As Mick Cooley Said

Old age is a punishment Mick Cooley used to say
That did come to mind for on the street today
I met an old bloke who limped on with the aid of a cane
In his wrinkled face one could see there was pain.

My greeting to him from him brought a curt good day
He did not seem in mood for talk anyway
Who could blame him if he was in no mood for song
With the World on his shoulders he hobbled along.

Life for most at the best of times is an uphill fight
And that old age is a punishment Mick Cooley was right
How could the poor old bloke feel in any mood for to talk
When it seemed a struggle for him for to walk.

Old age is a punishment as Mick Cooley said
And of good stories of old age not many I've read
For each decade we live we have some price to pay
And our Seasons of bloom soon give way to decay.

I Do Not Wish To Hear

I do not wish to hear of how marvellous you are
Or of your great job or of your brand new car
And if you say you are successful well that suits me fine
Though with what you do with your life is no business of mine.

If you sing your own praises with me that's okay
Though people like you i meet with every day
The way i look at people it would seem to me
You are only equal to one in poverty.

Your great job or brand new car me does not impress
Than a poor homeless person you are no greater or less
Like millions of others to success you are wed
Life's material things they have gone to your head.

We share one thing in common we both have to die
For you too are a mortal as mortal as i
No different to the horse in the paddock out there
And good luck to you if you are a millionaire.

My Goddess Is Living In Nature

Inspired by the wonders of Nature the things that i see every day
And yet i know little about her from me her secrets she does hide away
And the more that i learn about her the less about her i know that i know
To me she is a source of wonder and my wonder of her only grow
The secretive ways of her wildlife there is more to a bird than it's song
Those who think they know it all about Nature are the people who have got it wrong
My Goddess is living in Nature her beauty around me i do see
She is the mother of all creation the Goddess of Land and of Sea
To the Nature Goddess who creates life i will return to one day
And in her cool and earthy bosom with all other life forms i will lay
And Nature she is an immortal she is one not destined to die
And like billions of other life forms a mere living mortal am i,
Many do believe in a hereafter of another World beyond the sky
But why none have come back to confirm of it's existence about that i do wonder why?

Hamilton Lake

On Hamilton lake where waterbirds do abound
In the largest body of water for many miles around
Even the diving musk duck seem plentiful there
Though they are considered to be rather rare
Moorhen, coot and black duck and Aussie pelican
The creatures that live independent of man
Silver gulls around tables where people do eat
Begging for scraps of food bread and fish, chips and meat
The graceful great egrets birds as white as snow
Though little about them i can claim for to know
Aloof from all others they seldom do pair
Larger than cattle egrets and for beauty few with them compare,
Ibis, white faced heron, black swan and the cormorants black and pied
So many species by or on Lake Hamilton do reside.

A Cynical Person

He is such a cynical person as cynical as one can be
Yet he is a helpful sort of fellow and few as kindhearted as he
He does not believe politicians or the media and what he hears or read he makes up his own mind
Not the type to follow the leader his own way through life he does find
Yet he helps his aged neighbour Kathy quite frail she is now eighty four
Once a week he helps her with her shopping for her groceries by driving her to and from the super store,
The poor woman must live on an aged pension and she does not have much money to spend
But from her he does not even accept petrol money to her he is such a good friend,
He is not a religious person as one would say not a man of god and prayer
But in that way he is not unusual as his type of person nowadays is not rare
In his mid twenties his favourite pub the local and with his mates he does enjoy a beer
Though the team he plays with the Local Football Rovers have lost more games than they have won this year
Though cynical he is kind and caring and for his good deeds he is known
And not the type for to follow the leader since he has a mind of his own.

A Long Way From Here

A long way from here this far southern shore
To Pomeroy's high wood in green old Claramore
Where nesting songbirds welcome each dawn of the May
When the wildflowers bloom in the fields far away.

A long way from here to where the Finnow flow
Through old rushy places and by many a hedgerow
On towards the Blackwater en route to the sea
Nostalgia for the home Parish remains in me.

A long way from here the home of wallaby and roo
Of wombat, echidna, koala, platypus, emu and cockatoo
To Claraghatlea and that old silver tongued rill
That flows from the high ground by old Clara hill.

A long way from here yes quite a long way
To the place where i first looked on the light of day
When old Clara mountain wore his hat of snow
And that's going back sixty Decembers ago.

A long way from here this far southern shore
From the roadway out of Millstreet Town to Rathmore
Though home is not that far I've come to realize
It seems i am back there when i visualize.

An Autumn Day

The leaves are now brown on the deciduous trees
And there is a coolness in the afternoon breeze
It rained for a couple of hours overnight
And everywhere looks so fresh in the Autumn sunlight
Late Autumn it can be a nice time of year
Not warm or cold though the Winter is near
Without biting flying insects one can sleep safe and sound
In bedroom no buzzing mosquitoes around
The flowers of the Autumn have gone to decay
And the calendar Winter just nine sleeps away
Yet last night in the moonlight the magpies did sing
And each passing day one day nearer to Spring
And in the afternoon sunshine aided by the cool breeze
The brown leaves are falling from their mother trees.

Hang In There My Friend

May laughter be with you wherever to you go
And wealth and happiness from now on may you know
Life has not be too kind to you as of late
But like 'tis said all good things come to those who do wait
life as we do know is not always fair
You have had to battle your dogs of despair
Your own heavy life's cross you have had to bear
But through all of your hard times you have hung in there
But hard times like good times do come to an end
And for you good times are coming hang in there my friend
You manage to smile despite your inner strife
And you do make the most of your worrisome life
You never do say that your good days are gone
And despite your hardships you keep on keeping on.

That's Life It Is Said

Life seems very different to everyone's eyes
And from our experiences we can only grow wise
And for every mistake we make some price to pay
That's life it is said and 'twill remain that way
On few things with others i see eye to eye
And why this is so i too do wonder why
We all do see things in a different way
And that makes us more interesting some are known to say
With so many others we may share the same name
But in ways we are different no two are the same
'Tis only by good example that leaders should lead
But to many a flower is an ordinary weed
And on any one subject so few do agree
And you look at life very different to me.

The Wandering Jew

Loathed by so many and loved by so few
The weed that is known as 'the wandering jew'
It survives in all weather even in long spells of drought
And i would not know how it's name came about
Whether it originated in Israel of that i would not know
My ignorance on paper of such i must show
It spreads by itself one can say it self sow
And in damp and shady places it does like to grow
It shuts out the light of the sun from the ground
And few flowers do bloom where it is to be found
The gardeners to kill it off use toxic spray
But the root of the noxious weed never decay
And all it does take are a few showers of rain
For the wandering jew for to grow back again.

The Grumpy Old Man

'Tis said that he died with a smile on his face
Though laughter in his life did not have a place
In his ninetieth year he enjoyed a long span
The one who was known as 'The Grumpy old Man'.

Near death 'tis said he did smile though some say that's a lie
But then perhaps he did feel happy to die
Of humour in his life he surely was broke
He was not what one would call a cheerful old bloke.

His son emigrated many decades ago
And where he lives now few if any do know
By ten years he was pre deceased by his wife
With him she would not have known an easy life.

The old bloke that time had left weary and gray
He died with a smile believe that if you may
Without even smiling at those who said hi on his way
He used to walk down to the park every day.

From life's worries and cares he has found his release
He is now with Nature may he rest in peace
He died with a smile or so the rumor go
But most who knew him say how to smile he would not even know.

A Rainy Day In Late Fall

The currawongs are singing their songs tell us of rain
And the tiny breeding frogs are calling in the watery roadside drain
Just ten days left in Autumn and Winter days drawing near
But weatherwise one can say not an unpleasant time of year
The rain is very welcome after the long dry spell
And though the farmer happy with the rain with him all is not well
Due to a shortage of water and fodder he has sold most of his cattle and sheep
In a very depressed market when livestock were quite cheap
Despite the very heavy rainfall of yesterday and today
The drought has not yet broken the weather experts say
We need a lot more heavy rain before the creek will flow
Though wheat farmers feel happy a crop they now can sow
A rainy day in late Fall on the twenty first of May
And the calendar Winter only ten days away.

To All

To all who trash talk of me in public and call me out of name
If I cannot say them i forgive Of them does that make me the same?
For i am not the type of one to turn the other cheek
Like many i lack in mental strength in ways i too am weak.

Those who bad mouth me i wish to forget but i find it hard to forgive
Since they who bad mouth others do not believe in live and let live
I'm one of those a godless man and those who bad mouth me
I cannot say you i forgive though you are my enemy.

For everyone who builds you up there's one to drag you down
Of those who feel they have the right to judge there are many in the town
Judge not and thou shalt not be judged with those words i do agree
The flaws we see in others in our own selves we do see.

Those who say negative things of me i just wish to forget
To have known them in the first place is a thing i do regret
I am not a man of words as such though with words i too can play
And to those who assault my character respect i cannot pay.

Kind Hearted People

The toasting glass in their honour we should raise
The kind of heart they are worthy of our praise
To help those in need they go out of their way
Just for to be helpful and without asking for pay
Kind hearted people a few live on every street
Such people that one does feel happy to meet
For the welfare of others they genuinely do care
Though sad to think such people becoming rare
A few kind hearted people i feel privileged to know
And my respect for them with familiarity grow
Their rare gift of kindness is a wonderful thing
And their praises i always feel happy to sing
To their higher selves they remain ever true
And credit for their humanity in heaps they are due.

