Sunday, July 31, 2011

Robbie Murphy

It must be more than forty years ago since Robbie went away
To live distant from Shannaknuck in the U.S of A
And I might not recognize the man were we to meet today
For ageing show as years go by and youth with us doesn't stay.

He wore the Millstreet jersey when he played gaelic football
And he was a star at underage as I can well recall
And he may well have worn the Cork jersey and been a sporting great
But wanderlust was calling him and wanderlust doesn't wait.

And the call of wander few can resist some call it travel bug
And others say that wanderlust in some ways like a drug
And Robbie answered to it's call he left the bogland brown
And from Millstreet he traveled far to live in bigger town.

On summer evenings we walked the roads Robbie, old Jack and I
Old Jack our common brown sheepdog of old age he did die
We sent him into farmers yards for Jack enjoyed a fight
And to see him best the other dog a memorable sight.

From fights with Padraig Cronin's dog and Den Cronin's Kerry blue
The face of Jack the old war dog showed an old scar or two
And now I know how cruel we were for dog fighting is cruel
But we were young and innocent and still in Primary school.

I have heard that Robbie has a wife though that may be hear say
But I know for almost certain he lives in the U.S.A.
We were good friends in primary school and football we did play
In old school yard in Millstreet Town a half a world away.


The depth of feelings in her dark brown eyes
She is gentle and kindhearted and she's wise
And she has about her such a happy way
And she win you when she smile and say good day.

Her hair is white almost as white as snow
And she was born eighty years ago
Near where Mt Kosciusko reach up towards the sky
Those snowy mountain peaks look wild and high.

She was born in a little mountain shack
South of Mt Kossy by an old dirt track
In that high country miles from the nearest town
Where the high mountain roads wind up and down.

Her dad a shearer him she never knew
He left her mother went with someone new
He did not wait to see his daughter born
And he left forever on an april morn.

The snowy hills remote and too far out
And at six months old her mother took her south
To live near Melbourne City at Fitzroy
On looking back those years just seemed to fly.

One of the brightest pupils at Fitzroy Primary school
She never once sat on the dunce's stool
But higher education then not free
And from Primary school she went to work in factory.

Veronica fell in love at twenty two
With the man she married tall dark handsome Lew
And union of two quite soon grew to three
When she gave birth to their daughter Marie.

But like her dad had done to her mum her husband Lew
Went off one day to live with some one new
Some men are faithless and cannot be true
And the man she loved the man she never knew.

And though she worked to raise her daughter on her own
She won't tell you of hardships she has known
Back in the war years a forsaken wife
But she has met the challenges of life.

A great grand mother for the second time
And her daughter now is well beyond her prime
And she doesn't try to cover the tell tale gray
And wrinkles that the years bring she doesn't hide away.

Her mother brought her from the Snowies years ago
But about that she was far too young to know
And she win you with the warmth of her hello
The woman with hair almost white as snow.

Tarwin Lower

To sleepy Tarwin Lower the seasons come and go
And through the flatlands by the sea the cold winds of june blow
And though winter gales bring heavy rains and the weather glass is low
In Tarwin close to Venus Bay it never seems to snow.

Out on the saltwater inlet the dabchick dive for prey
True marine birds from deep waters they never seem to stray
And kookaburras call aloud on branch of blackwood tree
In the early morning and at dusk to mark their territory.

On my last trip to Tarwin Lower 'twas in the early spring
On a balmy day in september I heard the shrike thrush sing
And o'er the coastal paddock the lark upwards did fly
And pleasant was his carolling in the bright and sunny sky.

A winter day in Tarwin Lower the old village seems quiet
And rain pools by the roadway it has rained overnight
But in a couple of months from now the nesting birds will sing
And the coastal paddocks lush and green will wear their flowers of spring.

Men Like You Are Rare

By life you have been battered and you are on the floor
But you are not a quitter you rise and fight some more
You've fought the hardest battles it's uphill all the way
And like the great survivor you'll fight another day.

You've taken life's hardest punches big hits flush on your chin
And you've been on the canvas but you will not give in
For you believe in the saying can't keep a good man down
And you walk with your head high on the main street of town.

You never steal or borrow and you live good as you can
And you work hard for your livelihood and you are an honest man
You love your school going children and you are devoted to your wife
And though the cost of living rising you battle on through life.

You pay a high home mortgage you know financial pain
But you remain quite hopeful and you never complain
You've taken life's hardest punches but you don't say life's
And you just keep on keeping on and men like you are rare.

It's Not How Much You Gain

What matter if your's is a worldly fame
Or if you have got a billion to your name
The day will come when you can't keep your gain
And only memories of you will remain.

It is not your wealth or fame it's how you live
And if you have learnt to take and not to give
Then all your wealth and fame is little use
Each for himself is not a good excuse.

