Thursday, May 31, 2012

The More I Learn Of Nature

The more I learn of Nature the less of her I know I know
The little bird that all day search for insects in the hedgerow
Lives quite a complex lifestyle though we may not think so
The more I learn of Nature the more my wonder of her grow.

The more I learn of Nature the more I realize
That there is more to Nature than we see with our own eyes
The lives of flora and fauna are complex one might say
And from our ageless Earth Mother we learn every day.

The workings of Mother Nature is an amazing thing
There is more to the songbird than the song the songbird sing
Out in the wilds of Nature the strongest do survive
And always some have got to die for more to stay alive.

And every day in Nature there's something new to learn
The tiny ants amongst them an outsider can discern
That ant must flee their territory or they will kill it if it stay
And from the creatures of Nature we learn every day.

Daniel O Connell

Ireland's greatest Politician was Dan from Derrynane
He believed in non violence his likes not seen again
In the British House of Parliament when all of Ireland's people were subjects of the crown
The genius of O Connell for him won World wide renown.

He got Home Rule and Catholic Emancipation for Ireland the very clever Dan
And the British Parliamentarians could only marvel at the genius of the man
If only twenty first century leaders were like him it would be fair to say
We would not have wars and rumours of wars in the World of today.

Known as 'The Liberator' without the use of force
He achieved so much for the Irish people by pursuing the peaceful course
He argued Ireland's case in London the British Parliamentarians respect to him did pay
The man he was a genius with words he had a way.

One who believed that in Politics there was no place for the gun
Without the use of violence so much for his people he won
He did so much for Ireland so many years ago
The genius Daniel O Connell his legend in death grow.

They Value Your Worth

Money speaks every language or so 'twould appear
And some sell their souls for the price of a beer
And principles to them are for to be sold
They value your worth by the weight of your gold,
Their egos are big and their auras are small
In fact some of them do not have an aura at all
They like to show off in their brand new car
And tell the whole World of how marvellous they are,
They always compete with the Joneses next door
And enough for them is not enough they always want more
In their concrete back yards flowers in flower pots are grown
And they look on Nature as something that they can own,
They value your worth in the weight of your gold
And for material things their souls they have sold.

Of War Heroes

Of war heroes so much is written and said
But for every living war hero there are a thousand war dead
And dead heroes and dead villians they all are the same
They will not hear you speak when you mention them by name.

The living coward is of more value than the one who died brave
At least he's alive he is not in the grave
For humanity there is nothing that the dead can do
Though a living coward he may be one to help you.

Dead war heroes are honored in story and song
Perhaps we have got our priorities wrong
'Tis said they died for freedom and we believed the lie
For freedom as such how can anyone die?

For the right to live is a basic human right
And freedom is not to die for but for to fight
On the flag-posts the patriot flags in the wind flying
And for to cling to power the politicians keep lying.

The war dead are honored on war memorial day
And the politicians to honour them patriotic things say
But the dead as we know from their graves we will not raise
With kind words about them or songs in their praise.

It may be said of them that in life they were brave
But the dead war heroes are quiet in their grave
And the narcissistic politicians their praises do sing
They know how to win votes and to power they must cling.

A Famous Dog Story

The story I am about to tell you it well may be true
For the one who told it to me for to give him his due
Is one who does not make up stories nor neither is he
One prone to imagine it would seem to me.

We were swapping dog stories myself and old Lew
Of dogs we heard tell of and dogs that we knew
Of dogs who are honoured in story and rhyme
The history of their greatness has lived on in time.

But the best dog story he told me was one I heard before
When I was a young school-boy going back five decades or more
The greatest dog story that he can recall
Perhaps is the greatest dog story of all.

A story from early Spring the weather was cold
The red shorthorn calf had strayed from her mother a young five days old
In the field by the farm-yard the cow bellowed around
But her calf did not reply and was not to be found.

The farmer searched for her with Shep his brown cattle dog
But no trace of the calf in the field by the bog
He then thought the calf may have strayed and in a bog hole drown
Still no trace of the young heifer though the bog he searched up and down.

But in the gray dawning of the very next day
Old Shep the brown dog to the yard made his way
With the red heifer calf suckling on the end of his tail
That the clever dog had dipped into a full milk pail.

The mother cow was delighted her calf she did lick
And none more relieved than the old farmer Mick
As he patted his dog dog you're a hero he did say
This a famous dog story that lives on today.

My Addiction

My addiction in the eyes of the Law is not seen as a crime
But few things more addictive than addiction to rhyme
The compulsion is in me to write every day
Though little of value in what I have to say.

My compulsive addiction I cannot seem to fight
I rhyme every day and I rhyme every night
Addicted to doggerel, to rhyme and to song
Sometimes I feel with me there is something wrong.

My addiction compels me for to write some more
Pages of stuff by the ream and the score
Perhaps I'll be rhyming even at death's door
To many I must seem a silly old bore.

My addiction it surely won't land me in jail
But for one to succeed so many have to fail
And though for my writing efforts I have nothing to show
I do not feel unhappy that success I won't know.

The Sun Shining Bright

The sun shining bright in the blue Summer sky
And above the brown paddocks chirping as they fly
Dark swallows are chasing flying insects and bees
On a beautiful day of around 20 degrees.

The view from the high ground a breath taking sight
Of such natural beauty a poet would write
Many centuries ago in the shade of the trees
The Country's first people had their corroborees.

The first people long gone but the landscape remain
As brown as it ever is despite recent rain
And on the brown hillside in unmarked graves they lay
The bones of the dispossessed by those from far away.

The sun shining bright it is such a nice day
And the gray shrike thrush in his cloak of brown and gray
Is whistling his song in the freshening breeze
As he restlessly flies amongst the wattle trees.

Scottie

From his Island in Scotland he has travelled far
But he is not one you will see in the local bar
For he is not a drinker Scottie will tell you
That with his life he has better things to do.

He is a member of a motor bike club
That seems far better fun than drinking in the pub
Polluting your liver with litres of booze
And being part of the group of the drunken yahoos.

A born again christian he has re-found his faith
And his second baptism it took place of late
On life after death he is one who believe
And that God to his kingdom the good will receive.

Pulling his big work trailer in his gray work van
He looks like a chieftian this giant of a man
With his faithful blue heeler bitch ozzie to guard his property
On Scottie's behalf none as faithful as she.

And though he may never see Scotland again
The accent he brought with him he still retain
He may well live far from his native home place
But he feels proud of his heritage and proud of his race.

I Went For A Walk

I went for a walk on the lake-side path today
And so disappointed am I for to say
That the lake is covered in blue green algae from end to end
To Nature few humans have been a good friend.

Fertilizer spread by farmers on their crops and washed into creek and drain
In thundery weather by heavy showers of rain
Cause blue green algae on the still waters to grow
Though others with more knowledge of Natural Science than I claim they know

That ducks help to spread blue green algae on a lake
Though the ducks side on this one I surely must take
For I do find that rather hard to believe
And for the pollution of Nature a reason to grieve.

For the health of our Earth Mother too few seem to care
Pollution of land and of water and air
And due to habitat destruction wildlife becoming rare
And too few 'twould seem are environmentally aware.

I went for a walk on the path by the lake
And I felt disappointed for our Earth Mother's sake
To see the lake covered in blue green algae from end to end
To Nature few humans have been agood friend

Music, Dance And Song

Without song and dance and music how boring life would be
From the cares of life these three can set the heart free
The music inspires people to dance and song
And you with the sad face you can sing along,
Music, song and dance cross the cultural divide
These three loved by billions and performed World-wide
They soothe the savage breast and people unite
And open the soul windows to allow in light,
Song and dance and music they are part of life
On Valentine's day the man sings to his wife
And people have been dancing for thousands of years
And music can stir the feelings to laughter and tears
And though the Seasons have come and the Seasons have gone
Music, dance and song will forever live on.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Black Tailed Native Hens

Always by water bordered by scrub they reside
And when humans or predators approach them they run off to hide
Into the thick scrub where they cannot be seen
These rails with pink feet, black tails and brown bodies and bills of light green.

Black tailed native hens the name people by them know
To the size of a small bantam the adults do grow
And they do look like bantams so hens for them an apt name
Though bantams unlike them are easy to tame.

And to bantams not related in any way at all
Distinct in their nature and distinct in their call
Black tailed native hens are of the rail family
They are nomadic birds them one often don't see.

In any one place their's is not a long stay
The wanderlust is in them they soon fly away
For to live by a distant lake for a brief while
In their short life span they travel many a mile.

On A Famed Poet

Forgive me if his greatness I cannot seem to note
His poems never rhyme but he is a famed poet
By literary experts considered to be knowledgeable and wise
And for his poems he has won many a prize.

Though poetry is not very popular today
The poet of the poetry lovers the experts do say
In University literary magazines students his verses read
And they all agree he's a fine poet indeed.

Of poets and poetry I must confess so little I know
My favourites old rhymers from ages ago
On the poetry I do not like most experts agree
That it is well written and quite good poetry.

Forgive me if the worth in his verse I can't see
His non rhyming poetry does nothing for me
Of reading blank verse I do quickly grow tired
My truth is by such stuff I do not feel inspired.

The experts on his poetry great interest show
And his stature as a poet only seems to grow
Of him great things are written and great things we hear
And good luck to him on his literary career.

