Created Out Of Pleasure

In others pain we were born and in our own pain we will die
And that does apply to everyone as well as to you and i
Created out of pleasure 'tis pleasure that gives rise to the birth of every girl and boy
And pleasure surely is a thing that all of us enjoy.

Created out of pleasure and we die in our own pain
And measured by our achievements and by our financial gain
'Til the reaper claims the life from us to his scythe we must fall
The scythe of death of the reaper makes equal one and all.

Created out of pleasure to satisfy a human need
It is good for our egos to plant our human seed
To make sure in the World our own genes will live on
When back to Mother Earth's bosom what remains of us has gone.

Created out of pleasure but brief our lifetime span
On average seventy five years for a woman and a bit less for a man
In history some are still living in notoriety or fame
But the reaper makes all equal to the reaper all are same.

Because Of Money

Because of money people wish on others harm or ill
And because of money people others do injure or kill
And because of money great friendships have come to an end
And money can make you an enemy or make you a friend
To those with the power of money respect we do pay
And money speaks every language some are known to say
And those with the most money great power do command
That is something that is not hard to understand
Those with heaps of money enjoy the good life
The millionaire in his seventies has a twenty two year old wife
With brown hair to her shoulders and lovely to behold
She would not be with him if he were poor and old
But because of his money with him she will stay
Money speaks every language that's life as some say.

You Ask Me

You ask me is there a God would not know would not lie
For the answer to that ask one other than i
Call me an infidel, atheist or agnostic or call me what you may
But to an invisible God i do not kneel to pray
Men go to war for God and Country and for God and Country have died
And they firmly believe they have God on their side
But they must be quite confused in their gift of faith
Since thou shalt not kill Moses fifth commandment state,
Why ask me a simple man of doggerel
Of a life hereafter or of a heaven or hell
The beauty created by the Goddess of Nature i see every day
Though out of sight she is well hidden away,
Of the existence of god ask one other than me
Since i only ever believe what i see.

A Memory

In my flights of fancy i often do hear
The male snipe o'er the bog in the Spring of the year
With his whirring wings he makes a drumming sound
As in the night sky he flies around and around
Flying all night above his breeding territory
His mate sits on her eggs quiet and secretive is she
The mysteries and beauty of Nature is a thing to enjoy
And I've loved our Earth Mother since i was a boy
And i do recall the bird without a song
Who with his wings drummed o'er the bog all night long
There is far more to Nature than we can hear or see
And why he drums all night long still a mystery to me
Under the night sky o'er the bog far away
I fancy i hear him in the prime of the May.

Only The Best Horse

Only the best horse, colt, gelding, mare or filly ever wins the Cox Plate
And only the winner they will celebrate
First place by a nose is as good as a mile
The connections of the winner and the winning punters can laugh, cheer and smile
Australia's best weight for age thoroughbred the Cox Plate always win
Great race horses race to the winning post they refuse to give in
Not unlike human successes the most determined succeed
Of the gallant in defeat one seldom does read,
Only the best does win that well may be true
But the gallant in defeat never receives fair due
Winning horses and winning humans in common many things share
They become big heroes in the big World out there
The best thoroughbred in the Cox Plate will be first past the winning post
And to the winner the majority does drink a toast.

At This Time Of Year In Duhallow

In rushy places by the Town of Millstreet the brown Finnow waters bank high do flow
When the redwings are back in the old fields and Clara wears his hat of snow
The trees stripped bare by the cold north winds that across Duhallow does blow
And the birds of song are not singing in grove and in windswept hedgerow.

At this time of year in Duhallow the fields by the river often under flood
And the streams from the high ground race down hill bank high the colour of mud
Nights by the fire-side of story telling the elders their youth did recall
Memories of this time of year in Duhallow amongst my best memories of all.

At this time of year in Duhallow storm waters gurgling in the roadside drains
And the river bank high in the old fields swollen by recent heavy rains
And in nostalgic flights of fancy i visit old places again
And only the memories of the past are all that now with me remain.

Mt Eccles

The pleasant fluting of the gray shrike thrush to it has a familiar ring
And the mating calls of the koalas can be heard in Mt Eccles in Spring
In the wilds of these volcanic mountains in the Dreamtime in the shade of the trees
The first Human Beings of Australia hunted and had their corroborees
From the bosom of fiery Mt Eccles the red hot lava once did flow,
The proof of a volcanic eruption in the volcanic stones in the countryside below
For miles around old silent Mt Eccles the home of wallaby and roo
The koala and crimson rosella and sulphur crested cockatoo,
Mt Eccles a very old mountain how old would anyone know
The first Australians an ancient race of people they hunted here centuries ago
Surrounded by wooded cliffs in Mt Eccles the green waters of old Lake Surprise
Those cliffs that echo to the cawings of the ravens and the cockatoos and corellas wild cries
Since the hot lava flowed from Mt Eccles many Seasons have come and have gone
But the ancient hill outlives the Seasons and the years of time keep ticking on.

The Boys And Girls I Went To School With

Some of them live in and near Millstreet yet and some from Duhallow far away
And in Mother Earth's bosom some of them forever lay
Some of them ageing naturally and some with dye cover their gray
The boys and girls i grew up with where might they be today
We laughed and played together in the school yard far away
But like the poet Longfellow said 'It is not always May'
The years went by so quickly time for us did not wait
And we are fast approaching our dreaded use by date
Any of the boys and girls i went to school with i may not see again
And only memories of them with me now does remain
We laughed and played together in the school yard years ago
In Millstreet Town in view of Clara hill near where Finnow waters flow
On it's way to the Blackwater on through North Cork to the sea
And though the past has gone forever memories of it remain with me.

My Ways Are Not Your Ways

Your ideas of how life should be i struggle to understand
We are of different cultures and come from a different Land
Devoted to your unseen God in his Kingdom in the sky
One of your favourite words is infidel and that to my likes does apply
If you do not understand my ways with me that is okay
I do not have an invisible God to whom i wish to pray
If religion makes you a better person good on you is all i have to say
Though far too many religious fundamentalists in the World of today
I am one some do refer to as a doomed infidel
Destined to dwell forever in an afterlife of hell
I am a Doubting Thomas only believe what i see
And in your ways and in your beliefs you are different to me
Your culture and your beliefs are quite different to mine
And my ways are not your ways and that does suit me fine.

A Double Decker Load Of Sheep

A double decker load of sheep were bleating as the small town the truck passed by
I thought to myself they must be uttering to me a help us cry
Their loud bleatings told of their stress of them a five hour drive ahead
Today is their last day of life tomorrow they will be dead
Food for human meat eaters i am one who eat meat
Though for them i did feel pity as the truck passed down the street
I respect anti cruelty people and vegetarians great credit they are due
It truly can be said of them that to their higher selves they are true
Poor inoffensive creatures far more so than you or i
Transported in a cruel way to a slaughter yeard to die
Into a double decker truck packed like sardines in a tin
To be cruel to other life forms is a common human sin
Bound for a city abbatoir they bleated out of fear
It was not a pleasant sight to see or a pleasant sound to hear.

Two Serious Looking Old Ladies

Two serious looking old ladies out walking arm in arm
They don't have happy faces they seem to lack in charm
They do seem quite judgemental the way they stare at me
My eyes can only tell me what my eyes believe i see.

Two serious looking old ladies in their early eighties maybe
A smile to their faces it would seem would not come easily
Yet who am i to judge them for how they do appear
of strangers they may harbour some quite well founded fear.

That each stranger they meet trigger in them they may be victims of crime
For serious crimes against the elderly many in jail serving time
'Tis not an easy World to live in for the fragile and the old
Some towards people who are ageing are indifferent and cold.

I smiled and said hello to them as they slowly shuffled by
But my greeting met with silence they did not make a reply
They did not at all seem happy at me they did only stare
To them i was just not to be trusted a stranger from the World out there.

Here's To Anti War People

To so called patriots and pro war people and those to enlightenment blind
They are not to be trusted and are traitor kind
But they march for peace and i see that as great
And they are the people that i celebrate
If anti war people are seen by some as traitors and guilty of grave sin
Then i too am a traitor amongst them count me in
For war never brings true peace despite what some say
And somewhere in the World war is waged every day
In Countries in Africa, The Middle East and Afghanistan and Iraq
People constantly living in fear of attack
From terrorists and extremists that war did create
Compassionless people who are consumed by hate
So here's to anti war people their praises i must sing
Their march is for peace and that is a great thing.

With Humanity

With humanity it may be all is not okay
But i meet a good person or two every day
And though my dealings with a few have caused me to regret
A very bad person i cannot say I've met
Yet the gap between the haves and the have nots has not decreased in time
And many in poverty do turn to crime
Whoever did say that all in life is fair?
When it is a rat race in the big World out there
Some say 'tis their own fault of those who do not succeed
That positive thinking to success does lead
But how can you judge others when you've not lived in their shoes
For one for to win many do have to lose
And in this twenty first century it does seem sad to say
That the gap between the haves and the have nots is growing every day.

Men Of War

They stifle the grass and they stifle the flowers
The weeds that grow rank in the warm Spring showers
Reminds me of the war men who for war create their foe
They don't give the flower of peace a chance to grow
With them one must say how much worse off we are
The World would be better without men of war
They create their barriers of us against they
And send the young men to fight for them to Lands far away,
They do remind me of the noxious weed
That in a green garden spread it's oppressive seed,
Not at peace with themselves so peace they do not need
Their warring words only to war us does lead
They try to convince us God is on our side
And because of them millions of people have died.

