill.

The dead cannot receive or the dead cannot give
And I do love life and I do want to live
For to be very old hopefully till my fifth score
For I do love life as I've told you before.

You Great Goddess Of Nature

You great Goddess of Nature i see the beauty you create every day
In saying you are the only God i know of i do mean what i say
It is said that you and Mother Nature are one and of the same
Goddess of Nature or Mother Nature you go by either name
The beauty that you create is for all to enjoy
I have loved the beauty you create ever since i was a boy
If others have their own Gods well that's okay with me
Each to their own belief as some do say for that's how it ought to be
You great Goddess of Nature of you little i know
Your great and ancient waterways to your huge oceans flow
The Goddess of the Seasons the creator supreme
You do not have an equal that's how to me it would seem
You great Goddess of Nature though to you i never pray
My love for you grows stronger with every passing day.

You May Be Celebrated

You may be a tall poppy the tallest in the town
But there is always one or maybe more who will try to drag you down
Or in much simpler language to cut you down to size
That the tall poppy syndrome is alive and well should come as no surprise.

You may be wealthy and famous with a big ego one many do celebrate
But at least a few will try their best your ego to deflate
No matter how many fans you have there is always a few who would enjoy
Spreading false rumors of you around your reputation to destroy.

For fame and celebrity status there is always some price to pay
And though many sing your praises you will find some to say
This person is far from special not one historians should recall
Just like it is said you can win some but you cannot win them all.

You may be celebrated one who is known Worldwide
And your praises sung in pubs and clubs far from your home countryside
Yet there are some all too willing on your worth to cast a doubt
Whilst others are applauding you they say what's all the fuss about

A Mild Winter Day

Mid Winter the sun shines between the brief showers
And the flowering gums look pretty in their pink flowers
And crows, straw necked ibis, starlings, magpies and magpie lark
Are searching for food in the deserted park
For to join them a small flock of galahs arrive
Nature's creatures too must find food to survive
Birds soon will be forming pair bonds for the Spring
The workings of Nature is an amazing thing
The poets and artists Mother Nature inspire
And of singing her praises could one ever tire
For the depths of Winter it is quite a nice day
And Spring from the south she is not far away
Sunshine after rain in the cool coastal breeze
And pink blossoms are blooming on the flowering gum trees.

Hardly A Role Model

Hardly a role model for every young boy
Though his retirement i do hope he enjoy
He waged war on Iraq and Afghanistan
He abused his power he is not a wise man
In a direct or an indirect way thousands because of him have died
To his Presidency historians will not look back in pride
One can say he used his power in a bad way
We reap what we sow as some are known to say
A war loving man who in war does believe
In January 09 The White House he must leave
To millions of people heartbreak he did bring
And not many people his praises will sing
In his ranch in Texas he'll retire with his wife
Where he can relax and enjoy the good life.

Only Skin Deep

Since beauty is too deep for the eye to find
It is hidden away in the caves of the mind
The beauty we see is skin deep that and nothing more
And that beauty is only skin deep we've heard that one before
An attractive looking young woman physically beautiful to behold
But so self conceited towards others she is cold
It is of her type that singers often sing
But beautiful opposite to lovely to look at is a different thing
A beautiful person to generosity of spirit is one who is inclined
One who to others is never unkind
Such people to help out others go out of their way
And perform a good deed or two every day
True beauty as such is a thing one can't see
With the truth in these words i do have to agree.

My Goddess Of Nature How Are You Today

I hear your birds sing in the park by the bay
My Goddess of Nature how are you today
The songs of your magpies so pleasant to hear
They sing every day every month of the year
The black duck are quacking in the brackish lake
The loud quack of the female the soft quack of the drake
And you Goddess of Nature poets and artists inspire
Of singing your praises could one ever tire
My Goddess of Nature the centuries you span
I firmly believe that from you life began
And though to you i never do kneel to pray
The love i have for you in words i can't say
The sun it is shining in the sky blue and gray
My beautiful Goddess how are you today.

On Whittier

His works of great beauty remain as worthy of note
The great John Greenleaf Whittier a legendary poet
In his lines his beautiful Maud Muller is living today
As she works in the meadow midst the sweet scent of hay.

And Barbara Frietchie the noble old dear
Flies her Nation's flag in defiance of fear
Since her time many Seasons have come and have gone
But in Whittier's poetry the brave one lives on.

Even some of today's poets Whittier's works inspire
Of reading his poems could one ever tire
One who in his lifetime knew fame beyond his countryside
Greatness of the man can never be denied.


He was destined to live on in literary renown
And his fame lives on distant from his Hometown
His poems are read and recited far from U S A shore
You read some of his poems and you will read some more.

It Does Take All Kinds

One might say I've written a whole heap of stuff
Some of it uneven and some of it rough
The stuff that i pen not the type one can sell
Though what is or is not poetry I'm not one who could tell
Since I'm one who does not have a literary degree
About poets and poetry one should not ask me
And though they never will bring me wealth or renown
The thoughts that come to me on paper i pen down
One thing i know of poets i do know poets are rare
And one poet with another one ought not to compare
It is said by some poets are born not made
But all writers good or not so good contribute to the wordsmith trade
And i too contribute in some sort of a way
It does take all kinds as some are known to say.

Times Are Good In Green Old Ireland

The Ireland i grew up in is a different Land today
And change is for the better there or so it would seem that way
Back then many young Irish people left Ireland now to Ireland many do migrate
And Ireland's new found prosperity is something to celebrate
A multicultural Ireland to that I'll drink a toast
Of record high employment that is worthy of a boast
When i left there in the mid eighties unemployment high and jobs were few
It is a different Country Ireland from the Ireland i once knew
On a cold day in December more than two decades ago
When old Clara west of Millstreet Town wore his Winter hat of snow
I boarded the bus to Rosslare Ferry that took me from Hibernia's shore
Far from Claraghatlea near Millstreet and the fields of Claramore
Times are good in green old Ireland such good news is good to hear
Things were much worse when i lived there but that's going back many a year.