The Girls Of My Boyhood

Though memories of them today with me remain
The girls of my boyhood I won't see them again
Of my young school-going days fifteen years from my prime
Those fond memories are not fading in time.

On looking back in time it seems only like last week
When with the girls of my boyhood I played hide and seek
A children's game then that the young used to play
In Summer in the groves from here far away.

I wonder with hair dye do they cover their gray
And with anti ageing creams hide the signs of decay
That ageing to the skin bring some like to look young
Though the songs we grew up with are now seldom sung.

The girls of my boyhood I may never more meet
We well might be strangers if we met on the street
Though in my memory they remain as they were in the past
The beauty of youth it is not meant to last.

As we played hide and seek they hid behind the trees
And though we like to hang on to the old memories
Those days are in the past and the past is forever gone
But that's life I suppose and life must go on.

I Am A Poetaster

I am a poetaster years beyond my life's prime
An addictive rhymer addicted to rhyme
But against my addiction I feel powerless to fight
A tiny voice within me compels me to write.

Of people and Nature and life around me
And of things that I thought or that I imagined I see
Between fact and reality there is a blurred line
There is so much water in each glass of wine

The wonders of Nature a thing to inspire
Of singing her praises could one ever tire
The songs of the birds and the wind in the trees
And the buzzing of flying insects the flies and the bees.

In life in general so much to write about
Like the homeless old bloke drinking from his litre bottle of stout
Alone on a park bench he sleeps in an old shed
On an old mattress on the floor that serves him as a bed.

Were I born a poet I'd make use of my fame
With my pen the corrupt I would put to shame
For many their great lust for money does lead
Them on to corruption to satiate their greed.

I am a poetaster that and nothing more
And for me there never will be an encore
Yet to know I'll never be famous to me doesn't seem unfair
And so much to write of on the big World out there.

David Attenborough

So much about Nature David Attenborough know
My wonder at his knowledge only does grow
His documentaries the most informative things on the t v
The man is a genius none as clever as he,
From the massive blue whale to the tiny insects that on the ground crawl
Their Nature and on how they live David Attenborough recall
For millions of students of Nature Worldwide
Only her deepest secrets from him Nature can hide,
He has made documentaries on Wildlife for thirty years or more
From the northern Arctic ocean to the southern Antarctic shore,
One who knows much about Nature and for Nature he care
And people like him they are priceless and rare
And it seems sad to think that he is getting old
But the story of his life will always be told.

The One With The Big Ego

The one with the big ego is not feeling well
And for to buy back his health all of his assets he'd sell
But if money or assets cannot buy life to the dead
The same of good health it can also be said.

The one with the big ego is fading away
And he seems to grow frailer and paler each day
Of hopes for the future he feels quite bereft
And of living for him 'twould seem little time left.

He knows all too well time is not on his side
And his ego is deflated along with his sense of pride
His better days sad to say for him are gone
And the seconds on his life they keep ticking on.

He knows he is fading and time is ticking fast
And his ego has left him as a thing of the past
The cancer treatment has robbed him of his head of hair
And he doze in the sunlight in his garden chair.

Leave My Car Alone

By stuffing newspaper up the exhaust of my car
Somebody I do not know have taken their fun too far
I do not have a known enemy and I'm new to this town
Why is someone I do not know trying to drag me down?

My car it felt sick and I rang the R A C V
And what the mechanic discovered a huge surprise to me
A newspaper rolled up blocked the exhaust pipe rear
By some not too nice person it was pushed in there.

I am not without sin I will not cast the stone
But if you do not like the look of me leave my car alone
You do unto others what you'd like them do to you
Those words not by me but those words seem so true.

Against the person who did this I could not hold a grudge
And since I am not meant to be anyone's judge
Of that karma will surely take care
What goes around comes around that does seem fair.

Some non thinking person with low self esteem
Could only do something like this it would seem
And I would like to say to this person leave my old car be
You should not harm my car if you do not like me.

I am new to this town here not many I know
And all I ask of anyone is a fair go
I am not without sin I will not cast the stone
And if you do not like the look of me leave my car alone.

Saturday Night At The Local

Saturday night in The Ramble in Bar
Johnny the folk singer strums on his guitar
For his entertainment in beer he is paid
Not a hard one to please is Danny McDaid,
Saturday night the night for the sing along
Everyone gets a chance to sing a song
Anyone who sings will get a free beer
Saturday night is the night of good cheer,
Annie she sings and she receives an encore
Drinks her free beer and she sings a few more
Singing and dancing and reciting rhyme
Everyone's having a jolly good time,
Nobody is looking for trouble or fight
Down at the Local on Saturday night.

She Is Gone From You

She is gone from you forever your love of the past
But then few things in life ever do seem to last
She is now with another and from you far away
But life must go on such is life one might say.

The one that you did hope would become your wife
And at losing her you feel like ending your life
But since life is so brief and we'll be forever dead
'Tis time that your heart it was ruled by your head.

If she felt as you do she'd be with you today
But in your instance love it was only one way
Why waste your tears on one who to another is true
For one who quite obviously did not love you.

From your life 'tis clear she is forever gone
And of pining for lost love 'tis time you moved on
Surely there is one single young woman out there
Who would fall for you and who for you would care.

Lets Hear It For Joyce Hemsley

Thousands of poems in The Web Poetry Corner that's an amazing feat
The record of Joyce Hemsley's it never may be beat
The Guinness book of records must honour her one day
Lets hear it for Joyce Hemsley a rousing hip hooray.

Lets hear it for Joyce Hemsley a true poetic great
A poet for all ages and one to celebrate
As a master of many poetic forms she is known Worldwide
And credit of the good lady it cannot be denied.

It cannot be said of Joyce Hemsley that her better days are gone
Lets hear it for the great one she keeps on keeping on
'Tis true that poets are born and they cannot be made
She is a marvellous wordsmith and a laureate of her trade.

Her poems are so distinctive as they do have their own voice
The genius of many poetic forms the one and only Joyce
A very talented person and her type are so rare
One of the best of Britain few with her can compare.

Lets hear it for Joyce Hemsley to her the toasting glass we'll raise
The marvellous poet of Sunderland is worthy of our praise
Thousands of poems in her name and she writes more every day
And her verses say more about her than words can ever say.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

No Fool

Quite careless with his words he does cause offense
And for his age one would have thought he would have better sense
But some men grow sillier as they grow gray
No fool like an old fool some are known to say.

No fool like an old fool those words are so true
The one who first uttered those words some credit is due
An over-inflated ego of the soul enlightenment deny
And that wisdom comes with age to all does not apply.

I have known young people wise beyond their years
And I have known silly old fellows and silly old dears
Who have not learned from life their sort not hard to find
Then like some will tell you it takes every kind.

He is past his sixtieth year even older than I
Yet he often leaves the pub with a black eye
One cannot teach an old dog any new tricks they say
He has not grown any wiser he has only grown gray.

Hypocrites

Before sitting in Parliament they sing hymns of praise
The sheer hypocrisy of them never ceases to amaze
One might say of them they flatter to deceive
And they are referred to as 'The Honorable' that would you believe.

To their personalities the smirks on their faces is a give away
I find it hard to believe in anything they say
For them I do not have much respect for to pay
Together they lie and together they pray.

In a so called wealthy Nation where many live in poverty
For every well off person there are surely three
By their policies condemned to live a miserable life
In a first World Nation the have nots are rife.

Before Parliament opening in church they sing hymns to their God
Those who rule for the wealthy but not the downtrod
And if they are our Government what of us does this say
Let the poor help themselves we ourselves doing okay.

It Has Been

It has been eighty Seasons and of years a score
Since I last walked on the roadway from Millstreet towards Rathmore
The water bank high gurgled in the road side drain
And an overcast sky promised more heavy rain.

It has been twenty years since I've heard the old rill
Go babbling down the high field by the hill
The rill that forever to the river flow
The wonders of Nature on me ever grow.

'Tis been years since I've seen and heard the redbreast sing
On a leafy birch tree on an evening in Spring
How quickly the years in time have ticked away
And I am growing older and grayer each day.

It has been many years since I've seen the swallows fly
In Summer above the lush fields of July
Or heard the wild honey bees buzzing around
Their hive in a hole in a tree six metres above ground.

It's been years since I've seen and heard tiny brown wren
Sing his big bird song on a bush in the glen
In that old green valley from here far away
When the hawthorns were wearing their white blooms of May.

The Teenager On His Bicycle

Wearing brown shorts and a blue football jersey and with sneakers on his feet
The teenager on his bicycle he goes whistling down the street
The evening is warm and breezy the wind tosses his long brown hair
As he pedals near the sidewalk he doesn't have a care.

The teenager on the bicycle he quickly glanced my way
And he broke off from his whistling just for to say 'good day'
And again he commenced whistling as he quickly pedalled on
And I fancy I still can hear him though from my sight he's long gone

Off to his football training of greatness he does dream
Of being a renowned footballer in a champion football team
The youth need a dream to follow his dream he will pursue
Lets hope life will stay good for him and his dream for him will come true.

The teenager on his bicylcle as he goes pedalling by
He breaks off from his whistling for to say a friendly hi
With his football boots strung across his handlebars he cycles to the park
For to train with his young team mates till twilight fades to dark.