The Dead Hero's Grave

He fell in a battle from here far away
But in his native earth his remains now lay
The war that he fought in by his side not won
And the aged mother she still grieves the loss of her son.

A fading bouquet of flowers on the dead hero's grave
Placed there by the mother who loved him for her son who died brave
He fell in a distant battle four decades ago
And he was a great person as she ought to know.

In his early twenties just twenty one years
For her long dead son the widow has not shed all of her tears
In her early eighties sad and bent and gray
The clock on her life it is ticking away.

He was her only offspring which seems the more sad
And he did not have the chance to become a dad
He died under gunfire a noble young man
In a war in Asia in distant Vietnam.

In Five Thousand Years From Now

What sort of life forms will exist in this World in five thousand years from now
Will it be a long forgotten sound the bellowing of a cow?
Will Humankind still exist or have gone the way of time?
Just like the long extinct dodo or just like the death of rhyme.

Species evolve and to life come and go but only Mother Nature last
And the future we cannot foresee though we do recall the past
In five thousand years from now great Human built Cities may be ruins in decay
What does the distant future hold for Humankind even seers cannot say.

What sort of life forms will exist in five hundred centuries
will there be birds and fish and animals and will there be plants and trees?
I know that Nature will live on for Nature will never die
Other life forms evolve and come and go those are facts and facts don't lie.

Will people still pray to their God for an afterlife of heaven
Or will Humankind be long extinct in the year seven thousand and seven
I know Nature will be around for Nature will live on
Though many of her life forms to eternity will have gone.

I Know

I know every doggerel i do pen is one doggerel nearer to my last
And i know the years on me are telling that my better days are in the past
But why worry for what never can be and why pine for what has long gone
The love of life is what should matter and the will to keep on keeping on
I know life for many is not easy and many far worse off than me
And that fifty per cent of the human population are living in dire poverty
I feel in life i have been lucky that lady luck is on my side
Circumstances of birth not against me and to a fair go I've never been denied,
For millions life is their great battle of hope they do live in despair
They will live and they will die as the have nots of the bigger World out there
One must pity the poor and forgotten though they need more than sympathy
Though all people supposed to be equal in a World of inequality
But the reaper makes everyone equal since to his scythe everyone does fall
So why not drink a toast to the Reaper and a toast to a fair go for all.

How Can One

How can one admire those who prosper on others financial pain
And they even boast in public of their ill gotten gain
To prey upon the vulnerable that hardly does seem fair
Amongst 'the haves' of every town many a tainted millionaire
An old lady sold her home to a real estate agent this story has been told
Two months later he sold it for twice what he paid for it he preyed on one frail and old
Of a quarter of a million profit on his shady deal to his mates he does boast
Of preying upon the vulnerable to himself he drinks a toast
How can one admire one like him what's in him to admire?
He has legally stolen a quarter of a million from a vulnerable woman his story not one to inspire
Others to any form of greatness he is not the type to emulate
He will never be known for compassion he is not one we should celebrate
How can one admire those who prosper on the financial ruin of the vulnerable and the old
They are the lowest form of legal thieves at heart they are callous and cold.

Weerloos

With their strong beaks for their dark seeds they shred pine cones the yellow tail black cockatoos
The huge dark brown parrots of the mountains that some refer to as weerloos
From the calls they make in communication especially whilst they are in flight
To see them in small flocks is a thing of beauty and makes for a spectacular sight
Distinctive from other cockatoos they only flock with their own kind
Amongst white cockatoos the sulphur crested and corellas a weerloo you never will find
But like all cockatoos they nest in a tree cavity though only one young they do raise
The wonderful wonders of Nature they never do cease to amaze
They are birds one does not see often and even in their range known to be rare
With other parrots it seems obvious so little in common they do share
Quite beautiful birds for to look at they call to each other in flight
A flock of dark brown weerloos of the mountains they make for a beautiful sight
By sight and by sound quite distinctive one does not see them every day
They only stay within their own group for that is their natural way.

The Mob

The mob are out there baying for blood though for his crimes he'll pay
He would not receive a fair trial if they did have their way
They would hang him from the nearest tree and leave him there to die
We do not need the injustice of the mob and that is not a lie
They should go home to their families of their families take care
We do not need their ideas of law democratic law is fair
They hurl abuse and obscenities at the convicted man
For his crimes he'll be made to pay with a lengthy prison span
They should go home to their families what business have they here?
On their way home from their pub crawl amazing stuff the beer
The man they hurl abuse at condemned to jail for life
He has brought shame upon himself and on his kids and wife
And the mob they go back to their homes shouting along the street
Mouthing profane obscenities not worthy of repeat.

The Goddess Of Nature

So many years I've known her yet so little of her know
Yet my love for her does not lessen it only seems to grow
Amazing Mother Nature her beauty everywhere
The Goddess of this Planet Earth none with her to compare
All of the World's life forms live off of her for our survival her we do need
The Goddess of every life form since every life form she does feed
Billions of people adore their unseen Gods and to their unseen gods they do pray
Yet the visible Goddess of Nature her beauty we see every day
But us humans choose to abuse her and her rivers and seas we pollute
And when we pollute the air we breathe in 'tis our own selves we do persecute
The Polar ice caps they are melting and sea levels are beginning to rise
Our continuous reliance on fossil fuels on our behalf does not seem wise,
So many years I've loved and admired her yet in ways she is a stranger to me
Her presence it is all around me and of her i like what i see.

On Hearing A Blackbird

The unmistakeable voice of the blackbird his song is a song that i know
In Spring his kindred birds sing on the hedgerows in the fields where Finnow waters flow
By Millstreet Town to the Blackwater far north of here and far away
When i was younger and fitter and stronger the years have left me looking gray
Each time i hear a blackbird singing in fancy i am back again
In Spring in the lush fields of Duhallow covered in their wildflowers after rain
I've little to show for my travels i cannot boast of financial gain
But fond memories of the the old homefields with me 'til i die will remain
Each time i hear a blackbird singing i hear the babble of the rill
Flow by the hedgerows to the river from the field at the foot of the hill,
Amazing how the song of a bird jogs the memory and takes us to the distant past
But the past it has gone forever and only the memories do last
Of what was and never more can be of the past that forever has gone
And only our great lust for living is what helps us for to keep on keeping on.

If I Should Die Tomorrow

If i should die tomorrow my praises none will sing
Though a few may say for everyone there is a final Spring
And he'll never more hear the shrike thrush sing in his cloak of brown and gray
Piping softly on the blackwood tree in the fading light of day.

If i should die tomorrow some of me might even say
He did have a good innings all will be quiet where he lay
He penned a lot of doggerel and he never knew of fame
And he is gone forever as one more forgotten name.

If i should die tomorrow life's cares for me will be no more
And birds will sing and life will go on as life went on before
I ever saw the light of day the Seasons come and go
And without me the river to the ocean forever sure to flow.

If i should die tomorrow on me don't waste your tears
Life will go on without me I've had my better years
My life's trials will be behind me death does come to us all
To the scythe of the reaper we are destined to fall.

Most Have Their Addictions

My hopes of success are beginning to fade
As a writer i feel i will not make the grade
From writing not many know of wealth and fame
And penning for most a hungry belly game
My best days behind me I've lost out to time
But i remain as one who is addicted to rhyme
Most have their addictions and in truth i must say
That I'm one who cannot give penning away
Not many i know are as addictive as i
And i will be penning stuff 'til the day that i die
Most have their addictions and i have got mine
I am one who has penned many a slipshod line
My best days behind me and forever gone
Yet to appease my addiction i keep on penning on.

We Do Not Need Racists

There are good and bad people in every race and creed
And racism is a thing the human race does not need
Prejudice and mistrust to war only lead
And red is the colour of the blood we all bleed.

We do not need racists since they cause offence
And nothing good can be said in their defence
Consumed by their hatreds their spirit is small
We salute those who stand for a fair go for all.

There is no such a thing as a superior race
And the fair go for all the fair minded embrace
On your feelings on prejudice leave none in doubt
Against racism don't be afraid to speak out.

In the Human World there's no one race to the fore
We are only mere mortals that and nothing more
To the scythe of the reaper we eventually must fall
So here's to egalatarianism and a fair go for all.

On Magpies

The juvenile magpie feels hungry it's parents bring it tidbits of food
But it does not seem satisfied it is in a begging mood
One of the parents bring it a mouse it had killed too big for the young one to eat
In Nature all smaller things are prey to those with a taste for meat
In killing a defenceless mouse the magpie see no wrong
With it's silver beak that's stained in blood tonight 'twill pipe it's song
When the moon is quietly creeping through the silent starry sky
And the boobook on the tall gums utters forth it's mopoke cry
In the Human World as in Nature the strongest seem to thrive
Whilst the weaker and defenceless have to struggle to survive
The magpie has a lovely song but it is a bird of prey
For to kill and to eat smaller things it is it's natural way
For to appease their young one's appetite the parents their best do try
But the young one begs of them for more and is hard to satisfy.

Most Have Their Addictions

My hopes of success are beginning to fade
As a writer i feel i will not make the grade
From writing not many know of wealth and fame
And penning for most a hungry belly game
My best days behind me I've lost out to time
But i remain as one who is addicted to rhyme
Most have their addictions and in truth i must say
That I'm one who cannot give penning away
Not many i know are as addictive as i
And i will be penning stuff 'til the day that i die
Most have their addictions and i have got mine
I am one who has penned many a slipshod line
My best days behind me and forever gone
Yet to appease my addiction i keep on penning on.