For Technology And Progress

For technology and progress what have we to show
Far less wildlife now than a decade ago
Many species extinct and others becoming rare
And so few of us seem environmentally aware.

And hardly a day does go by in the town
When to build more houses more trees are cut down
And habitat destruction to extinction for some creatures does lead
And less land for wildlife with more people to feed.

Our burnings of carbon and fossil fuels hurry on climate change
And our attitude to our environment to say the least strange
Far too many of us believe that to pollute is okay
That for our abuse of Nature we will not have to pay.

In technology we have come such a long way
And most things seem humanly possible in the World of today
But pollution and habitat destruction for wildlife to extinction lead
And of more environmentally aware people the World is in need.

Where The Powlett Flow

It was an old countryside i used to know
Where from the hills of Kilcunda the old Powlett flow
Through the land that was once owned by the Bunurong
That often inspires poets to poetry and song,
The high cliffs of Kilcunda overlooking the sea
Such beautiful views to live in memory
And back from the cliffs in the shade of the trees
The indigenous tribes had their corroborees
Long before the dinosaurs or the first people came
For to live in this Country that then did not have a name
Through scrubland and sand dunes flowing on ceaselessly
The Powlett it crawled it's way on to the sea
And in fancy I'm by the old Powlett once more
As it gurgles it's way to the Pacific shore.

A Company C E O

A company C E O and seen as a success in life
But he beats his children and he beats his wife
And for his young mistress he buys a good time
But these things when you are wealthy are not seen as a crime
That money does speak every language in his case does apply
To be a good husband and father he does not even try
He may not be a good husband and father but that seems okay
As money more about you it seems more does say
Than compassion or kindness or morality can
He is seen as a good and a successful person though an immoral man
Far from a nice person though a millionaire
And that money speaks every language he is all too aware
Far from a good husband and father but never the less
He is a big Corporation C E O and seen as a success.

The Best Poet Of The Town

Despite her seven decades of years she is still the town's best poet
And of her writing talents the critics have taken note
The younger poets look up to her and them she does inspire
To them she is the Laureate and her they do admire
The great gift of poesy is such a marvellous thing
A woman who loves Nature and of Nature she does sing
One never can say of her that her better days are gone
But she is one who does love life and she keeps on keeping on,
The best poet of the town and district that title she has held for years
She has sung of all of the senses from joy to love and tears
She has penned poems to Nature and Nature's praises sing
And her poems are read by many and joy to many bring
She is in her early seventies and her hair is silver gray
But one cannot say of her she has known a better day.

We Must Return To Nature

In her dark and earthy bosom forever i will lay
For I'll return to Nature i know i will one day
Like everyone before me that will be my destiny
For I'm one more mere mortal there's a use by date on me
I have lived through many Seasons and my better days long gone
And 'tis only my great lust for life that keeps me keeping on
If i should die tomorrow say only this of me
He was one who loved Nature though many such as he
From the Townland I was raised in i do live far away
And perhaps I'd feel a stranger in my old home today
We all enjoy our good times and know of times of inner strife
And we have our good and bad days as we journey on through life
And one day we must return to Nature since we are born to die
And in that respect the monarch and the president are no different to you or i.

I Come From The Place

I come from the place where the old Finnow flow
Through grassy fields and rushy fields and by many a hedgerow
On towards the Blackwater by night and by day
Through old Townlands of Millstreet it babbles on it's way

On towards the Blackwater en route to the sea
The rivers by centuries pre date history
Before the birth of the first dinosaurs the rivers did flow
Going back thousands and thousands of centuries ago.

When i was much younger and in my life's prime
The wonders of Nature inspired me to rhyme
Mother Nature she never ceases to inspire
And of singing her praises could one ever tire?

I come from the place of the black and gray crow
Where old Clara in Winter wears his hat of snow
A stranger to wealth and success and renown
I live far from Claraghatlea and Millstreet Town.

In May By The Mountains

The cock pheasant cucks where the rank rushes grow
And in the cool of the dawn in grove and on hedgerow
The songbirds are singing to greet the new day
And everywhere lush and green in the prime of the May,
In the quiet of the morning at this time of the year
The song of the curlew so flute like and clear
In the bogland they nest on the bracken clad ground
And their heavily blotched eggs are quite hard to be found,
In May by the mountains from here far away
The swallows fly over the old fields all day
And amongst the river rapids one cannot get him wrong
The dark brown white breasted dipper is singing his song
And the cattle contented chew their cud at ease
In the field by the hill in the cool morning breeze.

The Fellow From Elsewhere

He does look rather hairy the fellow from elsewhere
With brown beard far as his chest and straggly shoulder length brown hair
Not that handsome to look at he does not strike a pretty pose
Though some women seem to like him that's life one suppose.

Some women like their fellows big and hairy and looks to them to little does amount
That their males seem rough and ready to them does not seem to count
And even some classy looking women with sturdy looking males are to be seen
They do not go for the career types well dressed, clean cut and lean.

The fellow from elsewhere at the local pub has become quite well known
And of him you hear the locals say he is one of our own
With the local Aussie Rules team he makes his name playing football
A strong and tall full forward the best old club fans can recall

That has played for the local Roos and they can go back in time
And he is in his early twenties a few years short of his footballing prime
A hairy looking and rugged fellow not every woman's type of man one might say
But some who like their men rough and hairy fall for him in a big way.

I Love The Quiet Place

I love the quiet place far from the noisy street
Out there in the spot where the waterways meet
Where in Spring amongst the reeds the moorhen builds her nest
A quiet place with Nature the place i love best.

In fancy the song of the shrike thrush i hear
He sings in the wood by the creek far from here
Of Nature's great beauty i have taken note
Though I'm not a naturalist or I'm not a poet.

I long to be distant from polluted skies
Away from the streets of man created noise
To be alone with Nature in the shade of the trees
With the sun in the sky and a mild freshening breeze.

I long for a quiet place away from the town
Where the worries of life do not keep dragging me down
Where the voice of Nature is the only voice i do hear
The songs of the birds to my heart ever near.

Stranger And Strange

To me you are a stranger and to you i must seem strange
And in our ways we both seem too old for to change
From our old ways of thinking though no two are the same
We are set in our thinking though we both tend to blame
Society for our problems and 'twould seem fair to say
That we have not grown wiser though the years leave us gray
To you i am a strange fellow and in that you are right
Though your own soul could do with a little more light
Without a brain we would only be flesh and bone
And let the perfect one be first to cast the stone
The World seems so different to you and to me
And even in the same things quite a difference we do see
To me you are a stranger and to you i am strange
And in our own ways just a bit old for change.

She Said

She said every chance you do get you do write
Such obsessive compulsion can hardly bring you delight
It does not bring you wealth nor it does not bring you fame
And in the literary circles your's is not a known name.

I thought to myself she well may be right
I scribble by day and i scribble by night
And such an addiction is not a good thing
In her words of advice to me a truthful ring.

There is no law against the penning of rhyme
And in any free Country such an addiction is never a crime
Though by now i should have said all that i have to say
But i keep on scribbling and scribbling away.

She said perhaps from writing you should have a break
From your obsession a holiday you ought to take
And at what she said i could not take offence
For after all she made a good deal of sense.

The Evergreen

Hard rock and rap music are things he enjoy
He is a grown man with the heart of a boy
In his early forties a decade past his prime
And already in his greying hair showing the passage of time.

A single father with one son of eighteen
The locals they know him as The Evergreen
He still stays out late on a saturday night
And discos on till sunday just before dawn's light.

To teenage disco dancers he seems a bit old
But to watch him dance quite a sight to behold
For one well past his prime he is quick on his feet
And he can dance in time to the loud disco beat.

With those half of his age he dances all night long
And he knows the words of every rap song
And that one is as young as they feel to him does apply
And that is a truth that few would wish to deny.

Climate Change

On the dry creek bed stands a dead willow tree
The affects of climate change is a sad thing to see
Without sufficent moisture trees eventually die
Those who deny climate change do believe in a lie.

Climate change all around us the creeks are bone dry
And less rain now fall from the clouds of the sky
And thirsty el nino still lurking around
To suck every drop of moisture from the ground.

The experts on climate the future do fear
And of global warming we read of and hear
The signs all around us the paddocks are bare
And scarce enough of grass for to sustain a hare.

The creeks are bone dry and bone dry every drain
And to replenish the reservoirs and waterways we'd need six months of rain
And thirsty el nino not gone back to sea
He sucks up the moisture that gives life to the tree.

Holier Than Thou

Of holier than thou people I've had my bellyfull
One might say they do talk a whole lot of bull
They do feel superior in their own smug way
It does take all kinds as some are known to say
What we dislike in others in our own selves we do see
And with that sort of thinking one has to agree
If to some you look up to on others you look down
That is how life appears to the snobs of the town
And if they sneer at a pauper and to a royal bow
You must make allowance for them they are holier than thou
They want the World to know of how marvellous they are
But from their Hometown few of them travel far
That all are mere mortals that point they do miss
Such ignorant people but ignorance can be bliss.