You see that poor old fellow down the street
From ill fitting shoes he walks on blistered feet
And you can only equal him one day
And who knows that may not be far away.

He eat stale food he find in rubbish bin
Whilst you dine out with wealthy business men
And though you may not think it fair it will come true
That one day he will be equal of you.

Your assets by the million may have grown
And you may boast you've made it on your own
And though you may be worth a billion even more
The wealthy few grim reaper won't ignore.

Poor Kate her young husband died tragically
And she is forced to live in poverty
With two small babies the eldest only three
What use are you to people such as she?.

What use to her if you're a billionaire
And with your rich pals you will only share
It's not how much you gain it's how you live
And you have only learnt to hoard and not give.

The factory closed down and Bill's out of a job
And he has to take care of every bob
He and his wife and children must live on welfare
And what use to him if you're a billionaire.

It's not tall poppy syndrome not at all
You could be great if you done something small
Like helping those made poor by circumstance
You have such power to give them second chance.

If they are poor they did not choose to be
And it's not their fault they live in poverty
And in the end what matter what you gain
If only memory of you will remain.

What matter if your's is a worldly fame
And if you have got a billion to your name
It's not how much you gain it's how you live
And you have only learnt to take and not give.

When Most Politicians Talk

When the most of the politicians talk of the battlers vote how cynical they be
For a battler is a poor person or so 'twould seem to me
And why should a poor fellow who wears an op shop coat
Be bothered on election day to spare the time to vote.

When most politicians talk of the battlers plight they don't mean what they say
For they only meet the battler once before election day
And another three to four years will go by till him again they see
And battler is steps down from them at foot of social tree.

When most politicians talk of the battlers lot they play the vote catching game
But there's a few on the battlers side all politicians not the same
Though the politicians genuinely on the battlers side are few and far between
And far too many parliamentarians known for saying what they don't mean.

The battler's status will not change whether he vote or not
And why should he care who win or lose when his will be the same lot
The apathy amongst the battling kind not too hard to explain
Why should they care who win or lose if for them there's no gain.

The politician near election day may shake the battler's hand
And promise him a better life and vow that he will stand
Behind the promise he has made but battler too well know
That it won't matter much to him how the election go.

For Many Life Must Seem Unfair

In Zimbawbe millions of people starve doesn't life seem so unfair
Their crops have failed due to the drought that has been lingering there
And they must depend on foreign aid and on the aid workers who for them care
And ten thousand people must grow poor just to make one millionaire.

For many life must seem unfair no rain clouds in the sky
For months on end it hasn't rained the ground is cracked and dry
The old and frail and the very young of hunger first to die
That all human beings are equal is of course an obvious lie.

The mother foregoes her breakfast meal yet her hungry child doesn't thrive
For many life must seem unfair they struggle to survive
And even in so called wealthy countries there is want and poverty
And only money makes you equal in human society.

For many life must seem unfair it's uphill all the way
And not far from where the wealthy live there's hunger and decay
The majority of the assets of any country is owned by the wealthy few
How come it has to be this way? I wish I only knew.

In Zimbabwe in Africa the earth is cracked and dry
And it hasn't rained for months on end and no rain clouds in the sky
Their crops have failed long months ago and the people in despair
And for these unfortunate people life must seem so unfair.

On The Stalkings Of Anne And Madonna

He divorced his wife of twenty eight years to be ready
If the opportunity arose to marry Princess Anne
And whilst I don't say for a minute he is silly
There's something that's not right about the man.

I do not doubt the goodness of the princess
And she is famous and known globally
But beauty wise she doesn't look so attractive
And many women prettier than she.

The world press dub Bernard Quin a stalker
And the British called him 'loon with a balloon'
But who knows if Anne doesn't secretly feel flattered
And about it all feel quite over the moon?.

What's happened with Anne's camera shy husband
Captain Tim I forget his second name
Unlike the other royals he does not hog the limelight
Perhaps he has no wish for pomp or fame.

Through all of this Anne behaved in royal manner
And about her stalker had nothing to say
And I give her my grudging admiration
For behaving in such a gracious way.

But I can't say the same goes for Madonna
In witness box she complained through her tears
She wants her stalker locked away in prison
Though she's been playing the sex goddess for years.

Still all my sympathies are with Madonna
For feeling uninhibited women should not have to pay
And she will have her wish about her stalker
For lengthy spell he will be locked away.

The newspapers only tell of famous people
The only way their papers they can sell
And what's for me in stories of Anne and Madona
Perhaps this chance to write this doggerel.

Far From His Old Home In The Desert

To the country that he fled from he never can go back
The poor bloke from the desert of southern Iraq
Long dark hair and a dark beard one of an oppressed race
He's in his early thirties but he has an older face.

He is one of the noble few who spoke against Saddam Hussein
The only reason he can never go back home again
By Saddam's execution squad he has been condemned to death
And he now looks to the future the past he'd rather forget.