Out There

Above the brown dry paddocks the welcome swallows fly
And as they chase flying insects they twitter in the sky
Out there in the quiet Countryside miles from the nearest town
The tiny bush flies buzzing where the Landscape looks so brown.

Out there in the brown Countryside the magpie's flute sounds clear
And the familiar call of the magpie lark is pleasant for to hear
And in the udergrowth of the blackwood grove the wary gray roos lay
They seldom venture out to graze in the bright sun of the day.

Out there in the quiet Countryside the landscape looks so dry
The mid day sun seems hot enough that an egg 'twould even fry
The creek flows in a trickle the farmer prays for a week's rain
But the rainfall not nearly enough his prayers have been in vain.

Out there in the quiet paddocks from the big town far away
The grasshoppers are chirping in the warmness of the day
The gray shrike thrush is whistling in his cloak of brown and gray
And Nature looks quite good in brown despite what some might say.

Loud Voice

I think his rear end is where his head should be
As he does not seem a very bright spark to me
His booming voice you don't need a hearing aid to hear
In fact one might need to wear ear muffs when he is standing near.

In the Local Community he is well known
But he is never referred to as one of our own
Although he has lived in the town since the first day of his life
A young local man with a young local wife.

He is not the most popular man in the town
And he will never even know local renown
Like all braggarts he makes sure that he is well known
But respect to his kind by not many is shown.

Of his type so many do easily tire
In a braggart and loudmouth there is not much to admire
He is not very happy with his lot 'twould seem
Perhaps he is suffering from low self esteem.

You won't need to strain your ears to hear what he has to say
And his nickname of 'Loud Voice' seems to suit him okay
But some who know him quite well say he can be kind
And worse than him would not be that hard to find.

Why Pay Heed To Me

The good or the evil the devout or the brave
Have never returned from the dark of the grave
For to tell us of another World out there
But why pay heed to me if you believe in prayer,
So why pay heed to me since I don't have a God
Though I pity the homeless the poor and downtrod
If we had less of God in our lives and for others more empathy
Perhaps we may have less crimes against humanity
For to live by your bible may free you of sin
But your God is not out there your God lives within
In the soul of everyone who is generous and kind
The God of empathy you always will find
But pay no heed to me or to anything I say
Since I am an infidel I never pray.

When Some Good Mates Fall Out

When some good mates fall out only loathing lives on
And all respect and trust between old friends is gone
Hate can be love turned upside down it is said
And only resentment lives on when the friendship is dead,
It is so often said two wrongs don't make a right
And the soul can be dark when it is starved of light
There is a huge fallout when big egos collide
And damage has been done to a dented pride,
The unforgiving are weak and the forgiving are strong
And forgiveness in the hearts of the humble belong,
There never was friendship where resentment now live
As true friends they can always forget and forgive
Yet when some good mates fall out only hatred remain
And they never speak to each other again.

The Land Is Not Our Land

This land is not your land as much as not mine
This beautiful brown Land of warm sunshine
For each of us there is a life's final day
Our acres and homes we can't take with us behind us they stay.

On Land ownership the indigenous people have the right idea
They will tell you we do not own the Land or we don't own property
We are the Land's caretakers and when we are gone
We hope that others our work will then carry on.

We who have caused so much extinction have got it all wrong
We do not own Nature though to her we belong
Nature lives forever but we soon age and die
In that way the sheep or the canine is no different to I.

Those who think the Land is theirs by their egos outgrown
The Land is not our own Land the land we do not own
We are the Land's caretakers that and nothing more
Since our average life span is ten years with three score.

I Fancy I Hear

I fancy I hear the male robin again
His red breast puffed out as he sings in the rain
In the grove near where I lived many Seasons ago
A different life now from the one I did know.

I fancy I hear the gray hooded crow
His caws are familiar and louder they grow
In my imagination he doesn't live far away
I can picture him in feathers of black and gray.

I can fancy I hear the fox call on the hill
His voice in the moonlight so wild and so shrill
Out searching for a mate or hunting maybe
The wonders of Nature are amazing to me.

I fancy I hear the curlew at twilight of day
Flute above the bogland in beautiful May
And though from the old bog road I live far away
The memories of what was are with me to stay.

I fancy I hear the dipper in the stream
His song is not distant from me it would seem
Where-ever I go to my past is with me
And the voices of Nature a sweet memory.

Monday, May 28, 2012

Lets Hear It For The Workers

To the working class men and women of all Nations their Nations to them owe
From their hard work and effort their Nation's wealth do grow
Yet in the running of the Nation they never have a say
The workers of the Nation the unsung heroes of today.

To the workers of all Nations lets raise the toasting glass
Without other classes we can do but not our working class
The heroes and heroines of all Nations though their praises are unsung
Lets hear it for the workers the workers old and young.

At the funeral of the good worker the last post is never played
And in the worker's honour there is never a parade
To the health of the Nation's economy the workers remain true
And credit to the workers one might say is overdue.

Lets hear it for the workers we will sing their praises loud
The working class men and women they do our Nation proud
The backbone of our Nation with them none to compare
And lets hear it for the workers for the workers everywhere.

The Parking Officer

He looks full of arrogance and self conceit
The parking inspector as he struts down the street
His little power a boost to his ego and his self esteem
Some people are easy to please it would seem.

For one parked illegally a parking ticket he write
And he slips it under the front right windshield wiper with a grin of delight
When the owner a he or a she returns to their car for them an unpleasant surprise
Sometimes it does cost people money just to become a little more wise.

For the person who received the parking ticket the parking officer one thought does not spare
If the car owner had to borrow money to buy petrol or happened to be a millionaire
He only thinks of his own promotion if he has caused someone hardship he does not seem to care
One of limited power with a very big ego and his type have never been rare.

He walks the street the parking officer with a self satisfied smirk on his face
One with limited power with a huge ego he strives for a higher social place
Of what many motorists do feel about him he think their own conclusions they can draw
He feels happy today he wrote a score of parking tickets this arrogant tiny limb of the Law.

I Do Not Fear

I do not fear big cats or snakes or dangerous crocodile
Between where I live and they live are many a mile
Those I fear the most to me live very near
'Tis only my own species I need to fear.

I do not fear sharks or the dangerous hippo
To anywhere near where they live I never go
The species I fear most I see every day
I fear my own kind does that seem bold to say?

I do not fear venomous spiders though of them I beware
And I surely do not fear the feared polar bear
Since they live in the Arctic that's far north of here
No 'tis only my own kind that I've reason to fear.

The elephant and the rhino in zoos I only see
They are not renowned killers they do not bother me
And why should I fear the dead or the dead person's ghost?
'Tis the living of my own kind that I do fear most.

To Only One's Self

To only one's self can one only be true
And credit is called for where credit is due
And for a hard day's work there should be a good pay
But all in life is not fair 'twould be fair to say,
Of love of their Country the patriots do sing
But too much patriotism is not a good thing
Yourself before Country that's how it should be
Respect yourself and respect humanity,
Extremists of any kind can be extreme
They are not well balanced people or so it would seem
Religious zealots and extreme patriots are driven by fear
Obsessed with their beliefs their thinking is not clear
And your dream of a better World you must pursue
And to your own self you can only be true.

Mt Rouse On The High Ground

Mt Rouse on the high ground it ever looks down
On the streets and the houses of old Penshurst Town
And the wide and brown Countryside for miles around
Of volcanic stones fences where rocks and stones abound.

Ancient Mt Rouse was known by some other name
Thousands of centuries before the first white people came
For to live in the Countryside known as the Southern Grampians today
For some to take over some have to give way.

On ancient Mt Rouse going back a few centuries
The Indigenous people had their corroborees
Their lot was dispossession that seems sad to say
Though dispossession does still exist in the World of today.

From ancient Mt Rouse thousands of years ago
The fiery rivers of hot lava did flow
And though lava may never flow from Mt Rouse again
It's rocks and it's stones on the landscape remain.

Of Nature's ways there is so much to learn and to know
And people are like the Seasons we come and we go
But ancient Mt Rouse in it's stony face of brown
Will forever be towering above Penshurst Town.

Dear Friends Of The Past

Dear friends of the past a good friendship we've known
But apart from each other 'twould seem we have grown
We shared much in common but not any more
Since a different future for us was in store.

Dear friends of the past of my youth and my prime
Separated by distance and separated by time
Why we have grown apart I could even guess why
Our interests and expectations have changed as the years ticked on by.

Dear friends of the past we have gone our own way
'Tis each to their own as some are known to say
Few things stay the same and the years leave us gray
And you too have moved on you have new friends today.

Dear friends of the past if by chance we did meet
In a shopping centre or a public park off of a street
We may chat for a brief while only for to find
That we are no longer of similar kind.

Dear friends of the past though we may not meet again
Fond memories of our friendship with me remain
And that is for the better as 'twould sadden me to know
That we have changed as people and apart we did grow.

Hamilton Girl

With hair to her shoulders a wavy dark brown
When she walks the streets of old Hamilton Town
The young men at her can only stand and stare
As beauty goes her type are even quite rare.

In her early twenties approaching her prime
With beauty that inspires the young poets to rhyme
But she daydreams of Cities from home far away
And in Hamilton Town she is one who won't stay.

To a Hamilton fellow she will not be a wife
And in Hamilton Town she will not spend her life
The lust of the wander in her young heart call
And she will leave Town at the end of the Fall.