I Wish I Could Help You

You have your own worries and i have got mine
That will take more to solve than a good glass of wine
I am not a pschyiatrist for help you go elsewhere
So many in trouble in the big World out there
I have my own problems and of me it is said
That i am one not all that right in the head
Yet those who pass judgements on others and their problems diagnoze
Might be pressed for to tell a weed from a rose,
Your problem is you take heed of what others of you say
You should do your own thing and live in your own way
You do not harm others and them do not heed
Their negative advice is something you do not need,
I wish I could help you but I too do feel down
And there are plenty more like us all over the town.

On My Worth As A Writer

On my worth as a writer i do cast great doubt
Though one could never run out of things to write about
And poetasters are many and poets they are rare
Yet so much to write on of the big World out there
One can say I've written a whole heap of stuff
Yet out of millions of writers few are good enough
To make a success out of the wordsmith trade
So many there are and so few make the grade
Not many writers the literary critics impress
And so few out of writing become a success
For every literary success of which we do read
So many are destined to never succeed
And only a tiny minority do make writing pay
But then such is life as some are known to say.

The Past It Has Gone

So many when remembering the long gone years
In nostalgic mood they do feel moved to tears
But time it ticks on and for none seems to wait
And in death we all do share a similar fate.

We remember the past but the past it has gone
And the present is what matters though the clock it ticks on
The years seem to hurry we soon grow old and gray
And feel happy to welcome the dawn of a new day.

Though our young years were happy years the time ticked on fast
But we can only live in the present since the past is the past
In bouts of nostalgia some do feel rather sad
When they think of their good years and the good times they've had.

The Song Of The Robin

Whilst his mate she sits on her eggs in her nest
I fancy i hear and i see him the sun on his red-breast
He singing upon the leafy silver birch tree
Proclaiming the borders of his territory.

It has been many a Season and many a Spring
Since I've heard the song that the robin does sing
But if i heard him again him i would recognize
And his voice it comes to me when i visualize.

The hawthorns look lovely in their blossoms of the May
And the swallows above the old fields all the day
Are singing as in pursuit of flying insects they fly
Migratory birds born to feed in the sky

And in fancy the song of the robin i hear
He does sing his finest at this time of the year
And the old fields look beautiful in their wildborn flowers
And the grass grow so lush in the warm Spring showers.

Abuse Of Human Rights

Abuse of Human Rights is a thing that's Worldwide
And many who think they have God on their side
Would need for to clean the windows to their soul
They see torture only as human control
Power in the wrong hands can be a deadly thing
Yet to the idea many democratically elected Government leaders cling
That the people elected them and they must be okay
Though to Human Rights laws little respect they do pay
The human rights of refugees the downtrodden and oppressed
By Governments of Nations they flee to are often transgressed
To want a better and a safer life is treated as a crime
And like ordinary criminals they serve jail time
And many leaders who talk of a fair go tend to forget to recall
That they mean a fair go for some not a fair go for all.

The Self Proclaimed Man Of God

Outside of his church his behaviour seems odd
Of one who is a self proclaimed man of God
Disrespect to the character of those he dislike he does pay
For a devout one he behaves in quite a strange way.

'Tis said that he reads his bible every day
And to his God he often does kneel for to pray
Yet he is one who does tell plenty of lies
And despite his proclamations he is not very wise.

All things are well with him as long as he is in control
But he is one who has not much light in his soul
Assassination of character he does not see as wrong
Must be a strange God the God he to belong.

The self proclaimed man of God his love of his God celebrate
In church on sunday with other believers his great gift of faith
But to pass judgement on others he feels he has that right
And everyone is not equal in his or his God's sight.

Sour Face

The gloom follows him to where-ever he go
Sour face is the one that none does wish to know
To smile or to laugh he does not seem to know how
As a boy he was surly and he is surly now
In his early twenties and in his life's prime
But he would not know how to have a good time
As a sour face he lives suppose that is his way
And he never does seem to change from day to day
It is said he is honest and helpful and kind
And worse than him would be quite easy to find
And when all is said and done he is quite a good bloke
Though he's never been heard to laugh at a joke
And though his mother feels proud to call him her son
In the town he is not the most popular one.

The Laughter Of Children

Out there in the park children laugh, play and sing
The sound of young joy is a wonderful thing
I too had my childhood and i knew of young joy
But 'tis been awhile now since i was a boy
It has been awhile now but i can recall
In the town park with others youngsters i played ball
But time kept on ticking and ticking on fast
And all that remains are memories of the past
The laughter of children a thing of great cheer
Playing ball in the park is a joy for to hear
It takes me to my boyhood and to my life's Spring
The great gift of youth is a wonderful thing
We laughed as the football we chased up and down
In view of the hill in the park of the town.

An Honest Mistake

He said to the judge 'twas an honest mistake
He walked out in front of me and i forgot to brake
He did not even scream though there was a loud thud
And he lay prostrate by the road on the mud
Just a broken left leg sir he did get off light
But he has threatened to sue me he says that is his right
The police charged me with dangerous driving the reason I'm before you today
For an honest mistake sir what's my price for to pay?
But the judge said an honest mistake whilst driving in your defence of little use
For injuring somebody that's not an excuse
With suing you for damages the injured person should go ahead
Though he is rather lucky he is not with the dead
And an honest mistake in your case is a crime
And for that you can serve seven months of jail time.

From The Hill Of The Silver Backed Crow

A stranger in these parts him none seem to know
The man from the hill of the silver backed crow
In this town his will be a terminal stay
And here he is not going to grow old and gray.

A stranger in a town where strangers are few
And where there is suspicion of everyone new
In this town he has no desire to be known
He does his own thing and he stays on his own.

Not a member of a local sporting or social club
And he never does drink at the local pub
A quiet sort of a fellow with few words to say
He does his own thing and lives in his own way.

He comes from the Land where the clear waters flow
Down from the stony hill of the silver backed crow
A young man in his twenties and in his life's prime
In this country town he will not spend much more time.

From History We've Not Learned

Men crucified the one millions now worship more than two thousand years ago
Yet many men they are as cruel today and any compassion towards others they never seem to show
And the gifts of compassion and empathy to the special few belong
And many far too many seemingly cannot tell right from wrong
Two thousand and seven years ago Jesus Christ was crucified
And nailed to a timber cross on Calvary slowly and painfully he died
Yet we have not learned from human history and it does seem sad to say
That nowadays many decent people die in the foulest way,
The war supposed to end all wars did not live up to it's tag
Young people dying in war zones every day for God and Land and Flag
Before we learn the lesson of history how many more must die
War men mock the sacredness of human life and many wars based on a lie
It has been more than two thousand years since Christ died on Calvary
And from history we've not learned a thing that's how 'twould seem to be.

The Geriwerd Ranges

White people named them the Grampians but now known by their Indigenous name
The Geriwerd Ranges in South Western Victoria have World wide fame
Old hills very old even in the Dreamtime
They have inspired writers to story and rhyme
By the stony hills of Geriwerd in the shade of the trees
The local Indigenous people had their Corroborees
By their beloved hills their bones forever lay
Yet so little is known of their history today
To those dry stony hills where small hardy trees grow
The Seasons of Nature they come and they go
The harsh drawn out caw of the dark pale eyed crow
Or forest raven as some call them here one comes to know
From Dunkeld to beyond Halls Gap they stretch far and wide
The Geriwerd Ranges of the brown Countryside.

One More Ageing Migrant

As i worked in the old fields west of Millstreet Town
I daydreamed of fame and of literary renown
And the dreams that i had are the dreams i pursue
Though daydreams for many not known to come true.

From Claraghatlea North i am one who lives far
One could not reach Duhallow from this Land by car
And yet for my travels i don't have much to show
Far south of the fields where the old Finnow flow

Through the old fields where it will flow forever more
Down to the Blackwater to the Atlantic shore
One more ageing migrant showing his years in gray
And memories of the past from me fading away.

Back there in Duhallow in the sun of mid day
The nesting birds sing in the green groves of May
And the hawthorn trees laden in their blossoms of white
So lovely to look at a beautiful sight.

One more ageing migrant far from the home shore
Far south of the roadway that leads to Rathmore
Of a successful life i am one who can't tell
Just your average poetaster who pens doggerel.

These Corporate Crims

These corporate crims are no longer quite rare
And plenty of them in the big World out there
But of the Universal Consciousness so little we know
In karma 'tis true that we reap what we sow.

These super rich crims to themselves may drink a toast
But for their crimes 'tis the have nots who do suffer the most
The more money they have the more they seem to need
And many must grow poorer because of their greed.

They do not spare one thought for those in poverty
And they lack in compassion and in empathy
Their greed for more money it leads them to crime
And far better than them are in jail serving time.

To the laws of fair trade respect they do not pay
But we reap what we sow that is the karmic way
Their great lust for money to crime them does lead
But others must suffer because of their greed.

The Pride Of The Moyne Shire

Two hours down the highway in the City of Geelong
Lives a woman who has inspired admirers to poetry and song
But as the Pride of the Moyne Shire she will always remain
And in Hawkesdale her likes will never be seen again.

Now in her mid twenties and in her life's prime
A beautiful young woman a rose of our time
With beautiful blue eyes and shoulder length hair of brown
And a real head turner when she's out on the town.

