It Is Such A Beautiful Evening

Than Spring it is far more like Summer a summery warmth in the breeze
And sunshine on the old town and parkland and sunshine on the bushes and trees
The greeness of Spring all around me such beauty that cannot fail to please
The weather quite warm for September well over the twenty degrees.

Though early Spring few birds are singing in the warm sun of the day
They sing in the cool of the morning or in the twilight's fading gray
The Winter is finally over though Winter weather was far from severe
We may be due for an el nino a warm Spring is looming this year.

The heaths and prickly bushes are covered in their blue, pink and bright yellow flowers
They came to bloom in the late Winter in the cool and invigorating showers
The pardalotes by their nest entrance in a tiny hole in the ground
Wee wren sized birds spotted and pretty where they live small insects abound.

It is such a beautiful evening the swallows they chirp as they fly
And the sun with the warmth of Summer is glowing brightly in the blue sky
And the first brown butterflies of September are flitting in the balmy air
Alone and contented with Nature such moments are precious and rare.

'Tis Up To You People Of Millstreet

A broadband mast to be placed on Clara's summit with cable suspended on poles all of the way to the top
It may be too late for this E S B and PermaNet venture for to be brought to a full stop
At least they should be forced for to bury the cable than sacrifice such a beautiful view
You Millstreet people who love Clara to save it's beauty is up to you.

Long before there was a Duhallow and long before there was Millstreet Town
Upon the old beautiful country the old hill looked lovingly down
Without any ugly poles on it for progress the price big to pay
On putting poles on Clara mountain the E S B should not have their way.

Long before the mountain was named Clara it was the hill without a name
That humans should spoil it's wild beauty does seem such a terrible shame
With ugly poles dotting it's landscape the old hill will not look the same
Tis now up to the Millstreet community on this one they should not blow tame.

Tis up to you people of Millstreet it is of you we want to feel proud
If you can save Clara's wild beauty your praises we will sing so loud
The fight for to save Clara's beauty is only about to begin
You get in there and you start fighting for the fight it is your's for to win.

Such sad news to read about Clara it seems such an awful disgrace
That bureaucracy at it's ugliest is about to pockmark that beautiful face
Tis up to the people of Millstreet for to save the beauty of their hill
And they can be successful on this one if for the fight they have the will.

On What Has Gone Wrong In The World

On what has gone wrong in the World we all have our own bit to say
Yet on who does govern the Nation not all of us do have our way
And Government policies we do not agree with to our anger well may be fuel
But those things we have to put up with and such is majority rule
And many call this democracy but those who vote for the losing side
Must go along with Governmental decisions and sad for them swallow their pride
Suppose such is life as some will tell you and in life the winner takes it all
But then those who do climb the highest are those with the furthest to fall,
We hear of Government for the people though there never is such a thing
As Government for all of the Nation citizens those who voted against them their praises never do sing
Show me a good loser and I'll show you a loser those words as ever ring true
And few losers say of the winners they deserve it to give them their due
And on what is all wrong in the World we all have a little to say
But the last laugh remains with the winners and it has always been that way.

The Only God To Me

I first fell in love with her more than fifty years ago
My green Goddess of Nature the only God I know
The presence of her beauty surrounds me every day
In praise of Mother Nature words I don't have to say,
In their words the Nature Goddess the poets have glorified
And the artists on their canvas have sketched her Countryside,
Her rivers and her woodland her oceans and her land
Her mountains and her deserts thousands of miles of sand,
Us people like her Seasons we merely come and go
But she goes on forever nor young or old don't grow
She feeds the World's people the Goddess of the Land and Seas
And her wild birds sing and whistle on her bushes and her trees,
Her beauty all around me is everywhere to see
She is the Nature Goddess the only God to me.

The Slander Mob

The slander mob are out there calling you out of name
Those into public shaming only bring on themselves shame
And character assassination is such a shameful thing
The praises of muck rakers only muck rakers sing.

The leader of the slander mob to your face is a coward
But when his mob are around him he seems to feel empowered
He seems to feel so cocky when his mob are around
Suppose we do feel more secure when with those we share common ground.

The slander mob are out there doing what they are best at
On polluting people's characters their egos do grow fat
Not generous in any way of great deeds they cannot boast
And only to the slander mob a slanderer drinks a toast.

The slander mob are out there they are an ordinary bunch
With their own kind they socialize when they go out to lunch
They pollute people's characters in such a sneaky way
And they do deserve each other that does seem fair to say.

Mid September In Warrnambool

An evening in September the weather dry though cool
And people out jogging, walking and cycling on the beach road at Warrnambool
And above the calm ocean in the west the sun going down
A mile or maybe even less from the famous sea-side Town

Of Warrnambool in Victoria it's beauty is well known
In size and population in a decade it has grown
As a major Victorian coastal City it has become known far and wide
And the people who live in the Bool in their Hometown take great pride.

On late Winter and early Spring off of Logan's beach the Southern Right whales come to breed
And to watch these marine giants with their huge babies is an amazing sight indeed
For Warrnambool a major tourist attraction and quite an amazing sight
To watch them breaching for air in the warm Spring sunlight.

Mid September in Warrnambool a lovely time of year
When in the coastal City one can sense Utopia near
The people are so friendly most of them say hello
A pleasant place to visit and a pleasant place to know.

For Thinking A Little Bit Differently

I've had my moments of self loathing and I've had my moments of self doubt
But penning stuff is such great theraphy and one is never short of things to write about
Tis not for wealth that I keep on writing or for recognition or fame
And if some dismiss me as a poetaster it should not mean I should hide in shame,
For every poet many poetasters at least that's how it does seem to me
I do not seek your praise or your scorn and I do not seek your sympathy
I've always been a man of my own mind I don't follow the leader of the flock
But life for me is not all rosy I have taken many a knock,
Still my own opinions are my own despite what some of me do say
If I am dismissed as a ratbag that is the price one has to pay
For not going along with the main flock my trust and respect hard to gain
For thinking a little bit differently do I always have to explain,
I never seek power over others and my opinions are strictly my own
I speak out at every perceived injustice and on that my opinions are known.

A Child's Questions

She asks her mum about her daddy where's daddy mum she say?
Your daddy is in heaven dear in heaven far away
He went off to the war dear his body in the grave
But we ought to be proud of him he did die very brave,
One day we will join daddy beyond this Earthly shore
But you will have to wait a while since you are only four
The reaper has to wait for us but you and I one day
With your dad will be united from here so far away
And mummy where is heaven is it beyond the stars?
Yes dear beyond the Planets beyond the moon and mars
And daddy he is up there looking down on us tonight
At peace in his surroundings no war up there to fight,
I have answered all of your questions now go to sleep my dear
The moon's face in the window pane is shining bright and clear.

A Fair Rose Of Duhallow

In her late teens and so attractive and all things about her so sweet
And she looked as fresh as the Spring wildflowers that bloom in the fields of Millstreet
She seemed unaware of her beauty and unpolluted by conceit
But when she left her Townland in Duhallow her I was never more to meet.

She left the old Valley forever and her I did not see again
But she has not aged in my memory as young as she was then she remain
With shoulder length hair as brown as the ripened chestnut and eyes as blue as the ripened sloe
I last saw her I do remember some forty one Summers ago.

The years leave us all looking older and age on us quickly does grow
And if by chance now I did meet her the chances are her I'd not know
And she surely would not recognize me as time leaves it's mark on us all
For like the wildflowers of the Summer we fade to the winds of the Fall.

One might say I knew her in passing though young in my memory she stay
And doubtless I would not recognize her did I happen to meet her to day
She was a fair rose of Duhallow who sought the adventurous life
And I wonder did she mother children and become some lucky man's wife?

In The Mountain Wood Of Mushera

In the wood by Mushera Mountain some two decades ago
I worked in all kinds of weather in wind, sun, frost rain and snow
Felling spruce and pine trees for a living so much per ton I got paid
In a job one more than earned every penny that one made.

But the Spring by Mushera mountain is a lovely time of year
And in my flights of fancy I imagine I can hear
The coo of the wood pigeon and chaffinch's familiar song
From once heard by their chirps and calls and whistles birds one never do get wrong.

Of the wood by Mushera mountain memories with me do remain
And often in my flights of fancy I visit there again
And the robin he is singing in the wind and in the rain
And the stormwater overflowing in the flooded mountain drain.

In the mountain wood of Mushera I worked many a hard day
Felling spruce and pine trees for a living had to work hard for my pay
But the nesting birds were singing all through April and through May
And I brought their music with me from the mountains far away.

Two Weeks Into September

Two weeks into September the leaves begin to brown
In the groves and in the Townpark  in and near Millstreet Town
And soon the redwing thrushes in the old fields will be seen
When the gray frost of the cold morning does temporarily cloak the green,
Two weeks into September by the mountains far away
Few singing birds at daybreak do sing to greet the day
Yet in my flights of fancy I hear the jackdaws call
And I hear the robin singing in the cool days of the Fall
With a tongue that can't stop babbling every night and every day
The old stream from the mountains to the river winds it's way
And on a rock in the river around where the rapid waters flow
The dark brown dipper is singing the one with breast as white as snow
And on the second week of September by the mountains far north of here
The shortening days are getting cooler in the Autumn of the year.