For the great northern Cities far from her old home
For New York and London and Paris and Rome
The World is so big and there is so much to see
For one who is young and as adventurous as she.

So young and so lovely as well as carefree
In Hamilton she won't raise a family
She soon will be leaving for to live elsewhere
The young blue eyed beauty with the dark brown hair.

Joan In Her Nineties

Speak as loudly as you wish since you she will not hear
Even though to her you are standing near
What you say of her will not bother Joan
For she cannot lip read and she is as deaf as a stone.

Joan in her nineties is looking quite frail
Deaf for six years and her sight starting to fail
She is self sufficent she lives on her own
And she does not socialize by many she is not known.

She used to be a social person but from social life she slowly withdrew
Yet to be self sufficent is quite an achievement for one of ninety two
Her loss of hearing makes it harder for her to communicate and in her very old age she
Is more comfortable and more at ease in her own company.

She does not feel frightened though loud noise to her is near
For noise never bothers her Joan does not hear
The years telling on her she looks frail and gray
But for one in her nineties she is doing quite okay.

Dermy Leary

The wanderlust was in him for places far away
And he left Millstreet Town as a young man for to live in the U S of A
The likeable Dermy Leary in life he made many a friend
Far from his beloved Hometown and Millstreet's old West End.

He always seemed so cheerful with great warmth in his hello
The dapper Dermy Leary a nice person to know
'Tis so sad to think in Millstreet he will not be seen again
But with those who knew him from the past the good memories will remain

Of a memorable character his likes one don't often meet
One of a very famous clan of the Parish of Millstreet
The Learys Gaelic footballers a family of renown
Known for their sporting achievements many miles from Millstreet Town.

And whether Dermy did or did not play Gaelic Football is a thing I cannot say
The wanderlust was in him in Millstreet he did not stay
Every few years he returned to the West End for a few weeks holiday
And so sad to think forever that with the dead he lay.

A well loved character of Millstreet where he did not remain
But what was a huge loss to his home Parish was to some other place a gain
His warmth and generous nature one readily can recall
And the reaper who claimed Dermy will one day claim us all.

Mother Nature's Praises

The praises of Mother Nature I will sing
Such pleasure to me and to others she bring
Her Seasons they come and her Seasons they go
And her Waterways down to the great oceans flow,
Of singing her praises could one ever tire
The poets and the painters she always inspire
Unlike all life that live off of her and that includes I
She has lived forever and she will never die
Her children the mighty to the very small
But she treats them as equals and she feeds them all,
And though some of her secrets with us she won't share
She nurtures us all and of us all takes care
In her Woodlands her birds sing to greet each new day
And in her cool bosom my remains will lay.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

For Some To Be Racist

For racism in this World there should not be a place
For the crimes of one you condemn a whole race
For some to be racist any excuse they will find
Since racism is born of ignorance and ignorance is blind.

On your thinking on race you seem so far from right
The windows of your soul are shaded to light
Like a malignant cancer racism does grow
Of this person's race how many do you know?

To our idea of perfection we may try to cling
But of a perfect race there is no such a thing
Before we learned how to walk we first had to crawl
And the reaper one day will take care of us all.

Everybody is somebody's daughter and somebody's son
And you condemn a whole race for the crimes of one
All sinners are obliged to live with their shame
And for the sins of the father the son you don't blame.

Snobbery

When one looks at snobbery that leads to class distinction this thing is not what it does seem
For snobbery is born of ignorance a bastard child of low self esteem
People of low self esteem glorify royalty whilst on others they choose to look down
They ostracize people with their words and make them outcasts of their town.

To me snobs are not quite right people snobbery is a form of mental disease
And when someone tells me without asking of their great job and of their many degrees
I say 'good on you' being polite but to myself I can only say
That this person does not feel successful the symptons are a give away.

People who worry about their social standing are those with a point for to prove
For to climb one more step of the social ladder they plan ahead on their next move
The concept of egalatarianism to their kind will never apply
The three most important people in their lives will always be me, myself and I.

When one looks at snobbery that leads to class distinction then one can only conclude
That the snobs of this World are not wise people they do seem so ignorant and rude
And since they do not believe in equality or in the concept of the fair go for all
They are not what one would call wise people and in their own small Worlds they even seem small.

In Warrnambool

In Warrnambool 'tis often windy even on a warm Summer's day
Than most other places five to six degrees cooler made cool by the cool winds from Lady Bay
A beautiful part of the World and a city that has won renown
For the famous steeplechase known as the Grand Annual each Easter in the Racecourse near Warrnambool Town,
Off of Logan's beach in Warrnambool the southern right whales come to breed every Spring
To see these great giants of the ocean is truly an amazing thing
Many visit Warrnambool to see them the mother right whales and their young
The Warrnambool whales have inspired many stories and songs on them written and sung
In Warrnambool there is a freshness in the cool and clean coastal air
It is such a beautiful City I always do feel at home there,
The people there are always so friendly they make you feel like one of their own
Although in that Town I'm a stranger and by none of the locals there known
And in Warrnambool there is a freshness in the wind that blows up from the sea
And though I am not one who has lived there it does feel like a home to me.

I'm One

I'm one from the Land where the Blackwater flow
Through old fields and by woodlets and by many a hedgerow
Swollen by streams from the hills swollen by rain that melts the snow
And my past it is with me where-ever I go.

I know where my life journey began but I can't say where it will end
And on life's uphill journey we need one good friend
One good friend through the hard times is all one does need
And a good friend in need is a true friend indeed.

I'm one from the Land of the wild brown mountain hare
With the skylark and woodcock his hillside he share
In the distant Woodlands I fancy I hear
The song of the chaffinch melodious and clear.

I'm one from the Land of the tiny brown wren
His song echoes loudly in the wooded glen
Where I lived my youth and where I lived my prime
Than here a far cooler and a wetter clime.

I'm one from the Land of the old stone bohreen
A very old Land of many shades of green
And in fancy I hear the robin again
On the hedgerow sing in the wind and the rain.

In The Cameron Street Cemetery

In the Cameron Street cemetery where the bones of the coalminers lay
The flowers on their graves they are blooming today
So many of them were the sons of Italy
That beautiful Land by the northern sea.

Their young wives they brought with them to Wonthaggi Town
And in their new surroundings they slowly settled down
They danced their own dances and their own songs they sung
And they conversed with each other in their native tongue.

They worked in the coalmine and they earned their pay
In what one can describe as a very hard way
In their friendships and families they always took pride
And of them their worth as good people cannot be denied.

For to work in the coalmine their backs must have been strong
The men who inspired many a story and song
To be read and sung about them and though they are long gone
The history of their lives is bound to live on.

In the Cameron Street cemetery their bones rest forever more
So many miles south of their distant Homeland shore
In the life of Wonthaggi the children and Grandchildren play a leading role
Of the hard working migrants who once tunnelled for coal.

G W

G W who spoke of good and evil just a few years ago
Those he refer to as evil do them he even know
Or has he even seen them and to them said hello?
At the strangeness of his utterings my wonder only grow.

He tells us he's a man of God is he God's Earthly judge
And is it's God's idea that against those he does not know that he should nurse a grudge
But how many innocents in Iraq because of him have died
Because of good and evil and Nationalistic pride.

We've been told of the crimes of Saddam but he is now on trial
For crimes against humanity his life's not been worth-while
But is G W any better that question I must ask
Though in a free and mighty Nation in his glory he does bask.

In Afghanistan and Iraq mothers weep for their dead
They have reason to dislike G W who back a few years said
We are good and you are evil words coming from one who commands such great power
Only spread the weeds of mistrust that stifle the peace flower.

I Feel Grateful

I feel grateful for all of the beauty I've seen
Since I've last seen wildflowers bloom by the bohreen
And though little of Nature's ways I seem to know
Her beauty surrounds me where-ever I go.

The wonders of Nature is a marvellous thing
There's more to the bird than the song that he sing
And there's more to the animal than meets the eye
And learning of Nature is a thing I enjoy.

The songbird who whistles and sings on a tree
Does not waste his energy on singing for me
In his song his territory he does define
He sings out to others of his borderline.

Of Nature's great beauty we all seem aware
Though her secrets with humans she never will share
In the vastness of Nature we are like grains of sand
And her ways we are not born to understand.

I feel grateful for all of the beauty I've seen
The colours of Nature the brown and the green
And though little about her I do seem to know
Her beauty surrounds me where-ever I go.

Nigretta Waters

In the bright sunlight of morning loudly the laughing jack calls
Where the dark Nigretta waters creep their way down to the falls
Far from the noise of the traffic not a rain cloud in the sky
From the dark and deep calm of the waters brown trout are leaping for fly.

Beautiful Nigretta waters you seem so quiet and serene
An artist could only feel happy to capture this beautiful scene
And on to canvas commit these beautiful colours to be viewed on a gallery wall
Compared to the achievements of Nature human achievements do seem very small.

The distinctive song of the magpie familiar melodious and clear
A black and white minstrel of Nature his voice is so pleasant to hear
By the waters of the Nigretta on a high branch of a tall blackwood tree
His flute like voice cannot be mistaken a king of his own territory.

In the bright sunlight of morning the deep and dark waters of the Nigretta crawl
On to the top of the rock cliff where it spills over the wall
Falling and splashing down over the rock face to the lake in the ravine below
Viewed from the high viewing platform a natural wonder on show.