So lovely and young and so in love with life
And lucky the man who will win her as a wife
A down to earth rose and of her it can be said
That her beauty it has not gone to her head.

The Pride of Moyne Shire and of Victoria's south west
And in Hawkesdale her homeplace to none second best
Just twenty five years with time on her side
The one for her beauty who is known far and wide.

The Grey Butcherbirds

Though his type of bird around these parts are rare
One cannot mistake him for his bubbling air
Where trees are abundant their numbers abound
Though this sparsely treed landscape not their type of ground.

Familiar in their brown and grey colours and more so in their song
The grey butcherbirds one cannot get them wrong
At breeding times aggressive their borders they defend
They even attack humans to them none a friend.

Their nest is cup shaped of twigs on branch of a tree
In their breeding Season from July to January
The female lays three to five bluish eggs with spots of brown and red
And for most of the Spring the parent birds busy with young to be fed.

In their breeding Season they even treat their own kind as a foe
And to anyone who comes near their borders aggression they do show
The males are known to sing at anytime of the year
And their bubbling notes are quite pleasant to hear

Of Good And Bad

Of good and bad races we hear of and read
But I've met with people of different races and of many a creed
And one race that's superior i cannot recall
For the good and the bad i have found in them all
Oh you out there who feel of superior kind
One humbling thought you ought to keep in mind
That you are a mortal just born to die
And in that respect you are no different to i
It should matter more what ideals you embrace
Than your colour or creed or your clan or your race
Or are you one of those who in ways are too small
For to embrace the truth in a fair go for all?
For if you are one who cannot give to everyone their fair due
Then to your higher self you can never be true.

Money Is Most Important

At the top of people's new year's wish list you won't find poverty
For money speaks every language as most would agree
A lack of money in people causes low self esteem
Money is the most important thing to most it does seem
Yes money is the most important thing
The praises of a pauper you will not hear one sing
Music, song and dance may be food of the soul
But people with plenty of money of power have control
And of the World that we live in it does seem sad to say
That money speaks every language in the World of today
Yes money to many it does matter most
To a pauper anyone does not drink a toast
And you will not find many to embrace poverty
Money is most important as most would agree.

The Most Dangerous

The most dangerous of animals in the World you will find
Are not lions, tigers or hippos but us human kind
Since records were first taken the record takers recall
That us human beings the worst killers of all
At the top of the food chain in the World of today
And for centuries now it has been this way
Of human beings killed by snakes, crocodiles and big cats we do hear
But from our own kind we have most for to fear
The true facts of history cannot be denied
Millions of people in wars they have died
In human history mass killers abound
In all Cultures and Races they are to be found
Of deaths by sharks, crocodiles and other creatures we hear
But sad to say from our own kind we have most to fear.

Foxes

Even in big Cities they are known to thrive
It is by their cunning that foxes survive
Despite trapping and shootings and despite poison bait
On their extinction us humans cannot put a date
Despite habitat destruction and despite everything
The shy and cunning foxes to life they do cling
They kill small endangered species but of wrong they do not know
For to live themselves mercy to others they cannot show
In the wilds of wild Nature the hungry must eat
And a small endangered species can taste very sweet,
By humans never adopted as Animal Gods
But they are survivors against all of the odds
Quite adaptable in big Cities they are known to thrive
And despite persecution they somehow survive.

She May Not Love Again

Though she need not be short of a man in her life
The man that she loves will not make her his wife
She feels that she never may see him again
And perhaps as she now is till death she will remain.

A mother and divorcee in her early fifties time on her ticks on
And her better days in life clearly are gone
With honey blond hair dye she covers her gray
For one of her years she does look quite okay.

The man that she loves with her he did not stay
He has found new love in a town far away
She does deserve better since better she is due
Some men are unfaithful and he is untrue.

Her trust in men shaken love can cause heartache
But in life we learn from our every mistake
The man that she loves she may never more see
And she may not love again the ageing divorcee.

Did Christ Walk On Water

Did Christ walk on water why bother ask me
Since i only believe what my own eyes do see
I am a non believer to a God i don't pray
It does take all kind as some are known to say
Was Christ the son of God that i would not know
Since i did not live twenty centuries ago
I cannot believe all i hear and i read
Though many of a God in their lives feel in need
Everyday they pray and read their bible and their apostles creed
And they believe their love of their God to God's Kingdom will lead
But it is each to their own as some are known to say
And everyone are different in their own different way
And did Christ walk on water i was not there to see
Each to their own beliefs that's how 'twould seem to me.

Of What Used To Be

On Summer evenings just before sundown
They used to meet on the hill overlooking the town
And as darkness did fall in the warm evening breeze
They often made love by the acacia trees
Though she said that she loved him only memories of her remain
For she left without telling him one morning in the train
And that is going back some six Summers ago
And where she is now at he does not seem to know
But rumor has it that quite well for herself she has done
That in Melbourne she's married to a wealthy bloke with a daughter and son
Yet he often thinks of the love of his life
The one who was not destined to become his wife
And though of what used to be memories he retain
She left town and he never heard from her again.

The Randy Old Boy

He is showing his years now in wrinkles and gray
And clearly he has known a far better day
But trying to chat up younger women is a thing he enjoy
And he has earned his nickname of The Randy Old Boy.

Since little interest in her he seemed to show
His old wife she left him a few years ago
Of his infidelities she had grown tired
And by someone else she was being admired.

Like they say two can play at the same game
And she has hooked up with a former old flame
And for younger women he does make a play
Without much success that's life as some do say.

On saturday night he's either at the bowls club
Or enjoying a beer at the local pub
And as usual younger women trying hard to impress
But at chatting them up he does not have success.

Your Best Is Okay

Though others may think you have failed in the test
Take pride in the fact that you have done your best
If you had a choice to be best you would choose
But for every one winner many have to lose
Though victory as such it does taste so sweet
To try hard and fail should not be a defeat
Of winners and losers too often we do hear
And failure is a thing that most people do fear
But Like Gray said the paths of glory to the grave only lead
And what matter then if you fail or succeed
As long as your very best you've always done
And as long as you never have harmed anyone
Then it matters none what others of you do say
For you have done your best and your best is okay.

In Green Old Duhallow

The fields in their beautiful wildflowers of May
In green old Duhallow from here far away
And nesting birds sing in grove and on hedgerow
In Cullen where Araglen waters do flow

On to the Blackwater en route to the sea
The old river babbles on eternally
Through a countryside that is as ancient as time
That has inspired poets of the past for to rhyme

About the great beauty around them they had seen
In May when the landscape was looking so green
For May is a beautiful time of the year
In green old Duhallow so far north of here

The wonders of Nature a thing to enjoy
The cock pheasants are cucking in old Lisnaboy
In fancy i am back in the long ago
Just remembering a beauty that i used to know.

Were i a poet of such beauty i would write
White butterflies flitting in the warm sunlight
and cock robin with the sun on his red breast sing
In green old Duhallow in the latter Spring.

In fancy the song of the chaffinch i hear
In green old Duhallow so far north of here
Where the babbling waters of Araglen flow
Through fields to the Blackwater by grove and hedgerow.

Who Can Know Or Say

Who can know or say what tomorrow will bring
For the uncertainty of life is an amazing thing
You may even have a big tattslotto win
For anything is possible if your luck is in
With your many problems you struggle to cope
And of a successful future you do not hold much hope
But tomorrow for you is another new day
And lady luck she may be coming your way
'Tis said we create our own reality
And positive people with that would agree
And each of us follow our own destiny
And who knows what the future holds for you and me
And who can truly say what tomorrow will bring
For the uncertainty of life is an amazing thing.

The Lovely Old Dear

She had turned seventy nine in July of last year
And today she was buried the lovely old dear
She was never a mother or never a wife
And she worked as a nursing sister all of her working life.

'Tis sad to think we'll never see her again
But with us fond memories of her will remain
A down to earth lady one free of conceit
Always seemingly happy and a pleasure to meet.

We know that as usual life it will go on
But it is sad to think from the town she has gone
We'll miss her for her warmth and her smiling face
A person like her there is none to replace.

Like the food that we eat on us a use by date
And old father time on none of us does wait
But she was one who was worthy of a tear
And from the old town we will miss the old dear.

He Died A True Hero

He died a true hero but now that he is dead
He cannot hear the nice things of him said
Grieved by his friends, parents and his family
The friend, son and brother they will never more see
In his family there is none to take his place
And though his will remain as a remembered face
All is dark and quiet where he now does lay
For after rigor mortis there is only decay
His family are left for to shoulder their cross
And all of the gold in the World could not replace their loss
So many lives lost for a war to be won
And the parents are left for to grieve for their son
But he cannot return to them from the depths of his grave
And little of consolation to them that he did die brave.

The Real Sugar Daddy

No doubt about him he's known a better day
With tints and with hair dyes he covers his gray
Most of his female lovers decades younger than he
That money speaks every language with that one must agree
In his early seventies he feels young at heart
Of the real sugar daddy he does play the part
The women he makes love to are in their life's prime
And 'tis thanks to his money that he keeps cheating time
Yet his ex lovers will tell you he is not good in bed
That his so called sexual prowess is all in his head
He bought them a good time of pampering they were in need
And that them to his bedroom eventually did lead
And to his life younger women come and go
And his false reputation of a great lover grow.