May They Rest In Peace

May they rest in peace of the dead we do say
But peace it is with them where-ever they lay
They are past all sorrows and past every care
And i feel that prayers for the dead is a waste of prayer.

Not all of the dead their praises we wish to sing
But behind them the challenges life to them did bring
Beyond fame and glory and beyond pomp or shame
A corpse it is lifeless and all corpses the same.

Whether they died as paupers or in life greatness did attain
Of the dead only memories with the living remain
And of this so called hereafter of heaven or hell
Is there one living person of their existence can tell?

And though many with what i say may well disagree
Suppose we all look at life and at death differently
Beyond my Earthly existence only darkness i see
And faith and hope loses out to the cynic in me.

Our Immortal Earth Mother

We learn from her for as long as we live
And so much enjoyment to us she does give
Our wonder of her only does seem to grow
And the more we learn of her the less of her we know we know.

I have loved her since i was a very young boy
And her beauty is free for us all to enjoy
The colors of her Seasons is an amazing thing
And in her groves and woodlands her birds whistle and sing.

Unlike all of her life forms and unlike you and i
Our immortal Earth Mother is not destined to die
The climate may be changing from northern to southern shore
But she has outlived climate changes before.

The biological clock on my life it is ticking away
And the years have left me looking older and gray
But for as long as to the gift of life as i can cling
Our Earth Mother's praises i gladly will sing.

Poem Hunter's Bob

If you underestimate him you've got it wrong
A natural poet he has the gift of song
He is bound for greater things or so it would seem
Poem Hunter's own Bob is a wordsmith supreme
Though anyone can practice the wordsmith trade
It is true enough poets are born not made
Though perhaps he is beyond his writing prime
He still has it in him to pen marvelous rhyme
He rhymes without effort and that's a great skill
And do not say of him he is over the hill
To the old school of poetry he surely belong
The poesy inspiration in him remains strong
The praises of Poem Humter's Bob we should sing
With his words to many great joy he does bring.

At The Expense Of Others

At the expense of others he likes to have a joke
One might say he is quite an ordinary bloke
In his early twenties with time on his side
He may yet learn you do not earn respect if others you deride.

The difference between having fun with and mockery he has yet to discern
But he is young yet in time he may learn
Though i know a few in their eighties who are as immature as he
From life some do not learn or so it does seem to me.

It would seem that his brain can't keep up with his tongue
But he may learn yet there is hope for the young
The praises of his type few bother to sing
For to laugh at but not with is not a nice thing.

He may yet learn from life one can hope he may
Though i do know people who are old and gray
Who laugh at but not with for people in their life's Fall
From living it would seem they've learned little at all.

The Sheer Power And Beauty Of Nature

The sheer power and beauty of Nature is something to fear and admire
The writers and artists to write of and sketch her she never does fail to inspire
And yet many of us does take her for granted though off of our Earth Mother we live
We only seem for to take from her and back to her little does give
My God is the Goddess of Nature the only God of which i do know
I've loved her since i was a young boy and my love for her only does grow
The only God i am aware of her creatures for all to see
I do not begrudge you your unseen God but Nature's the Goddess for me
I love and adore Goddess Nature for to say different would be a lie
I have loved her since i was a youngster and i will love her till the day that i die
Her huge oceans support her great whales her birds sing to greet every day
And i one of her air breathing life forms in her bosom destined to lay
The one who will live on forever her great rivers to her oceans flow
I've loved her since i was a young boy yet of her ways little i know.

Forgive And Forget

Since I'm one who believes in live and let live
I  want to forget and i want to forgive
All of those who have offended me in any way
Though kind things of me they've not been known to say.

I look to tomorrow 'tis another day
And I'm too old for mind games mind games i do not play
Of life i have so much to learn but i know
That 'tis harder to make a good friend than a foe.

We will leave it to karma for to be our judge
And even against those i do not like i will not bear a grudge
My differences with others i have lived to regret
But i want to forgive and i want to forget.

The people i don't like too do not like me
One might say we look at life quite differently
But banish from your mind every bad memory
And forgive and forget that is how it should be.

No Doubt About It

No doubt about it he's a very fine poet
And he is a person well worthy of note
It should go without saying he's the tops of the town
Yet he does not knock back the chance for to put others down.

Though getting on in years and no longer young
One can say of him he has a caustic tongue
A very fine poet but for his years not wise
His callous true self he doesn't try to disguise.

A very fine poet that's to give him his due
But to the higher self he is one who is not true
He feels the young local poets are a threat to his fame in some way
And about him that does seem a sad thing to say.

The Local Poet Laureate is his great claim to fame
And locally his is a legendary name
Into his eight decade and near the end of his life span
Yet for a good poet not a very wise man.

We know True Love by

We know true love is an affair of the heart
But few loves between men and women last till death does them part
And love often ends in bitter acrimony between man and wife
When they thought early on they would know love for life.

Poets down through the ages of true love did sing
And love as we know it is a beautiful thing
Yet so many types of love so many one could name
And no two loves as we know are exactly the same.

The love of a mother for her children with her till death remain
On behalf of them she is happy to forsake self gain
The great love stories of history love historians recall
But the love of a mother for her children is the greatest love of them all.

So many types of love of that we do know
And where dislike and mistrust exist the seed of love cannot grow
And those who are loving are generous and kind
But love in every heart one surely won't find.