Those Who Call This A New Country

Those who call this a new Country they sure have got it wrong
It was old in the Dreamtime the time of dance and song
When the Indigenous people had their corroborees
Up there by the high woodland in the shadow of the trees
This great and ancient Country has inspired the poets to rhyme
'Twas old in the age of the dinosaurs long before the Dreamtime
In two centuries of white rule what have we to celebrate
Of a wild and a natural beauty a mess we did create?
This is quite a young Country to people such as me
I seem to know so little of Indigenous history
The culture that we celebrate is from a distant shore
And the Indigenous history historians tend to ignore
And that this is a new Country is new to us alone
It is as old as time itself and as old as the first stone.

Her Toy Boy In His Thirties

She has had a couple of face lifts with hair dye she covers her gray
But clearly she is ageing she has known a better day
She does look well for her years but no turning back the hands of time
The Seasons pass so quickly for us no second prime.

Now in her early seventies time on us all does tell
But for one of three score and twelve years she does look rather well
A good diet and cosmetic surgery can go quite a long way
To keep one looking younger and keep wrinkles at bay.

Her lover in his thirties her young and virile toy boy
On him she spends heaps of money the good life with her he enjoy
As long as she keeps buying him a good time with her he's bound to stay
For money speaks all languages as the wise are known to say.

Now two years with the seventy her better days long gone
But she looks fit and healthy and she keeps on keeping on
Her toy boy in his early thirties their age difference in time a lengthy span
But that doesn't seem to bother her she loves her younger man.

The Man From Caramut

He has slept in a tent and in a swag and he has slept in a hut
But never in a hotel or motel the man from Caramut
And out there in the outback he often sleeps in his car
A young man in his thirties from home he does live far.

From his old Village in Victoria on the Hamilton Highway
In the shearing shed he often shear two hundred head a day
He's had his share of women he's drunk his share of beer
The last time he was in Caramut was in April of last year.

He has not fathered children he has never had a wife
A man who loves the outback and enjoys the rugged life
He has learned one thing from life you will always have a friend
As long as you are generous with plenty money for to spend.

A likeable and good natured fellow he lives life the hard way
And in the pub he and his shearing mates drink most of their hard earned pay
He revels in the rugged life he is a real hard nut
In the wide and brown big sky Country far north of Caramut.

A Gift To All Women

He thinks he's a gift to all women at least that is what he believe
But thought has proved him wrong as usual for himself he only deceive
The most narcissitic person that I know himself he does only delude
Most women do not find him attractive and his chat up lines to them seem rude.

The bloke he has got a big ego and that is not a healthy thing
He feels so superior to others and his own praises he always sing
In ways I do feel sorry for him since a tough enough childhhood he's had
But so too did so many others in life one must take the good with the bad.

He has found God but when he reads his bible to it's lessons he can't seem to relate
Though he likes to tell all who listen of his amazing gift of faith
He likes to have power over people yet his own life he can't seem to rule
His tongue one might say is quite caustic and with his words he can be cruel.

Old enough to have sense one might say though some they do grow old but not wise
He thinks he's the World's greatest person the one who believes his own lies
He likes to quote lines from the bible but 'tis not by good example he lead
His ego is over inflated and lessons in humility he need.

In Some Fifty Years From Now

The grey shrike thrush whistles on the wattle bough
I wonder in some fifty years from now
Will somebody one of his descendants hear
Sing in the wood in the Spring of the year?
Due to habitat destruction and pollution of water and air
Wildlife nowadays becoming far more rare
In fifty years from now will the woods ring
To music of the feathered minstrels of the Spring
In fifty years from now I will not be around
But will there still be the big wood on the high ground
Or for the saw mill will all of the trees have been cut down
And in place of the wood men will build a new town
And will his descendants be heard sing in some fifty years from now
The grey shrike thrush whistling on the wattle bough?

A Brave One

He has not had an easy life of late
He has battled his demons of despair
Just one of those who has known hard times
And his type of person not rare.

And yet he hangs in there and keeps on battling
And not all hope of success from him gone
A brave one he is not a quitter
And he will keep on keeping on.

He is one with a sense of humor
Though financialy embarrassed he doesn't find it hard to smile
He says life is a hard old battle
But the battle is worthwhile.

He has not known an easy time of late
But to despair he will not give in
He finds life such a very hard battle
A battle he is determined to win.

Sepember In Her Finest

The sun is brightly shining the frogs sing in pond and drain
These shy and tiny amphibians their songs tell us of rain
And Spring is all around me the beauty of the Spring
The wattles in their yellow flowers the birds whistle and sing.

September in her finest she wears her cloak of green
And everywhere one turns to look there's beauty to be seen
A poet in such a Landscape would truly feel inspired
Of talking of Nature's beauty one never could grow tired.

Some pray for an Utopia beyond this Earthly shore
In a World of eternal youth for to live forever more
But this the nearest place to Utopia that I will ever know
And how many more Seasons will I see come and go?

September in her finest it is a lovely day
The tiny wrens hop on the ground in search of insect prey
And birds are whistling on the trees in the afternoon sunlight
So much to write of in Nature for those who love to write.

Sad Faced Dan

His heart is full of stress by stress he is weighed down
The one known as sad Faced Dan the saddest one in town
He never laugh or smile he never crack a joke
He must not like the World he seems a sad poor bloke
When he walks down the street he never says hello
To anyone he meet not even those he know
Yet he is a good man he works hard for his pay
Nor ill of anyone you never hear him say,
He lives in his own quiet way and he does his own thing
The sad one of the town and none his praises sing,
The town's most crooked one he has a cheerful smile
Yet he flatters to deceive and his heart is full of guile
And unlike poor Sad Faced Dan he lacks in honesty
But the face you look upon is not always the soul you see.

Barcroft Boake (1866-1892)

He died as a young man did not grow old and gray
Hung himself with his stockwhip long with the dead he lay
He would have developed into a great poet those who know of poetry say
But with sadness weighing him down in life he lost his way.

Had he lived to grow old he would have known great fame
The young surveyor-drover poet Barcroft Boake was his name
Depression weighed him down he choose his way to die
The young outback poet who penned 'Out Where The Dead Men Lie'

So sad can be this life he choose for to die young
He left this World too soon his best songs were not sung
Yet some of his poems live on his best was surely great
In his far too brief life beauty he did create.

Not the first nor the last for to commit suicide
Many great women and great men in such a way have died
The young bushman poet he died before his prime
And it is poetry's loss since with him died his gift of rhyme.

Peter Brock (1945-2006)

Though good memories of him with motor racing fans will live on
He cannot be brought back to life he physically has gone
From the cares of life his car crashed into a tree
And as for his co driver how lucky is he
The renowned rally driver Peter Brock he has had his last drive
And his co driver is lucky to be alive
One with six decades of years
His passing brought sadness and tears
But in a game that can be so dangerous one chance too many he did take
In driving fast cars there can be a huge price for any error one does make
Yet he was a very brave one not afraid to have a go
Though to him of little value if in death his legend grow
His co driver lived to tell the story Mick Hone was a lucky man
Perhaps the reaper for his life not ready and granted him a longer span.

The Chained Siberian Husky

Chained to a timber post in the backyard of a house to where I live nearby
All through the night in the calm air he howls to the starry sky
His prolonged and continuous howling does not allow me to sleep
I must have sown the seeds of bad karma if this is the karma I reap.

A young Siberian husky from his ancestral homeland far away
All through the night he keeps howling he rests better during the day
Perhaps deep in his subconcious the northern lights he does see
This not a suitable climate for a cold Country dog such as he.

This not the climate for his type up where the Arctic winds blow
His type they revel in their work pulling the sleds in the snow
Out in the worst sort of weather they travel for miles every day
Bored without any work to do but here he is destined to stay.

All through the night he is wailing life for him must be so hard
Bored with his idle existence chained to a post in a backyard
This for him not a suitable climate his type are bred for the cold
Yet in this southern Country he is destined to grow old.

With Some

People who do disappoint me too seem disappointed with me
Perhaps 'tis our way of thinking we look at life differently
We have much different interests little in common we share
You show some people a rabbit they will tell you 'tis a hare.

With myself I feel disappointed for my years little to show
Just one more average poetaster success I never will know
But in the end it does not matter we live and we die then no more
None have yet come back to tell us of life beyond this Earthly shore.

With some I feel disappointed and vice versa one might say
People to my life come and go with many it is that way
And to many I am no different with some I can't see eye to eye
And those who will tell to you differently a fact are willing to deny.

With some I do feel disappointed and of me they feel much the same
Call that having nothing in common for want of a better name
To those of similar interests we always seem to gravitate
And one who to you is quite different will never become your mate.

When Women Will Rule The World

When women will rule the World sadly I won't be around
My bones will be resting forever in some quiet dead person's ground
But what a World 'twill be to live in the flower of peace will bloom again
And for as long as women do rule the World peace in the World will remain,
For as long as men rule the World terror and warring will live on
They have not learned from the mistakes of past male leaders with men as leaders all hope of peace gone
When women will rule the World the World will be a better place to live in
Mothers will not have to weep for their dead children there will not be wars for to win,
Women give birth to the soldiers mothers do not want their children to die
A dead hero is better than a living coward that is if you believe a lie,
Women do not want their children fighting in wars far away
There would be less wars in the World if women had a greater say
And when women will rule the World war will be a thing of the past
The flower of peace will be blooming and beautiful peace it will last.