A man who knows about oppression and one who has known poverty
In this land he is an outsider he came here as a refugee
If Saddam was deposed tomorrow and changes for the better occured in Iraq
Then he would go home to his people and to this land never come back.

A man who looks older than he is in next march he will be thirty three
For speaking out against the oppressors his home country he had to flee
He cannot return to his homeland so here he feels obliged to stay
Far from his old home in the desert that he remembers every day.

An Autumn Day

Though the day is mild for the time of year and mild enough the weather
The autumn leaves are falling fast as light as any feather
And ash tree now losing her leaves each day she's looking barer
A few months back in summer's prime than her there was none fairer.

The magpie on the wattle tree he flutes with little passion
It is the time of year for him when song seems out of fashion
But by september he will pipe his song of his breeding season
It's not all for joy that songbirds sing there is another reason.

In autumn in Victoria the weather becomes cooler
And nature in her coloured cloak she presides as the ruler
Her marvellous queendom she surveys her colours are amazing
And mother nature reign supreme and her beauty is worth praising.

An autumn day in the deep south and leaves in their millions falling
And nature in her green and gold a memory worth recalling
And magpie he doesn't sing as much as he does in his breeding season
And for birdsong it has been said there is another reason.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Worry Give Rise To Unhappiness

He feels his life has spun out of control
And only darkness envelopes his soul
With living costs and a huge mortgage to pay
His redundancy cheque will not go a long way.

With three young children and a wife to upkeep
And the cost of living high and food to buy not cheap
And employment opportunities scarce to rare
His and his family's future doesn't look healthy on welfare.

Of late he has absorbed a lot of stress
And worry give rise to unhappiness
Suppose he could sell and with his family move to a bigger town
Still little goes your way when you are down.

It's not his fault that he is unemployed
For lady luck has not been on his side
The factory owners closed the factory door
And moved their business to a foreign shore.

The stress of worries on him taking toll
And clouds of dark despair are in his soul
And he is only one of the many who
Feel that a change of luck for them is overdue.

The Great Love Of The Brownings

It was the union of poetic icons and their life together full of love and harmony
And they left behind them marvellous poems and sonnets and together now they live in history
They rank amongst the great poets of their era and the literary critics respect to them pay
And their verses perhaps will live on forever and their works are very much alive today.

When Elizabeth Barrett married Robert Browning they left England to live in Italy
They were in love and devoted to each other and when she died it has been said that he
Mourned for the one he loved his only true love the day she died the worst day of his life
They had spent so many happy years together and she was a loving and a devoted wife.

Two major poets who got on well together and the story of their love a story often told
An old woman she told me all about them when I was young a school going eight year old
She recited some of their most famous verses and about the Brownings quite a lot she knew
And I too became interested in their story for great stories of true love seem far too few.

The story of the great love of the Brownings is a story that will live forever more
They married and they then departed England for to live in Italy a distant shore
And when Elizabeth died Robert was broken hearted and he grieved for her for weeks and months and years
And even in his old age he still missed her and memories of her in him stirred up tears

Bill Singleton

Tree branches were often his ceiling and the cold ground was often his bed
And he had scary stories of Oregon to make the hair stand on your head
He spent his prime years at stock herding and in that wild land his fortune he made
And he was a straight talking fellow the type who called a spade a spade.

I often saw Bill Singleton at Hennessy's the old Millstreet greyhound trial track
From Carriglea near Mountleader he always rode down on horse back
His daughter Mary walked down with the greyhounds a happy smile lit up her face
The dogs that clocked fast times in Millstreet were sure to do well in a race.

Carriglea Prince his track and coursing dog began his journey to renown
Like great dogs before him and after at Hennessy's near Millstreet Town
A dog who was never found wanting he performed well when put to the test
A Cork cup and a Laurels finalist he coursed and raced against the best.

Bill Singleton one I remember and his Byronic sort of wit
When horse dung was referred to as horse droppings he always called it horse's shit
The hoity toities may have been offended when in fact the man was down to earth
What's seen as rude to a few to most others is a reason for laughter and mirth.

And behind the hard like exterior there was far more warmth than cold
And of his generosity and kindness some marvellous stories were told
A great character in the true sense and there was none kinder than Bill
And he will always be remembered in Millstreet by old Clara Hill.

The Night Is Calm And Frosty

The night is calm and frosty I hear the lapwing cry
Above the darkened paddock beneath the starry sky
Just five sleeps till september and the calendar spring
The time of year upon us when wild birds nest and sing.

The night is calm and frosty and in the neighbourhood dogs bark
And boobook owl is calling on the gum trees in the park
And on the roadway to the town the cars buzz to and fro
And the more I learn of nature the less I know I know.