That Very Brave Old Dear

Scarce a day goes by that some character i do not meet
Like the toothless old dear who lives on Park Street
With shoulder length gray hair free of conceit and guile
She always does greet me with a broad gummy smile
Her husband he passed on a few years ago
Of terminal cancer his end painful and slow
Fifty years ago their only child a teenager swimming in the sea died
Her body discovered on a beach washed in by the tide
Life burdens some people with a heavy cross
And for herself and her husband a heartbreaking loss
Their beautiful daughter from them forever gone
But through heartbreak and sorrow they somehow lived on
And i meet her quite often though not every day
That very brave old dear the years have left gray.

Here's To A Fair Go

No matter what your creed or gender or race
The great gift of life we all ought to embrace
Before we did walk on the floor we did crawl
So here's to peace and love and a fair go for all.

Down with every dictator most of them male
For speaking their minds they put good people in jail
Of the praises of free speech we all ought to sing
The freedom of expression is a marvelous thing.

The pauper and the monarch will be equal one day
There is no inequality where dead people lay
To rank and class the reaper respect never pay
On everyone's life he has the final say.

Here's to every race and to every creed
Whoever you are in life may you succeed
May want and unhappiness you never know
And may everyone everywhere enjoy a fair go.

The Noisy But Happy Old Dear

She talked loudly to her friend the gray haired old dear
The story of her weekend i could not help but hear
As i sat in the cafe drinking a coffee
They gossiped away quite oblivious to me
Her friend younger and quieter though her hair too was gray
Sat listening intently to what her friend had to say
She said last night at the bingo two hundred dollars i won
My wins big or small i do share with my son
I've heard it said some people talk loudly if of hearing they are impaired
She did not seem to be aware of the presence of others not that she would even have cared
Excited about her weekend her bingo win brought her great happiness
That she was the noisiest in the cafe it did seem she couldn't care less
That she did have a marvelous weekend she wanted everyone for to hear
As she chatted to her quiet friend of her wonderful weekend the noisy but happy old dear.

A Shih Tzu

It does seem to me a funny story though i cannot say if it is true
The one who told me not lacking in humor and that is to give him his due
It is one of those zoo sort of stories of how a man and his wife and their young son and daughter one Sunday
Went to a small zoo in the suburbs from their home some five Kilometres away
A warm afternoon in prime of Summer with only the slightest of breeze
The nesting songbirds chirped and whistled on the Parkland bushes and trees
The children they laughed in excitement a happy young girl and boy
Their zoo visit would be a highlight zoo visits most children enjoy
But the small zoo was a disappointment without birds and only one small dog there
A mangy dog who could do with brushing to remove the burs from his long hair
The father and mother of the children complained to the owner what sort of zoo is this supposed to be
We really think this is not funny since one mangy dog is all we can see
you certainly are not a zoo owner and this place it is not a zoo
But the owner he did seem offended saying read the sign on the gate a Shih Tzu

She Is The Only Immortal

She is the only immortal of which i can claim to know
And my wonder of her only does seem to grow
I loved her as a schoolboy fifty years ago
Long before the passing of the Seasons on me began to show.

A long time ago and from here far away
When the hawthorns were in their white blooms of the May
And the nesting songbirds chirped and sung all the day
The memories remain though we grow old and gray.

The Goddess of Nature she will never grow old
Her immortal beauty is lovely to behold
The songs of her wild birds a thing to enjoy
In the soul of the aging man lives the young boy.

The pink flowers are blooming on her flowering gum tree
And the beauty she creates it is all around me
On my life her Reaper will have the last say
And in her earthy bosom my remains will lay.

Port Fairy By The Sea

For culture and hospitality it has won renown
Port Fairy by the ocean a famous old Town
To it's famous music festival that is held once a year
People from all Nations they come from far and near
Those who visit there for a seaside holiday
Of beautiful Port fairy have only nice things to say
The locals so friendly, warm and free of care
And with coastal views where beauty has never been rare
Nature's coastal beauty is everywhere to see
In beautiful port Fairy where the land meets the sea
Most of the people who live there are hospitable and kind
As near a place to an Earthly utopia as one would wish to find
With no signs of pollution in the clear ocean sky
And the oystercatchers above the beach sing as they fly.

A Homeless Old Man

It is said he has fleas in his long gray beard the homeless and sad faced old man
And his is such a tough existence at the twilight of his life-time span
He drinks cheap brand wines by the bottle perhaps alcohol his downfall
If you judge him don't judge him too harshly or why should one judge him at all
I can say i only know him to see him and i don't know anything of his life
Do not know if he has fathered children or do not know if he has had a wife
He does seem a harmless old fellow without a friend always on his own
He sleeps in a factory doorway and nothing else of him is known
With long straggly gray hair and and shabby clothes to go with his long beard he looks the part of one living rough
Perhaps one in his early seventies the poor old bloke is doing it tough
He is far too old to be homeless his addiction to alcohol his life does control
The hardest of Winter upon us and harsh weather of his life could take toll
Yesterday i see him sitting on a park bench relaxed in the Winter sunshine
Enjoying his life's only comfort a bottle of very cheap wine.

All Of You known To Be Poetasters

All of you known to be poetasters of which i must add i am one
Despite lack of success you keep writing for that to you it is well done
Literary critics may choose to ignore you but they are rude in their own way
Since everyone who put their thoughts to paper in the wordsmith trade their part does play
For reviewing new books and literary works literary critics receive a good pay
Though perhaps amongst them not one renowned writer does that seem a fair thing to say?
In literature as in life there are far less winners than losers that's how it is and will always be
Not everyone can be amongst the elite that's how it does seem to me
In our human World that is success driven only of the successful we read of or hear
Yet not everyone can be a winner that should seem obviously clear
To anyone with common sense, for one to succeed many are doomed to fail
Disappointed that their best effort to be successful at the end was of no avail
All you would be poets dismissed as poetasters though others don't sing your praises loud
At least you are having a good go and of that you ought to feel proud.