Memories Of The Yarra Ranges

The flute like song of the olive backed oriole i fancy i hear
On the tall gums of Sherbrooke in the Spring of the year
The cockatoos call and the nesting birds sing
Oh to be in the Yarra Ranges in the prime of the Spring
Australia's greatest mimic the lyrebird on the higher ground
His beautiful music in the woodland resound
A bird that Nature writers and poets celebrate
The songs of his neighbour birds he imitate,
In October in Birdsland the hills overlooking the lakes look so green
Young water birds swimming with their parents seen
The song of the butcherbird melodious and clear
Such beauty to my heart remains ever near
And the flute of the magpie in the dead of the night
Can be heard in Selby Wood in the moonlight.

An October Day

The white backed magpie he flutes on the black wattle tree
Where Nature's great beauty is all around me
And i know them by their song though them i cannot see
The black and white birds known to most as pee wee.

The sparrows for to build their nest under the eaves collect feathers and hay
At this time of year they chirp all through the day
And the goldfinches familiar in their twittering song
The voices of some birds one should never get wrong.

October the prime month of the Spring of the year
Far south of the tropics of the Southern Hemisphere
Today it is warm around 30 degrees
With a refreshing coolness in the afternoon breeze.

The song of the blackbird is so pleasant to hear
He pipes in his territory to where I'm standing near
And the park lush and green from the recent Spring showers
So lovely bedecked in it's wildborn flowers.

How Many More Springs

Another Season I've managed to survive
But i feel so happy just to be alive
The nesting wild birds in the park chirp and sing
On this warm and beautiful day in the Spring
Around the flower beds and blossom laden trees
White butterflies flit in the afternoon breeze
A thing of natural beauty is a thing of joy
I've loved Mother Nature since i was a boy
The reaper who claims all lives will claim the life from me
And how many more Springs will i live for to see?
One only can live for as long as one can
And I'd love for to die as a very old man
On a warm day in Spring when the flowers are in bloom
With the music of the birds floating into my room.

What Is Patriotism

What is patriotism you are asking me
Though with the answer i give you perhaps you may not agree
With what on patriotism i do have to say
You win some and lose some life can be that way,
The meaning of patriotism i struggle to understand
But i know it goes further than love of Homeland
or fighting under your Homeland's flag far from your Homeshore
Aggression and patriotism are different on that need one say more
Of their Nation's military might and sporting heroes so called patriots brag
But there's more to patriotism than the love of a flag
True patriots love their Homeland and people and good will with all races share
And true patriots sad to say as always are rare
And true patriots it does seem of prejudices free
And they seem very different to the likes of you and me.

On The Federal Election

The Australian Federal Election is six weeks away
And campaigning politicians are begging for votes every day
Their desire for power is addictive 'twould seem
How far some do go for their own self esteem.

Politicians tell us if we work hard success will be our due
For our big effort this well may be true
But in some work-places people do work hard for very low pay
They do not grow more successful they grow old and gray.

In this Federal Election big egos to the fore
And the plight of the poor politicians ignore
But few of the poor even bother to vote
And politicians of this of course have taken note.

Good and honorable politicians are becoming more rare
And who wins or who loses can't say i much care
And since a seat in the Parliament is a privileged thing
The praises of politicians we ought not to sing.

So Many

So many poor and downtrodden people in the bigger World out there
Where thousands each day become poorer for every new millionaire
Even in the World's wealthiest Cities the paupers and homeless not rare
The hard road through life may be daunting for those in the pit of despair.

So many living in fear in war zones and so many war refugees
And so many in drought ravaged regions are dying of hunger and disease
And climate change and global warming only gives rise to poverty
Our Karma for the pollution of our Planet at least that's how it does seem to me.

So many orphan children in refugee camps their crime to be born in the wrong place
Without the parents who did love them an uncertain future they face
Compared to many i do feel quite lucky i sleep on a comfortable bed
With enough to eat i never feel hungry and i have a roof over my head.

So many poor and homeless people they live rough and sleep rough at night
Life for them is such a tough journey survival is their biggest fight
Twenty six million people in refugee camps and the numbers are growing every day
They live without hope for their future and that does seem a sad thing to say.

My Pleasant Flights Of Fancy

My pleasant flights of fancy to me a thing of joy
I hear the skylark singing o'er the fields of Lisnaboy
And in the newly mown meadows the pleasant scent of hay
The places of my younger years i visit every day
The gift of visualization it is a marvellous thing
The dunnock in the hedgerow how sweetly he does sing
The voices of Nature's minstrels in places far away
From my heart they are not distant i hear them every day
The dipper he is singing where the river meets the rill
And i hear the black face horned sheep bleating on the slopes of Clara hill
Overlooking the green countryside bordering Millstreet Town
Where i spent my better years of life when my hair was dark brown
And in my pleasant flights of fancy the old Finnow i do see
Flowing slowly down to Drishane to the Blackwater to the sea.

I Am Not Proud I Am Irish

I am not proud i am Irish that's just my Nationality
I have never waved an Irish flag that does not appeal to me
I am anti Patriotism and Nationalism of that why should i lie
And that's the way i will remain until the day i die
Of their Nationalism and Patriotism some feel the need to brag
But far too many have died in wars for the colour of their Nation's flag
On the neighbours flagpost in their front yard their National flag it is blowing in the breeze
If this is a boost to their egos they must not be that hard to please
Suppose they are trying for to tell us that they support the distant war
Against people that we made our enemies in a Country from our Nation far
But we all need something for to stand for and we all look at things differently
And what many does see as a good thing may not seem a good thing to me
I am not proud that i am Irish of my Birthland that seems strange to say
But in my heart i do love Ireland my Homeland from here far away.

Tomorow May Be Better

Tomorrow may be better you hear some people say
But tomorrow will come in it's own good time we must live for today
And tomorrow for some will not dawn that's life one must suppose
We are as fragile it would seem as the petals of the rose,
Tomorrow may be better for only some maybe
And you don't think of tomorrow if you live in poverty
If a better tomorrow you cannot seem to see
With your struggle for survival you struggle ceaselessly,
Tomorrow may be better for some but not for all
And from life we are always learning before we walked we did crawl
That money speaks every language so happens to be true
But many hope for the change of luck they feel that they are due
And many with their poverty are struggling for to cope
And that tomorrow will be better they can only live in hope.

Back There In Old Sliabh Luachra

Back there in old Sliabh Luachra in the countryside around the Paps of Shrone
Where the hill sheep eat the heather around the bracken and the stone
In the days of Ireland's first people it was an ancient place
Though nothing there to tell us of the history of an extinct Race,
In the countryside of the Cork and Kerry border great poets and musicians did reside
And their fame grew into legend they became known Worldwide
Their poetry, song and music lives far from Hibernia's shore
Far from where they gave their free recitals at the crossroads near Rathmore
Back there in old Sliabh Luachra the changes happening fast
For only Mother Nature is the one who seems to last
Still the dipper can be heard sing where the river meets the rill
And in Spring the skylark carols o'er the rushes by the hill
And in Winter the cold north eastern winds across the high fields blow
Where the ancient Paps stand in silence in their cold hats of snow.

This No Ordinary Town

I myself may seem strange but some stranger than me
In the small country town a few weird things i did see
And as on the quiet Main Street i drove up and down
Methought to myself this no ordinary town.

A male and female in their twenties out walking their white black spotted pig
As opposed to a piglet the young boar seemed big
Their pig quite relaxed as he strolled by their side
On the Streets of the small town such strange things i spied.

An ageing bloke with a white ferret in harness walked on the Main Street
I thought to myself this a hard one to beat
I tell you what i saw my eyes do not deceive
Though everyone my story would not believe.

Some may say a visit to the psyche doctor i may be due
But the story i tell you happens to be true
Of the strange things i see in the small country town
As on the quiet streets i drove up and down.

I've Been In Love With Nature

I've been in love with Nature ever since i was a boy
And a walk in Nature's quiet places is always a thing of joy
In woods and Land for Wildlife the wild birds chirp and sing
And the beauty that lives in Nature is an amazing thing
For our sins against Mother Nature we will be made to pay
The smog above the City is growing by the day
The rivers are polluted and pollution nowadays is rife
And an unhealthy environment a danger to human life
As well as every other life form unhealthy air, rivers and seas
Can cause terminal illness and give rise to disease
We will receive from Nature what only is our due
And what we do to her to ourselves we do so happens to be true
The average weather temperatures are rising by a couple of degrees
And sea levels are rising and pollution in the breeze.

Australia's Federal Election 2007

November the twenty fourth is Australia's Election day the campaign for power begin
The winners govern for three years the prize is great to win
They have in them the lust for power they campaign for their own sake
The winners set to govern big egos are at stake.

Who wins or loses Government i can't say i much care
Since from the Election i don't stand to lose or gain of that much I'm aware
Big time politics can be a dirty game and smear politics is an in thing
On their opponents they rake the muck and their own praises they do sing.

Three right wing parties competing for power will not help those in poverty
A Nation without a Socialist Party seems a sad Nation to me
In a so called first World Country in big Cities homeless people on the street
Sleeping rough and searching rubbish bins for thrown out food to eat.

November the twenty fourth is Federal Election voting day and the days of cleanly fought campaigns is long gone
Twenty first century politics is a dirty game and the grab for power is on
The gap between the haves and the have nots is getting wider by the day
And whoever wins will not help the have nots and that seems sad to say.