The night is calm and frosty and in the dim moonlight
For the favours of a female tom cats in backyard fight
They bite and claw and snarl and disturb the peace and quiet
And the winner father kittens one might say he's won that right.

The night is calm and frosty though the days of spring are near
And in the park off of the street the lapwing's voice I hear
As he flies above his borders proclaiming his territory
And nature's many secrets will never be known to me.


Though his poems and verse still read and living on
So many years since Kipling lived have gone
A fount of words he had the gift of song
And to the literary world he now belong.

And though all of his life Imperialism he glorified
Which drew literary criticism from literary critics worldwide
The writer and his writings they failed to separate
For Kipling as a writer a true great.

Since Kipling was honoured with the Nobel Prize
A lot of rain has fallen from the skies
That was in 1907 when he was forty two
A famed writer and world wide fame he knew.

Sixty six years in time has gone since Kipling passed away
And the babies back in thirty six are the aged of today
But his stories and his verses are still a source of joy
And his fame lives in his legacy and his works will never die.

Splendid Weather For July

The mighty river swelled by recent downpour flows through the flat gray country near the sea
It crawls onward to meet and join saltwater far from it's birthplace in the high country
A winter sun is shining in the clear sky a pleasant enough day for time of year
And two miles off the rumblings of the surf waves in the silence of the evening one can hear.

Evenings such as this remain on in the memory all around me nature's beauty I can see
And I can hear white backed magpie fluting upon high branch of sunlit blackwood tree
In years from now when I am gone forever the coastal beauty others will enjoy
And the seasons come and go as they have always and nature lives for she will never die.

The fisherman for bay trout he is casting he says the fish they bite when flood is high
He hasn't hooked a fish as yet this evening but his patience may be rewarded by and by
He too enjoy the open spaces and nature and he has happy moments to recall
Of the good sized fish in the past he has landed and fishing his favourite past time of all.

The river in full flood crawls slowly onwards through flat gray paddocks near the ocean shore
And two miles distant in the calm of evening one can hear the giant surf waves toss and roar
A very pleasant evening for mid winter the sun is shining bright in the clear sky
And days like this make the winter look shorter it's really splendid weather for july.


She has known the hurt of suffering
And she has worn the mental scars
And she has raised her sons for country
For to fight and die in rich man's wars.

She has known the exultation
Lived the moments of great joy
When she first held her baby daughter
And gave birth to baby boy.

She has known the anger of male
Been a victim down the years
And she has been abused and battered
And left to wallow in her tears.

She has watched her children leave her
For to live in places far away
And she is left alone, unwanted
And friendless on her final day.

She's known joy and she's known sorrow
Gave life to woman and man
And she's found her great expectations
Did not seem to follow plan.

And her daughter live as she lived
And she too know sorrow and joy
Wept when her son died in battle
Not her choice that he should die.

And the daughter like her mother
And the years have made her gray
And she too has been deserted
And her children far away.

And the cycle keeps repeating
On and on all down the years
And she has known the joy and laughter
And she has shed the hurtful tears.

She gave birth to sporting hero
To painter, president and poet
To scientist and to great inventor
And little of her has been wrote.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Our Search Is For True Happiness

Our search is for true happiness but such we cannot find
And such a gift if it exist not meant for human kind
For some this life is hard so hard a battle all the way
Their plate with food is seldom full they live from day to day.

And others with more than enough are not prepared to share
And for the hungry and the poor they spare no thought of care
They are possessed by demon greed their demon grow and grow
The more they have the more they want and unhappiness they know.

The more they have the more they want they live with grasping hand
And why wars and famines in the world not hard to understand
Too many die for want of food and too few seem to care
And a half a million become poor to make one millionaire.

And greed and the great need for power the scourge on human kind
And our search is for true happiness if such there is to find
And the distribution of wealth as ever seems unfair
And the hoarders far too many and the kind of heart too rare.

I Fancy

I fancy I can hear cock chaffinch singing
On hawthorn white with blossoms of the May
His wife in nest of brown moss on her eggs sit
In fork of tree from prying eyes hid away.

His pink breast in the mid day sunshine gleaming
He pipes a warning in his territory
To other cock chaffinches living nearby
To not venture inside his boundary.

I fancy I can hear cock pheasant crowing
In rushy field he cuck all through the day
You seldom see him out on open ground
And where cover is he seem to like to stay.

His duller looking mate is somewhere near
Sitting patiently and silent on her nest
With lots of heavy cover all around
Ten olive eggs kept warm beneath her breast.

I fancy I can hear the dipper sing
On rock amidst the rapids of the stream
His scratchy notes familiar to my ear
Doesn't vary much at least that's how 'twould seem.

He swim underwater in search of his food
Worms, water beetles, larvae and such he eat
A perching bird unique in a strange way
He dive and swim despite his unwebbed feet.