The Rhymes In My Soul

Though nothing of importance i have for to say
The rhymes in my soul they keep bubbling away
And though they never will bring to me wealth and renown
They keep coming to me and i pen them down
Four years with three decades that is going back in time
I was twenty seven when i penned my first rhyme
One can say my best years in life are long gone
And i must be addictive for to keep penning on
Without monetary reward or success or fame
For me penning verse is a 'hungry belly game'
And Nature is the one that i truly admire
Of singing her praises could one ever tire
In ten years from now i will be an old man
But i will keep writing for as long as i can.

We All May Be Equal

We all may be equal in that we breathe the same air
But don't tell me that all in life is quite fair
Whoever speaks such tripe through their teeth are lying
When millions of people of hunger are dying
And millions are living in their Earthly Hell
Without one good story of their lives to tell
You who talk of life choices them from your talk exclude
For if not you seem ignorant and very rude
Since life choices to these people never does apply
Of right to choice circumstance them does deny
And as for equality well that's another thing
Though people like me it's praises like to sing
No such a thing as equality in the World out there
Not in this big City or not anywhere.

I Had My Daydreams

I had my daydreams of great literary renown
Back there in the old fields west of Millstreet Town
Just dreams of success i was never to know
And that is going back many Seasons ago.

The wanderlust in me it took me away
And i live far south of old Clara today
Old Clara that ever looks down on old green Claramore
In Duhallow far inland from the Atlantic shore.

The dark brown white breasted dipper he sung in the rill
That first saw light of day in the field by the hill
Through Claraghatlea to the river it does flow
By many a ditch and many a hedgerow.

The friends of my younger years i have not seen for some time
Like me they are many years beyond their life's prime
And though old father time does take care of us all
Good memories of them i feel glad to recall.

As A Poet He's Celebrated

As a poet he's celebrated and his praises the critics sing
Yet his esoteric writing to it does not have a poetic ring
But that is only my opinion with which many would disagree
What does seem a poet to many does not seem a poet to me
I am only saying what i think my opinions are my own
I'm dismissed as a poetaster in my own town hardly known
The verse to me that is real poetry is seen as of another time
And i am seen as quite old fashioned as i am a true fan of rhyme
To me words that cannot be set to music is not poetry at all
Many old poems in my schoolbook were fine songs i do recall
One could sense the music in them fine poems as songs too many to name
But time ticks on and brings with it changes and few things
ever stay the same
He's a celebrated poet the critics say none great as he
But the one who is a poet to many does not seem a poet to me.

A So Called Hero

He and his mate were rescued from their cage in a collapsed mine shaft a few years ago
And of the story of their rescue the World came to know
But so disappointed am i for to hear
That he spends his weekends hunting and shooting at deer.

A second chance of life lady luck to him was generous to give
And from his near death experience one would have thought he would have learned to live and let live
A few years ago a World-wide hero and now he shoots deer his idea of sport on Sunday
A so called sportsman who lacks in compassion but that's life as some well might say.

I am not his judge i shouldn't judge him each to their own as some do say
And i happen also to be a meat eater I'm not perfect in any way
But i was never looked on as a hero not that i ever deserve to be
Yet someone who shoots at deer on a sunday is not a hero at least not to me

A few years ago rescued with his mate from a mine shaft where another work-mate had died
They became known and celebrated Nationally and World-wide
Now he shoots at to kill deer on Sunday such are the heroes we create
Just another so called sportsman that others choose to celebrate

'Tis A Fact Of Nature

'Tis a fact of Nature and facts never lie
That for one to live another has to die
The predator cannot survive without meat
It's natural instincts to hunt and kill to eat
The kestrel chase a flock of starlings in the sky
But they are too quick and it they do outfly
It must scan around in search of easier to catch prey
Or else for it 'tis going to be a hungry day
One has to die for another to live that is Nature's way
And in Nature all creatures have some role to play
It's Nature's way that the raptor is born with talons and a hooked beak
And for to keep the herds healthy the wolves kill the sick and the weak
In Nature there's so much to learn of and see
And her ways do remain as a mystery to me.

The One Who Was Never My Mate

He is one that i do see often and lets say too often of late
The one i can't see eye to eye with the one who was never my mate
Our ideas of life are so different and nothing in common we do share
Save we both were born to a woman and we live in and breathe the same air
I am not saying he is a bad person he is as good if not better than me
It's that his ideas of life are quite different we look at life quite differently
Conservative in his way of thinking one who likes to be in a position of control
The one who yearns to be a leader though in life that not his designated role
But as a leader he would be autocratic he surely would abuse his rule
I've seen him kick and abuse his dog he has it in him to be cruel
I can't say i like his behavior he is one i cannot admire
His type i do not socialize with of his type i quickly do tire
Of late i do meet him quite often though to each other we've little to say
Just a very brief greeting in passing such as a hello or good day.

The Dapper Little Man

Around the town he's often seen well dressed and spic and span
And he is known to many as 'The Dapper Little Man'
His gray hair well trimmed a feather in his hat
Often seen in collar and tie and pin striped suit the likeable man Matt
A grandfather in his seventy fifth year she died last year his wife
And though he misses her a lot he gets on with his life
His only offspring a son with twin daughters of sixteen
They live close by and with them at functions he is often seen
One who likes a party he joins in the sing song
And with the musicians he does sing along
One who likes a laugh and he enjoys a joke
And one can say of him he's a happy old bloke
For one of his years he is full of elan
The one who is known as 'The Dapper Little Man'

The One You Thought Was A Friend

The one you thought was a friend not your friend it would seem
For your friend never would erode your self esteem
Or opposite others see fit to put you down
If you call this one your friend you don't have friends in town
A friend such as this in your life you don't need
Since in life it is hard enough for to succeed
Without your so called friend with words belittling you
To the honor of friendship this person is not true
Negative people for to put down others use words as their fuel
And some people with their words can be very cruel
Your friends don't reflect on you in a negative way
And your friend not a friend that does seem sad to say
And the betrayal of one you considered a friend can seem hard to forgive
But we learn from life for as long as we live.