Ask Someone Other Than Me

You ask what constitutes a good person why ask me when I would not know
Many look on the wealthy as successful their social status with their assets grow
But that leaves me looking a complete failure since materially for my time I don't have much for to show
Of money or of Worldly assets in the social rank I am quite low,
I too had my opportunities of being successful decades ago in my prime
Till I formed a love of language when I first fell in love with rhyme
Poems and stories told around the fire-place were things that I did enjoy
Told to me by my aunt Mary years ago in Lisnaboy,
On what goes to make a successful person no two people would agree
Though those with money and Worldly assets are seen by the majority
To be quite successful people money speaks in every tongue they say
Everything has it's price on it and it has always been this way
So when you ask what constitutes a successful person ask someone other than me
For I would be seen as a failure by the vast majority.

The Renowned Shearer

Where is he now the renowned shearer he has not shorn around here for two years
With his shearing mates at the local he laughed with them and enjoyed his beers
He is now beyond his mid fifties the hard life has left him looking gray
'Tis said he now lives in the Suburbs that he has given shearing away.

The shearer's life is never easy he works hard in the warm sun of day
The work is sweaty and laborious and for him no such a thing as easy pay
He travels far from home in the shearing Season from the sun he looks wrinkled and brown
He works where the bush flies are buzzing many miles from the nearest Bush Town.

The shearer is one not to envy a hard sort of life he does lead
They work hard and they are hard drinkers and they are quite a hardy breed
But hard work can wear out a tractor and shearers look old before their time
A good shearer into his fifties is not as good as a good shearer in his life's prime.

Where is he now the renowned shearer he has not been seen around here for some while
He is such a likeable fellow so down to earth and free of guile
'Tis said he is living in the Suburbs of sheep he has shorn more than his share
In a day he often shore two hundred and shearers like him are so rare.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

If Heaven Exists

If to any other you've never done wrong
To a religious institution why should you belong
If God is as good and as wise as they say
I'm sure that he will judge you in a fair way
And I'm sure even if in God's existence you do not believe
That into his kingdom you he will receive
Since you've never committed any great sin or crime
And you were good to others in your Earthly lifetime
If God does exist though no proof of his existence none ever did find
I am sure he is less judgemental than human kind
Whilst humans judge the living of god it is said
That he only judges the souls of the dead
So if you never harm others though you never do pray
If Heaven exists you will be there one day.

Around Penshurst

In Penshurst volcanic rocks and stones abound
In the paddocks there are billions of them on the hard ground
Small and big stones in clusters and rocks here and there
More stones and rocks than I have seen anywhere.

From the volcanic eruptions in Mt Rouse many centuries ago
The red and hot lava downland it did flow
Rocks and stones were left to form where it did dry out
And they can be seen in the paddocks for many miles about.

Down from old Mt Rouse the cool and warm winds blow
And between the rocks and stones only dry brown grass grow
A dry and brown Countryside with hardly any green
And as dry and rugged a Landscape as I've ever seen.

Around Penshurst in Victoria a quiet Country Town
The Countryside always looks rugged and brown
In the changing of the Seasons it looks much the same
A Land of wild beauty that man could not tame.

There Was A Time

There was a time if politicians were caught cheating or to the public lied that was the end of their political career
But nowadays things are different our values have changed or at least that's how 'twould appear
We say that all politicians are crooks from them that's what we expect and their great job and salary they keep
But one day their past it will catch up on them what we sow one day we must reap,
Our Politicians are our mirror that's how it would seem they were elected by the majority
Of the Nation's voters who bothered to vote what we deserve we get 'twould seem to me
We give power to rogues and we are not surprised when these rogues live up to their name
When caught out cheating and lying they cling to their jobs one might say that they are hard to shame,
The people we voted into office we say they are crooks of our values what does this say
We know they are dishonest but for them we vote is to be seen as untrustworthy now seen as okay?
And when they are caught lying and cheating we do not kick up a fuss there was a time not that long ago
When the Politicians who broke their swearing in pledge were the people that none wished to know
Of and were sacked things are so very different today
Politicians now caught cheating and lying keep their jobs and what of us all does that say?

They All Live Quite Close

Good and evil are neighbours just like adulation and fear
All four to each other are known to live near
The one with the power the one we love to toast
In many ways is the one we fear the most.

Human nature will never be fully understood
In the most evil person you will find some good
And in very good people some darkness reside
We all have our own little flaws for to hide.

Of the praises of our heroes we gladly may sing
But for the receiver too much adulation is not a good thing
Some do become smug when their ego is fed
And praise is a thing that can go to the head.

Good and evil from each other are not far away
There's not a huge gulf between them despite what many say
And adulation and fear are never far apart
They all live quite close in their home in the heart.

The Old Cow In The Paddock

The old cow in the paddock is no different to i
We were born of a mother and one day we will die
We live for awhile death is forever more
None have come back to tell us of life beyond this Earthly shore.

Many of us humans are enamoured in our own conceit
With each other for success we always compete
Yet the billionaire and the pauper will be equal one day
No competition for success where dead people lay.

The old cow in the paddock she does not understand
That death too will come to her perhaps by human hand
Her trust in human kind is misplaced one can say
And often for trust there's a huge price to pay.

The old cow in the paddock is no different to me
As we were both born to mortality
My span of time may be longer but for me too an end
I'm no better than she is so why should I pretend

That I'm someone special since that is not true
If we are born to die then death is our due
And the cow in the paddock in one way only different to i
She does not realize that she is going to die.

Old Madge

Old Madge who is in her late eighties is suffering from failing sight
But her memory it is flawless and she remains lucid and bright
She has vivid memories of her childhood which she feels happy to recall
I've had a good life she will tell you but my childhood years were best of all,
Her two great grand daughters are in their mid teens she says them I often do see
They are kind and lovely young ladies they always have been good to me
Her husband Tom died ten years ago they were married for fifty years
His end it was so slow and painful and memories of him still move her to tears
But she has got on with living life she says we cannot dwell in the past
The present is all that does matter though nothing in life seems to last
She surely is an inspiration the Madges of this World are rare
And though her sight it is slowly fading she is one unburdened by care
She always is happy and cheerful and she looks younger than her age
And from her life experiences she has learned much she surely is a female sage.

The Retired Horse

The tired and aged horse in the paddock his better days they are long gone
Though he is enjoying his old age and for as long as he can he'll live on
In his prime he was used for rounding up cattle he could run as fast as a hare
But now his fastest is a slow trot the poor old bay seems the worst for wear.

The young Jackaroo who used to ride him when he was a fleet five year old
He went to the reaper quite early a story about him is told
Whilst riding a bull at a rodeo he received a terrible fall
From which he did never recover a sad memory for to recall.

The farmer's daughter loves the old horse up to four years ago him she used to ride
But for that he has got a bit old and time it is not on his side
She now works in the city as a secretary and on visits home him she goes to see
And he always neighs her a welcome of her he has many a good memory.

The old horse is in his mid twenties and he has known a far better day
With gray hairs on his face and muzzle he used to be a handsome bay
Horses and people in some ways are similar we all have on us a use by date
The clock on all life keeps on ticking and time on the living does not wait.

The Downfall Of Human Kind

The downfall of human kind it would seem to me
Are greed and corruption, homelessness and poverty
And patriotism and religion and National pride
All of these things lead to war and they are Worldwide.

In a World where millions are dying of hunger and disease
The refugee camps are full of refugees
Millions displaced due to war and famine of great suffering they know
The people fleeing war zones with nowhere to go.

Even in so called wealthy Nations poverty is rife
And the ruthless look on the poor as the losers in life
Far too many homeless on poverty street
With nowhere to live and with little to eat.

Some grow wealthy and successful though they lie and cheat
The capitalist system has failed us complete
Thousands must grow poorer for every new millionaire
Do not tell me that the capitalist system is fair.

So much poverty in the big World out there
And so many are living in hopeless despair
But one falsehood with some sadness we recall
The lie we believed of a 'fair go for all'.

It Cannot Be Love

So much about love we hear of every day
But it cannot be love if the love is one way
It cannot be love if it's not felt by two
But that's only my opinion there are many who
Say if you love someone and she does not love you
That despite the lack of response that love is so true
But it cannot be love if it aches you to your heart's core
That the one you profess to love you chooses to ignore
If she refuses to make eye contact with you it would seem to me
That one sided love to one side is only love's misery
For unrequited love it can live on for years
And only cause disappointment and heartache and tears
And it cannot be love if there are hurt feelings at stake
If it causes one party so much mental ache.

I Like Unsung Heroes

'Tis of the unsung heroes I wish to hear
Their names in the newspapers never appear
They don't seek the praise and they don't seek the fame
They keep a low profile few know them by name.

Like the teenager who saved the young girl from the house fire
About him there is so much for to admire
To save someone else's life he did risk his own
Yet the anonymous hero remains as unknown.

Her parents wish to thank him the one they do not know
But for the deserved plaudits he has failed for to show
For to bask in the limelight does not seem his way
As an anonymous unsung hero he would prefer to stay.

I like unsung heroes though unsung they remain
From their acts of unselfishness and bravery they do not wish to gain
Like the teenage house fire hero he surely is brave
The life of a five year old girl he did save.