Back In Wendouree Again

In Ballarat in lake of Wendouree
So many water birds at all times one does see
The musk duck and the black duck and moorhen
Live in small family groups of four to ten
With swamphen, black swan, teal and wood duck in plentiful supply
And the coot of human kind is not so shy
And the silver gulls the picnic tables squawk around
Where food is they are often to be found
My walks in Wendouree I do recall
When sunday was my happiest day of all
And though that was close to twenty years ago
Fond memories do not fade like Winter snow
And things of great beauty in memory do remain
And in fancy I'm back in Wendouree again.

A Glimpse Into Nature's Soul

So much to love about in Nature and every day something new we see
Though little I seem to know of her for her secrets she hides from me
But now and then I get a quick glimpse into her beautiful soul
When she is calm and in a relaxed mood and her stronger feelings are under control.

In the mountain Parkland at nightfall sitting quietly in my car
The sun had set and in the sky the evening's first star
Was twinkling in the gloaming in the fading lamp of day
Not yet dark but visibility not that good as the minutes ticked away.

To the green patch from the nearby scrub hopped an adult female brown hare
She seemed quite relaxed and unperturbed of my presence unaware
Then out of a nearby tussock her young one did appear
And the mum sat on her haunches as to her it hopped near.

Her baby less than half grown it was scarcely half her height
And to watch it as it suckled was quite an amazing sight
Something not too many have seen and something I'd not seen before
And something for as long as I live I may not see evermore.

Something that I never had seen nor I may not see again
A glimpse into the soul of Nature and the memory with me will remain
Of the brown hare in the twilight as she lovingly nursed her young
Of such things stories and poems written and of such things songs are sung.

Don't Give Up

I said my better rhyming days are gone
But he urged me to keep on penning on
You may be many years beyond your prime
But you are never too old for to rhyme
And though as a rhymer you may never be a great
A name that others will not celebrate
It matters none if you are not good enough
If that is what you like to do keep penning stuff,
You may be one the critics do ignore
But keep on keeping on and keep on penning more
If something you write helps for to make someone's day
That says more of you than anyone can say
So don't give up although rhyming does not pay
The game of words you should not give away.

I Feel Happy To Be With Nature

I feel happy to be with Nature alone in the wood by the hill
When the white backed magpie on the tall gum he opens his sivery bill
And pipes his own natural music so beautiful free flowing and clear
His wonderful song it is timeless and something quite pleasant to hear,
I am happy to be with Nature alone by the babbling creek
It winds it's way down to the river from the high ground at the foot of the peak
Through the flat and the wide brown paddocks it babbles on
forever more
For to join the great body of water that flows to the great ocean shore,
I feel happy for to be with Nature alone in the gloam of the day
Where shrike thrush the beautiful songster in his feathers of light brown and gray
Is whistling on the blackwood wattle one bird that I know by his song
You hear him once him you remember and the next time you won't get him wrong
And so good to be alone with Nature as darkness creeps over the trees
When the birds are whistling and singing in the freshening late evening breeze.

Germaine Greer Is Such A Brave Woman

Germaine Greer calls it as she sees it and public scorn she does not fear
She is a huge loss to Australia her thinking uncluttered and clear
She tells the truth as she does see it and her truth is not a popular thing
She doesn't laud legends or heroes and her praises few bother to sing.

Some people say cruel things about her and people can be so unfair
Not surprising that she left Australia for to go and settle elsewhere
Unkind things have been said about her some with their words can be so cruel
For those different 'tis a hard World to live in a World of majority rule.

Germaine Greer is such a brave woman on patriarchy she heaps scorn
She lives in the Northlands in Britain far from the Land where she was born
The female who dares to be different and the one unafraid to speak out
I admire her for her great integrity and her honour is never in doubt.

What is a great loss to Australia must be seen as England's great gain
For herself she does her own thinking the woman has got a great brain
Some obsessive hero worshippers not happy with her and about her such cruel things do say
But their trash talking hardly can hurt her since from Australia she lives far away.

Some Of Them

Some of them are not now with the living and some of them live distant from me
But them I will always remember the people I will never more see
Some of them I did not get on with we did look at life differently
But like my friends them I remember and like my friends they remain in my memory,
Some of them are in or near the Hometown and some of them from there live quite far away
And some of them in different cemeteries at peace with the World now lay
But them I will always remember and them I will never forget
And though the past it is now gone forever the past I do never regret,
Some of them live distant from Ireland from their old homes in North Cork
In cities such as Christchurch and Melbourne and Sydney and London, Paris and New York
They went to seek their fortunes elsewhere and said their goodbyes to the hill
And like me in their wild flights of fancy they hear the dipper in the rill
That babbles on down through the high field to the river that flows to the sea
And Nature she lives on forever and a true immortal is she.

An Old Country That I Used To Know

Through fields and by ditches and by many a hedgerow
The Araglen down to the Blackwater flow
And on a tall beech tree the grey hooded crow
Is uttering his loud caw that is repetitive and slow.

It was an old Country that I used to know
When I was much younger many Seasons ago
But now from there I live far and time has left me gray
And the clock on my life it keeps ticking away.

But when I visualize the old fields are quite near
And the Araglen's babble I fancy I hear
And by his song the dipper I do recognize
He sings in the river when I visualize.

The cool winds of September down from the north blow
And the hills will soon wear their Winter hats of snow
And the days getting short and the nights getting long
And the thrushes and finches no longer in song.

Longbilled Corella

Crow sized white cockatoos and not seen everywhere
Though in the Southern Grampians they do not seem rare
With long down curved bills for digging for food in the ground
The calls that they utter not a pleasant sound
Yet pretty to look at and when they are in flight
Above the wide paddocks a marvellous sight
And on their roosting trees at twilight and daybreak
Their chorus of loud squawks one canot mistake
They nest on a tall gum in a cavity
And their two white eggs few are privileged to see
Like all cockatoos they can live for to be very old
And of their longevity great stories are told
With their long down curved hooked bills they dig for edible roots and bulbs in the ground
And within their small range in numbers they abound.

Their Insurance Of Power

A booming economy Government spokes people say
And things looking better with each passing day
And you keep voting for us and you will be okay
Such are the games that politicians do play
But with them it is just the same story of old
And by them the same story it is re-told
But they never tell the people what the people should hear
That many cannot afford turkey for Christmas this year
They never do speak of how the gap between the haves and the have nots it keeps growing wide
Behind their ambiguity they always do hide
But of the threat of terrorism they would prefer us to hear
Their insurance of power is their peddling of fear
And to lie to them seems to come so easily
In Parliament house you won't find honesty.

She Stands By Her Son

He is a serial killer and awful things he has done
But his mother says he is not guilty and she stands by her son
A jury found him guilty but with their verdict she does not agree
She says my son is innocent I believe what he told me
That he did not murder those women the jury got it wrong
For him forty years in prison is forty years too long
For one completely innocent of any serious crime
The jury they erred badly they got it wrong this time
Though human blood and hair found on the bodies of the victims of foul play
According to the lab technicians did match his D N A
But there must have been a mix up and grieved am I to say
that for the crimes of some evil one my innocent son must pay
And all others say he is guilty she is the only one
To say that he is innocent she won't forsake her son.

A September Day

A thing of such great beauty to behold
The wattles resplendent in their blooms of gold
The first week of September and Spring is in the air
And in the green park daisies bloom everywhere,
On a day like this 'tis good to be alive
To start your car and go off on a drive
So great to live to see another Spring
To hear the nesting wild birds chirp and sing,
Were I a poet I would write a simple lay
For to celebrate this beautiful Spring day
To celebrate the beauty I can see
Where the Goddess of Spring has spread her greenery
And the wattles laden in their golden flowers
Look resplendent in these mild September hours.

Steve Irwin (1962-2006)

How can I mourn for one that I did not know
Though to me he did seem to be a good man
He knew of fame and he knew of wealth and glory
Though short enough indeed seemed his time span

Steve Irwin was one who done a lot for Nature
And on behalf of conservation a big part he did play
But in his interaction with dangerous creatures he took too many chances
And he died after being stung by a sting ray

So many people seem to mourn his passing
For he was such a big celebrity
But few would wish to know him or to mourn him
Were he one who had died in poverty.

From Steve Irwin's death from Nature's there a lesson
A lesson to that we all ought to adhere
Stay away from creatures with the power to kill you
At least to them one ought not to get too near.

Steve Irwin is dead a man admired by many
And he was successful in quite a big way
But with creatures with the power to kill he took far too many chances
And for that the biggest price of all he had to pay.

What I Would Give

Though many better at sports and bigger and stronger than me
What I would give again for to be twenty three
Playing football with the lads in Coolikerane bog
Or out hunting with Pudsy the gallant brown dog
Back then I was fitter and could move far more fast
But my prime years went so quickly and few things seem to last
With far less energy now and the years have left me gray
And the clock on my life it keeps ticking away
What I would give now for to re-live my prime
But like all others I am a victim of old father time
And on each of us there is a use by date
And for anyone time it does not seem to wait
And the longest life in time it is not a long span
Oh what I would give for to be a young man.

Picanniny

In quiet old Piccanniny the forest ravens caw
Around their breeding borders observing Nature's law
It is their nesting time of year and with nests to defend
The nesting pairs tell other birds where their borders do end,
Off of the woodland pathway one can hear the heavy bound
Of wallabies and kangaroos across the scrubby ground
The wodland is their sanctuary during the hours of day
From trees or heavy cover they are never far away,
The calls of the pied currawong their songs can tell of rain
Once heard birds one cannot mistake in memory their voices remain
And the soft pipings of the crimson rosellas come wafting in the breeze
On a pleasant evening in early Spring of around seventeen degrees
And pink and yellow flowers are bloomimg on the heath and shrike thrush in his cloak of gray
Is whistling on a wattle tree on this mild September day.