The Goddess Of Poesy

The Goddess of Poesy the Goddess of Song
To the Universal immortals she surely belong
The poets of the World her praises do sing
The gift of poetry to their souls she does bring.

The poets to write poems Goddess Poesy inspire
And of singing her praises they don't seem to tire
The poetry of sorrow the poetry of joy
The poetry of youth of the young girl and boy.

The poetry of youthfulness and of growing old
Of young women in their prime lovely to behold
The beauty of Nature the birds and the bees
The mammals and fishes of land and of seas.

The Goddess of poets of every gender race and creed
For their inspiration to write in her lives her they need
Of love, life and Nature she inspires poets to write
For the lovers of poetry to read and recite

A Different Law

For the wealthy and poor there's a different law
Though on that your own conclusion you can draw
You may think my comments are not very fair
But this is my view and my view i will air
Save for some cases of proven murder money does never fail
And money is known to keep people from jail
Many poor people are in jail for a minor offence
They can't afford a lawyer for to fight their defence
'Tis powerful paper money for to give it fair due
And that money does speak every language does seem only true
The wealthy and poor the law treats differently
Though with what i say here many would disagree
The reason you don't find many millionaires in a jail
Is that the influence of money seldom does seem to fail.

The Silver Billed Magpie Is Piping

The silver billed magpie is piping in the gray of a cool Winter's day
It pipes in all months and all weather in feathers of black and white to gray
His kind amongst Australia's finest wild songsters they sing every day of the year
The beautiful song of the magpie is always a joy for to hear
Magpies are known to be predators small songbirds they kill for to eat
As well as snails, slugs, worms and insects they do have a fondness of meat
But that's part of the law of Nature for the strong to live the weak must die
In the wild kingdom there is no wrong or right wild creatures different to you or to i
The silver billed magpie is piping his notes are melodious and clear
He does not show much fear of humans to the gum he sings on I'm standing near
He sings in the night and the morning all times of day and at daybreak
Perhaps Australia's best known wild songbird his voice one could never mistake
On a gum tree by the roadside on the street at the top of the hill
He sings in the cool of the morning the magpie with the silver bill.

I've Heard Enough Talk

I've heard enough talk about football though many others have said as much before
Yesterday's game replayed today though one can say we do know the score
It would seem to me sport's a diversion from our life problems of day to day
But if that is what makes some people happy then to say the least that seems okay.

I've heard enough talk about cricket one might say far more than enough
In this twenty first century of glorified sports stars so many are doing it tough
Some thirty million refugees in refugee camps of their stories too few wish to hear
The victims of war, drought and famine they know about suffering and fear.

I've heard enough talk about golf and tennis far more than I've wished for to hear
The top players over celebrated they grow financially wealthier by millions each year
When thousands are homeless and hungry for every proclaimed millionaire
So many are doing it so hard in the bigger World out there.

 I've heard enough talk of millionaire soccer players enough people them do celebrate
They don't have me to thank for their millions and their egos i do not inflate
It would seem to me sport is a diversion from the sadness of the World we live in
Where so many are destined to lose out for the few born lucky to win.

For Many Life Is A Hard Battle

For many life is a hard battle but most rise again after a fall
And from life babies do begin learning long before they learn how to crawl
It would be nice to stay innocent for a lifetime but the innocence of childhood doesn't last
The years seem to go by so quickly and time as we know ticks on fast
It is sad to think some children have their innocence from them stolen and are exploited in the worst possible way
That they cannot look back on a happy childhood does seem so sad to have to say
The crimes committed against children are not easy crimes to forgive
Those guilty of such terrible atrocities with their shame must find it hard to live
I consider myself to be lucky my childhood years i did enjoy
Compared to many i feel privileged i did enjoy life as a boy
In the green countryside west of Millstreet where i grew into a young man
I learned about life from my mentors and my enduring love of Nature began
For so many life is a hard battle and they've never known of happy years
And they must live with their haunting memories of their unhappy times of sorrow and tears.

To Karma I Too

If not sooner then later there will come the day
That to karma i too for my sins have to pay
The seeds of bad karma into good fruits don't grow
In karma we only do reap what we sow
The Universal Karma it is there for us all
And of us karma keeps it's own record and has it's own role call
Karma to itself does remain ever true
And the karma you receive is the karma you are due
And karma it does seem can work in a strange way
It may not be you but one of your family who pay
And it may seem unfair for the bad seeds you've sown
That the one made to suffer is not you but one of your own
And karma is one you will never deceive
Of the seeds that you sow the fruits you will receive.

One From A Far Town

I do not covet their wives or wish them harm in any way
But they ignore me never do say good day
Just a quick glance in passing me they look up and down
To them I"m a stranger one from a far town
To know of their community i will never be part
I do understand and will not take to heart
To them I'm a stranger not part of their scene
As a local by them i will never be seen
I feel like a strange wolf amongst the wolf pack
I say hello to them but few say hello back
Their trust i try to get but their trust i can't gain
And amongst them as one from a far town I'll remain
Reminds me of an old poem by Harold Monro
That i read in my school book many decades ago.