'Tis Human

'Tis human to have faults and not even a saint
Is not even one completely free of taint
It is as easy to condemn as it is to condone
And if there's one without sin that one should point the bone,
The flaws in others are not hard to find
And 'tis easier for some to be cruel than be kind
'Tis human to place self above everyone
Our egos control us when all is said and done
And pride is the thing that comes before a fall
The thing known as the ego it is in us all
There is none of us perfect or so 'twould seem that way
And to karma for our sins there is some price to pay
The imperfections in you and the imperfections in me
Are what makes us human as most would agree.

Town By The Sea

Here only the air that you breathe it is free
All else you pay for in the town by the sea
The sea air is cleaner you do hear some say
Yet few happy faces for to brighten one's day.

For people from the suburbs a weekend get away
From the noise and pollution they live with every day
Two days by the sea does cost them two days pay
Sea-side towns not cheap to stay in such is life some might say.

The old town by the sea is a bright and breezy place
Though few people here with a smile on their face
Mid sunday afternoon their drive back to the suburbs is about to begin
Their two day break went so fast in life 'tis hard to win.

Even in the Winter a quiet time of year
Accomodation in the town by the sea seems quite dear
So few smiling faces around me i do see
And only the air that you breathe does seem free.

A Small Voice Within Me

Of my old hometown i am living far south
And my worth as a rhymer i have cause to doubt
But poetasters as we know have never been rare
And plenty like me in the big World out there
It is said of good poets they are born not made
And only the best can hope to make the grade
I pen heaps of stuff far south of Millstreet Town
Without any hope of success or renown
But writing of people and Nature i never seem to tire
And though the stuff that i do pen others never inspire
For to read my stuff, i just keep penning on
Though my better days in all honesty gone
And a small voice within me whispers to me each day
Don't quit never give your addiction away.

The Self Centred One

His own perceived successes he only celebrate
And to others he just cannot seem to relate
And his three favourite words are i, myself and me
The one who was born without empathy
He tells everyone he meets of his expensive new car
One might say he takes self love that bit too far
Of his own needs he always seems too aware
Yet people of his type no longer seem rare
Of the successes of others he does not wish to hear
Me, myself and i to his heart ever dear
Apart from himself there is none he admire
And of talking of self he never seems to tire
His three favourite words are i, myself and me
You will not find one more self centred than he.

Walter De La Mare

He was a master wordsmith the poet Walter De La Mare
One of the finest of his time few with him to compare
His poems are quite distinctive and always worth a read
His writings have outlived him a rare achievement indeed
He did not write esoteric modern poems or he did not write simple rhyme
Yet his poems are very beautiful and they live on in time
His poems are for all ages he was a poetic great
And his fame lives in his verses and does not have a use by date
The Poet born in Charlton in Kent in England had to work hard for his fame
And even in his lifetime his became a World known literary name
His marvellous poem 'The Listeners' i learned as a boy
And his poems and stories of childhood children still read and enjoy
His writing remains as relevant in the World of today
And he was a master wordsmith with words he did have a way.

Magpies Singing At Night

The white backed magpie singing in the stillness of the night
In the park his flute is echoing in the October moonlight
A marvellous feathered songster his notes melodious and clear
He always sings his finest in the Springtime of the year
One of a few Australian songbirds to sing under the night sky
During their breeding Season even at night around their borders they do fly
And with young in nest for to defend high on a branch of tree
They sing to warn all others of their right to territory
On the gum trees in the backyard or in the Parkland near
At night as i lay awake in bed them i do often hear
So beautiful to listen to as you lay in bed awake
The song of the Aussie magpie one never could mistake
During their breeding Season from late Winter through the Spring
The white backed Australian magpies all day and all night sing.

The Birds I used To Know

Their voices remain with me from places far away
And in my flights of fancy i hear them sing today
The blackbird and the robin the throstle and the wren
The one with a loud song for a tiny bird sang in the furzy glen
In Spring the rooks built their nests of sticks high on the tall beech trees
Their loud cawing carried for some distance in the freshening evening breeze
And the thrush sized dark brown white breasted dipper with the scratchy familiar song
Was singing in the river where the rapids raced along
As if in a great hurry for to reach the ocean shore
From it's source by the mountain it will flow forever more
On towards the distant ocean through places lush and green
On it's banks the rank grass flattened told of where the floods had been
And though time is ever ticking and the Seasons come and go
In fancy i can hear them singing the birds i used to know.

A Story To Tell

For many so many life is Earthly hell
But everyone does have a story to tell
Of their life journeys and of their dreams of fame
And any two stories not exactly the same
But many their life stories will never be told
And in their mid forties they look rather old
Their hard struggles in life on them start to show
Though to their sixtieth birthday still some way to go
It is a rat race in the big World out there
Where thousands grow poorer for every new millionaire
But old father time does take care of all
And to the scythe of the reaper one day we must fall
You may be wealthy and famous or know of Earthly hell
But everyone does have a story to tell.

As A Young Man

As a young man as a writer of success i did daydream
And i sang of the white breasted dipper who used to sing in the stream
That by the grove near my old home to the river did flow
When youth and time was on my side some three decades ago.

The thought that as a writer I'm not good enough not good for my self esteem
But with the thought of failure i must learn to live for such is life 'twould seem
For years and years of scribbling stuff i do not have much to show
And i feel poorer now than i was then but at least i had a go.

The stuff i pen not good enough and my better years long gone
Yet a tiny voice within me says you must keep on penning on
I never did become famous though i used to dream of fame
And like many more writing for me is a 'hungry belly game'.

I live a long way south of Claraghatlea and the fields of Claramore
And a long way south of Millstreet Town and Hibernia's windswept shore
I suffer of a penning addiction of that why should i lie
And perhaps i will be penning stuff until the day i die.

I Cannot Boast

I cannot boast of any achievements far south of Hibernia's shore
Far south of Millstreet and Ballydaly and the roadway to Rathmore
Only getting old and grayer little else from life to show
I'm not better off or wiser than i was decades ago.

Far south of old Clara mountain and the fields near Millstreet Town
Where the Finnow from the foot of Gneeves mountain ever winds it's way on down
Babbling on through rushy places and by many a hedgerow
On to join the great Blackwater that to the Atlantic flow.

Of my boyhood years in Duhallow fond memories with me remain
And in fancy i hear the robin singing in the wind and rain
And the hawthorns looking resplendent in their white blooms of the May
In old places of my young years north of here and far away.

Often in my flights of fancy i can hear the babbling rill
As it scurries down the gravel of the old fields by the hill
And though i cannot boast of life's achievements I've got good memories in galore
Of Millstreet and Ballydaly and the roadway to Rathmore.

You say I Am Hell Bound

You say i am hell bound well that suits me fine
Save your own soul mister you cannot save mine
You waffle on to me of the judgement day
If this be so for my own sins i must pay,
You feel you are blessed to have the gift of faith
And that i should join your church since time for none does wait
But if you believe you will join your God in his home in the sky
Why do you fear the thought of dying i do wonder why?
Since any of the deceased i have known have not come back to tell
Me of a life hereafter or of a heaven or hell
Like a true Doubting Thomas there are pleny like me
I only believe what my own eyes do see
And if you say I'm bound for hell with me that is okay
Since for my many sins I'm the one who must pay.

Marion Jones

Though to the International Olympic Council she gave her Olympic medals back
I feel she should have kept them since she won them on the track
I am not a sin free person so i will not cast verbal stones
And i will not try to add taint to the tainted Marion Jones

Though without performance enhancing drugs she could have run quite fast
She is not the first to take them and she will not be the last
It was noble of her to admit her guilt and to give her medals back
Those medals she sweated for to win on Sydney's Olympic Track.

Off of the pinnacle of fame she slipped and toppled down
And now she has to live her life with her tainted ill renown
Women sprinting in the Athletic World to a new height she did raise
Though the sports writers and sports historians no longer sing her praise.

Once feted as a true champion the World's best female athlete
But now she lives in disgrace and is dismissed as a drug cheat
Her actions did seem silly and none her now do condone
But i am not without sin so i will not cast the stone.

You Surely Are A Credit

Though you cannot tell to others of great things you have done
If you can live 'til the day you die without harming anyone
You are known to be kind to others and your higher self you do embrace
Then the World for you living in it is a much better place
For to help out other people you go out of your way
And you are one who tries to do a good deed every day
Despite what the judgemental of you might have to say
For to make the World a better World your part you surely play
'Tis said that money speaks every language that sadly may be true
But credit to all good people since credit they are due
For to be a good person you don't need to be a millionaire
And so many good people in the bigger World out there
You never harm anyone and never put others down
Then you surely are a credit to your people and your town.

The Good Old Powlett River

The good old Powlett river so very old in time
Has been sketched by famous artists and has inspired the bards to rhyme
From the hills above Kilcunda it flows downland to the sea
Centuries before the first Australians came down to the South Country,
The good old Powlett river will flow down forever more
From the hills above Kilcunda to the great Pacific shore
By the sandhills near saltwater where the surf waves one can hear
The good old Powlett river to my heart is ever dear,
Out of the sunshine by powlett river in the shadows of the trees
Centuries ago the first Australians danced their corroborees
The people like Nature's Seasons to life they come and go
But the good old Powlett river forever it will flow
From the hills above Kilcunda babbling on down to the sea
It will babble on forever century on century.