I fancy I can hear the carolling lark
Above the hillside in the morning rain
And soaring ever soaring as he sing
The bird has vanished but his song remain.

The dipper singing in the mountain stream
The skylark carolling above the hill
The pheasant crow, the little chaffinch sing
I fancy I can hear and see them still.

Never Believe A Government Minister

Never believe what any government minister tell you for on misinformation politicians seem to thrive
They are expert at spreading of propaganda and without deception they would not survive
They create wars and give rise to racism and they know how to make an enemy
And they mostly to blame for mistrust that leads to hatred and for a lack of world harmony.

Too few politicians one might say upstanding yet with the majority they seem to have their way
And far too many gullible who believe them when they have something negative to say
Like we must get rid of that nasty foreign leader by imprisoning him or putting him to death
For too long now he has been causing trouble and to world peace he's becoming a threat.

Never believe any government minister for to lie to them seems to come naturally
And that many people believe what they tell them to say the least is worrying to me
For politicians along with the media the main culprits for spreading false propaganda that create
Racial intolerance that leads to divisions and give rise to war through the medium of hate.

When You Hear One Talk Of Their Country

When you hear one talk of their country that person has surely got it wrong
Since the country you lay claim to is not yours but to the country you belong
The world was here before we came and the world will be here when we have gone
And the country without us will exist and life without us will go on.

Men go to war for god and country and for god and country they die
They believe what their leaders tell them though their so called leaders to them lie
When they say that when you die for your country a place in heaven awaits you
Still the dead soldiers do not come back to tell us that what they had been told was true.

When I hear one talk of my country to myself I only can say
How much of your country do you own and what will happen when you pass away?
For your country you cannot take with you when you have lived your final day
When you pass on to the dubious hereafter your country behind you will stay.

When you hear one talk of their country like me do you think that's not right
That person needs to be enlightened what they've just said doesn't seem very bright
For all of those who talk of my country to me 'twould seem have got it wrong
Since the country's not ours in the first place but to the country we belong.

By The Old Screw Creek

On the willow tree on the bank by where the old screw creek flow
The gold billed blackbird fluting his tunes soft and mellow
His ancestors were brought here a few centuries ago
But of the lands they came from he would not even know.

A few years ago he was born in a hedgerow a half of a mile from here
And in the spring and summer his voice one often hear
Distinctive in his all black and distintive in his song
He warns other blackbirds that this patch to him belong.

His mate nearby sits in her nest on fork of banksia tree
She patiently incubates her eggs to life together he and she
Share the task of incubating and raising the family
And as well he has the added task of guarding their family.

On the willow tree by the old screw creek the gold billed blackbird sing
And his voice a thing of beauty to it has a pleasant ring
His ancestors brought to this land by migrants years ago
But of that he is ignorant and this the only place of which he know.

John From Wonthaggi

John had a happy childhood in Wonthaggi and he seems very happy to recall
Cape Paterson where he often played beach cricket and the Thaggi Oval where he played football
He swam and frolicked in the sea in summer and his young years were free of any care
But like many others Melbourne to him beckoned and he was destined to live his life there.

His father was a hard working coal miner but he seemed young to die at fifty three
And his mother is still living in Wonthaggi she's now seventy five though healthy and carefree
With her friends she plays bowls as well as bridge and bingo and life he says she thoroughly enjoy
She has lived all of her years in Wonthaggi and in her own home town perhaps she'll die.

He drives to Wonthaggi once a month to visit his mother though not many people live there now that he know
When he was young he had so many friends there but on looking back that seems so long ago
Though he still know a few there from his young days and in the Workmen's Club with them have a few beers
Like him most of his school friends living elsewhere and he has not laid eyes on them for years.

Though from the former mining town in South West Gippsland he only lives a couple of hours away
He'll never again live in old Wonthaggi in Heidelberg he's happy for to stay
Still he has good memories of his happy boyhood and he always feels happy to recall
His old home town where he grew into manhood and good memories of a happy youth the best of all

He said he spent his young years in Wonthaggi and at nineteen he left in nineteen sixty four
And though he has often returned for a visit he says he'd never live there anymore
He's happy now in Heidelberg near Melbourne where he lives with his wife and there they raised their family
A two hour drive from where he spent his boyhood the old mining town seven K's from the sea.

I hope

Don't talk to me of the long dead god forsaken I've heard enough of the power abusive men
Their history wipe from the slate forever and records of their lives put in the rubbish bin
The hands of time as ever keep on turning as the years roll on like the timeless ocean wave
And the bones of the murdered innocents in lost graves lost forever I hope that flowers don't grow on Cromwell's grave.

The Pol Pots of this world are still with us the racists and xenophobics still abuse their power
Far too many countries ruled by ruthless tyrants the poor and defenceless under their regimes cower
They rule by fear and enforce their code of silence and to speak out against them more foolhardy than brave
And they suppress the gifts of joy and freedom I hope that flowers don't grow on Hitler's grave.