Ned Kelly Was A Hero

Ned Kelly was a hero and despite what some do say
The legend of his bravery in Australia lives today
As game as Ned Kelly is a well known Aussie quote
The leader of the Kelly gang remains as one of note.

The Kelly gang were victims of unfair local law
And the raping of his sister Kate by the police was surely the last straw
Ned and his brother Dan and their friends Steve Hart and Joe Byrne became outlaws and they ranged far and wide
And they robbed banks in the small towns of Victoria-New South Wales border Countryside.

The most recognizable Australian in Australia's brief white history
His unfair trial and his hanging in Melbourne jail assured him of immortality
Though far better people than them are long forgotten and gone
The legend of the Kelly gang is with us and lives on.

The Kelly gang were not as ruthless as some make them out to be
They may have caused the deaths of a few Policemen but even those with anti Kelly views agree
That there was some provocation the Kelly gang was on the run
And you shoot back when you are shot at that is the law of the gun.

Ned Kelly is a hero and 'tis said that he died game
And in Australian folklore his is an immortal name
And whatever way you see him on one thing all do agree
That the legend of the Kelly gang lives on in Aussie history.

Changes In Cullen

I hear there are changes in Cullen and few people there I would know
It has been awhile now since I've been there perhaps twenty Summers ago
The babes then are now young men and women and the Seasons they come and they go
Yet through the old fields by the Village the Araglen to the Blackwater flow,
In Cullen some fine gaelic speakers who conversed in the gaelic tongue
And in the old pubs in the Village the old songs and ballads were sung
And when Dansil played his accordion the dancers they took to the floor
But the changes keep happening in Cullen and famed Dansil a memory of yore
I have such fond memories of Cullen in Duhallow from here far away
But the passing of time does bring changes and there I would be a stranger today
But suppose one must live in the present since the past it has forever gone
Though they still have their feast day of Latiaran and that old tradition lives on
And despite my Seasons of absence fond memories with me do remain
Of Cullen in distant Duhallow and there in fancy I visit again.

Melanie Mumford

She helps out the misplaced Iraqis, the Iranians and the Sudanese
And the Afghans as well as many others condemned to be boat refugees
The people Australia's Government do not make welcome on their behalf she works tirelessly
The wonderful Melanie Mumford few with such compassion as she.

So young yet in her early twenties such noble causes she embrace
Amongst the Rural Australians for Refugees in South Gippsland her's is a very well known face
On behalf of asylum seekers in and out of detention she works as hard as anyone
For the poor and Stateless and unwanted the best she can do she has done.

Always sending out emails and letters to the people on her mailing list
For a fair go for dispossessed people without thought of self she persist
She dreams of a fairer Australia and her dream in life she pursue
And it can be truly said of her that to her higher self she is true.

To her friends and politicians she sends out emails and letters on behalf of the dispossessed
Poor and unwanted asylum seekers in their home Countries they were oppressed
The wonderful Melanie Mumford so compassionate lovely and young
She sows her good seeds of good karma and her praises ought to be sung.

We Do Not Move In The Same Circles

In truth he is a very good person though we look at life differently
The things that to him are important are not that important to me
He is quite a religious person and he goes to church on sunday
Like I say we see things quite differently though with me that does seem okay.

He is a professional type of person and he is quite clever and wise
But I'm not in his social circle and with him I do not socialize
The like minded do stick together that does seem the natural way
Whenever we meet just in passing we do wish each other good day.

Birds of a feather seem to flock together to humans that too does apply
That a strong bond is born of sameness is not hard to understand why
In likeness there is an attraction both physically and mentally 'twould seem
One does not seem to have much in common with those of a different team.

He is such a very good person and when he prays his is not a false prayer
But we do not move in the same circles since so little in common we do share
He is one I see fairly often since to me he does live nearby
But when we meet we do not have long conversations just a simple hello and goodbye.

Dennie McCarthy

Never more to be seen in Kilmeedy though from there he does not lay far away
And he surely did have a good innings that would be a fair thing to say
Dennie McCarthy was in his early nineties when the grim reaper paid him the call
The reaper who sooner or later will one day claim the lives of us all
Survived by his wife Teresa and their son Jerry he lived to the good age of ninety three
A hard working and an honourable fellow one loved by friends and family
His brother the late Michael lived in Church Street in Millstreet he too was a likeable man
The popular McCarthys of Kilmeedy were granted a lengthy time span,
His spirit will live on in Kilmeedy though from the old home he has gone
The one known as Dennie McCarthy in the thoughts of those who knew him will live on
He was not one who liked the limelight and he never yearned for renown
And he lived his long life in Kilmeedy a few miles from old Millstreet Town,
An honourable and a likeable fellow and one who had in him so much good
He never did harm anybody and he would help you if he could.

You Will Not Find Much Worse

You will not find much worse sort of people out of the misery of others they financially gain
These so called legal money lenders despite their annual profits of billions they still do complain
That their profit margins should be greater and is there an end to their greed
And in helping the social divide to grow bigger they somehow do seem to succeed.

On working people with house mortgages they keep on piling up the interest and their repayment penalty rates they apply
And they wonder why so many do not like them and they even ask the question why
So many look on us as greedy since any business a profit must show
But those who knock us because of our huge profits so little of commerce do know.

Just one branch of the ugly side of bureaucracy for every millionaire they create
They leave far too many the poorer for to face an uncertain financial fate
For those who fall behind on their mortgage repayments their homes without their permission they do sell
Without caring if they render them homeless and if they make their lives for them hell.

They pay their C E O's millions in annual salaries these bureaucrats who cannot see it as unfair
That thousands must have to grow poorer for every newly proclaimed millionaire
Their money lending institutions for them a source of huge profit these people who lack compassion and who don't give a care
For the battlers who give them their billions in the bigger World out there.

Noel Duggan

He died in an accident that seems sad to say
And in Cullen his remains in eternal rest lay
He lived all of his life in old Lisnaboy
And music and dancing he used to enjoy,
A carefree sort of a fellow as I can recall
He did enjoy life and his worries seemed small
At the end of the last dance he joined the encore
In a call to the musicians just to play one more,
He danced around the dance floor with Eileen his wife
Music, dance and song are the soul foods of life
A singer and dancer he loved music and song
And with the music he always sang along
And though Noel Duggan the dancer will never dance again
Good memories of him with his friends will remain.

Spring Is In Town

The birds in the town gardens whistle and sing
A beautiful day this the first day of Spring
The morning slightly chilly though not even cold
And the sunshine on the trees so lovely to behold
The Goddess of Spring she arrived overnight
She stole through the paddocks in the pale moonlight
She stole up the main street and her none did see
When the magpie was fluting on the moonlit tree
At midnight in pleasant temperatures of seven degrees
She crept through the parks in the freshening breeze
Through the streets and the parklands she creeps up and down
The first of September and Spring is in town
And with her she brought the greenery that she will spread around
On the flat dry paddocks and on the higher ground.

Babe Han

She was a middle aged woman when I was a young man
The wife of Willie Riordan the lovable Babe Han
A sister of Maimie Twomey's who keeps on keeping on
Though sad to say from Millstreet Town Babe Han forever gone.

I remember I last met her coming from Mallow on the train
We chatted all of the way to Millstreet that memory with me does remain
And that was twenty years ago back then she did seem old
Yet so much to like about her she had a heart of gold.

In the Duhallow Town of Millstreet she was known by one and all
And good memories of the good woman are not hard to recall
Down to earth and unconceited she always said hello
And she had some marvellous stories of Millstreet long ago.

She was an ageing woman when I was a young man
And she lived on to a ripe old age her's was a lengthy span
She lived a simple lifestyle she never yearned for fame
An old citizen of Millstreet Town and Babe Han was her name.

He Needs Help In A Hurry

Forsaken by good lady luck and financially embarrassed
And by those he owe money to he is threatened and harassed
Without money he has come to know that one is in deep trouble
Each day his problems multiply and his worries seem to double,
His wife has left him and with her took the kids enough of stress she had taken
When you are way down on your luck by all you seem forsaken
The horses not going well of late for weeks he has not backed a winner
He doesn't even have enough of cash for to buy a McDonald's dinner,
He can only place a small bet now by finances restricted
He does need help in a big way to gambling he's addicted
One who is heavily in debt and into debt further sliding
He feels so worried and stressed by life he has thought about suiciding,
The money he owes he cannot repay and he cannot sleep due to worry
A man addicted to the punt he needs help in a hurry.

In This World

In this World of more than six billion people of every race and breed of woman and of man
The longest lived just live a few years with the century and in time that's not a very lengthy span
And in their lives so many have to suffer and of malnutrition many even die
Whoever first spoke of an egalatarian society only spread false hope that grew to a lie.

The good die young or so many will tell you but that is not the truth in every case
I know of some quite generous and kind hearted with gray hair and with wrinkles on their face
And they are now well into their eight decade the good die young to all does not apply
Another fallacy just like those who try to tell us that success is there for those for it who try.

In this World where extinction is forever more species are becoming extinct every day
And in this humans are not a blameless party in extinction a big part we seem to play
Habitat destruction and pollution are human creations where too many people live wildlife becoming rare
The World is overpopulated with people and too few about the World seem to care.