You Were Not Born With Empathy

You say about these people that they were born to lose
But you seem quite judgemental since you do not live in their shoes
Born in the leafy suburb of the hard life you do not know
And if empathy you do not have then such you cannot show
You do not know these people who live with battlers stress
Since you live in the top end of town at a fashionable address
'Tis easy to be judgemental for that you don't get a prize
And if you lack in empathy then with others you cannot empathize
You say about these people that they don't warrant sympathy
But you cannot justify such talk as you've not known poverty
You've not known homeless and hungry people in the bigger World out there
And 'tis easy to be judgemental though people like you are not rare
You were not born with empathy so it is no surprise
That with the homeless battlers you cannot empathize.

Bikies

Most Bikies they are good and decent people
Though a rowdy few do give all a dubious name
But such is the case with all groups of people
The sins of one bring to the many shame.

All stories of Bikies are not good stories
But to any group that also can apply
One bad apple can rot a bag of apples they tell you
The facts of that does prove hard to deny.

Most Bikies to their group are devoted
They never will see a Bikie mate down
On holidays in groups of up to fifty
They bike on country roads from town to town.

There is so much to like about in Bikies
And some Bikie Clubs into bigger Clubs have grown
They always help a mate who is in trouble
And fair dues to them for standing by their own.

Oppressive Regimes

Oppressive regimes of the World to violence too inclined
And they punish everybody with the courage to speak their mind
I toast all Governments who allow free speech for that's democracy
Though far from perfect it does seem their citizens are free
To speak against them if they so wish free speech they do not suppress
Though words of criticism them well may not impress
In many Countries people who verbally oppose the Government in jail unfairly serving time
Where to speak one's mind on human rights is considered as a crime
And those with the courage to speak out are punished quite severe
By threats such Governments cling to power through the silence of fear
To be born in a Land of free speech is a gift we ought to celebrate
It is a basic human right but something we should appreciate
In far too many Countries Governments to oppression too inclined
And many are imprisoned for just speaking their mind.

On Hearing A Goldfinch

On the power cable above the roadway i hear a goldfinch sing
His song to many country people is a familiar thing
A pretty bird to look at his song one often hear
In the Spring and the Summer in the Southern Hemisphere
His ancestors introduced from Britain from places far away
But in South Eastern Australia often seen birds today
Known by their lovely colours and their low toned twittering song
To the true finches of Europe their pedigree belong
As a school-going boy in Ireland in April and in May
I often heard the goldfinches singing on evenings damp and gray
And often in the grove by my old home i heard them at daybreak
By their good looks and pleasant song them one could not mistake
On the electrical cable above the road i hear a goldfinch sing
On a mild day in October in the far southern Spring.

John Masefield

John Masefield was a master wordsmith his fame has not faded in time
He penned long poems and Saltwater Ballads and he penned plays and stories in rhyme
I have known his readable verses since i was a school-going boy
The lovers of down to earth poetry his good earthy verses enjoy
The poet from Ledbury in England with the best of his time could compare
To rhyme to him seemed to come naturally his type of person always rare
His fame in his work is still living though dead for some four decades he
Lives in his long rhyming stories and he lives in his poems of the sea
I enjoy the works of John Masefield with words the man did have a way
One of the last of the great rhyme men of poetry not many of his type today
He died as England's Poet Laureate one worthy of the accolade
'Tis true what is said of great poets that great poets are born not made
He died in nineteen sixty seven in his eighty ninth year, of life he did have a long span
John Masefield the great poet from Ledbury he was an extraordinary man.

No Matter

No matter what our Nationality our colour or our creed
We are air breathing mortals and when we cut we bleed
We may look on them as inferior as weeds amongst the flowers
But the proof of their equality is their blood flows red like ours.

Racism is born of ignorance and ignorance is based on fear
That's what happens when the negative things of those we do not know we only wish to hear
Till to the sharp scythe of the reaper we eventually must fall
So lets toast egalatarianism and a fair go for all.

No matter where we come from or our title to fame
One day it will not matter to us we will all be the same
On our great journey through life we may weather many a storm
But we must all return to Nature in whatever shape or form.

No matter what our Nationality or no matter what our Race
We are mere mortals born to die and others to take our place
Ignorance and lack of empathy to racism does lead
And differences no more than skin deep, red is the blood we bleed.

I'm A Fellow From Old Claraghatlea North

I'm a fellow from old Claragatlea North to say otherwise would be a lie
And a fellow from old Claraghatlea North i will be 'til the day that i die
When people ask me where i come from i say from a place far away
From the old fields by old Clara Mountain where i lived for many a day.

A fellow from old Claraghatlea North is all that i ever can be
Though few in the evergreen Townland would now know or recognize me
I was younger and fitter and stronger when i left two decades ago
When a cold wind blew across the old fields and Clara wore a hat of snow.

A fellow from old Claraghatlea North that's all i am and nothing more
Where the Finnow flows to the Blackwater on it's journey to the Atlantic shore
In fancy i often hear the dipper on a rock in the stream rapids sing
That flows by the grove to the river on a pleasant day in the Spring.

A fellow from old Claraghatlea North that is my only claim to fame
The fields there as i do remember are referred to by their given name
I hail from Millstreet in Duhallow and as a Claraghatlea man I'll remain
And often in my flights of fancy i walk in the old fields again.

Do You Feel

Do you feel that life is your great battle as you struggle on from day to day
That lady luck she is against you that from you she looks the other way
In that you are not unusual since your type of person is not rare
There are millions and millions of people doing it hard in the big World out there
Yes life for many is a great battle there are haves and have nots in every village and city and town
From being one of life's many battlers 'tis a long way to wealth and renown
Yet your problems are your own problems others cannot live in your shoes
The World's not a fair World to live in when for one to win many must lose
For a thousand to grow wealthy and prosperous thousands by the wayside must fall
A World where millions are slowly dying of hunger is not a fair World after all
In every big town a poor suburb where homeless people live on the street
They search rubbish bins for thrown out food that others refuse for to eat
You feel that life is your great battle and that your better days are long gone
And only your great lust for living is what helps you to keep on keeping on.

The Beauty Of Nature

The beauty of Nature is all around me
White flowers in clusters in bloom on the pittosporum tree
And the yellow capeweed in bloom in the prime of the Spring
And on bush and tree nesting birds whistle and sing
The dark gray clouds by the freshening winds blown away
It is such a beautiful October day
A Nature poet of such great beauty would write
A poem that poetry lover would read and recite
In the lush and green paddock that border the town
The lambs full of playfulness run up and down
They enjoy their youth though their youth will not last
The clock on their lives it is ticking on fast
Quite a pleasant day of some twenty degrees
To be out in the sunshine in the freshening breeze.

He Still Feels Nostalgic

He hails from a mountain town far north of here
Where weather-wise the Winters are windy, cold, wet and severe
But opposed to the weather the people of his hometown at heart warm and kind
And better than them one could not hope to find
He miss the old town at the foot of the hill
And the ever babbling sound of the clear mountain rill
That down through the old fields by grove and hedgerow
To the river that to the great ocean does flow,
The elders of his younger years where now they do lay
They will not hear the chaffinch singing in the May
The years on him showing his hair is silver gray
In his hometown he would be a stranger today
But he still feels nostalgic for his old homeplace
Where decades ago his was a known and loved face.

Their Old Country Town

The teenagers most of them leave for cities far away
And the ageing and the old in the country town stay
And the Seasons they come and the Seasons they go
And the creek from the foothills to the river does flow
Yet those born here and who will die here love their country town
And to find fault with their place is to them a put down
Criticism of their town they do not wish to hear
Their parents and grandparents were born and died here,
In the park of the country town the wild birds do sing
And the green paddocks nearby wear their flowers of the Spring
No factory chimney puffing smoke to the sky
Where the singing bushlark is singing as he fly
The capeweed are blooming in their yellow flowers
And the goldfinches are singing in the October showers.

I Stand By My Friend

I stand by my friend since my friend stands by me
When others criticize me with them she does not agree
She will not allow others for to put me down
I love her as a friend the best in the town
A friend is for a lifetime and not for a week
And to others ill of me she never does speak
She praise the good in me of me she doesn't lie
She will be my friend until the day that i die
I am not short of doubters in the World out there
And i love her as a friend since friends they are rare
To her higher self she remains ever true
She is a special person to give to her fair due
She will not allow others to put me down
I love her as a friend the best in the town.

There's So Much In Nature

There's so much in Nature of which of to sing
The beautiful songs of the birds is a marvellous thing,
The music in the park of the freshening breeze
As it blows in the foliage of the bushes and trees
The writers who love Nature of Nature write
Their stories and poems for to read and recite
She outlives her Seasons as they come and they go
Nature the only immortal of which we do know
I first fell in love with her when i was young
And though others her praises much better have sung
I have loved her for decades since i was a boy
And singing her praises is a thing i enjoy
To her I'll return as we all must one day
For in her earthy bosom we are destined to lay.

Mortals After All

Created out of pleasure and born out of a woman's pain
Many of us live our lives just for personal gain
Call it lust for life or call it what you may
Yet the clock on our lives it keeps ticking away.

They sang long live the king but the king he lay dead
In his silver casket with earth over his head
And with earth underneath and earth all around
He cannot hear them singing he is deaf to sound.

The heroes we have are mortals after all
To the scythe of the reaper like us they must fall
The president and monarch are not any different to you and to i
They are born like us for to grow old and die.

In moments of reflection brought on by self doubt
I often ask myself what life is about
I look in the mirror and i only see
The face of a gray haired mortal staring back at me.