The Tai Chi Group

On sunday in the park off of the high street
The local tai chi group for relaxation do meet
So pleasant to watch them they seem so at ease
As they move with such grace in the shade of the trees
Early on sunday morning the park is so quiet
Many people stay up late on saturday night,
The tai chi group sometimes as many as twenty four
Enjoy their relaxation for an hour sometimes more
'Tis something all week they must look forward to
On sunday morning such a nice thing to do
Uplifting to the spirit and to the soul balm
People who practice tai chi always relaxed and calm
Their higher selves the tai chi group clearly embrace
So pleasant to watch as they move with such grace.

Nino

He won't be home in Italy for to see the flowers of May
Or hear the wild birds singing in the Woodlands far away
On his many flights of fancy he can hear the robin sing
Though he is getting older with the passing of each Spring.

Nino speaks good english and he is easily understood
Now in his seventy fifth year but his health is not that good
Ten years in time have passed by since he last saw his Homeland shore
Too unwell now for to make the trip to his Hometown one time more.

Claudia his wife of fifty years she died two years ago
More than a wife a soul-mate and as true as one could wish to know
Their only offspring John and his wife Lyn have a teenage son and daughter though from him they live far
In the Gold Coast from Victoria a day's journey by car.

The passing of the Seasons on him beginning for to tell
Nino is on medication and he is not feeling well
Perhaps he never more may see the shores of Italy
But in his flights of fancy his Hometown he does see.

Where The Wannon Waters Flow

To the flat and old brown Countryside the Seasons come and go
But she lives far so very far from where the Wannon waters flow
Through places to her familiar on it's journey to the sea
Through a Land that was even old in the Dreamtime of an ancient history.

Through the busy streets of London cars and trucks buzz up and down
And she now lives far so very far north of Hamilton Town
She left the Southern Grampians Shire some seven years ago
And her journeys have taken her far from where the Wannon waters flow.

Now in her twenty seventh year one can say in her life's prime
And seven years go quickly when one looks back in time
But to her parents home near Hamilton she will return next Spring
When the magpie flutes his finest and the grey shrike thrush does sing

On the gum trees by her old home at the dawning of the day
In the far southern Countryside from London far away
When the wild bush flowers are blooming and in the moonlit sky
The breeding spur wing plovers utter their territorial cry.

With Me Now Just A Memory

With me now just a memory but memories with us remain
In the heavy rains of late Winter the female frog lay in the drain
Her eggs like crystal lumps of jelly from which her tadpoles hatched out
And all around their watery home they wriggled all about.

For to grow into adult frogs not many would survive
For many tadpoles had to die for one predator to stay alive
To the taste buds of a grey heron a plump tadpole tasted sweet
As one of the favourite water dwelling things that a heron loves to eat.

But a few avoided the sharp beak of the lanky bird of prey
For to grow into adult frogs for that is Nature's way
of insuring species survival in such Nature a huge part does play
Survival of the fittest as some are known to say.

With me now just a memory of times that are long gone
And though the past it is behind us the memories live on
And i retain the memory of the croaking of the frog
On their breeding time in late Winter in the drain beside the bog.

The Miser

After taxes he takes home fifteen hundred dollars a week yet he says not enough
By the way he talks one would swear that he is doing it tough
Yet fifteen hundred a week does seem very good pay
Some people are greedy and mean in a small way
A forty year old single fellow he lives on the cheap
He does not have a wife and children to keep
He owns his own home and he owns a new car
And he does not gamble, drink alcohol, smoke or go to the public bar
He is known as The Miser for him an apt nickname
For not saving more money the tax man he does blame
And though from him a sad story one only does hear
'Tis said that he banks fifty thousand a year
He talks with a poor mouth and 'twould be fair to say
That he is a poor man when he feels this way.

Just Leave Me With Nature

A stranger to any success or renown
And if i should die far south of old Millstreet Town
It will not matter to me then where my bones will lay
Just leave me with Nature and i will be okay
Does not matter if they bury me or to ashes me they burn
From Nature i came and to her I'll return
In immortal Mother Nature so much to admire
And of singing her praises could one ever tire,
The wonders of Nature is an amazing thing
And the praises of Nature with joy we should sing
We are part of Nature it does seem to me
Though many with my thinking may not agree
To your unseen God you may kneel for to pray
But in Mother Nature's bosom your remains will lay.

You Show Me

You show me the one who has never known fear
Or one never once seen for to shed a tear
And you'll show me one with a heart as cold as stone
An air breathing individual of blood, flesh and bone.

You show me a sour looking humorless bloke
One who cannot even smile at a very good joke
And you are showing me one who does not enjoy life
One lost in his own World of his inner strife.

You show me one with words who can be quite crude
Who to others can be offensive and rude
And you show me one suffering of low self esteem
At least that is how to me that it does seem.

You show me one who is so full of conceit
Who ignore people he or she know on the street
And though seen as successful and in a good job
This person is just one more ignorant snob.

There's none of us perfect or 'twould seem that way
And all sorts of people we meet with each day
The imperfections in others in my own self i do see
And is there one quite as imperfect as me?

The Rufous Whistler

Of Humankind he is one who does feel shy
The rufous whistler in the woodland nearby
He feels inspired to song when thunder's in the sky
For the reason for this is there one who knows why?
At the noise of passing truck he too bursts into song
The secrets of Nature with Nature belong
A bird of the woodland that one often does not see
One can say there are more conspicuous than he
Loud noise the song in his heart does stimulate
As if noise is a thing he likes to celebrate
In the old wood within sight of the town
When thunder is in the sky and the rain is bucketing down
The shy rufous whistler is always in song
With the fury of Nature he is singing along.

An Amiable Old Bloke

'Tis said that he is eighty his better years long gone
But he feels very young at heart and he keeps on keeping on
Old father time has left his mark on him his hair is silvery gray
But i have known a better day you'll never hear him say,
He still goes to the local pub to drink a couple of beers
One who likes to talk of present times and not of bygone years
A character in his own right he can laugh at a joke
And so much to like about in him he's an amiable old bloke
Known and liked by everybody who lives on his street
A pleasure for to talk to and a pleasure for to meet
Some men in their old age grow grumpy but he is not that way
To everybody that he meets he smiles and says good day,
He always goes for his morning walk even on weather wet and cold
And 'tis said that he is eighty but he does not feel that old.

Quite An Unsavoury Character

He is a noted criminal callous in every way
He paid others to kill his foes now for his crimes he pay
What goes around always comes around the wise are known to say
He will leave jail a broken man humbled and old and gray.

The men he paid  hit men to kill one might say far from great
As people of compassion one them could hardly rate
But they had a right to their lives and from them he took that right
He can reflect upon his sins in his prison cell tonight.

He is not a role model one worthy of a toast
Or a credit to the Nation one of whom patriots could boast
We all have our life's choices and he knew right from wrong
And it truly can be said of him that he now is where he belong.

He paid others to kill for him which does not lessen his crime
And for to reflect on his wrongdoing he now has plenty of time
Quite an unsavoury character to him human life is cheap
He has sown the seeds of bad karma and what we sow we reap.

That's Life One Must Suppose

At the bottom of the social rank and low in self esteem
That's where the haves want to keep the have nots or that's how it does seem
For every new member of the millionaires club there is more poverty
And that people of malnutrition die does not make sense to me,
When many have far more than enough but not enough to satisfy their greed
For them 'twould seem that much wants more that does seem sad indeed
Though some quite wealthy people some of their profits share
Amongst the struggling have nots of the bigger World out there
The social gap keeps widening getting bigger every day
And the poor are getting poorer or so 'twould seem that way
Many hungry and homeless and low in social rank
For the poverty of millions we do have greed to thank
Some have to go for months on end without a change of clothes
And the poor keep getting poorer that's life one must suppose.

On Hearing Pee Wees

On this drizzly evening in the late Southern Fall
The black and white pee wees repeatedly call
Pee wee pee wee from dawn till gloam of day
Their voices to their identity a give away
Known as the mudlark or as the pee wee
They build a nest of mud on branch of tree
Three to five pink eggs with spots of purple, brown and gray
At any time of year the female bird lay,
Nature it is such a marvellous thing
One can tell the bird by the song it does sing
Familiar to many and familiar to me
Birds that i often hear and often see
Down by the lake in the park in the rain
Pee wee pee wee i can hear them again.

Of Nostalgic People

Talking of the past brings them close to tears
The people who yearn for the long lost years
But to the human existence there is such a brief prime
And only in fancy can they go back in time
Of nostalgic people a few i do know
Always talking about the long ago
And though it suits them better to live in the past
Their youth gone forever and only the memories do last
Of the time when their life was in it's Spring
The gift of youth is a marvellous thing
Yet each morning we are one day older when we rise from the bed
And the present is what matters and the future is ahead
But like the stranded fish waiting for the next tide
Nostalgic people to the past remain tied.

I've Never Had An Epiphany

I've never had an epiphany of that why should i lie
I only believe we are born for to die
And since i do not believe in a heaven or hell
I've been called far worse than a mere infidel.

With my own life's problems i struggle to cope
But I'm one of those who is not without hope
Of a better future and better times ahead
The one without hope has to envy the dead.

I may be a cynic but i am not without ruth
And that I've never had an epiphany is only the truth
I cannot say i have heard the banshee cry
As some claim to have in the dark midnight sky.