In this World where greed has become too abundant the many suffer whilst the privileged few do thrive
In the drought and war ravaged Countries of the World the millions have to struggle to survive
And for every winner there are many losers in a fair society things would not be this way
And human greed is the cause of much extinction that does not seem an unfair thing to say.

Old Claraghatlea

I will always be a fellow from Claraghatlea and that is something I never could deny
And though I live a long way from the homeplace far even as the migrant wader fly
I think about the old home very often though far from there my bones may well yet lay
In flights of fancy I see the fields and hedgerows and the old home I visit every day.

Old Claraghatlea the Townland of my childhood from my thoughts it is never far away
I walk again in sunlit Summer meadows and to my nostrils come the scent of hay
And I can hear the old rill gently babbling and young birds chirping in the green hedgerow
And though it has been two decades since I left Millstreet on looking back it does not seem long ago.

In Claraghatlea I spent my youthful Seasons though on looking back so brief did seem my prime
And in the Townland within view of Clara mountain I first fell in love with Nature and with rhyme
The robin and the chaffinch I remember and the tiny brown wren with the big bird song
Despite my years of absence their voices I remember and their songs once heard one never could get wrong.

Whereever my life journey will lead me to old Claraghatlea will always follow me
Those old fields within view of Clara mountain in flights of fancy I will always see
I hear the loud coos of the wild wood pigeon and I hear the dipper singing in the rill
That babbles it's way down to the big river by hedgerows of the high fields by the hill.

Less Than Two Days

The sunlit wood along the hill with Nature's joy is ringing
Less than two days from the first of Spring the nesting birds are singing
The wallabies and roos in the paddock by the wood in the sunshine are grazing
And the weather for the time of year is really quite amazing,
The magpie and the grey shrike thrush their songs can't be mistaken
And of late every morning from my sleep to bird song I awaken
With nesting borders to defend the males for battle bristle
They warn males of their kind to keep clear with anger in their whistle
Though Spring is still two days away her spirit now is present
I do love this sort of a day not too warm but quite pleasant
The sparrow fly to her shed rafter nest in her beak a small feather
She and her mate they build their nest and brood their eggs and raise their young together,
Less than two days from the calendar Spring and the nesting birds are singing
And the sunlit wood along the hill with Nature's joy is ringing.

Madge The Poetess

Madge the Poetess has a way with words than her there is none better
For to pen a poem or a short play or for to write a letter
Yet she does not yearn for wealth and fame for the love of writing she writes only
Without her note book and pen she says she would be very lonely,
In her mid twenties and quite talented a well known local writer
And wise and clever and unassuming than her not many brighter
The leading writer in the town her fame is even spreading
And the regional literary critics do agree that for greater things she's heading,
I often see her and her partner Ted walking hand in hand together
On the gravel path around the Townpark lake on pleasant and sunny weather
Her light brown hair blowing in the breeze her beauty worth a mention
Unconceited and slightly shy she does not seek attention
She has written many a lovely poem and short play and short story
And poetry critics in the know say she is bound for glory.

Deno

Deno is a religious person you hear him say that god is great
And to many he does feel superior he prides in his great gift of faith
He often does quote from the bible and lessons on morals to others he give
But he is not a tolerant individual and he doesn't practice live and let live,
He goes to his church every sunday to sing hymns of praise and to pray
And he is a very devout person the other church goers of him say
Amongst his peers he may seem special but in his own small ways he is small
He believes on a fair go for some people but not on a fair go for all,
In god's eyes all people are supposed to be equal though he doesn't see it that way
He looks up to the financially successful and respect to them he does pay
And as for the poor hard up battlers their type he would rather not know
This so called good man who does read his bible yet much understanding does not show
To people who to him are different his ego each day bigger grow
This devout student of the bible the one who is known as Deno.

That Is All One Can Do

One can do their best that is all one can do and than that one cannot do much more
And one can only live for the present who knows what the future for us holds in store
If you are fair with other people and never harm one in any way
Then you are a successful person despite what some of you might say
If all were millionaires none would be paupers one's money does not prove one apart
From one who finds life a great battle 'tis better to be kind of heart
Than one who has got heaps of money and is cruel to his children and his wife
Than the material side there's far more to a person the good person lives a good life
One can give their best and best only and if the good life you pursue
Then you sow the seeds of good karma and good karma you will be due
You do your best to live a good life and that is all that anyone can do
For life it seems short even for those who live to one hundred and two,
So live a good life and be happy for who knows what tomorrow will bring
It only matters that you be a good person though others your praises don't sing.

Joe Sullivan

Joe Sullivan I always will remember he died quite young of years perhaps a few with the two score
And sad to think that he will never more drive on the roadway from Millstreet to Rathmore
I found it so sad to read of his passing an accident caused his premature end
He will be sadly missed by all who knew him and to many people he was a good friend.

A son of Peggy and of the late Finbarr his early death is such a tragedy
He will be grieved by his mother and his siblings he is a huge loss to his family
And to the Millstreet Community in general since there isn't anyone to take his place
He surely did deserve a better ending from Claraghatlea his will be a missed face.

So down to earth and generous and helpful there was so much to like about in Joe
In Claraghatlea he was one that I knew well when I lived there a few decades ago
The good die young is surely true in his case I never thought that him I would outlive
He seems so young to be laying in St Mary's when he had so much to offer and to give.

News of his death a news I did not wish to read of it brought a lot of sadness to my day
Joe Sullivan gone from Claraghatlea forever he did not live on for to grow old and gray
He was one who was generous and kindhearted and to help others her went out of his way
And he did a lot of good in his too brief life of him that would be only fair to say.

It Is Said

It is said poets are born and poets are rare
And not many poets in the big world out there
But many poetasters themselves self promote
And in reference to self always use the word poet,
But if they overestimate temselves with me that's okay
Though self praise is no praise the wise one does say
They are flattered when others their praises do sing
And to their dreams of immortality they fondly do cling
To any individual I don't mean to be rude
But in our own self importance ourselves we delude
A strange thing the ego or so it does seem
And though at times we do need a boost to our self esteem
When referring to self poet I never do use
As such a beautiful word I've no right to abuse.

'Tis True

'Tis true what they say about people today's friend can be tomorrow's enemy
And that nothing in life lasts forever applies too to you and to me
As dead as the dodo they used say now they say the same thing about rhyme
And most things do have their use by date and few things stand the test of time,
In life there are not any certainties who knows what tomorrow will bring
Your lotto numbers they may come up and with joy you will laugh loud and sing
Your money worries will be over an instant and a new millionaire
When the going was tough you kept on going though your financial cross heavy to bear
'Tis true we are only mere mortals and time does take care of us all
The all powerful like the great tree of the forest one day are destined for a fall
The reaper than them far more powerful and on their lives has the final say
No different to all other mortals their end near with each passing day
And 'tis true that your friend at the present in the future may not be your friend
For nothing it does last forever and all things must come to an end.

Nikolai Valuev

The first Russian World heavyweight champion and surely a giant of a man
Taller and heavier than even Primo Carnera and the pride of his race and his clan
His name is Nikolai Valuev a boxer managed by the renowned Don King
He remains undefeated as a professional boxer and his praises we ought to sing.

Some doubted he would become a champion those of boxing who do claim to know
That those of his size are too awkard and as well as lacking in punching power are too slow
But Nikolai he has proved them wrong he packs a huge punch for his size
And he can move quick for a big man and to under-rate him is not wise.

The W B A Heavyweight champion a legend of boxing today
Of poor parents he has known the hard life and he has come up the hard way
And he has become wealthy and famous in the hard game of fighting for pay
All things come to those who strive for them the very wise are known to say.

The W B A Heavyweight Champion lets hear it for Nikolai the great
His is a rags to riches story the man boxing fans celebrate
The tallest and heaviest ever World boxing champion as a professional he has not known of defeat
His size and his physical power makes him quite a hard one to beat.

Sameness They Only Embrace

The wealthiest person in the place far from financial renown
And the poorest one is very poor in the poor country town
Where everyone knows everyone your business not your own
And even family secrets by everyone else known.

This not a town for migrants not many migrants live here
The locals do not embrace difference that's how it does appear
But of course there are exceptions though their type in the minority
Who speak out for the fair go in a place of cultural poverty.

Not a place of great commerce and few evolved thinkers live here
In the pubs they talk of work and football between spells of guzzling beer
They feel happy in their sameness it is difference they do fear
Though quite knowledgeable in football and their football heroes they revere.

A small rural town in the country a few hours drive from anywhere
A place of a small population where many things in common they do share
The people with a fondness for sameness and sameness they only embrace
And if to them you have different interests amongst them you feel out of place.

Why Should I Wish For Heaven

The magpie on the gum tree pipes his melodious air
And the great beauty of Nature surrounds me everywhere
The nearest place to utopia of I will ever know
My love for Mother Nature it only seems to grow,
The brown skylark is carolling melodious and clear
Lost to my vision in the cloud world though his music I can hear
Why should I wish for heaven when heaven it is here
The darkened nothingness of death is all that I do fear,
In Nature's greening garden less than a week from Spring
The weather getting milder the birds whistle and sing
As long as good health is with me the lust for life will survive
For to welcome in another Spring 'tis great to be alive
The nesting birds are singing it is that time of year
And why should I wish for heaven when heaven it is here?

Lessons Were Not Learned

Lessons were not learned from Vietnam and Iraq's the latest story
Yet how can some men learn from war when through war they seek their glory
Another war victory parade the flags and banners flying
And those who do cry out for peace in vain are only crying.