The One Who Loves Mother Nature

Apart from the Goddess of Nature he does not have a God
The one who loves birds and animals some see as odd
Whilst many others in church they are kneeling to pray
He is by the lake watching birds on Sunday.

Quite different to others he does his own thing
He recognize the bird by the song it does sing
He knows every local species of bush, flower and tree
And he learns from the beauty around him he see.

The one who loves Nature some look on as strange
He worries about things such as climate change
He sees Nature's wild creatures becoming rare
Of environmental changes he does seem aware.

The one who loves Nature is only twenty three
Yet to most others he looks at life differently
Whilst others are in church or watching their football team play
He is down by the lake bird watching on Sunday.

Poet Gregory Collins

A natural wordsmith few of his sort about
And of his worth as a poet there should never be doubt
Gregory Collins he is one of 'Poem Hunters' best
His poems are destined for to survive time's test.

One can say of Gregory a poet of our time
At 36 he is in his writing prime
The poet's only drawback he puts himself down
Which well may become his barrier to renown.

I should know for i often too feel that way
And kind things of myself i do not have to say
There are plenty to knock us in the big World out there
And who cares about us if for ourselves we don't care.

Though lacking in self confidence or so it does seem
One can say that Gregory is a poet supreme
He is a huge asset to the Wordsmith trade
Like some do say poets are born not made.

Facts You Should Believe

A gray haired scraggly looking fellow is all you can see
But i am not what you think i am when looking at me
You cannot look into the thoughts of my mind
Like you i too have a soul and i too can be kind.

A young person in life you have some way to go
And little of others you hardly would know
You seem to dismiss me as a crabbed old man
But i too can be judgemental believe me i can.

I'm too old for playing mind games those days with me long gone
I feel happy enough just to be living on
Just one more mere mortal who was born to die
None do live forever the facts never lie.

The stuff that i write i cannot hope to sell
I"m just one more aging poetaster who pens doggerel
I am not what you think i am for looks can deceive
And that too is a fact and facts you should believe.

The Nurses Of The Red Cross

For their courage and kindness they are known everywhere
In war zones and natural disaster zones you will find them there
With the Nurses of the Red Cross few could hope to compare
One truly can say of them that their type are rare.

Their love and their kindness with those most in need they do share
Without self gain for the sick, dying and injured they lovingly care
For their corporal works of mercy they are known Worldwide
And greatness of them never can be denied.

They have the gift of compassion such a marvelous thing
And their praises we ought to feel proud for to sing
Without thought of selves their achievements are great
Amongst suffering and despair such hope they create.

Respect and honor to their humanity we ought to pay
The Nurses of the Red Cross we salute them today
They work where there's danger and suffering and fear
Yet so little of them we do read of or hear.

June Far Away

On this morning in June the trout jumping for flies
In Kippagh mountain lake where the Cails river rise
And the skylark he seems a small speck in the sky
As carolling upwards to the gray clouds he fly.

A poet of such beauty would feel inspired to write
A poem for future generations to read and recite
For by Nature the poets and artists are inspired
And of sketching her and of singing her praises they never grow tired.

I still can imagine the beauty i have seen
When the bluebells bloom on the ditch of the bohreen
And young birds in the hedges are chirping all day
And wildflowers are in bloom in old fields far away.

And few would mistake the dipper's scratchy song
He sings in the stream where the rapids babble along
On towards the big river that flows to the sea
Where-ever i go to my past is with me.

The songs of the robin and chaffinch so pleasant to hear
It is such a beautiful time of the year
And though the sky this morning is looking quite gray
Summer has arrived 'til September to stay.

The Hard Roads Of Life

The hard roads of life we travel up and down
And so many do live far from their own Hometown
And though the future is uncertain we cannot live in the past
And changes around us occurring so fast
We must live in the now though to the past we do cling
And who knows what tomorrow to our lives will bring
An old saying i once heard i often do recall
Everyone for herself or himself and God for us all
The saying may be old but the sentiments true
Though what you make out of it entirely up to you
Life is not meant to be easy said George Bernard Shaw
But circumstance of birth akin to Murphy's Law
The one born to the monarch knows of wealth and renown
And the one born of poor parents lives poor on the poor side of town.

That Many Their Own Praises

I do not wish to control people I've never hit my wife
And i too have my struggles my struggles in life
But like the pope or the monarch i breathe the same air
And 'tis true hope can be found at the pit of despair.

I did not ask you to tell me of how marvelous you are
Of your recent job promotion and of your brand new car
And your two weeks holiday in a resort by the sea
With your beautiful wife and your young family.

I feel glad to hear that for yourself you've done well
But for a commentary of your achievements i did not ask you to tell
Me of since i do not have success stories of my own to relate
But then suppose those who work hard at it their own success do create.

And i am not one to begrudge you your success
If in your life it brings you some happiness
Yet in an age of self promotion it does seem a sad thing
That many their own praises feel compelled to sing.

Beyond Me To Explain

The meaning of life beyond me to explain
It does seem some must lose for some others to gain
Money speaks every language some are known to say
That's life as we know it in the World of today
For an opinion on such a matter why ask one like me
Since with what I'd have to say many would disagree
Mine is just one opinion just that and nothing more
And your question as such i have answered before
Life is hard on the battlers of the big World out there
So many poor people for one Millionaire
People with heaps of money many do celebrate
It says much of us the heroes we create
It would seem that your heroes are different to mine
But that's your opinion and that suits me fine.