I've never had an epiphany or a life changing insight
The windows of my soul not open to light
And i do not have a God to which i can pray
Call me a cynic or infidel or call me what you may.

The Warlords And Aggressive Men

The Warlords and aggressive men their praises many sing
But peace and harmony to the Human World these people will never bring
The war supposed to end all wars was fought decades ago
And where mistrust and hate is rife the flower of peace won't grow
Another war waged in Iraq where thousands now are dead
The silly men who declare war the war history have not read
Far too many times we've heard those words 'At the going down of the sun'
Though we know that peace will never come from the barrel of a gun,
The Warlords and aggressive men are surely cowards at heart
They start a war but in their war they never do take part
Where the bombs drop and the bullets fly you will not find them there
Of their own safety it does seem they do seem quite aware,
A World of peace and harmony how marvellous that would be
But that will not happen for as long as men ignore the lessons of war history.

The Lovable Small Chirpers

Originally from Africa they could live anywhere
House Sparrows they are hardy and they are never rare
In parklands and back gardens one sees them all of the time
Easy to watch they have inspired the Nature poets to rhyme.

The little plain brown chirpers they do not have a song
They chirp all day and by their voices them you cannot get wrong
In Spring under the house eaves with small feathers they line their nest a straggly ball of hay
Their three to six pale tiny eggs are blotched and spotted brown and gray.

In parks and the back gardens on hedgerows, bushes and trees
Their almost constant chirping some do not seem to please
In town parks around the picnic tables they do seem almost tame
Some call them cheeky sparrows for them an apt nickname.

The lovable small chirpers i see them every day
The cocks dark brown heads and and mostly brown the hens more brown than gray
They are born to be chirpers they do not have a song
Around human dwellings they feel at home and in such places they belong.

Though Many Believe In

Though many believe in an afterlife beyond this Earthly shore
In the World that we live in we are mortals nothing more
Like every other life form we are born for to die
The sheep or cow or dog or cat no less mortal than i.

The great names of human history we may love to recall
But they live now in name only they were mortal after all
We may think we are special and for greatness we may strive
But the sharp scythe of the reaper none ever does survive.

There's only one immortal Nature and she lives forever more
The one who gives life to and sustains all of life forms from the north to the southern shore
And we are part of Nature though many with that would not agree
We look at the World through different eyes and a different World we see.

Though many believe in an afterlife none have come back to tell
Of an afterlife in another World or of a Heaven or a Hell
And the biological clock on us is ticking and time on none does wait
And on each and everyone of us there is a use by date.

Honour The Good Living

Honour the good living and respect the dead
And learn from the past as a wise one once said
Though many leaders never learn from history
Wise people do not become political leaders it does seem to me,
The war supposed to end all wars was fought decades ago
And still the numbers of the war dead does grow
The war like leaders war before peace do choose
But of war it is said that even winners do lose
Of love of their Country some are known to brag
Though such people carry their pride in a flag
Patriotic fervour the path to war lead
And less of Nationalism in the World we do need
We should learn from the past and then look ahead
And honour the good living and respect the dead.

Some Write

Some write for enjoyment and some for their writing get paid
And some say poets are born and cannot be made
And for writing of novels some their names on billboards displayed
Yet writers are seldom honoured with a parade,
Some write because they do have something to say
Yet few writers for their work do receive pay
And most of writers never know of wealth and fame
Much easier ways to success one could name
Some write because they feel the urge for to write
And few poets their verses are asked to recite
And for every successful writer of that you hear
There are thousands of failures and it does appear
That in writing as in life only few make the grade
And few are successful at the wordsmith trade.

When John Joe Daly Met Mick Kelleher

When John Joe Daly met Mick Kelleher in Melbourne old times they did recall
Of their young years in Millstreet Town old memories best of all
They talked about their happy youth in the pub in Queens Parade
The memories of our happy days from our memories never fade.

When John Joe Daly met Mick Kelleher i would like to have been there
To while with them a couple of hours and old memories with them share
I bet they talked of Duhallow where they first saw light of day
And Millstreet Town by Clara hill from Melbourne far away.

Mick Kelleher lives with his wife Rosemary and their family in Yannathan far from Millstreet
And he and John Joe Daly they never more may meet
In Melbourne since John Joe and his wife Helen have gone home to Millstreet Town
Where the Finnow from the high ground babbles as it journeys down

Through the old fields by the old Town to the Blackwater to the sea
From the high lake by Gneeves bog it flows eternally
Through the countryside near Millstreet the old river ever flow
And us like Nature's Seasons to life we come and go.

I Look At life That Way

There will come a tomorrow when i won't wake to light of day
And those who know or know of me of me will only say
He did have a good innings he has lived for many a year
The World goes on without him for others save a tear.

I see the carcass of an old ewe in a paddock yesterday
Her flesh by dogs, foxes, birds and maggots eaten she smelled strongly of decay
Around what did remain of her clumps of her wool scattered lay
Yet than me no less a mortal i look at life that way.

The World's most celebrated people inspire story, song and rhyme
But they too are mere mortals they go the way of time
The masses may admire them and mourn them when they are gone
But despite the widespread mourning without them life goes on.

There will come a tomorrow that i will not wake to see
Yet the magpie in the Parkland will pipe on the wattle tree
And i will return to Nature and on her bosom lay
Just like all other life forms i look at life that way.

They Will Always Be My Friends

I still consider them my friends the dearest friends I've known
Though little in common we seem to share and apart in ways we've grown
Our interests very different and we see things differently
To them i must seem rather strange and they seem strange to me,
We come from similar backgrounds but why should I pretend
That we share similar interests though a friend always a friend
Their main interests in sports and making money with me that's quite okay
But i look at life quite differently each to their own they say
And yet i look on them as my friends to most that would seem strange
We all are different in our ways and as we age we change
And yet they will always be my friends though in life's interests we are apart
Though for them i will always hold a fondness in my heart
And despite our different interests it may seem strange to say
That they will always be my friends until my dying day.

Sue Of The Kilmeedy Animal Sanctuary

The manager of the Kilmeedy Animal Sanctuary to her only credit is due
She takes care of orphaned birds and animals a wonderful lady is Sue
With the support of Andy and Fintan they take care of creatures great and small
The gift of caring for orphaned birds and animals is one of the greatest gifts of all.

I love reading her diary on the Millstreet Web Site it does make for an interesting read
Kilmeedy better for her living in it and more of her type we do need
She writes of her non human orphans as her friends people like her do seem so rare
A person who loves Nature's creatures and one environmentally aware.

Sue of the Kilmeedy Animal Sanctuary the seeds of good karma for herself does sow
And i say this without currying favour for she is one i do not know
I only know her through the Millstreet Town Web Site her type of person one has to admire
As a human mother to orphaned birds and animals her story is one to inspire

Compassion for Nature's orphans in others and that in itself a great thing
Of the woman who cares for non human orphans the praises I'm happy to sing
So lets hear it for Sue of Kilmeedy our toasting glass to her we'll raise
The woman who loves Nature's orphans is she not worthy of our praise.

On An Email From Eily Buckley

An email from Eily Buckley to me a surprise
To memories of home and of home fields gave rise
A legend in Millstreet when i was a boy
And legendary status to this day there she does enjoy
She married Dan Buckley a half a century ago
And they lived in Kilmeedy near where the Finnow flow
On down to Drishane to the Blackwater en route to the sea
And in green old Kilmeedy they raised their family,
The great Eily Buckley is a widow today
But life for her goes on in the usual way
The Millstreet Web Site, Clara News, L T V
In Millstreet there is none so busy as she
Through the World Wide Web her fame known far and wide
Beyond the Barony of Duhallow and her home countryside.

Arrogant People

'Tis sad to think that they have never been rare
There are plenty of them in the big World out there
Yes arrogant people are not hard to find
And rarer by far the compassionate and kind
Conceited and selfish and with their words crude
Most of arrogant people to others are rude
And since they feel superior in every way
Respect to the feelings of others they never do pay
They think they are special and they think they are great
And their egos on them tend to over-inflate
In their own small ways they seem so very small
And like 'tis said pride it comes before a fall
And about old karma 'tis true what they do say
That we must reap the fruits of what we sow one day.

It Will Not Matter Then

It will not matter then what others of me will say
That i worked hard or was lazy in every way
For the judgements of others the dead cannot hear
The one good thing about death it frees us of all fear
And the judgements of others will not matter then
If in life i was pigeon holed with the unsuccessful women and men
Fair dues to the reaper people he does equalize
For their wealth and fame people he does not recognize
The unknown one and the one who has only known of fame
The egalatarian reaper he treats as the same
The tallest of poppies to his scythe must fall
And death is not such a bad thing after all
And it will not matter then what others say of me
Of any sense of guilt I'll be totally free.

The Rose Tree Of Winter

In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.

Not A Fan Of Classic Poets

In the modern literary World rhyme is seen as out of date
And the long dead and the renowned rhyme writers few bother to celebrate
But i must be old fashioned one of another time
For i am one of those blokes who loves old fashioned rhyme
Not a fan of the classic poets though their type were always rare
I do like the more earthy stuff such as the poetry of John Clare
For as a poet of Nature few with him to compare
And i love the poetry of James Clarence Mangan he died whilst in his writing prime
He was one of the poor souls of the Dublin of his time
And the poems and songs of Burns to all of mankind belong
The National bard of Scotland was a true Prince of Song
And not forgetting John Masefield the renowned Ledbury poet
Amongst those who penned good earthy stuff he is one worthy of note
And there are many others I'd like to mention here at least more than a score
But this of course a sonnet of fourteen lines not more.