The Norfolk Pines Of Warrnambool

The Norfolk Pines of Warrnambool the pride of coastal trees
Their branches seem to dance about in the freshening evening breeze
They are quite unmistakeable in their foliage of dark green
And all around the big coastal Town in numbers they are seen
The Norfolk Pines of Warrnambool a feature of the Town
In the wind the motorists see them wave above Raglan Parade as they drive up and down
A long way south of Norfolk Island which gave rise to their name
To be known as coastal trees is their great claim to fame
On the Norfolk Pines of Warrnambool in Victoria's south west
The pale eyed crows in early Spring do build their flimsy stick nest
Amongst the other coastal trees the Norfolk Pines stand tall
In coastal Towns of Australia these pines are known to all
The Norfolk pines in Warrnambool are to be seen everywhere
In coastal Towns of the south west these coastal trees not rare.

The Stuff I Pen To Paper

The stuff i pen to paper is stuff i cannot sell
The type that literary critics dismiss as doggerel
After many years of penning stuff i remain an unknown
Yet i never steal others ideas my verses are my own
I'm one who loves Mother Nature I've loved her since i was a boy
And walks in her quiet places are walks i do enjoy
We may pollute her beauty and the life giving air
But when we abuse our Earth Mother to our own selves we're unfair
So many sing her praises and far better than i
But I'll love Mother Nature until the day i die
Till to the scythe of the reaper i eventually will fall
There's only one immortal that is Nature and she outlives us all
The stuff i pen to paper will not bring me wealth or fame
The critics call it doggerel for want of a better name.

The Man With Bushy Eyebrows

He does look rather surly and the years have left him gray
The man with bushy eyebrows to me never says good day
One i used to acknowledge in passing a friendly hi
But my greeting met with silence he never did reply.

We share one thing in common we live on the same street
Though only silence between us whenever we do meet
I feel that in continuing on saying hello to him on my behalf would be rude
In his world i do not have the right for to intrude.

I know him by sight and him i often do see
But i choose to ignore him since he ignores me
The man with bushy eyebrows i will never get to know
We pass each other in silence without a hello.

With gray hair and gray bushy eyebrows and an unsmiling face
'Twould seem laughter is a thing he could not embrace
For many years he's been a neighbour of mine
Though we never will share a beer or a wine.

Australian Magpies

The flute of the Aussie magpie is a pleasant thing to hear
On nights in late Winter and early Spring it echoes melodious and clear
A thing of natural beauty is always a thing of joy
I've been in love with Nature ever since i was a boy
The white and black Australian magpies some call them piping shrike
In looks and song unmistakeable they do not have a look alike
At nesting time aggressive or at least that way inclined
They harass dogs and cats in their territory and they harass human kind
They eat invertebrates and such and on smaller birds they prey
But what is natural cannot be cruel for this is Nature's way
A blackbird or a silver eye to their taste buds taste sweet
For them to live others must die and humans too eat meat
At nesting time all night and day around their borders they fly
And how nice to hear them piping when the moon shines in the sky.

It Has Been Awhile

It has been awhile since the last thylacine died in an Australian zoo
And centuries longer since Napoleon lost out at Waterloo
But these things now are of the past and the past is forever gone
And time for anyone does not wait and life goes on and on.

It has been awhile since Don Bradman hit his last test cricket century
In World cricket of his time there was none as great as he
But now the cricket crowds he cannot hear all is quiet where he lay
And time it did not wait for him though he had his glorious day.

It has been awhile since Jesus walked on the waves of Galilee
The great one who was crucified on the hill of Calvary
The one adored by billions yet he was crucified
And since his time millions of people fighting in wars have died.

It has been awhile since the great Joe Louis was a World boxing great
The World heavyweight champion of his time a man to celebrate
But he has gone the way of time and he too did not last
And like 'tis said about the past the past is forever past.

Kevin Andrews

Kevin Andrews the Australian Minister for Immigration says African refugees don't adjust to life in this Land
That Australian ways and culture they do not understand
His excuse for accepting less of African refugees
Seems nothing but latent racism of varying degrees.

He says African refugees are not well educated i only quote what he say
His remarks smack of racism in a very latent way
Kevin Andrews will never be seen as a great
He's not the type of person we should celebrate.

With words he is clever as most politicians are
He just says so much without taking it too far
Just to appease the racist voters amongst the voters out there
And racists as we well know have never been rare.

The accusation that he is a racist of course Kevin denies
Though his feelings on the matter he can barely disguise
And though many with what he says may well agree
It does sound like latent racism to me.

You Well May

You well may pay homage to your queen and king
But 'tis not about royalty that i wish to sing
Or the president or the celebrity or the billionaire
I sing of the battlers of the big World out there.

I sing of the people who know of poverty
The poor and the outcasts of society
Condemned to live their lives in an earthly hell
The sad stories of their lives they are not asked to tell.

I sing of the Stateless the poor refugees
Who flee their Homelands ravaged by war, hunger and disease
In the refugee camps of the World their numbers multiply
A fair go for all to them does not apply.

I sing of the people who due to the circumstance
Of their birth of success are not offered a chance
The homeless of the poor suburb of the town
They will never know of the good life or of wealth and renown.

The celebrities of the World the masses create
And the known and the famous many celebrate
But 'tis not the praises of the president , the queen or the king
That i ever sing of when i wish to sing.

For Every Addiction

My best years of penning stuff well may be gone
But i must be addictive as i keep penning on
Some friends even tell me you've said all you have to say
'Tis time you gave scribbling of doggerel away
But i am addictive their advice i ignore
And here i go once again penning some more
The grey shrike thrush is piping on the pittosporum tree
What is boring to some is inspiring to me
There is so much to write of in Nature alone
From the woodlouse who finds refuge under a stone
And the pink blossoms of Spring that bloom on the fruit bearing tree
And the elephants and the great whales of the sea,
Some tell me to quit scribbling but i ignore their advice
For every addiction to pay there's a price.

The Living Judgemental

Of the judgements of the living judgemental in death we can only be free
Some people don't just have it in them to embrace their humanity
Perhaps they cannot help it if they lack in compassion if before they think they speak twice
And maybe they have poor role models and they live their lives on bad advice
With the judgements of the living judgemental we just have to learn how to live
They cannot help the way that they are and them for their weaknessess we should forgive
With those who strive for an egalatarian World i for one wholeheartedly agree
Though such a thing may never come about at least that's how it does seem to me
The judgemental do not believe in live and let live to judge to them comes naturally
They look for the weakness in others and what they do seek they do see
In their judgements they derive pleasure they feel joy at bringing one down
They are not a rare breed of people in village or city or town
We will only be free of the judgemental when to the scythe of the reaper we fall
They believe that they have the right to judge others but they do not believe in a fair go for all.

Dan And Mary Ellen

With fondness i remember my aunt Mary Ellen the woman married to my uncle Dan
She was my role model and mentor long before i grew into a man
She taught me old songs from her childhood and poems to me she did recite
And she gave me valuable insights on Nature before i learned how to read and to write.

She and Dan in life did have their crosses their only child a girl in her childhood died
Their happiness at the birth of their daughter by the reaper's scythe to them denied
But Mary she got on with her life and her cross she bravely did bear
And her sense of loss never made her feel bitter and she never said life was unfair.

A lover of old poems and stories she knew the words of many a song
That she used to sing by the turf fire on Winter nights cold, wet, windy and long
She recited poems of the bards of Sliabh Luachra old greats from the centuries ago
So wise and knowledgeable for one self educated and so much about life she did know.

With Dan whom she spent many Seasons in the grave-yard at Cullen she lay
I mourned at the news of their passing though from Lisnaboy i live far away
They were generous with their wisdom and their knowledge of life they passed on down
And at peace their bones now rest in Cullen some seven miles from Millstreet Town.

Mary Dineen

In Knocknapogue and Millstreet never more to be seen
But she will be missed by all who knew her Mary Dineen
A good mother to her children and to Paddy a good wife
And a very good person who lived a good life.

On her journey through life she made many a friend
But life is a journey that does have an end
To the scythe of the reaper one day we must fall
And death is one thing that does await us all.

In St Mary's cemetery she forever will lay
From Knocknapogue that's just a short drive away
But with family and friends and acquaintances memories of her will remain
And in spirit she will visit her old home again.

A great success in life and of her 'twould be fair to say
That to help others out she went out of her way
In the Parish of Millstreet her's a known and loved face
And though life will go on none to take her place.

To her family and to her many friends her's is a heartbreaking loss
But like 'tis said with life there is many a cross
In death from pain there is a final release
And in old St Mary's may she rest in peace.

You Should Stick To The truth

Since you look at most others in a negative way
Why should it matter to me what to others of me you say
Unless you defame me by spreading of lies
As you do make up stories and you're not known to be wise
I do not expect compassion from you since you lack in ruth
But when speaking of me you should stick with the truth
For lies can be damaging in a small town
And one thing i can live without is ill renown
You should speak with the truth when of others you speak
For damaging lies only come from the weak
Bitter people whose views of life seem very small
Who do not believe on a fair go for all
And though negative things of me you have to say
You should stick to the truth from the truth do not stray.

Edward Walsh

He did spend a few years in old Millstreet Town
But no memorial there to honour his renown
Though in Gaelic Ireland seen as a literary figure of note
And rated by Gaelic literary experts as a major poet.