Friday, May 25, 2012

I Never Will

I never will walk in the old wood again
And hear the birds sing in the wind and the rain
And hear the song of the dipper echo in the stream
Though of the old home-place I often do dream.

My memories take me back to the long ago
I fancy I see the old hill in his white hat of snow
And hear the cold winds of January in the bare old fields blow
And see the stream bank high in flood to the big river flow.

I may never again see the wildflowers of May
In green and beautiful Spring in the fields far away
And the sweet scents of Nature a thing of delight
And the hawthorns are covered in their blossoms of white.

I never again may hear the robin sing
Or the voice of the cuckoo in the Northern Spring
But in fancy I hear the lark above the hill
And the babbling sound of the old upland rill.

I never again may see the swallows fly
Above the green valleys and fields of July
But in my flights of fancy the wren is in song
And his big bird voice one could never get wrong.

And What Have We Here

And what have we here but one more slipshod rhyme
From an ageing Poetaster decades past his prime
Someone ought to tell him for to call it a day
That his pen and his paper he should put away.

Yet out in the garden the grey shrike thrush sing
The beauty of Nature is a wonderful thing
On second thought the Poetaster should have the right
On the mysteries of Nature for to feel inspired to write.

Though poets are born and not made happens to be true
One ought to give credit where credit is due
And credit the Poetaster for having a go
Though wealth and fame he is not destined to know.

In a World of poetasters the poets are so rare
Not everyone can be a Burns, a Mangan or Clare
But to make up the human family it takes every kind
And like they say Poets are rare and hard to find.

And what have we here but an ordinary bloke
Who can laugh at himself and can laugh at a joke
An ageing Poetaster his prime years long gone
But credit him as one who keeps on keeping on.

I've Never Been

I've never been a soldier or fought in a war
And though from my old Hometown I have travelled far
I have never grown wealthy and never known fame
And I feel happy that few even know me by name.

I've never been anyway useful at sport
At football or golf or on the tennis court
Some call me a loser those with words who are cruel
In the age of aggression the most aggressive rule.

Though some of the big World out there I have seen
A God fearing person I never have been
Of the one known as God only good things we hear
And if god is all good then him why should we fear?

Though I have travelled far from my old native home
I have never been to the Coliseum in Rome
Or been to the Pyramids or seen China's great Wall
In the future such memories I won't have to recall.

I have never been good at any one thing
And others my praises they never will sing
The hard roads of life I have walked up and down
And I live many miles from my northern Hometown.

Are We So Blind

You look at him the one we chose to lead
He does appear so ordinary indeed
Are we so blind that through him we cannot see
If he's so average how stupid are we?

To have bestowed such great power on him in the first place
One so lacking in charm and wisdom and in grace
Than him a child has far more knowledge in his brain
Our choice of leader beyond me to explain.

The middle class to the wealthy he only represent
In a Land where far too many are homeless without even a tent
For to shelter from the cold and wind and rain
From the poverty of others far too many stand to gain.

The one we chose as our leader is so far from great
Though each day more millionaires he does create
For each new millionaire more are in poverty
Our sort of leaders we deserve it seems to me.

A Warm Summer's Day

The sun it grows warmer as the temperatures rise
And the air it is full of the buzzing of flies
The creeek it is empty the roadside drain is bone dry
And in the distance the smoke of the bush fire billows to the sky,
The paddocks brown and bare for miles and miles around
And the sun has soaked every drop of moisture from the ground
The cattle are sheltering in the shade of the trees
On a warm day in January with just a faint breeze
A top of 35 degrees the weather forecaster says so
And on the roadside fence a lone pale eyed crow
Is cawing in the warm sunshine of a warm day
And butterflies with brown spots on their wings of gray
In the sunlit garden from flower to flower fly
And not a rain cloud in the blue Summer sky.

Why Should I Even Care

Who wins at the tennis why should I even care
When in their huge winnings I won't be one to share
Yet some people travel far to watch their favourite players play
And just for that privilege most of their hard earned savings pay
The flags of many Nations one sees in the crowd
Suppose 'tis not hard to make some people feel proud,
Just to watch their compatriot chase and hit a tennis ball
I do find it hard to make sense of it all
But then I'm a cynic why pay heed to me
In feats of sporting greatness the greatness I cannot see
Yet the sports fans I envy for their passion and energy
As they urge on their idols on to victory
The names of their heroes and heroines they chant and they sing
But then one might say they are doing their own thing.

On Seeing Images On The Internet

On the internet when I look at photos from my Hometown some familiar faces I see
All of the people I grew up with they seem to be ageing like me
Yet by their faces I recognize them though they too are showing life's wear and tear
They stayed at home and raised their children whilst I went off to live elsewhere.

Some of the people I grew up with never had children whilst others are the Grandparents of today
But with me they share one thing in common old age from us not far away
We once had many things in common though young people as they age apart seem to grow
To them now I would seem a stranger and not the one they once did know.

We never thought that we would grow old or thought of life's journey ahead
Some of the children I grew up with are now numbered amongst the dead
We thought we would stay young forever but time of us all does take care
Few who are well into their fifties are blessed with a full head of hair.

Images of some of those I grew up with on the internet though young none of us ever stay
I recognize them by their faces though time has left them looking gray
Since I am one of those who migrated I envy them their sense of place
And I do feel a bit nostalgic at the image of a familiar face.

We All Love To Be Praised

We all love to be praised that's a natural thing
And it makes us feel good when others our praises sing
And the truth can be hurtful would you not agree
At least the truth proves harder to swallow for me,
Few of us like a liar to say so would seem fair
Yet still fewer of us the raw truth can bear
Are they telling us something of us we do not wish to hear?
Most of us are shy of self improvement or so 'twould appear,
Within their own mind the thought some do create
That they are quite special and they feel irate
When others the truth of them to their face tell
They tell them quite rudely you can go to hell,
We all love to be praised that's human one suppose
But show me the garden where one weed never grows.

Fire Fighting Days

The sun is blocked out by a heavy smoke haze
Twelve miles south of here a huge bushfire blaze
It's way through the brown paddocks and stands of trees
Fanned on by a warm and a freshening breeze,
Where-ever there's smoke there is fire to be found
And smoke travels by air for miles and miles around
The C F A the Country fire fighters are busy today
The destructive fire front they fight to keep it at bay,
Such courageous people one can't help but them admire
They risk their own lives to save homes from the fire
They display their courage in the gap of fear
Of great stories of their bravery we so often hear
Through dry scrublands and paddocks the huge fire front blaze
We are in the Season of fire fighting days.

At The Foothills of Mushera

At the Foothills of Mushera the Winter days are cold
And the old mountain cloaked in fog a strange sight to behold
I felled pine trees there years ago when snow was on the ground
It surely was a hard old way for to earn one's living pound

But Spring brought joy to Mushera the birds sang all the day
And the hawthorn trees looked lovely in their white blooms of the May
And the cooing of the woodpigeons a pleasant sound to hear
And everywhere looked lush and green in the greenest time of year.

Above the heath and bracken the male brown lark did fly
And carolling whilst ascending like a small speck in the sky
Cloaked by a tuft of heather her speckled eggs warm beneath her breast
His silent female partner was sitting in her nest.

In January old Mushera wears his white hat of snow
In the woodland by his Foothills some two decades ago
I felled pine and spruce trees in the cold wind and rain
Those days for me long over but the memories of them with me remain.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

The Favourite Does Not Always Win

The one at long odds at the finish line in front the punters counted the cost
And the outsider was the bookies friend in the race the favourite lost
And how the bookies cheered aloud at the punters expense
That the favourite does not win every race only makes for common sense.

Of your big win at the races you are quick to spread the news
But for every bet the gambler wins five more bets he will lose
Few bet on the outsider but in every second race
The one who is at long odds will finish in first place.

So many have to lose 'twould seem for one to have a win
So many losing tickets you'll find in the rubbish bin
Fools and their money are soon parted and gambling is a fools game
For gambling will surely leave you without a penny to your name.

The favourite does not always win one might say such is life
And the gambler due to his addiction is separated from his wife
For one to win many must lose 'tis always been this way
And the outsiders winning races on the racetrack every day.

The Schoolgirl Of The Sixties

With brown dye she covers the signs of any ageing gray
The Schoolgirl of the sixties a Grandmother today
Now in her mid fifties her better days are long gone
But true to her nature she keeps keeping on,
The Schoolgirl of the sixties is a divorcee
Her ex husband in his mid fifties left her for one twenty years younger than he
At that time her disappointment she could scarcely hide
But she overcame the huge dent to her pride,
To him she was a loving and a devoted wife
But heartache and disappointment are a part of life
And though on the journey of life there's many a pitfall
She has found her single status not so bad at all
She goes to single clubs and dancing she enjoy
And she may give marriage at least one more try.

A True Patriot

He doesn't feel his is a superior race
Nor is he not your average patriot though he has a sense of place
He never has travelled far from his Hometown
And he has never yearned for wealth and renown.

Of the National flag he doesn't seem very proud
And when the National team play he's never one of the crowd
In the National sporting stadium with ninety thousand others or more
For to add to the noise and the deafening roar.

Yet his neighbour a disabled widowed pensioner who lives on her own
Says as good a person as he is she never has known
Out of the goodness of his heart and without asking for pay
He brings to her the shopping and helps her in every way.