John Wilkes Booth

'Tis written of the man who murdered Lincoln that he was not right in the head
But of anyone who commits such a crime the same thing can be said
But in truth he only was fulfilling his life's destiny
And none of us are perfect or so 'twould seem to me.

The actor John Wilkes Booth was a handsome man and one who knew of great fame
Yet why did he commit such a foul crime and cloak himself in shame?
With the thinking of the majority of Americans he for one did not agree
In the face of President Lincoln only evil he did see.

From the law that pursued him for Booth no safe place to hide
A short time later he was gunned down and from his wounds he died
That now is part of old history and life on Earth goes on
And the past it now is history the past forever gone.

The man who murdered Lincoln centuries of years ago
Around the story of John Wilkes Booth the myths and legends grow
He had to be a mad man many are known to say
But what happened centuries ago is of little relevance to today.

The Girls Of My Youth

With tints and hair dyes do they cover their gray?
The girls of my youth they are ageing today
But in my flights of fancy they remain young to me
The girls of my youth i may never more see,
Perhaps some are grandmothers and some never wed
And doubtless a few would now lay with the dead
The girls of my youth of their praises I've sung
And within my memory they do remain as young
Their hair wet and windblown as the rain drizzles down
In small groups i see them walking in old Millstreet Town
And in my flights of fancy i see them again
They laughing together in the wind and rain
The energy of youth we cannot hope to retain
But memories of their freshness and beauty with me does remain.

Koroit's Lady Of Rhyme

Though many years now beyond her glorious prime
She will always be known as Koroit's Lady of Rhyme
So humble and gracious despite her renown
The literary toast of the old Moyne Shire Town,
So many times she has been voted as Koroit's Poet of the year
And she still recites in a voice that's melodious and clear
And despite her great age 'tis said she's eighty three
Few far younger poets of the Moyne Shire are as brilliant as she
For her talents and her humility the lady is known
And one might say of her she's in a class of her own
For one of her years she is lucid and bright
And it is such a joy for to hear her recite
Her beautiful poetry the one time has left gray
Koroit's greatest Poet and she still is today.

Those Born With Compassion

We all have our phobias and we all have our fears
But lucky are they who can be moved to tears
At the sufferings of others, people they do not know
The gift of compassion on trees does not grow.

With the great gift of compassion few gifts can compare
And those with compassion have always been rare
And those with compassion too have empathy
They are the best of good people and it does seem to me

That in a World where many are inspired by greed
Those born with compassion by good example lead
They do more than talking for talk can be cheap
And the fruits of good karma one day they will reap.

Those with true compassion help those of help most in need
Yet of their heroics we never do read
For to do good in the World by their compassionate nature inspired
And of singing their praises one should never feel tired.

On Politicians

Many of them with their words quite ambiguous 'tis their way of being wise
And for to cling to their positions of power they do tell heaps of lies
And we want to believe them we are naive one must suppose
The noxious weed it does not look or smell anything like a rose.

I do not trust politicians since they feather their own nest
Though they tell us for the Country that they are doing their best
With them it's favours for self and family and favours for a mate
And take care of our own and to hell with the State.

Though not all of politicians act or think in this way
The majority of them far from perfect and 'twould be fair to say
That honest politicians to say the least are rare
Of self and their own needs most of them quite aware.

For to lie to the voters to them seems quite okay
And to their high office respect they don't pay
In their way of life it does pay to deceive
And bigger fool you if them you do believe.

You Call It Stuff Or Doggerel

You call it stuff or doggerel or call it what you may
I've written reams and reams of it and I've known a better day
I've got a penning addiction that would seem fair to say
But few of us near perfect or so 'twould seem that way.

When i look in the mirror an ageing bloke i see
And i never use the word poet when I'm describing me
And that is just being honest not false humility
Self praise seems rather boastful as many would agree.

I had my dreams of wealth and fame going back decades ago
But life's not a blooming garden as one like me should know
In life as I've discovered there's many an up and down
And I've done my share of living far south of my Hometown.

An ageing addictive rhymer just that and nothing more
Like the migratory birds on their Wintering grounds far from their homeland shore
But unlike the migratory birds who go home to breed in Spring
I remain here on a distant shore and of the homeland sing.

You can call it stuff or doggerel or what you so decide
And you may say I'm low in self esteem or one who lacks in pride
I've aged but i have not matured like well fermented wine
And what you think about me is your business not mine.

The Creek Flowing At A Trickle

The creek from the high country trickles on down
Through the bare brown paddocks by the old bush town
Many miles from the nearest big city the place is so quiet
And the small bush flies are buzzing in the morning sunlight.

Despite recent heavy rains the creek is quite low
And going by local old timers and they ought to know
The landscape has never looked so brown and bare
And scarce enough of grass here for to support a hare.

In the calm of mid morning beside the brown hill
The black and white magpie with the silvery bill
The king of his patch and of his territory
Pipes on a bare branch of a dead old gum tree.

The dark pale eyed raven his voice one cannot mistake
A loud and long drawn out caw the only sound he does make
Distinctive in his ways and in his harsh cry
From other crows his dark feathery beard him does identify.

The creek flowing at a trickle despite recent rain
And the farm dams are low and bone dry every drain
From the very long dry spell the landscape looking bare
And the small bush flies are buzzing in the morning air.

Far North

Far north even as the crow fly from here far away
In leafy groves, woods and hedgerows nesting birds sing all day
And blackbird will sing his fanfare of the May
Before the sun rise in the dawn cool and gray,
The song of the dipper i fancy i hear
And the stream that he sings in to me does seem near
And i hear the babble of the upland rill
As it scurries down from the foot of the hill,
In fancy i visit old places at this time of year
Where i first grew to love Nature so far north of here
When the moorhen in the river reeds utters her harsh cry
For to warn her chicks of danger nearby
And the song of the lark can be heard in the sky
And the swallows above the fields all day long fly.

Old Jim Next Door

In an age when celebrity worship is seen as the in thing
The praises of the wealthy and famous many love to sing
But few sing the praises of old Jim next door
Quite frail on his last birthday he turned eighty four,
A hard working fellow he has lived a hard life
Some six decades ago Marie his young wife
Died whilst giving birth to a still born baby boy
And heartbreak for Jim when there should have been joy
For years he grieved for his dead baby and for his dead soul mate
But in time even the greatest sorrow has a use by date
Lady luck to him she was so very unkind
And to life without a partner he became resigned
An old and frail fellow so few wish to know of him
But i for one will sing the praises of Jim.

On Talking To Denis

He is the youngest of our family
And it has been twenty years since him i last did see
But lately i spoke to him and one of his sons Richard by phone
Talking to him took me back to good times we have known.

Before he left Claraghatlea and married Eileen Brown
And went to live and to work by the far bigger town
Our life's journey from Millstreet has us further away
But that's how it goes as some are known to say.

Younger than me by a few years and time ticking on
But the future is what matters since the past has gone
And one might say he has not changed that much at all
As the happy go lucky Denis i recall.

At Christmas in Claraghatlea we played with our toys
In the backyard of our old home when we were young boys
When old Clara mountain wore his hat of snow
Though here i am talking of a long time ago.

If not in Farnanes then maybe in Millstreet
He and i again may be destined for to meet
From old Claraghatlea my journey has taken me far
From where i live to where he live one could not drive by car.

The Former Rose Of Dunkeld

The former Rose of Dunkeld she is fading in time
Four decades ago when she was in her prime
With shoulder length hair that was wavy and brown
She was the great beauty of Hamilton Town.

The former Rose of Dunkeld has known a far better day
With chestnut brown hair dye she covers her gray
Now in her mid sixties and in her life's Fall
The clock on her life ticking as it ticks on us all.

As a single grandmother she now lives on her own
And the good and the hard times of life she has known
In her twenty years of marriage she gave birth to a daughter and son
Till her husband he left her for a younger one.

The former Rose of Dunkeld some of her good looks retain
And in fancy she does visit the past again
The Rose of Dunkeld was her claim to renown
When she lived and worked in old Hamilton Town

Django Ry Ladds

Called after Django Rheinhardt the greatest guitarist of his time
There was none greater than him when he was in his prime,
To the Ladds and the Veal families he's the new pride and joy
A toast to Damian and Vanessa and their fair haired baby boy.

His name is Django Ry Ladds that is a lovely name
And like the Django he's called after he may one day know great fame
The famous Belgium Gipsy the pride of the Rom clan
The Django he's called after was a very famous man.

His dad a Collingwood supporter and no doubt he too one day
Will be at the famed M C G to watch the Magpies play
Just a chip off of the old block as some are known to say
The son influenced by the father that is the natural way.

The youngster Django Ry Ladds in life may have some way to go
But like his famous namesake he may well into a legend grow
The new pride of the Ladds and the Veal families youth is a marvellous thing
And the praises of young Django Ry the masses yet may sing.