So many fine poems do live on in his name
But in Duhallow his should be a far greater fame
Then poetry is seen as a personal thing
And of the praises of poets you won't hear many sing.

'Tis said Edward Walsh came from Doire at least that's what many say
That in the heart of Duhallow he first saw light of day
But that he is buried in Cork is a fact that is known
And as a poet of the Fenians he is in a class of his own.

He was a Young Irelander who died in his prime
And a leading poet of the Ireland of his time
Survived by his children and Brigid his wife
Who in distant Australia started a new life.

Duhallow's greatest poet most experts agree
His poems were not born to mortality
Yet few in Duhallow his praises do sing
The poet in his homeplace not as admired as a king.

The Old Wannon River

On the fence post in the paddock the black pale eyed crow
Is cawing in the gloam where the Wannon waters flow
On through the Southern Grampians to the Pacific shore
A journey destined to last forever more,
By woods where the magpies pipe their flute like song
And through scrublands and paddocks it journeys along
An old river that was old in the Dreaming time
That has inspired the poets and the song men to song and to rhyme,
The old Wannon river it babbles it's way
Through the ancient old country by night and by day
In droughts and dry Seasons it has often been low
Yet on it's sea going journey it trickles on slow
And the Seasons like the People they come and they go
But the old Wannon river forever will flow.

Old Songs And Rhymes And Ballads

I love old fashioned earthy stuff old ballads and old rhyme
To modern sophisticated writing I'd prefer it anytime
But that is my opinion and though everyone's opinion ought to count
The opinions of one person to little does amount,
I love old fashioned earthy songs i love to sing along
With the folk or ballad singer of a loved familiar song
Perhaps i do seem boring as old fashioned i am known
But to each their preference like 'tis said to each their own,
I am not anti modern writers in case you get me wrong
But i could listen to ballads and rhyme in an old pub all night long
And with what i say if you are one who choose to disagree
You are entitled to your opinions and that's okay with me,
I may seem a bit dated but give me the earthy stuff
Old songs and rhymes and ballads for me are good enough.

Back There In Ballydaly

Back there in Ballydaly two miles from Millstreet Town
The Cails bank high flowing in the fields as the rain is drizzling down
From the heavily overcast clouds that have in them more rain
And the water it is gurgling in the flooded roadside drain.

Back there in Ballydaly in the cool days of the Fall
As the cloak of night covers the fields one can hear the red fox call
In the old fields by the river out hunting for the night
He leaves his home in the sandy ditch in the fading evening light.

Back there in Ballydaly i recall days in July
When the little lark was carolling like a small speck in the sky
Above the knee high bracken on the slopes of Kippagh hill
Such melodious and natural music flowing from his tiny bill.

Near green old Ballydaly where i lived as a boy
A walk by the river was something i did enjoy
But on looking back the Seasons that now seems long ago
When i lived near where the Cails from Kippagh mountain down to the Finnow flow.

Old Joe

Old Joe the black cattle dog has known a better day
Around his jaws he is looking rather gray
He still works cattle but at a much slower pace
A young dog is being trained to take his place,
Old Joe a great cattle dog from a great working line
Is getting old for working cattle at nine
Though still keen to work nowadays he easily tire
The old legs tiring though he still has the desire
To work at cattle but his owner Jimmy say
That Joe is nearing his final working day
He will retire him he has done enough
At his age working cattle for him is too tough
He was a renowned working dog in his prime
But dog and master must bow to father time.

When Last I Was In Dunkeld

When last i was in Dunkeld on an evening in the early Spring
The long billed corellas squawked on the gums and the grey shrike thrush did sing
And a freshening breeze from Mt Sturgeon blew through the Rural Town
And young boys in the play park chased a football up and down,
When last i was in Dunkeld dark grey clouds promised rain
But the water dams near empty and bone dry the roadside drain
And the pied currawongs piped karrawang as they flew from tree to tree
At the foothills of Mt Sturgeon birds one often hear and see
As the gateway to the Geriwerd Ranges Dunkeld has become known
And the little Town in the Southern Grampians Shire has a charm of it's own
In the woods by the hills the first Australians danced their corroborees
Centuries ago in the Dreamtime they danced around the trees
That was long before Dunkeld was born and though the indigenous tribes long gone
Their ghosts are in the mountains and their legend still lives on.

Amazing Joyce

On such rare and marvellous talent how can one put a price
She surely is amazing the one and only Joyce
She has tried every form of poetry one must say with success
And to lovers of poetry Worldwide she brings great happiness.

The marvellous Joyce Hemsley a poetic legend of our time
The internet queen of haiku and senryu and the internet queen of rhyme
Six thousand poems to her name she just goes on and on
One cannot say about her that her better days are gone.

In every one of her poems one can detect her poetic voice
The poet for all Seasons is the amazing Joyce
What can be said about her that has not been said before
Six thousand poems to her name and from her expect many more.

She waves the literary banner for England a true poetic great
The amazing poet from Sunderland we ought to celebrate
A legendary online poet by example she leads the way
And surely a great mentor to all young poets of today.

In The Cool Gray Of The Dawning

In the cool gray of the dawning i hear the blackbird sing
One of Nature's finest minstrels of the far southern Spring
From the males of his own kind he has borders to defend
When the urge to breed is on him he trusts none as a friend
In the cool gray of the dawning the magpie's flute rings clear
And even in the moonlight his piping one does hear
When the fruit trees are in blossom and the frogs sing in the drain
The wildborn birds are whistling in the sunshine and the rain
In the cool gray of the dawning i hear the harsh cawing of the crow
And the house sparrows are chirping on the trees by the hedgerow
On the 28th day of September of a cool ten degrees
Nature's minstrels are chirping on the bushes and the trees
And the gray shrike thrush is whistling his fanfare to the day
And the dark rain clouds are gathering in the dawning cool and gray.

The Big Game It Is Over

The big game it is over the winners celebrate
The losers heavy hearted seem in a sorry state
Little consolation to them to be gallant in defeat
For them there is no fanfare no bands playing in the street
The big game it is over for the winners a big parade
They are on top of the World one can say they have it made
The losing fans feel shattered no laughter as they drink their beers
The pub more like a wake house some even close to tears
The big game it is over the biggest game of the year
And the hometown of the winners echo to joy and cheer
The streets are thronged with people a carnival atmosphere
To celebrate the winners of the biggest game of the year
The big game it is over and the football stadium is dark and quiet
But there's music, song and dance and laughter in the winners hometown tonight.

I Love Where The World Is Quiet

I'm not one of busy man made places i love where the World is quiet
A wood where the songbirds are singing in the evening in the warm sunlight
A cool place by a creek or a river when the warm sun burns in the sky
Lying in the shade watching the dark swallows as above the landscape they fly,
I love to be alone with Nature in a quiet place away from the town
Where the grey shrike thrush the feathered musician in his cloak of light grey and brown
Is piping at the the verge of the woodland on a high branch of a eucalypt tree
One of Mother Nature's best minstrels and few as melodious as he
I love where the World is quiet far away from the bustling street
Out there in the Kingdom of Nature where the creek and the river does meet
Where the platypus in the twilight searching for food in the dark pool swim to and fro
Such strange looking and mysterious creatures and of their ways so little we know
I love where the World is quiet where the river that flows to the sea
Is babbling on through the paddocks the quiet places calling to me.

To Those Who Do Not Have Compassion

To those who do not have compassion for all living things as well as for human kind
For them i can only feel pity though their type are not hard to find
For if you lack in the gift of compassion and with others you cannot empathize
Then you must have a cruel streak in you and that's factual as opposed to lies
If you can kick your dog you can kick a person and since you have the mean streak in you
Your abuse will not stop at the one kick that only happens to be true
So blessed are all of those with compassion others they never wish to control
Compassionate people are also kind hearted they are not short of light in the soul
Compassionless people are known to be ruthless they live their lives without empathy
To be narcissistic and blind to the feelings of others from others will not gain you much sympathy
Those born with the gift of compassion of their acts of kindness we hear of and read
They are good and honourable people and more of their kind we do need
Far too many lacking in compassion in the bigger World out there
And disrespect for the feelings of others sad to say is no longer rare

Since I Was Twenty Seven

Since i was twenty seven more than three decades in time
I have done my share of scribbling penned a heap of doggerel rhyme
With me it is an addiction i just scribble on and on
Though old age on me is looming and my better years long gone
Every day a few more doggerels and the numbers multiply
That I've got a penning addiction is a fact i won't deny
I've been a student of Nature ever since i was a boy
And a walk in her quiet places is a thing i still enjoy
When the wild birds chirp and whistle in the sunshine on the trees
And there is a pleasant coolness in the freshening evening breeze,
Some people i know quite well tell me to give penning stuff away
Why waste your time doing something for which you do not receive pay
But i must feed my addiction and they do not understand
Why i can feel a bit happy with a biro in my hand.

Charlotte Corday

For murder in death by guillotine she had to pay
The legendary woman Charlotte Corday
With a knife she stabbed to death Jean Paul Marat
Whilst he was relaxing alone in his bath,
Jean Paul Marat was one who was not free of taint
A power hungry fellow he was far from a saint
I killed one person to save thousands at her trial she did say
She lives on in legend brave Charlotte Corday
Though it did have it's legends and figures of romance
Not a good Land to live in eighteenth century France
Charlotte Corday was beheaded for murder by knife
Though one can say she did not have a fair go in life
Beheaded in her mid twenties and in her life's prime
But her legend lives on through the centuries of time.