One might say he is the quiet man of the street
Untainted by arrogance or by conceit
To his higher self he is one who is true
To the unsung hero is credit not due?

A hard-working fellow he leads a pure life
Devoted to his young children and to his wife
And he finds the time to help out the less privileged in his spare time
Yet he has never been honoured in song or in rhyme.

For God or for Country he never will die
Yet he is a far greater person than I
He is a true Patriot would you not agree?
And you won't find many as honorable as he.

In Duhallow Now

The redwings soon will fly back to the Northlands when their home breeding woods are clear of snow
Far distant from the old fields of Duhallow where the Blackwater towards the ocean flow
For migratory birds remain true to their nature they always return home to breed in Spring
In their home wood they nest and raise their offsprings and in their home wood their finest songs they sing.

And towards Duhallow from their southern wintering quarters the swallows high above the ocean fly
For to build their mud nests on the old shed rafters their first brood will have hatched out by July
And above the fields in the cool northern Summer they chase the flying insects every day
It is quite natural in the Natural World that the smaller predator chase tiny prey.

It is so warm in this land of the Southern ocean the Summer now is in her glorious prime
Brown butterflies flit through the sunlit Parkland they make the most of their brief lifetime
The female has but a few days for to lay eggs the urge it is upon her for to mate
She will be long dead before her next generation as her kind are very slow for to pupate.

Far north of here in very old Duhallow the Spring is nearing with each passing day
Even though in the cold air of the dawning the frosted fields are still looking very gray
And the migrant redwings will soon be departing for their northern woods in the early Spring
And far north of their southern wintering quarters they will build their nests and the males will chirp and sing.

Hamilton In Victoria

A nice enough day under thirty degrees
And the goldfinches chirping on the sunlit street trees
And through Hamilton Town a freshening breeze blow
Much more pleasant weather than a few days ago.

Hamilton in Victoria can lay claim to renown
As the Southern Grampians Premier Town
The one major Town in a huge brown Countryside
The paddocks around it they stretch far and wide.

The nearest big Town is Warrnambool an hour's drive by car
And from Melbourne perhaps four times as far
The home of many a rural artist and many a bush poet
Such people that make a place worthy of note.

Hamilton in victoria far inland from the sea
The people there seem rather friendly to me
So many greet you with a smile and hello
A nice place to visit and a nice place to know.

Janice

So much to like about her a nice person to know
She has her own small fan club her friends in numbers grow
And old friends she has not seen for years with fondness her recall
As a very staunch supporter of the fair go for all,
A lovely person Janice and people like her are rare
For the refugees and dispossessed she genuinely does care
The fair go flag for all people the only flag she recognize
And her dislike of Patriotism and Nationalism she struggle to disguise,
She is one in her sixties but she does not look her age
And she has learned well from life she is a female sage
For to speak for the down-trodden on her you can depend
And to those she has befriended she is a faithful friend
A lovely person Janice with her none to compare
And so kind hearted and generous for the underclass she care.

And What Are We

And what are we but water, blood and bone
And one day we will be lifeless as a stone
We live for awhile and then we fade and die
In that way the monarch is no different to I.

And what are we but mortals little more
I sense no life beyond this Earthly shore
The great one who sacrificed himself for our sins on a cross on Calvary
I wish he had not died for those like me.

The elite sports person and the big movie star
How marvellous they well may think they are
But time on them it also ticks away
And the reaper will claim the life from them one day.

And what are we but mortals after all
Before we walked we had to learn to crawl
Of Nationality we always brag
Our pride is carried in our Nation's flag.

And what are we I ask myself again
When we lose a friend an enemy we gain
The clock ticks on and time on none does wait
And on us all there is a use by date.

A Heaven Without Fauna

'Tis said that only humans have been blessed with a soul
And we refer to them as dumb creatures the dog and bird and cat and foal
But heaven without birds, fish, insects and animals would seem a lonely place
No young lambs in the Springtime in sunlit fields to sport and race.

A World without bird song a strange thought that does seem
No dipper in the Highlands for to sing in the stream
For birds supposedly souless are dead forever more
No second chance of life for them beyond this Earthly shore.

No wombat, roo or elephant no rabbit, mouse or hare
No moose or fox or bison no polar or grizzly bear
No cat of any description no bird or beast of prey
The creatures who are souless on Earth condemned to stay.

'Tis said that only humans a living soul possess
And for the good the promise of an afterlife of happiness
And that non human life is souless believe that if you may
A Heaven without fauna on Earth I'd rather stay.

Extinction Is Forever

More creatures are in danger of extinction every day
And extinction is forever that seems so sad to say
Due to captive breeding programs many species now survive
When we remove trees to build houses of habitat more creatures we deprive
The World's larget feline the Siberian tiger is endangered and quite rare
And the great Californian condor a monarch of the air
Can no longer be seen soaring above his native territory
In decades from now so many species we never more will see,
Australia has lost forever it's Premier carnivore the ill fated thylacine
And the World's largest eagles the harpy's of the amazon are sadly in decline
And many of the great whales of the ocean are on the endangerd list
Yet the urge to hunt and kill them the greedy cannot resist
And extinction is forever and with the passing of time more
Creatures becoming extinct from the north to the southern shore.

He Mirrors The Face Of The Majority

He mirrors the face of the majority
The Nation's Government leader he seems so ordinary
We voted for him since we like what we see
You hear many say he thinks similar to me.

Like us he is endowed with great National pride
And like us he feels we have God on our side
But unlike us he knows better how to pretend
Even the one he secretly does not like he speaks of as a friend.

One of the majority and with the majority much in common he share
To him that the poor should grow poorer does not seem unfair
When he speaks of a fair go for all he does not mean refugees
Or people who are different to us in varying degrees.

Some of our power we gave to him on Election Day
And his speeches they suit us we like what he say
When he says we're not racist with him we agree
'Tis just that some are not suited for our type of society.

Of the canditates for the top job we took a mental note
And he thought more like us so for him we did vote
Like us he is endowed with National pride
And like us he too feels we have God on our side.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

The More I Learn Of Life

The more I learn of life the less I know I know
That I'm no wiser now than I was years ago
Of the ways of people it does seem so true
That most of us have a secret or two
That even with our nearest and dearest we will never share
And though that secret would not damage our reputation beyond repair
I once heard a wise woman say she looked gray and old
That a secret is no longer a secret if to one it is told,
The more I learn of life the more I come to realize
That some men though ageing have not grown more wise
No fool like an old fool and why should I deny
That those words in some ways to me too apply
And the more I learn of life the less I know I know
And the older I become the more forgetful I grow.

John Clare Was A Student Of Nature

John Clare was a student of Nature yet he did not have a degree
On natural sciences or animal behaviour, botany or ornithology
A poor man from Helpston in England born into extreme poverty
Yet of all of the great poets of Nature can you name me one greater than he?

In his Village he was seen as different and looked upon as a strange boy
But he was a true student of Nature and studying Nature's ways he did enjoy
As a boy he worked in the fields for a living and of Nature's ways he got to know
Now looked on as the poet for all Seasons though he lived two centuries ago.

John Clare suffered from a mental illness locked away from his children and wife
In the mental asylum at Northampton he spent the most part of his life
But that did not stop him of becoming a great poet his verses stand the test of time
During his lifetime not greatly honoured he was an uncrowned Prince of Rhyme.

His life story it was so tragic yet he overcame adversity
To become easily the most famous person from his Village he penned so much marvellous poetry
His legacy to Nature and Literature is immense and few with him one can compare
And Helpston will not have one more like him since people like him are so rare.

John Clare was a student of Nature and his verses will always be read
He was an uncrowned Prince of Poetry of him it can truly be said
Since he died in the eighteen sixties fourteen decades in time have gone
But his poems give pleasure to many and his legacy will live on.

If You

If you never try to make an enemy and do one good deed every day
And to help out one in need of help you go out of your way
And to the higher principles you try to remain true
The youth of your neighbourhood have a role model in you.

If against the one who did you wrong you do not hold a grudge
And though others may judge you them you never do judge
The good seeds of karma that you plant into a fine crop will grow
As far as life and Nature goes we must reap what we sow.

If you never put another down and none out of name call
And you are one who truly believes in a fair go for all
And the spirit of egalatarianism you warmly do embrace
Then you are quite a credit to your clan and to your race.

If you never partake in the gossip of the neighbourhood
And in the one looked on as bad you feel there is some good
And to the spirit of the fair go you remain ever true
Then you are one worth knowing and great credit you are due.

For One To Live

A blow fly stuck in a spider's web is buzzing in distress
The vibrating of the web to the black house spider is an S O S
That living prey is for the taking he puts on the fly the death bite
The hunter can enjoy it's meal and rest at ease tonight,
In Nature's World 'tis that way for one to live one has to die
And for the spider for to live the victim was the fly
Most of us humans too are carnivores we dine on fish and meat
'Tis part of our survival gene the need in us to eat,
'Tis also part of our survival gene our very need to breed
For the continuance of our kind we need to plant our seed
The blow fly has insured the survival of her kind her eggs on a sheep she lay
The dead sheep the maggots feed on in the paddock today,
For one to live one has to die such is life one might say
And life is forming as we speak in the stench of decay.