As Long As You've Not Harmed Any Other

As long as you've not harmed any other or to none been unfair
Of how others look upon you why should you even care
Just leave them to their judgemental ways since they have nothing better to do
And they are not critical of others when they are criticizing you.

Leave them to their judgemental ways is all that one can say
Suppose they cannot help it if they act in this way
Some people are quiite ignorant and in their ways quite small
They do not know the meaning of a fair go for all.

Their thoughts are like the stunted weeds that never take to flower
In comparing of people gives them a sense of power
They cannot help the way they are that's people one suppose
Callous people do not grow kinder when they dress in stylish clothes.

As long as you have not harmed any other why hide away in shame
despite negative comments of the unenlightened life for you goes on as the same
Do not go down to their level your moral honour bar you ought to raise
For you do not need such people's judgements as little as you'd need their praise.

In His Nostalgic Flights Of Fancy

In his nostalgic fligths of fancy he see the old bohreen
And the old fields and the valleys in their many shades of green
And the hawthorns trees resplendent in their fragile white blossoms of the May
Here he will always be a migrant from a Country far away.

Seven times a great grandfather and time is ticking on
A primary schoolboy of the late forties but the forties has long gone
He has not seen his remaining siblings for thirty years or more
And a lot of changes in the old Hometown since he left his Homeland shore.

Two of his siblings now deceased a brother and sister now remain
With their families in the old Hometown that he may not see again
In the old town he'd feel a stranger now and there few of him would know
He was a well known fellow there some forty years ago.

His wife of forty two years in the cemetery now lay
She passed on quietly in her sleep six years ago today
He visits her grave site every month to place flowers by her headstone
Without the truest friend he's ever had he is growing old alone.

In his nostalgic flights of fancy he can hear and see
The pink breasted bullfinch singing on a leafy silver birch tree
And the familiar voice it comes to him of the silver tongued mountain rill
As it babbles towards the river down the high field by the hill.

We Need More Rain

For the past few days it has been raining yet we need far more rain
And the creeks they are not flowing and little water in any drain
It has been said that for the present el nino is back at sea
But two days of rain is scarce sufficent to heal the affects of the longest drought in history,
We need more rain to start the creeks and the drains flowing and fill each dam and lake
A month or more of heavy rainfall quite a difference would make
To the farmers and town reservoirs that are at an all time low
And to the rivers and the parched paddocks where the grass again will grow
Climate change is all around us and it seems to be Worldwide
But that we have helped it in no small way by us can hardly be denied
We pollute the lands and oceans, the waterways and the air
And for our Earth Mother who feeds us we do not seem to care
But what we do to our Earth Mother to our own selves we do
And every drop of rain is welcome though of it we need a month or two.

A Long Way Out Of Date

A war fought more than three hundred years ago they see fit to celebrate
One might say they are not up with the times a long way out of date
What happened three hundred years ago can hardly be of relevance to today
That seems more than living in the past that does seem fair to say
Old war memories and old grudges passed down from people for centuries in the grave
The pathway to enlightenment they hardly helped to pave
They live with a bitter legacy with them bygones not gone
A battle fought and won three centuries ago in their thoughts living on,
On the pathway that leads to peace and reconcilation one step they have not trod
They believe that those who are different to them are the children of a lesser god
Celebrating a battle won three centuries ago seems ludicrous to me
These people do seem out of date in the twenty first century
They celebrate their warring ancestors in parades and in song
And on believing that this is relevant to today they sure have got it wrong.

On Talking To The Caseys

It has been more than twenty years and in that there's many a dawn
Since i have seen the high fields of green old Tooreenbawn
My sister Margaret and her husband Michael Casey lives there and there they raised their family
And it has been two decades since any of them i see.

Of late i contacted the Caseys through the medium of skype
But i do not have the broadband and my equipment not up to type
It seems that they could not hear me tomorrow i will give them another ring
When the airwaves may be clearer technology can be a strange thing.

For more than forty years Michael and Margaret have been married the years have rolled on by
A union that brought Eugene, Nora, Neil and Michael four decades just seemed to fly
It has been awhile since I've spoken to them at keeping in contact i seem slack
But on just hearing their voices again brought old memories back.

Of when i was fitter and younger years ago and far away
Long before i started balding and my hair did turn to gray
It was nice hearing their voices and nice to know they are okay
From my thoughts they are not distant though I've not seen them for many a day.

In The Groves Near Ballydaly

In the groves near Ballydaly the nesting birds in song
The robin and the blackbird are singing all day long
The dunnock in the hedgerow at daybreak one does hear
And the tiny brown wren with the big bird voice is singing loud and clear
By the groves near Ballydaly the river winds it's way
Through the old fields down from Kippagh hill it babbles night and day
On down to join the Finnow from it's birthplace at Kippagh lake
The familiar song of the river bird the dipper one never can mistake,
Above the hedgerows near Ballydaly from mid April through May
The male greenfinch one does see often in his courtship display
Much like a windblown butterfly he flutters up and down
Back there near Ballydaly three miles from Millstreet Town
And the pink breasted bullfinch none more beautiful than he
In the early morning singing on a leafy alder tree.

We Soon Grow Old And Weary

We soon grow old and weary for fleeting is our prime
And time's waters wipe our footprints from the unending sands of time
The immortal names were mortals they  too grew old and died
And a lot have been forgotten since Christ was crucified.

Full of our self importance we think that we are great
And it does seem that our egos are not hard to inflate
You will not find much humility where arrogance abound
Still in the graveyards of the World egos are not to be found.

I cannot have that much time left I'm in my sixtieth year
And i must be quite a cowardly one 'tis the fear of death i do fear
I will die when i can't help it whenever that will be
Since that is up to the reaper it is not up to me.

Why bother for to tell me of how marvellous you are
And good luck to you is all i can say if you own an expensive car
And good luck to you if you are the C E O of a big company
Society would see you as a success and big brother would agree.

We soon grow old and weary and time is not our friend
And we are not that important so why should we pretend
That we are superior to all other life forms since we too have to die
The reaper who claim all life forms will claim the life of you and i.

Our Land On Paper Only

We may claim that we own the land and from land ownership we gain
But the land is only our land for as long as the life in us remain
But our land we can't take with us when we cease to live and die
And the one with the deeds to ten thousand acres is a mortal as am i.

We may think the land is our land but thought has proved us wrong
The land it was always here and to none the land belong
The land ours only for a short span and then we pass it on
And someone else will hold the deeds to it when the life from us has gone.

Humans are like Nature's Seasons to life we come and go
And our right to land ownership on paper we may show
Our land on paper only it is not ours to keep
Someone else will own the deed to it when we lay in eternal sleep.

We may have the legal document to prove it and we may say the land is ours
And we may claim to own the grass on it and we may claim to own the flowers
But we are the land's caretakers for awhile just that and nothing more
And what I've spoken of here has often been said before.

Just To Be A Better And A Kinder Person

Just to be a better and a kinder person is all that i ever aspire to be
That others in big brother's eyes are more successful is something that does never bother me
On me the biological clock is ticking and time on anyone does never wait
And i feel that i have a lot less of energy as i move closer to my use by date
I'm past caring what others do say of me as long as what they say of me is truth
Some people with their words can be quite callous they do not have in them the gift of ruth
I only want to be a better person to practice the truth in live and let live
To look ahead and put bygones behind me and those who have sinned against me in any way forgive
Today is nearly gone at midnight it will be history we are only six hours from a brand new day
The journey though life for you it can be worthwhile if you can help some of need of help on your way
It is so easy for to be judgemental too many judgemental people in the World out there
Too many far too many selfish people of their own feelings only seem aware
I only want to be a better person to many such a wish must seem quite small
And we'll drink a toast to kindness and compassion and to those who believe on a fair go for all.

I Am One Of Those

I am one of those a migrant from my homeland far away
But I'm thankful to the reaper for allowing me one more day
Every day i live to see I'm happy though my better days are gone
And my life is near it's twilight and the clock is ticking on.

Some of those i went to school with and in the schoolyard games with did play
Have become victims of the reaper and with the deceased now lay
The longest lived human being does not have a lengthy span
I would like to keep on living for to die as an old man.

For each and everyone of us there is a final Fall
And the egalatarian reaper is the one who claims the lives of all
But if the whole World were against me and i did not have a friend
I would still want to keep living hang in there until the end.

I am one of those a migrant one now showing my years in gray
And it matters little to me what others of me say
I would like to be one of the rare few for to live a century
But i doubt that's going to happen time is catching up on me.

He Will Be There

Tomorrow morning at dawn he will join in the parade
Up to the war memorial where the last post will be played
Where heads will be bowed after speeches are made
Old wars though long gone from the memory won't fade.

Back in ninteen forty when he was nineteen
The horrors of war in Europe he had seen
Many of his young comrades in Europe now lay
He always march for to honour them on Anzac Day.

In his flag and Country he took such great pride
And with his spirit of adventure and youth on his side
With other brave young Aussies he sailed off to war
To fight in the front line he did travel far.

Now a great grandfather time has left him gray
And clearly he has seen a far better day
But tomorrow at dawn he will stand with bare head
At the war memorial when they honour the dead.

Tomorrow April the 25th it is Anzac Day
When respect to the war dead old diggers do pay
And he will be there at the front of the crowd
The one who was brave where the gunfire was loud.