A Federal Election Is Looming

A federal Election is looming the politicians on the campaign trail
They turn to personal attacks on their opponents if fear mongering for them does fail
We deserve the people who represent us in life what is our due we receive
To lie to them does come so easy and the voters are not that hard to deceive,
Another Federal Election is looming another bidding war for votes it does seem
The power hungry are out vote hunting they need power for their self esteem
'Tis said one lie leads to another and they see lying as quite okay
The politicians they reflect the voters and that does seem a sad thing to have to say,
A Federal Election is looming though of the date we are not clear
Perhaps in November or early December though some even say early next year
What matter to me who wins or loses when i see them all as much the same
In politics there is deception and muck raking it surely is a dirty game
Another Federal Election is looming the campaign will soon be in full swing
And to lie to them does come so easy and their own praises they love to sing.

I Would Not Die

I would not die for God or for Country and to anyone why should i bow
Though millions would not see me as an equal in any way to their Sacred Cow
But why deny them their opinion and like 'tis said to each their own
And that wisdom is not born of knowledge is something that's all too well known.

I was a schoolboy of the fifties and the years have left me looking gray
Far older but surely not wiser though we learn from life every day
I live far south of my old hometown far even as the crow does fly
Each day i wake to the song of the pee wee he pipes in the parkland nearby.

What matter if i am a lowbrow a scribbler of doggerel
My life story may not be interesting though we all have a life story to tell
And in the end does it much matter to the celebrity or you and i
For after all we are mere mortals and mere mortals are born to die.

I am not religious or patriotic and i would not die for Country or God
My journey through life is a hard one though many others on harder roads have trod
I'd love to live to be one hundred or if not for as long as i can
And die in my sleep without waking as a fragile and worn out old man.

Ask Not

With ask not what you can do for your Country i for one do not agree
For those who gain most out of the Country the most successful or so 'twould seem to me
And how can you help your Country if financially from it you do gain
Why so many ask what can you do for your Country is beyond me to explain,
Those many see as doing good for their Country take things such as oil and uranium from the ground
Coal, gold, diamonds, opals and gemstones in them material wealth is to be found
These things belong to the Country and to Nature and from Nature the wealthy do steal
Many of my ideas to your's are quite different and many of my ideas to you do not appeal,
Ask what you can do for your Country in saying that depends on what you do mean
Are you one of those who plant trees for to keep your Country looking green
Or are you a developer who pay people to cut down trees to you money is your ticket to renown
How many wild creatures have you displaced for to build more houses in the town?
And when you ask not what you can do for your Country i applaud you if in saying that you do mean
That you plant trees due to your love of Nature for to keep the planet looking green.

Marcel Marceau

Like we all will one day he ran out of time
Farewell to Marcel Marceau the king of mime
The marvellous Frenchman in a class of his own
He and Charlie Chaplin the greatest mime men ever known,
Marcel Marceau at heart always a boy
To so many Worldwide he brought laughter and joy
The mantle of greatness he surely did don
The king is dead but his legend is living on,
Since Chaplin's time the greatest mime man of them all
He left us with great memories of him to recall
Marcel Marceau he is at rest forever in the nineteen fifties he was in his prime
A man of peace for many years he was the king of mime
He died in his eighty fourth year his better years long gone
He was a legend of mime and a great man the king is dead but his legend lives on.

The Migrant Widow

Her old hometownn she says she will never more see
And she'll never more see the shores of Italy
A seventy year old grandmother her hair silver gray
With her deceased husband she says she will lay.

The love of her young years when her hair was dark brown
She loved the dark haired teenager from her hometown
Together they left home for the better life
And for fifty years together as man and wife.

Her English good but her Italian accent she does retain
That part of her homeland in her does remain
Despite her age quite beautiful though single she will stay
And remain as a widow till her life's last day.

Here in this Southern Land she will remain
And she'll never more see her old hometown again
A kind and friendly person untainted by guile
With the warmth of Italy in her lovely smile.

Al Gore

Al Gore a World Champion environmentalist the one who should have been President of the U S of A
But nowadays that is an old story such is life as some are known to say
An Inconvenient Truth his film on climate change has brought an awareness Worldwide
Of human made pollution of the environment it does seem time is not on our side
To insure the future of our own kind global warming is out of control
Rising sea water levels due to Polar ice cap meltdown is already taking it's toll,
In the fore front in the fight against climate change is the brilliant and genial Al Gore
And climate change affects all Lands and all creatures as well as people from the north to the southern shore
The World does need many more like him by good example he does lead
To insure the survival of humankind billions like Al Gore we do need
Us humans could cause our own extinction our environment we pollute
We have to pursue the tough options for us an inconvenient truth
To save our environment is up to ourselves or else extinction may well be our fate
Like Al Gore says we must act right now and make sacrifices in a few years it may be too late.

So Long I've Been Out Of Duhallow

So long I've been out of Duhallow I'd feel a stranger there today
Where Araglen through the fields of Cullen to the Blackwater babbles it's way
In this far Southern Land i grow older the years have left me looking gray
And without me the white blossoms will bloom on the hawthron trees of the May
The Finnow through the fields of Millstreet on towards the Blackwater does flow
I farewelled the old fields by the river when Clara wore his hat of snow
Those old fields where i got to know Nature and that often inspired me to rhyme
When i was much younger and fitter and stronger with a full head of hair in my prime
The dipper he sang in the old stream his familiar song at sunrise
I'm walking again in old familiar places each time that i do visualize
And i picture myself back in the old town and some familiar faces i see
But to many of them I'm a stranger and just a few remember me
Yet so long I've been out of Duhallow and for the past I've shed all of my tears
And though i still recall Claraghatlea North I've not been there for twenty years.

It Is A Warm Day For September

It is a warm day for September around the 25 degrees
The nesting birds chirping and singing with only a very faint breeze
The Goddess of Spring in her glory the pittosporums in their grey flowers
The paddocks looking lush and greener as a result of the early Spring showers
On a blackwood tree the grey shrike thrush is whistling his voice so melodious and clear
And wildflowers bloom in woods and in paddocks Spring is such a nice time of year
A very warm day for September the sun shining in the clear sky
In the wooded park by the mountain the rosellas chirp as they fly
Such beautiful parrots to look at of mottled brown and bright crimson and blue
Better known as crimson rosellas to their given names they are true
The white backed magpies and blackbirds are piping it is such a beautiful day
And the first butterflies of the Season with brown spots on their wings white to gray
Are flying in the sunlit parkland around the blossoming trees
On this warm day for September of a high of 25 degrees.

Lets Hear It For Nurses

Lets hear it for the World's nurses the unsung heroines of our time
Though not amongst the highly paid people and not honoured in song and rhyme
They devote themselves to ill and dying people and are known to be caring and kind
Humanity would be worse off without them and their equals would be hard to find,
Lets hear it for the wonderful nurses they are in a class of their own
So humble in their great achievements they do not wish to be honoured or known
In war zones and refugee camps you'll find them they are the bravest of the brave
They work for the sick, dying and wounded and many lives they have helped for to save,
They never do make the news headlines their names not on a memorial wall
But they never fail in their duty when duty calls they answer the call
They tend to the very sick person they comfort the dying and the old
Of their selfessness, love of others and compassion we seldom hear of and are told
So let us hear it for all nurses they are the bravest of the brave
They work with the sick and the dying and many lives they help for to save.

Nations With The Death Penalty

Nations with the death penalty in place have nothing to feel proud of
Such Governements sadly lacking in humanity
Any Government that condone such a practice are not human rights friendly
No matter who they are it would seem to me.

People who commit heinous crimes have a right to their own lives
A life for a life seems a barbaric way
Of behaving towards another human being
They should be kept in prison until their death day.

Governments with the death penalty in place may boast of their goodness
They see a human life for a life as a cleansing thing,
Than the person they are executing they are not any better
And the praises of such a practice we ought not to sing.

People with the death penalty in place may think they have freedom
But a basic human right to some citizens is denied
The right to die in a natural manner
This should not be a cause for National pride.

Never Give Up On Hope

Never give up on hope never give up who knows what tomorrow will bring
Keep on hoping for a happier future for hope is a marvellous thing
Lady luck she may smile on you good things come to those who wait
Who knows in the not distant future you may have cause to celebrate
A first division win in tattslotto or some other unexpected windfall
Life does have it's good and it's hard times and it's good and bad memories to recall
Never give up on hope always keep on hoping your good times for you may be ahead
You cannot hold much hope for the future if hope in you is all but dead
If you succumb to feelings of negativity the Universe out there you do tell
That you are happy with the hard life and you accept an earthly hell
Never give up on hope for hope springs eternal the quitter cannot hope to succeed
But if hope in you is ever present it will serve you in your time of need
So never give up on hope tomorrrow well may be better and the good times for you may be ahead
You do not have much of a future if hope in you is all but dead.

In Climate Change

In climate change us humans will be the losers
Will humans live on Planet Earth in two hundred years from now?
Will birds and animals, fish and other life forms exist as we now know them?
Yet Nature herself will survive somehow.

In two hundred years from now what will the World look like?
'Twill be very different from the World of today
The Polar ice caps are already melting
For climate change the price will be huge to pay.

By then not one memory will remain of me
I will be part of Nature's earth and clay
But Nature herself will live on forever
All other life forms in her bosom lay.

Our disrespect for our Environment will cost us dearly
The Polar ice caps melting at a rapid rate
And the sea levels as a result are rising
For humans the future may hold an uncertain fate.