Dishonourable men use fear to cling to power and enemies for us keep creating
They tell us who we ought to mistrust and who we ought to be hating
Meanwhile this war on terror rages on and who can define terror
Since the dictionary's definition of terrorism is different to most someone is guilty of an error,

We see fighter pilots flying above the clouds far higher than the soaring eagle
To drop their bombs on foreign towns doing something as quite legal
Yet suicide and car bombers in our eyes are bad and completely crazy
Our thoughts on terrorism to say the least seem confused and rather hazy.

From past conflicts lessons are not learned and those for peace the peace not winning
And the power hungry by spreading of fear to their power keep on clinging
The lexiographers must have got it wrong on their definition of terror
Perhaps the powers that be should convince them for to correct their error.

Did You Ever Feel Disappointed

Did you ever feel disappointed to find your best not good enough
Yet you did keep on persevering though you found the going rather tough
But your doubters you are determined to prove wrong you will not quit after one failed try
At least you do prove you have courage and that of you none can deny,
You keep trying though the odds are against you and by good example you lead
You prove to the World you are a trier and eventually you will succeed
The tough get going when the going gets tough and once down to you not defeat
And when you achieve your great victory the taste of success will taste sweet,
Some may dismiss you as a failure but you will not yield to despair
For few have the gift of compassion in a World where compassion is rare
For the losers there is never an encore and to them compliments are not paid
And the winners are loudly applauded and honoured in a big parade,
Today you may well be the loser but tomorrow's winner may be the loser of today
And for you there may be a huge party and many a loud hip hooray.

On Hearing A Blackbird Singing

A few days left in August a few days from the Spring
This evening in the gloaming I heard the blackbird sing
He whistled as the sun went down somewhere on a nearby tree
His song so recognizable though him I did not see.

He sings around his borders to proclaim his territory
His is a familiar song to many and a familiar song to me
He sings his best at evening and in the morning at daybreak
A familiar voice to many and a voice one cannot mistake.

The wildborn birds are nesting it is that time of year
And even in the moonlight the magpie's song one hear
But the blackbird one of the birds I've yet to hear sing at night
Yet his whistle sounds so pleasant in the fading evening light.

As the shades of night are crossing the darkening evening sky
The blackbird he is singing on a park tree nearby
And the first day of September Spring's first calendar day
From the shores of Down Under less than a week away.

The Man From Gneeveguilla

A man from Gneeveguilla the years have left him gray
From Sliabh Luachra in East Kerry he lives so far away
He has been in Australia since nineteen sixty four
Far distant from the byroad to the border Town Rathmore.

The man from Gneeveguilla has turned sixty three
He lives in Blackrock in Victoria a short walk from the sea
With his soul mate of forty years his devoted Aussie wife
They will grow old together their contract is for life.

The man from Gneeveguilla his better days he has seen
His eldest grandchild in the workforce a young woman of nineteen
Forty three years in Australia yet his accent he retain
He brought it with him from East Kerry and with him it does remain.

The man from Gneeveguilla in Blackrock not out of place
With his blue heeler on the sea shore board-walk his is a familiar face
A very friendly fellow and a nice person to know
He came out to Australia more than forty years ago.

In War Winners Are Losers

The winners write the war history or so it has been said
And though they may have their celebrations they cannot bring back the dead
For the dead are gone forever in eternal rest they lay
And in war winners are losers despite what some do think or say,
In war the one winner is hatred and old hatreds linger on for years
And the mothers for their dead soldiers are left to shed their tears
The last post may be played for them on war memorial day
But they will not hear the bugler all is so quiet where they lay,
They went to the reaper early and they faced death without fear
And of stories of their bravery we do so often hear
But those who sent them off to war were those who stood to gain
And though the young heroes died bravely their premature deaths were in vain
For war it is still being waged and the huge sacrifice they made
Only rally the troops for war in another war parade.

Why Worry

Since they cannot look into the depths of your soul
What others think of you is beyond your control
You have not been found guilty of any crime
And it is up to you what you do with your time.

Why worry what the small minded think of you or say
When they only want you for to see things their way
Why change your ideas and your values just for to blend in
To be different to others is never a sin.

Just to please them why should you wave the National flag
Since so called patriotism is such a common brag
You live your own way and stick to your ideas
For you surrender your right to be different if them you do please.

Leave them in their own cliches their own praises to sing
And you live in your own way and you do your own thing
And since you never harm them in any way
Why worry of you what they do have to say.

Serena Has Found Her Soulmate

In her friend and lover Dana her soul mate she has found
Serena she is lucky few good men like him around
But the same can be said for Dana the Serena types are rare
One doesn't meet a Serena everyday and everywhere.

Since she left old Mt Evelyn she has travelled far and wide
And it surely can be said of her that luck is on her side
But in life we make our own luck as some are known to say
And Serena the go getter for herself is doing okay.

She has picked fruit in North Queensland and even managed a hotel
And now with her own business on the Gold Coast for herself she is doing well
So much to like about her to great things she aspire
Serena is one woman that one can't help but admire.

Yet I hope she has not changed that much from the Serena I did know
The one who made me laugh so much up to a couple of years ago
To be serious and hoity toity would not suit her at all
Her loud and hearty laughter with great fondness I recall.

Since I last spoke to Serena it has been more than a year
And that she has found her soulmate is a great story to hear
She has had her up and down times since she left Mt Evelyn Town
And there is truth in the old saying a good one cannot be kept down.

Out There In The Dry Country

Where the thistledown is flying in the breezy morning air
In the stony dry country the brown country out there
And only the songs of magpies and the bleatings of sheep one hear
In a place where so few people live and the nearest big town not near.

Above the dry brown paddocks in the calm morning sky
The dark winged welcome swallows are singing as they fly
When swallows fly close to the ground a sign of rain some say
The winged insects they live on fly near to the ground when rain is on the way.

Out there in the dry country far from the nearest big town
Between the volcanic rocks and stones the grass at most times brown
Except after heavy rainfall when some green does appear
It is a dry brown country for ten months of the year.

Out there in the dry country on a branch of sapling tree
The flycatcher willy wagtail sings his scratchy melody
For to protect his borders 'tis said that he does sing
Out there in the dry country six days from the first of Spring.

It Has Been Awhile Now

It has been awhile now seems like ages ago
Since I last heard the familiar caw of the gray crow
The home to me then may be home never more
As I live far away from Hibernia's shore,
When I look in the mirror an ageing man I see
And I ask myself can this really be he?
The boy with the youthful face and dark brown hair
As gray as a badger and looking the worst for wear
If time does not wait for anyone why should it wait for me
Though so much of the World I have yet to see
So much for to see yet time is not on my side
But time is our master and cannot be denied
And it has been awhile now and many a Spring
Since I last heard the robin on the hedgerow sing.

Men Are Cruel To All living Things

Men are cruel to all living things such as poultry, dogs, sheep and cattle
And men do shoot to kill at their own kind for to prove themselves in battle
And though I should not be the one to talk since I am a meat eater
I do not own a fire-arm or I am not a wife beater.

The wealthiest fellow of the town seen as a high achiever
His ex wife paints him in a different light though few willing to believe her
She claims he often bashed her and than him there is none crueler
That he was not her husband just her autocratic ruler.

But many dismiss her story as sour grapes and on his behalf are quite defensive
They see him as a successful gentleman who could not be offensive
But there is no smoke without fire they say why do his ex wife hate him
Whilst those who have never lived with him verbally celebrate him?

Men are cruel to all living things in us all lurks the predator
And of domestic violence amongst the human kind the male mostly the instigator
The town's wealthiest man drives out with his young bride success makes life seem sweeter
And few do believe his ex wife when she says he used to beat her.

The Wanderlust Is In Me Yet

The wanderlust is in me yet I yearn for distant places
I do grow tired of the one place and it's familiar faces
And perhaps they feel the same of me and happy to see me leaving
At my departure it would seem there will not be any grieving.

The wanderlust is in me yet I yearn for the open highway
I long to drive for days on end on the country road and byway
Through places I've not seen before I would find that invigorating
The wanderlust in me alive but time for me not waiting.

The wanderlust is in me yet the open road is calling
The birds are singing far away as shades of night are falling
For years I've led a sedentary life the precious time I've wasted
A World citizen I feel since sweet wander I have tasted.

Just like the restless mountain rill that scurries down the gravel
The lust for wander is in my soul I feel the urge to travel
So little time left and so much to see and the hands of time keep turning
And for new and exotic places the desire in me is burning.

Just Memories

On Clara's slopes in mid July I ate the whortleberry
And the splendid views I do recall towards the hills of East Kerry
The whortleberry small blue fruits that ripened on the heather
From late June until late July in changeable Summer weather.

With Pudsy our brown cattle dog where I went she did follow
The canine friend of my young years back there in old Duhallow
The family pets though decades dead we always do remember
Memories of them live on in us to our life's last December.

Just memories of what used to be though the past has gone forever
Though nostalgic links for many seem impossible to sever
In flights of fancy in the high wood at Claramore I hear the song birds singing
And the carolling lark above the hill up to the clouds is winging.

To climb Clara hill in June and July there was a special reason
The whortleberries ripe to eat their's is not a long Season
Just memories of what used to be when I was a young fellow
A wild one with the flush of youth but the years have left me mellow.