Idi Amin and Milosevic still living and Rios Montt the trappings of power still enjoy
How many due to these tyrants have suffered and how many due to them in mass graves lie?
The Husseins and the Mugabes too many bad karma only for themselves they save
Their people die of hunger and they prosper I hope that flowers don't grow on Truman's grave.

In many countries fear of reprisals give rise to silence and to speak out far too big a price to pay
These so called leaders and their kith and kindred prosper whilst all around them there's want and decay
They rule by fear the gun a scary weapon and those who speak against them must be made to behave
And history itself keeps on repeating and I hope that flowers don't grow on Stalin's grave.

People Come And Go

The man who once owned the farm
He passed on last year
Gone for forever more
But the land still here.

His son owns the farm today
But one day he too must go
And behind him the land will stay
And the grass will grow.

And the wildflowers will bloom
In spring by the hedgerow
And the hawthorns will wear
Their blossoms white as snow.

And whilst the male bird sing
The female on her nest
Looks up at the sky
Her eggs warm beneath her breast.

On sign on the farm yard gate
The words 'Private Property'
He is trying to say
This land belongs to me.

But he has got it wrong
As wrong as wrong can be
For he is just the care taker
Of what he calls his property.

For one day he too must leave
And to the farm return never more
And with the R.I.P's
He won't hear his wife snore.

The man who once owned the farm
Last year passed away
And people come and go
But the land still stay.

Bob Justice

Bob Justice was an old pipe smoking fellow
And outside his shop on Main Street Millstreet Town
He and his sister May often sat talking
Whilst he greeted people passing up and down.

He became well known through his business and bakery
And as a man who owned and raced greyhounds
And it's been said that Bob enjoyed a gamble
And he often bet up to one hundred pounds.

He must have smoked a lot of pipe tobacco
As much as anyone for miles about
And perhaps more than anybody else in Millstreet
For his pipe was seldom distant from his mouth.

His wife from Cockhill and they had two daughters
And one of them Geraldine owns the shop today
And though it's been years since Bob Justice was living
On looking back it only seems yesterday.

If there's a heaven there you'll find Bob Justice
Smoking his pipe distant from Millstreet Town
And in the cool shade sitting in the sunshine
And greeting people passing up and down.

Hell, Heaven And Purgatory

As a young schoolgoing boy I learnt of hell and heaven
The bad doomed to hell the good to heaven go
But now a little with four decades later
I question how could anybody know?.

About the true existence of such places
And since dead person never returned to tell me
That he or she has been to hell or heaven
Then why should I believe what the living never see?

When I was young I learnt of purgatory
Where in after life the sinful soul done time
And after sentence served they went to heaven
Purged of the sin of minor Earthly crime.

But threats of purgatory and hell by most unheeded
And crime on the increase as the years go by
And talks of after life damnation to criminals a non deterrent
Though I believed such when I was young boy.

As years go by the crime rate on the increase
And many don't hold fear of purgatory or hell
And the only law that many fear is man's law
The fear of spending time in prison cell.

When I was young I believed in this place called heaven
For good people an afterlife of joy
And I feared Satan and hell and damnation
The innocence of a young school going boy.

Monday, July 25, 2011

We'll Stop In Gilgandra

One hundred K's or maybe more to the next country town
But we will reach Gilgandra before the sun goes down
And we will book a room tonight in the Gilgandra Hotel
'Twas tweny bucks six months ago my memory serves me well.

We have travelled more than 500K's and weary from the car
But such a journey in this land to many doesn't seem far
Five hundred K's is nothing mate the travelled Aussie say
Some people drive to Queensland from Victoria in a day.

But we'll stop in Gilgandra the record we won't chase
And we'll reach the Gold Coast in two days we are not in a race
And we'll eat a hearty counter meal relax and have a beer
And tomorrow night in North New South our journey's end we'll near.

For over six hours we have drove and we only had one break
And why should we drive on through the night and try to stay awake
And though we have many miles to go no deadlines for to keep
And we will stop in Gilgandra for to eat and rest and sleep.

We'll reach Gilgandra by sunset and then call it a day
For South Queensland seems a long way off and many miles away
And we will have a good night's sleep in Gilgandra Hotel
'Twas twenty bucks six months ago my memory serves me well.

To Make This World A Better Place

For the betterment of mankind there has always been a case
Make yourself a better person to make this world a better place
If each of us sought self improvement went in search of god within
Mistrust and greed would lose out badly and goodness and honesty would win,
I can only speak for myself for others I cannot speak
I have room for self improvement self improvement I must seek
I can make this world better sure as night and day I can
If I become a better person that will help the cause of man,
I can't make the world better if to others I am rude
If I live for my self interest and have the wrong attitude
If I can't strive for self improvement to myself I cannot say
That in the betterment of mankind I might have a part to play
And still I pass the blame to others and a simple truth I cannot face
That I must make myself a better person to make this world a better place.

a Statistic Of The Gun

The word was he was evil and some evil things he'd done
And amongst the like minded some respect he had won
From his late teens a criminal and he lived on the run
And he had committed armed robberies and he lived and died by the gun.