For Him The Easy Way Out

Why did he do such an awful thing in Summer's golden prime
When the bottlebrushes are in bloom in the warm southern clime
His children constantly in tears his wife in an awful state
By dying young at his own choice such grief he did create.

He took for him the easy way out only the brave live on
When all hopes of happiness for them in life seems ever gone
For some 'tis easier to die than live when life gets really tough
But for others no matter how bad or hard things are they never say enough.

He could have embraced his gift of life but he choose differently
Of the unhappiness that engulfed him he did set himself free
'Twould seem he put himself before his wife and family
He tied a rope to a strong branch and swung out of a tree.

Such is life some well might say but words are easily said
And all of the tears that were ever shed could not bring back to life the dead
Of living life he opted out the guilt and grief and tears
He left to his grieving family who will mourn him for years.

Mixed Messages

Never speak ill of the deceased by God's followers 'tis said
But God doesn't judge the living he judges the dead
And that his followers only judge the living does seem a bit odd
So who should we believe his flock or their God.

The teachings of theologians doesn't sound very clear
I am getting a lot of mixed messages here
The God they believe in and to whom they do pray
Than them looks at life in a different way.

The God they believe in tells them not to judge
And against those they dislike not to hold a grudge
And their grudges they nurture till the day they die
But then show me the one who once never did lie.

When God says judge not and thou shalt not be judged his followers him do not heed
Yet we reap our bad crops when we sow our bad seed
Between the teachings of God and the actions of his followers great differences I see
This all seems so very confusing to me.

You do not have the right to judge their God to them say
But they twist his thinking to suit their own way
Well versed in their religions their bibles they've read
But they judge the living and their God judges the dead.

From The Summit Of Mt Rouse

From the Summit of Mt Rouse one can see far and wide
Through the Southern Grampians that brown Countryside
That stretch to the Grampians beyong Dunkeld and for miles around
The scenery breathtaking from the high ground,
Those volcanic hills of fire centuries ago
Dumped their volcanic rocks on the flat lands below
Ancient Mt Rouse of historical renown
Is thousands of centuries older than old Penshurst Town
That it has overlooked for decades of time
And is honoured in history and in song and in rhyme
Where the Indigenous people had their Corroborees centuries ago
The true history of this Land they surely did know
They too have gone the way of time but Mt Rouse remain
And it's wild beauty and it's rugged looks it does retain.

He Has Fooled Many

He tells everyone of his successful life
But he never tells of how he bashes his wife
Or beats his two children to them he is cruel
The family home by fear he does rule.

A respected man in the community
But in his public face not the real one you see
He does look so gentle but looks can deceive
And of the cruel side to him few do wish to believe.

To his nearest and dearest little respect he show
He is not the nice person that we think we know
His public image is a boost to his pride
But to him one can say there's a far darker side.

To her best female friend his lovely wife did say
That he will return home from work one day
But she and the children they will not be there
They will have gone for to start a new life elsewhere.

That one cannot judge the book by the cover never truer words said
For to asses it's value it's contents must be read
And he is not the one I made him out to be
But he has fooled many and not alone me.

Rathcoole's Alfie Cooney

Rathcoole's Alfie Cooney is no stranger to fame
In Duhallow and beyond his is a household name
The Manager of Rathcoole Rovers is known far and wide
And credit to him never can be denied.

Rathcoole's Alfie Cooney is one free of guile
And he is one who never finds it hard to smile
So helpful and kind hearted people like him are rare
For others he is one who genuinely care.

He is now in his sixties years beyond his prime
But for a worthy cause one generous with his time
In the cause of humanity he has made his mark
And in his honour in Rathcoole they have Cooney Park.

From his association with Gaelic Games and Soccer his reputation did grow
And in Duhallow Alfie is one many know
Of due to his Community work and his easy going way
He will be involved with Sport till his life's final day.

Physically wise his better days may be long gone
But Rathcoole's Alfie Cooney he keeps keeping on
All around Duhallow his is a well known face
And without him Rathcoole would be a poorer place.

How Nice

So nice to walk in the cool of the evening in the mountain park close to the town
When the roos and wallabies are out grazing a half an hour before sundown
And the temperatures in the low twenties a pleasant 23 degrees
And the blackwoods and she oaks and wattles are soughing in the freshening breeze.

The beautiful song of the grey shrike thrush is always so pleasant to hear
And the white backed magpie one of Nature's finest songsters his flute sounds melodious and clear
Out there in the park by the mountain the cool air to breathe in is clean
The foothills look brown from the long dry spell not everything in Nature looks green.

How nice in the park by the mountain in the fading light of the day
In an area that is free of houses walking on the gravel pathway
That leads to the track at the foothills that leads to the top of the hill
The creek babbles down through the high scrub some call it a brook or a rill.

How nice in the park by the mountain a half an hour before nightfall
The wombats are out from their earth home compared to mum her growing young one seems small
The World is quieter where they live away from the noise of the town street
They eat the young shoots and dry grasses that grow midst the bracken and heath.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

On Hearing A Magpie Sing

The magpie sings in the bright sunshine of a humid and a warm day
Perhaps he is telling us something that rain is not that far away
For birds do sing in changing weather on a very warm day when birdsong you hear
You know there's a change in the weather that thundery weather is near.

Birds and animals are more sensitive to Nature than we are since nearer to Nature they live
They pollinate plants in their feeding from Nature they take and to her other things give
They are more Nature friendly than we are and on her resources less of a drain
The huge increase in the human population on Mother Nature does place a huge strain.

So little I know about Nature and so much of her I'd love to know
I fell in love with her as a schoolboy now that seems a long time ago
A wise old lady once did tell me that when out of Season the birds sing
That they detect a change in the weather Nature is a marvellous thing.

The magpie he sings in the sunshine on a warm day of thirty degrees
In his song he is trying to tell me that he senses the rain in the breeze
He can detect changes in Nature of her ways he knows far more than I
In his song he tells me that rain is not distant though there's not a rain cloud in the sky.

Dispossession

Most great cities are built on the Lands of the Indigenous the sinned against and the oppressed
And the truth to us though it may seem bitter is that we live on the Lands of the dispossessed
And the same has happened all around the World in human history dispossession is rife
By so called great warriors many great races have been rendered extinct aggression is part of human life.

The conquerors are always the invaders and though the changes keep happening fast
Those who choose to write our human history should not deny the wrongs of our ancestral past
And though the past it may be beyond changing the children of the future ought to know
That we live on the Lands of people dispossessed by our ancestors centuries ago.

Dispossession in the World is widespread it is even happening today
In some instances it seems more subtle bankers do it in a sneakier way
The family have run into hard times their house mortgage they cannot pay
And to sell their home the banks get the sherriff to evict them who could look on this as fair play.

On the Lands of the dispossessed we live on though the past it has forever gone
That part of our history we ignore our motto is life must go on
But the true history should be taught to the children at least to them that much we owe
That our ancestors were dispossessors though that happened ages ago.

I Am Not Without Sin

I am not without sin so I won't cast the stone
And though certain behaviour in others we cannot condone
For the mistakes we make there is some price to pay
What goes around comes around as some do say.

In the crowded refugee camps of the World millions of refugees
The dispossessed weakened from hunger and disease
Compared to them I must seem a billionaire
That's life some might say but life can be unfair.

To be born and living in the wrong Country at the wrong time
It seems sad to say is their very worst crime
That they warrant such karma it does seem all wrong
When most of the World's wealth to the wealthy few belong.

Many don't have a future though we all have a past
And I am not without sin so the stone I won't cast
In a World where millions live in poverty
There are many too many far worse off than me.

The Rhyme Poetess

She is in her thirties ten years past her physical prime
This talented poetess addicted to rhyme
Though she does not write for money or love of renown
There is no finer poet than her in the town.

A woman of beauty with shoulder length brown hair
And a cultural asset since her type are rare
The marvels of Nature in her poems she embrace
But in this age of materialism she does seem out of place.

In poetry's glorious era she would be seen as a great
But in the 21st century she is looked on as out of date
But still she keeps writing of birds, beasts and bees
And of sunshine and roses and blossoming trees.

She surely was born to be a queen of song
And her poems they are lovely they just sing along
So easy to listen to and easy to read
But sad to think she is one of a dying breed.

And since for the fruits of her talents she does not expect pay
Her type are so rare in the World of today
A woman of beauty and a laureate of rhyme
She would have been a great in poetry's glorious time

From Where The Blackwater Flow

She has lived in Ferntree Gully a suburb of Melbourne for fifteen years or so
The one from the fields where the Blackwater flow
On it's journey through North Cork to the Atlantic sea
The big floods of Winter she often did see.

Married to an Australian with a teenage son
Neither of them have ever seen old Clara lit by the sun
Or ever heard the male pink breasted chaffinch in the prime of the Spring
On a leafy green birch tree in late evening sing.

The place of her birth from her seems far away
But in this Southern Land she will grow old and gray
Near the Dandenong Ranges National Park where the tall mountain ash trees
Can be often heard soughing in the freshening breeze.

For awhile she felt homesick but it did not last
And now she does not feel nostalgic for the past
Though she often thinks of her homeland in May
When the birds in the leafy wood sing all the day.

To the laughter of the kookaburra at dawn she awake
When the butcherbird pipes in the wood at daybreak
Far away from the home of the gray hooded crow
And from the old fields where the Blackwater flow.