He Was A Good Person

I have mental pictures of the stress in his handsome young face
But now he's at rest in a far quieter place
He was a good person as I can recall
Though his mental condition led to his downfall,
For too long he had battled his ghosts of despair
And he was one who did know life is not always fair
Years on medication and he seemed to lose all hope
Of living a normal life without drugs he could not cope
With the stress of living he found it too hard strange voices he kept hearing
And people others could not see in his life kept appearing,
Strong drugs could only keep him semi sane his thought patterns grew more scattered
A young man in his twentieth year by life he had been battered
His mum now grieves for her only child who so tragically died
Life for him was too hard to bear and he committed suicide.

Karma

You better try to sow seeds of good karma
For with karma we must reap what we sow
And karma is real and has been around forever
And of it's consequences many have come to know.

If you are honourable in your dealings with others
And to your higher self you remain true
Then you can live free of fear of bad karma
And good luck it will surely be your due.

But if you steal their good names or cheat others out of money
And live in a dishonourable way
Then do not expect good things in the future
To karma your price will be huge to pay.

It's up to you how you create your karma
If you are a good person then good karma you will grow
But if for your cheap gain you treat others unfairly
Then one day you must reap what you did sow.

Dunkeld

As near to an Earthly Utopia as one could wish to see
Those rugged old mountains pre-date history
To the very first Aussies strong links it can trace
Dunkeld in the Grampians is a beautiful place.

For the Grampians Geriwerd is it's indigenous name
And those old rugged hills the white fellows can't tame
It's sheer rugged beauty inspire poets to rhyme
Geriwerd it was even old in the Dreamtime.

Dunkeld the old Village on the higher ground
Within sight of where Nature's untamed beauty abound
By those old stony hills in the shade of the trees
The Indigenous People had their corroborees.

The cry of the currawong the caw of the crow
Their voices were heard many centuries ago
By the first human caretakers of this Southern Land
The workings of Nature they did understand.

Dunkeld an old place with a charm of it's own
More beautiful than it I can't say I have known
Renowned for it's beauty and great scenery
An Earthly Utopia it does seem to me.

He Lives In His Own Way

A penniless fellow yet he laugh and he sing
But wealth some will tell you is a relative thing
He laughs at the World one not fettered by stress
And what happens tomorrow he could not care less
He does not have a wife to pull him into line
For he does like his beer and he does like his wine,
He doesn't belong to a church or to a god he doesn't pray
And that the World is against him you will not hear him say
He doesn't have degrees of which he can brag
And he doesn't take pride in the National flag,
He has been called an unpatriotic godless infidel
By so called patriots who believe in a heaven and hell
But he doesn't care what some of him say
He does his own thing and he lives his own way.

In Central Victoria

In central Victoria they badly need rain
The water reservoirs almost empty in Bendigo and Castlemaine
Little rainfall in August and less in July
And in Daylesford and Maryborough many water dams dry,
For the people of central Victoria tough times are ahead
The drought to continue or so it is said
The Shire Council rationing water and Spring almost here
And the drought has continued through Winter this year
In the drought stricken area for rain people pray
But in central Victoria the weather experts say
The drought to continue no heavy rain on the way
And the water reservoirs getting lower with each passing day
And in central Victoria what they need most of all
Is more than a few days of heavy rainfall.

Back There In Old Duhallow

Back there in old Duhallow the Summer nears her close
And the browness of Nature's decay on the petals of the rose
And the big bird song of the tiny brown wren echoes in the hedgerow
In the quietness of the morning where the old Blackwater flow
Through Duhallow on towards Mallow babbling eternally
Through the old fields and by hedges on the long journey to the sea,
Back there in old Duhallow in the cloudy August sky
One can hear the swallows chirping as above the fields they fly
Within weeks they will be leaving for the warm lands far away
From the place they will return to where they first saw light of day,
Autumn days near to Duhallow Summer is long past her prime
And the colours of the Season will inspire the poets to rhyme
And the redwings from the Northlands will soon answer Nature's call
And wing their way to Duhallow in the dying days of the Fall.

Fond Memories Of Birdsland

I hear the bellbirds in the wood on the hill
And magpie he opened his silvery bill
And he fluted his wild and his beautiful air
As a Nature songster few with him to compare.

To his own kind proclaiming his territory
Grey butcherbird pipes on an old blackwood tree
There is no mistaking his bubbling song
Once heard the voice's owner you cannot get wrong.

The soft pipings of the rosellas so pleasant to hear
And the raucous calls of the kookaburra echo loud and clear
In the calm morning air in Birdsland today
A place from my thoughts never too far away.

The loud quacks of the female the softer tones of the drake
Of the black duck that live in Birdsland's brown lake.
Fond memories will stay with me until I die
Of our walks around the lake old Jedder and I.

From Birdsland and from where I now live far away
The bones of Jedder my black and white female dog lay
A walk around the lake and chase stick or ball
'Twas easy to please her as I can recall.

Fond memories of Birdsland with me does remain
And in fancy I visit the old place again
By the creek the harsh squawks of the white cockatoos on the tall gum trees
Come wafting to me in the freshening breeze.

Thomas Caulfield Irwin

He should be one worthy of literary note
Yet he has become a near forgotten poet
One of those who deserve a greater renown
Thomas Caulfield Irwin from Warrenpoint County Down
As a sonneteer his sonnets are supreme
Yet he is one not held in high esteem
Of language he had such a great command
And his poems are never hard to understand
Yet in death his legend never seemed to grow
He is the poet that not many of seem to know
He is not in the literary hall of fame
And few have even heard of him by name
But he is one we ought to celebrate
Since as a poet he surely is a great.

The Times Keep On Changing

As dead as the dodo some say about rhyme
But then suppose everything does have it's time
The great rhyme poets and poetesses in their long rest now lay
They did have their innings one of them can say.

In art, music and literature the changes do happen fast
And only Nature forever is the one who does last
People come and go and the past it has gone
And only Nature herself seems to keep keeping on.

In the last days of Winter coming up to the Spring
Out there in the woodland the birds nest and sing
To insure the survival of their species they must breed that is Nature's way
In Nature there is birth and there is death every day.

It does seem that most things have their use by date
And for anyone or anything time does not wait
And though some to the past with great fondness do cling
Each new generation with them new ideas bring.

The times keep on changing and changing quite fast
And nothing save Nature ever does seem to last
But the big river forever to the great ocean does flow
And the Seasons they come and the Seasons they go.

The Dunkeld Muscovy

He lives a lonely sort of life in Dunkeld's old brown lake
A black and white muscovy duck or should I say a drake
And every time I visit there he follows me around
As if I were a long lost friend that he at last had found,
He quacks as he swims out to greet me and waggles up from the lake shore
As if to say I have not seen you for a few days maybe more
Quite close enough to touch him he must be expecting to be fed
On the next time that I visit there I must take him some bread,
He must have been a child's pet for he seems so very tame
And perhaps he was one of those pets who had a given name
And suppose the child grew tired of him and brought him to the lake
He or she loved him for a little while and then him did forsake,
The wild duck and moorhens of the lake for him not much company
And though free to travel as he wish he seems lonely to me.

At This Stage Of My Existence

At this stage of my existence I do not need an enemy
To be a better person is all I wish to be
What I dislike in others in my own self I see
My better days behind me old age ahead of me.

When I was in my young years I daydreamed of wealth and renown
In Claraghatlea my home Townland just out of Millstreet Town
But I was young and foolish then in hindsight I recall
And I only wish to be a better person now and a fair go for all.

In Spring in the grove by the old stream the robin sang all day
And under the house eaves the sparrows built their straggly nest of hay
And the hawthorns looked resplendent in their white blooms of the May
And I daydreamed of wealth and fame in places far away.

At this stage of my existence I do not yearn for wealth and fame
And when I'm gone mine will be just one more forgotten name
And what matter if I die tomorrow or live to eighty four
I want to live as a better person just that and nothing more.

The War It Is Over

Despite death and injury it has all been in vain
The war it is over but the hatred remain
The war it is over but the hatred won't die
And that war leads to peace and justice is always a lie.

The war it is over but not dead and gone
The simmering hatred and mistrust for decades live on
And too few realize two wrongs don't make a right
In a darkened soul you won't find any light.

This modern warfare is a horrible thing
Such suffering to non combatants it does bring
The pilots who on bombing missions do fly
Drop their parcels of death from the clouds of the sky.

The war supposed to end all wars ended decades ago
Yet in the twenty first century the numbers of the war dead grow
We need more people who believe in live and let live
You kill someone's children you they won't forgive.

The war it is over but the mother in tears
The death of her innocents she will grieve for years
They lived in the wrong building and were there at the wrong time
Yet a war bombing mission gone wrong is not seen as a war crime.

The Rose Of The Town

So beautiful and clever and gentle and wise
The woman with golden locks and chestnut brown eyes
And yet unaffected by guile or conceit
The nicest of those in their twenties who live in our street.

A lovely young person in her own charming way
She greets everyone with a friendly good day
She finds it so easy to smile and say hello
And beauty is with her where-ever she go.

Some their physical beauty it goes to their head
But of our town beauty such cannot be said
A down to earth person her type are so rare
Of her stunning looks she does not seem aware.

In her early twenties the Rose of the Town
Never enters a beauty contest that would lead her to renown
She always seems happy and of any cares free
And few are as lovely to look at as she.

A Quietly Spoken Person

He is not well known in his local pub
Or he is not a member of the football club
He likes a few beers though cigarettes he doesn't smoke
He is known what some do call your average bloke.