We Do Not Respect Her At All

Those who spend decades learning about Nature of Natuire's ways will tell you they have much to know
Her deepest secrets we will never learn of and our wonder of her only seem to grow
One could live for a thousand years and yet not know all about her as her most precious secrets with us she will never share
And yet in part due to us she does seem much the poorer as many of her life forms either extinct or rare
Many of her waterways by us have been polluted our factories puff up black smoke to the sky
Why do we try to harm the one who feeds us that is the question many have asked why
Without us Nature would do nicely though for to live on her we do depend
She supplies all of our needs for our existence though to her we are not a good friend
In technology humans have come far and many human achievements are great
But we've not been respectful to Nature and that's something we cannot celebrate
But Nature she will live forever and like her Seasons we come to life and die
Immortality for us Homo Sapiens has surely been based on a lie
We depend on her for our very existence and our achievements to her seem so small
And though we are one of her life forms we do not respect her at all.

Two Thousand And Twelve

Those who into the future in their psyche do delve
Predict great World changes in two thousand and twelve
And so few great change with a big smile does greet
A huge challenge 'twould seem for all for to meet.

That the changes won't be too great one only can hope
For with change many people do struggle to cope
With climate and environmental changes the challenge of us ahead
But hope does spring eternal when all else seems dead.

The Mayans great seers their history is old
The rise and fall of the Empires by them was foretold
Accurate in their predictions and not known to pretend
In two thousand and twelve their calendar does end.

Don't ask me what will happen in two thousand and twelve since i would not have a clue
Perhaps as individuals we will receive the karma we are due
The Universal karma it is there for us all
And we are the instigators of our own downfall.

They Can Be Offensive

It is said from life we've been learning since before we've learned how to crawl
Yet some into their eighties do not seem wise at all
They can be offensive in things that they say
And for to put down others go out of their way
In life they have reached a great age for to give them their due
But no fool like an old fool can also be true
Those who claim that wisdom to old age belong
In so many instances have got it wrong
From wisdom any age group one cannot exclude
I've met old and young people who in ways are quite rude
The onset of old age doesn't guarantee common sense
Some into their eighties with their words cause offense
For injured feelings a verbal slur can be the fuel
And even some aged people with their words can be cruel.

Though You May Die Unsung

An old saying i remember that i wish was a lie
That the longer you live the sooner you will die
Three score and ten years the average human life span
Though one ought to live for as long as one can
Many pray to their god in his kingdom somewhere in the sky
Though why none have come back to tell of it's existence i do wonder why
Since anyone i know who has died i never more see
This life after death seems quite doubtful to me
I would like to enjoy a good glass of wine
As a crabbed old fellow of one hundred and nine
Without a single gray hair on my shiny bald head
And others saying of me how come he's not dead?
Live for as long as you can though you may die unsung
For they talk rubbish those who say the good do die young.

Like The Great Old Battler

His face has time wrinkles his hair hoary gray
And one can say he has known a far better day
But you will not hear him say my best days are gone
Like the great old battler he keeps keeping on
He has made love to many women he has fathered a son
But you won't hear him talking of wars fought and won
And you never will hear him bad mouth his ex wife
He just does his own thing and he gets on with life
To his mates in the pub he listens as they brag
Of their love for their Country and their National Flag
He listens in silence as their own praises they do sing
The ageing gray haired fellow who does his own thing
And whilst the others around him are waffling away
He enjoys his beer and has nothing to say.

Crinaloo's Dan O Horgan

I recall the poems of Dan O Horgan he was a renowned Duhallow poet
When i was a schoolboy in Millstreet he was one of literary note
He was famous Crinaloo's old Dan O some of his poems living today
Perhaps it should go without saying that with words he did have a way.

Dan O penned some fine poems and ballads five decades back when i was young
On Winter nights around the fire grate i heard them recited and sung
It is a changed place now Duhallow from the Duhallow i once did know
And the poems and songs of Dan O Horgan a memory from Seasons ago.

To Duhallow's famed literary icons Crinaloo's Dan O Horgan belong
With his words he made many happy he was an old laureate of song
From his home by the bog road to Crinaloo through his poems he was known far and wide
A famous wordsmith of Duhallow and the pride of his home countryside.

Duhallow has undergone changes and few things ever stay the same
But the ballads and poems penned by Dan O assures him of enduring fame
He had the gift of writing poetry and that is a beautiful thing
A Duhallow literary icon and his praises we ought to sing.

The People I Dislike

The people i dislike many look on as great
They even elect them to Govern and to legislate
And for guidance they look to them to point the way
I must be a bad judge of character is all i can say
The people i dislike great power they command
And how this can be so i do not understand
Why their sort of people inspire story and song
Perhaps in my thinking i have got it wrong
Since most of those i oppose the majority celebrate
And elect them as the honorable leaders of the State
With their way of thinking i cannot agree
The poor judge of character has to be me
Those i do dislike never heard of me by name
And with no thanks to me they enjoy power, wealth and fame.

The Last Of Her Tribe

She went without an eulogy none for her shed tears
The last of her tribe has been dead for many years
No headstone with writing on it to tell of where she lay
So that others respect to her memory might pay.

It is said her grave is by the tall mountain trees
Her people were wiped out by white people's disease
Her three children died death did not spare the young
The last of her tribe and she too died unsung.

The last of her tribe lived to be old and gray
But sad to think she is forgotten today
It is said her spirit to her tribal lands did fly
And that she lives again when the hunting owl cry.

The last of her tribe was spiritual and kind
And any flaw in her would be hard to find
It is said her bones lay in the shade of the trees
And at midnight she can be heard crying in the breeze.