In his early teens rendered homeless his mum and dad in jail
A street kid of the ghetto was he not doomed to fail?
And like every one he too had a life story but he could only tell
Of life in the slum suburbs where it is worse than hell.

He had lost his innocence at a young age of him that can be said
And he died in a dingy laneway with a bullet in his head
But anyway you look at it his death was of foul play
And he did not deserve to die in such a horrid way.

Only in his early twenties seems so young for one to die
And a decade back or even less he was still a school going boy
And he died in the ghetto a statistic of the gun
And the foulest act of all acts robbed the mother of her son.

Lee Emmett

The world she light up with her happy smile
And there's a cheerful warmth in her hello
She takes with her the gift of happiness
And spread it around everywhere she go.

Lee Emmett should be named the queen of smile
She has about her such a happy way
I've yet to see her sour faced and withdrawn
Her smile light up the very dullest day.

Perhaps she too has worries like us all
But to smile to her seems to come naturally
This world for her seems much a brighter place
And only cheerfulness in her I see.

What has Lee Emmett got that most don't have
For one that marvellous smile that she possess
She has a natural sweetness in her smile
That only could be born of naturalness.

Lee Emmett should be named the queen of smile
For there is none so good to smile as she
And the world would be a brighter happier place
If everyone could smile so easily.

Life Through The Eyes Of Mrs Nash

I came here from the County of Fermanagh almost fifty years ago
From the Land of het and shamrock, small green fields and green hedgerows
Met a gentleman from Kerry married him and settled down
Here in Victoria Australia the garden city Melbourne Town.

We had many happy years together we lived happy and carefree
Raised two sons and three fine daughters and ours was a happy family
My children married well and gave me grandchildren and I sing their praises loud
And I feel proud of all my children have I not just right to feel proud?.

One thing missing that's my husband he died a short while ago
All those happy years together naturally I miss him so
But his spirit is still with me he's still living in my heart
Death has failed to come between us death will not keep us apart.

I live alone life can be lonely but I've got my chucks and terrier dog
No life is not meant to be easy and yes life can be a hard old slog
But I'm a strong willed sort of person and in my heart burn the flame of hope
And I can grapple with life's problems and on my own I've learnt to cope.

My children still dependant on me and they still look at things my way
And they still come to me for counsel and they still go by what I say
I wonder can they do without me? as they depend on me they do
But I know life has to continue and they must learn to live it through.

I am almost on the seventy and many years still in me yet
And I have never wronged anybody so I have no cause for regret
Some times life can be trying and lonely and oft times end like a sad song
But my simple philosophy for living is help all people do no wrong.

By The Antics Of The Birds

The birds already nesting and spring not far away
And white backed magpie fluting long before dawn of day
And territorial spur winged plover above his breeding ground
Is calling in the darkness as he flies around and round.

In the last days of winter there's less chill in the breeze
And the days will soon be warmer by four or five degrees
On deciduous trees new leaves are budding new green cloaks they'll soon wear
And on the third week of august breath of spring in the air.

The paddocks looking greener on the outskirts of the town
And blackbird along the fence line keeps flying up and down
He utters a shrill alarm call as the anxiety in him grow
Perhaps he checks his borders out or would I even know?.

For others of nature's workings have more knowledge than I
But by the antics of the birds I know that spring is nigh
The magpie he is singing hours before the sun lights up the sky
And spur winged plover calling o'er the paddock nearby.

Maria Of Watt Street

This is a song of a working class person
One that I know though I often don't meet
She is an inspiration to the battlers
Maria the woman who lives on Watt Street.

She took a night job to put herself through Uni
And she's worked very hard so her children could eat
Here is a woman who leads by example
And people like her do not hear of defeat.

She now has a job as a secondary school teacher
And she is much better off financially
She has achieved through her honest endeavour
Maria who worked so hard for her degree.

Though people like Maria don't make the news headlines
Which is a reflection on society
Lets toast a person who has made it the hard way
For you won't find many as noble as she.

Here is a song of a middle aged woman
A working class role model would you not agree?
Maria of Watt Street leads by good example
And people like her are inspiring to me.

Eric Bogle

It's true he came from Scotland way up north and far away
But in Adelaide in South Australia he's lived for many a day
And in the land down under they now claim him for their own
One of the finest songwriters this world has ever known.