He is not a member of any community committee
And when it comes to politics few are as non committal as he
Not seen as successful as success seems to go
A low profile person that few wish to know.

He does not attend church he's an atheist 'tis said
And though he's not stupid he is one well read,
He is one dismissed as a never do well
By those who believe in a heaven and hell.

A quietly spoken person who does his own thing
And his praises you never hear others sing
Though those who do know him say he's generous and kind
And his very equal would be hard to find.

A Day On Clara Hill

A light cover of snow lay on the mountain and the air had a wintery chill
And the cold damp winds of January blew across Clara hill
As we climbed up towards the wooden cross Jerry and John Mahony, Donal Hickey and I
A memory to remember until the day I die.

The Mahonys had their working dog Sandy with them and Donal had Jerry his cattle dog
And the climb up through the snow clad bracken for Schoolboys a hard old slog
The dogs bored without a fox or hare to chase suddenly commenced to fight
For Jerry a bloodless victory though not a pretty sight.

We climbed to the cross on Clara hill overlooking Millstreet Town
The uphill journey it was tough though an easy journey down
To the home of Denny Mahony where from our uphill climb began
The memory of a Sunday adventure of a boy lives in the ageing man.

Jerry Mahony and Donal Hickey still live in Inchaleigh at home they will grow old
And John Mahony lives in England or so I have been told
I wonder do they still remember that Sunday long ago
When we climbed the hill of Clara blanketed in January snow?

One more adventure story from my boyhood in Millstreet
Though the years have left me weary and heavy are my feet
And though the past has gone forever we cannot bring back the past
Good memories of our childhood years into old age does last.

Petula

Where the pale green undulating fields slope gently to the sea
The coastal lands of England she never more may see
With a terminal illness her bones in southern soil will lay
From her old northern Homeland twelve thousand miles away,
Petula is only thirty a fair rose in decay
And in this far southern Country she will live her last day
Her husband Mike is an Aussie and their daughter Lena has turned four
In 96 at twenty she first set foot on this southern shore,
She became a naturalized Aussie some three years ago
And her daughter as an Aussie into womanhood will grow
Her English accent till her end she will retain
And the spark of nostalgia with her will remain
Until the reaper in her life has the say
And her end is only a few months away.

His Dog Is A Man's Best Friend

There is an old time saying that his dog is a man's best friend
That too should apply to women for why should we pretend
That a woman does not love her dog as much as any man
Women have loved their canines since human and canine friendships first began.

In fact as a whole females to birds and animals than males are far less cruel
Their nature tends to love and nurturing the male nature tends to rule
To say that man's best friend is his dog to woman kind seems rude
How come from some old sayings the fairer sex we exclude?

To some I may sound politically incorrect here though I do not think that I do
For leadership in love and in nurturing to women we turn to
The woman loves her children and she loves the household pet
And that 'tis woman who gives birth to man is something we ought not forget.

His dog is a man best friend a saying from long ago
But between a woman and her canine the bond of love and trust more strongly grow
For women towards their pets more loving more gentle and more kind
And with every gentle woman a gentle dog you will find.

In The Heart Of The Migrant

In fancy I hear the robin sing in the wind and the rain
And the wood by the old hill I do see again
And water bank high in the stream and the drain
And fresh in my memory the home fields remain.

A long way from here to Erin's green shore
And further inland to fields of Claramore
But in fancy I hear the birds sing every day
In woodlands and on hedgerows from here far away.

In the heart of the migrant nostalgia doesn't die
And those who tell you differently to themselves only lie
The hoarse cry of the gray heron and the babble of the rill
That flows to the river down the field by the hill.

And though what is past is past and forever has gone
Such things in the memory destined to live on
Of when we were young and lived far away
Our early love of Nature with us seem to stay.

The song of the dipper echoes in the stream
Old memories they linger in our thoughts it does seem
And the hawthorns resplendent in their white blooms of the May
Fond memories that never do seem to decay.

The Australian Raven

On the Australian mainland a familiar crow
The Australian raven everyone seem to know
Their long drawn out caws one can never mistake
Echo in the paddocks just after daybreak,
Common corvids that country folk see every day
The male and female pair for life those who know of birds say
High on a tree in a flat nest of sticks lined with wool and hay
In Spring four to five spotted brown green eggs the female bird lay,
That they alledgedly kill young lambs is their greatest offence
But on this one modern science has come to their defence
It has been proved they only kill lambs that are too weak to live
So for their minor crimes farmers them can forgive
And since they kill harmful insects and slugs every day
They do help the farmers in quite a big way.

In A World Of winners And Losers

For the winner 'tis not easy to be humble since victory does taste so sweet
And as for the one who did not win 'tis hard to be gracious in defeat
In a World of winners and losers the winners only seem to count
And the tag of the gallant second to nothing does seem to amount,
In a World of winners and losers the winners we do glorify
And set them up as a good example that others they ought to go by
But we never look on them for their sense of values or ask to their higher selves are they true
The truly good overlooked by the masses though credit in heaps they are due,
So many so called winners in life are defective a false face to the World they show
They may seem the big winners in our eyes but little about them we know
We pigeon hole people by money since money adds to social power
But when you look at your garden flower bed the weed there does outgrow the flower,
The glory it goes to the winners and always for them the encore
And it is a World for winners one might say we've heard that before.

They Were So Very Different

And who can blame the husband and who can blame the wife
Their marriage doomed for failure it could not last for life
They were so very different so different in every way
The ways of love not easy as some are known to say.

She the aspiring artist and he a fan of sport
And in her work he never encouraged her and offered her support
Their love bloomed for a few years and died so suddenly
They both live separate lives now and each other seldom see.

And when they meet just a brief meeting such as hello or good day
They find that to each other they don't have much to say
Her art is her great passion he has his football team
Their marriage doomed for failure from early on it did seem.

Their two years of marriage did not bring children that does not seem too bad
In their case the family court need not resolve parental disputes between mum and dad
Love between them blossomed for a brief while but that was in the past
And like 'tis said few things in life do ever seem to last.

Your Life Is Your Own

The fruits of your life have gone to poor seed
And others say of you that you have failed to succeed
But the praise or the scorn of others you don't need
For your life alone it is your's for to lead
And since you never harm others in any way
By the things that you do and the things that you say
Then your life is your own business and what's your's is your own
And one day we all must reap the karma we've sown,
You go your own way and you do your own thing
And though your praises others are not known to sing
The approval or disapproval of others you never do seek
And of them good or evil you never do speak
And the past well the past is forever and gone
And in the present you live and you keep keeping on.

On A Morning In December

The night was cold and frosty and the morning fields are gray
And the migrant redwing thrushes chirp on bare hedgerows far away
And the chaffinch he is silent on bare branch of alder tree
In flights of nostalgic fancy such things one does hear and see,
In the frosted fields by the old hill that overlook the town
The mountain hare in tawny coat is racing up and down
For to warm the coldness in her bones she has a run around
In the grayness of a Winter's dawn on the hard frosty ground,
The sparrows chirp by the back door expecting to be fed
Till housewife after breakfast throws out scraps of meat and bread
And redpolls in from bare wood and field by the hay shed search for seed
They overcome most of their fear of human kind to serve their own survival need
And the cattle in the farm-shed are bellowing for hay
On a morning in December in the dawning cold and gray.

Life Must Be Very Sad For Her

Life must be very sad for her so feeble, old and gray
From her bed helped to her wheelchair her life's hours tick away
A drive in the nursing home bus once a week with her elderly mates she does look forward to
She can only live for as long as she can but then that's all we all can do,
In her mid nineties she must be near the twilight of her life
For fifty years to a hard working man she was a devoted wife
He died some twenty years ago soon with him she will lay
In the old graveyard by the hill just a short drive away
From the nursing home where she now reside and though she knows her end is near
Her husband she is going to join so death she does not fear
Her daughter even growing old she now is seventy one
And her grandson in his early forties with a teenage daughter and son,
In her mid nineties and in need of care and her better days long gone
And only her great love for life it keeps her keeping on.

I Respect Them

I respect them though the last post for them will not be played
And never in their honour will there be a parade
And yet their anthem for peace to my ears sounds so sweet
Those peace loving peace marchers who walk along the street.

They march on in their thousands up to the City Square
Their dream is for a peaceful World a common goal they share
And yet in their honour never a peace memorial day
The people who glorify war always seem to have their way.

Not seen as heroines or heroes medals they don't have to show
And few of their life stories would wish to read or know
They only wish to make peace with those known as the foe
And from their efforts only the flower of peace can grow.

Unsung heroes and heroines is how they seem to me
They only march for a better life and a World of war that's free
They only wish to send some positive energy in the balmy evening air
To the negative and lesser enlightened in the bigger World out there.

Far South Of Indonesia

The rice fields of Southern Asia he never more will see
Or hear and see a blue winged java sparrow singing on a sunlit tree
Amongst his fellow migrants in Springvale his bones forever lay
So far from Indonesia so very far away,
In the nineteen fifties he came to live in Melbourne with his young Asian wife
Devoted to each other their contract was for life
For to support his wife and raise their son and daughter he worked hard for his every pay
And nothing in life easy ever seemed to come his way,
His widow in her seventies the years have left her gray
Often visits his grave with flowers love has no boundaries as some do say
True love even trnscends death she will love him till her own end
To her he was her soul mate that is more than a good friend,
In the cemetery at Springvale he will rest forever more
Far south of Indonesia and the sunlit Asian shore.