Bob Gibson

Bob Gibson a poet and a humorist the wit from his pen freely flow
He does seem a character of sorts in his work his personality show
One of the great wits of Poem Hunter such characters as Bob are rare
With us boring addicts of the Internet his humor he is willing to share
Like a breath of fresh air to Poem Hunter one who puts humor to the fore
He does not take himself too seriously the World of his type needs more
His words they are bubbling with humor of him that would seem a fair thing to say
And humor does seem to be lacking in our Human World of today
In our lives we do need more laughter of medicine the best of all
We feel sadness at a sad story but a good joke with laughter we recall
We need a few billion Bob Gibsons but would that be asking for too much
A poet who doesn't take life too seriously he does have the humorous touch
Laugh and the whole World laughs with you those words now as ever are true
And thanks to you life for Bob Gibson a toast to him is overdue.

The Last Day Of The Calendar Autumn

The last day of the calendar Autumn and the southern May
The sun shining bright it is a beautiful day
O'er the coastal cliffs the pacific gulls cry
And the dark welcome swallows they chirp as they fly

Above the green paddocks by the Pacific sea
In Nature there's always great beauty to see
And from Nature we learn something new every day
We never stop learning though we look old and gray.

On the sand dunes a flock of greenfinches search for insects and seed
At this time of year a social existence they lead
And the singing honeyeaters chirp on the coastal bushes and trees
On this beautiful day of around eighteen degrees.

So much beauty in Nature for one to admire
And of singing her praises could one ever tire
On this last day of May and of the southern Fall
A memory for to cherish and for to recall.

I Write About

Some may call it doggerel and others call it stuff
But I'm not one to say enough is enough
And though my best days in life one might say long gone
Addicted to rhyming i keep penning on.

I'd like to keep penning right up till i die
For if i told you different I'd be telling you a lie
And though to me they do not bring me wealth or renown
The rhymes keep coming to me and i pen them down.

That i have a penning addiction is hardly in doubt
Yet never short of things for to write about
From penning down stuff satisfaction i gain
The jingles are ever jingling in my brain.

I write about Nature i write about life
I write of the cruel man who bashes his wife
I write of the homeless and the refugee
And the beauty in Nature i feel privileged to see.

I am not one worthy of the title of poet
Nor i never will be seen as one worthy of note
But I'd like to live on to be an old man
And i hope to keep penning for as long as i can.

The Greedy

They finance your home and they finance your car
A necessary evil is all that they are
Those behind on their car loan repayments their cars they re-possess
Of the financial hardship they cause their customers they couldn't care less
One wonders how the billionaires who run such institutions with their consciences can live
They only know how to take they don't know how to give
The unwritten commandment take care of yours they surely do live by
And much wants more a well known saying to their kind does apply
They have condemned many an ex home owner to a life of financial hell
Behind on mortgage payments they re-possessed their homes to sell
Seen as successful people many them do celebrate
They have helped a few to millions but poverty they too create,
Wealthy and powerful people they control every town
And they do not show any sympathy for people who are down.

It Is Easy Quite Easy

It is easy quite easy for to criticize
But for highlighting flaws in others you will not win a prize
We dislike in others things in ourselves we see
With whoever first said that how could one disagree,
It is easy quite easy in words for to put others down
But sad to say too many like you are in every town
You are so small minded and in your ways so small
People like you stand in the way of a fair go for all,
The person you are knocking is struggling to survive
And by your words a fair go to him you deprive
To demonize someone is morally weak
If you do not speak well of one of that one do not speak
Before we did walk we did learn how to crawl
So here's to the truth in 'a fair go for all'

Young D B

Young D B is a person well worthy of note
A talented artist and a marvellous poet
The most sought after young unmarried man by the young unmarried women of the town
He is one who is on the way to renown.

In his twenty fourth year at the peak of his prime
His future looks rosy on his side he has time
The love of his heart is lovely young dark haired Noleen
Together hand in hand in the park they've been seen.

Young and happy D B he is handsome and tall
Not surprising why women in a big way for him fall
I envy him his talents his good looks and youth
Since my better days long gone that's speaking the truth.

Noleen is the one who has won D B's heart
And of his life she has become a big part
Most of the local young nubile females are jealous of her
But she is the one that young D B prefer.

You Don't Have To Tell Me

You don't have to tell me i already know
That money on bushes or on trees does not grow
Or dogs can't play guitars or worms can't sing
Or an eagle can't soar after breaking a wing.

You don't have to tell me that the dodo is dead
Or that mad-man King George was not right in the head
And that all forms of life are born to die
This is common knowledge and facts do not lie.

You don't have to tell me that elephants can't fly
Or that rhinos can't dance on the clouds of the sky
Or that a full grown shark looks much like a trout
What i speak of here surely goes without doubt.

I may not be the brightest but i too can tell
The difference between the sound of a car horn and a church bell
And i am not as silly as i may appear
For i too don't believe everything i do hear.

Everyone For Themselves

Everyone for themselves and God for us all
A saying from my younger years that i recall
In the twenty first century with some it is that way
Old habits die hard as some are known to say
Even if you are compassionate, generous and kind
The knockers in you some fault are bound to find
By their type any credit to you is denied
They think by your good deeds some guilt you do hide
Far too many in famines and in wars have died
And between the haves and the have nots the gap keeps growing wide
Thousands are in poverty for every millionaire
For the billions of have nots life doesn't seem fair
And that saying from my younger years i can recall
Everyone for themselves and God for us all.

A Visualization

The bluebells bloom on the ditch of the bohreen
And Claraghatlea groves looking leafy and green
And the stream down the high fields of Claramore flow
To join the river from Kippagh by briery hedgerow
In fancy my thoughts from here so far away
Where hawthorns are wearing their white blooms of May
The male robin sings on the sycamore tree
And Nature's green beauty is all around me
The nesting birds sing for to welcome daybreak
And the voice of the cuckoo one cannot mistake
The Spring all but over and Summer is near
It is such a beautiful time of the year
O'er the flower laden old fields the dark swallows fly
And the brown lark is carolling in the gray sky.