As a writer of songs and ballads his greatness can't be denied
And some of the many he has written are now known and sung worldwide
And he will always be remembered as the little fellow who
Wrote 'And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda' and 'The Aussie Barbecue'

The Green Fields Of France an anti war song gave him his first taste of fame
And you won't find many people who have not heard of his name
And who can forget his great song to his mother the immortal Nancy O
The legend of Eric Bogle only seem to grow and grow.

His distinct accent of Scotland to this day with him remain
And his is one great talent and will we see his likes again?
As a singer and songwriter a name for himself he's made
And he lives in South Australia in historic Adelaide.

Dick's Homecoming

In his dreams he see the gray and hot steam rising from the mud pools and thermal springs miles away
And near Christchurch he can hear the bellbirds singing in the beechwoods at the dawning of the day
And he is back in the land of the kiwi and he marvels at the beauty all around
Where mountain stream splash over rocks and pebbles as it hurries down the hill to lower ground.

His friends to see him again feel delighted Dick Spence we've not seen you for many years
They hug him in their joy and there's much laughter and he feels so happy he is moved to tears
His friends to him have always been important and true friends to each other remain true
The sun shines brightly on the snow capped mountain and the homeland skies have never been so blue.

He tells them about his life in Australia the places he has travelled to and seen
A big brown country different to New Zealand than Kiwi Land there's nowhere quite so green
He loved Australia new friendships he forged there and old Wonthaggi he will long recall
But he's happy to be back amongst his old friends and New Zealand is his homeland after all.

The butcherbird was singing in the gray dawn upon high branch of an old silky oak
And kookaburra laughed loud in Wonthaggi as Dick Spence from his pleasant dream awoke
And across the street on gum tree the white backed magpie sang on the branch he sang from every day
As Dick recalled his vision of New Zealand the Land of the long white cloud far away.

A Homeless Man

When compared to mine his dreams are very humble he does not seek much out of life at all
A small flat he could call his home to live in compared to most his wishes seem quite small
At sixty seven years he's on the street and homeless a winter dawn is breaking cold and gray
With long gray beard and looking thin and shabby he walks uptown as he does every day.

Some may say at his age he should not be homeless that life's many chances he left them go by
But they don't know him or his circumstances he is a person just like you and I
So many of us lacking in compassion beyond our own selves we can't seem to see
We applaud the wealthy see them as successful and condemn all of those in poverty.

Where did he sleep last night? the thought just chills me perhaps on park bench in the park nearby
I feel so lucky I've a warm home to go to and a comfortable bed on which to lie
Save for circumstance his lot in life might have been my lot his life story must be one of living hell
But who knows if there is a life hereafter his soul may go to live where angels dwell.

A wintery dawn above the city breaking and the nip of winter in the morning air
And a homeless man uptown is slowly walking a gray bearded man with long gray straggly hair
There's many more like him around this city people like him nowadays no longer rare
And when compared to him I feel I have been lucky and by circumstance I have been treated fair.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

The Suit Of Clothes

Long years ago I wore good suit and tie
And I was looked on as a decent guy
And at superstore the check out girl did say
Can I help you and thank you sir good day.

Now I wear overalls have grown long beard
And I am looked on as way out and weird
And at superstore when I stand front of queue
The check out girl doesn't say can I help you.

She give me strange looks af if I look strange
And say next please as she hand back my change
Amazing what good suit and tie can do
Can make you feel one of the chosen few.

Long years ago when I lived on welfare
A formal suit I always used to wear
And amazing as it all may seem to be
The suit of clothes won great respect for me.

And now that I work and I wear working clothes
Some people at me seem to tilt their nose
And at superstore the check out girl doesn't say
Can I help you and thank you sir good day.

I Respect All Decent Human Beings

I respect all decent human beings but to none I dip my hat
And I would fight for no country my life worth more than that
And I love all wildborn creatures and nature is my queen
As she wears my favourite colours my favourite colours green

I don't believe in royalty to none I bow my knee
The pope, the queen, the pauper are all the same to me
Those who look up to moneyed types on others will look down
But the one who does nobody wrong is the one who wears the crown.

I see my god in nature my god is everywhere
The animals that live on grass and the swallows of the air
The birds independent of man who sing for joy of song
To the green god of nature these creatures all belong.

I respect all decent human beings who live by book of right
But I'm not a patriotic type and for no country I'd fight
And my god is in nature and from church I keep away
I'd rather walk in forest than kneel in church and pray.

There's A Party In The House Nearby

There's a party in the house across the street
And they've been playing Elvis Presley songs all night
And today is Elvis birthday I've been told
And to many he is still their god in white.

Some of his fans think Elvis is alive
That like Jesus he has risen from the dead
But to think this way they must be gullible
Or have a screw loose somewhere in the head.

During his lifetime he knew worldwide fame
But Elvis Presley never was a god
And though his yet may be immortal name
Far greater men this Planet Earth have trod.

The strains of 'love me tender' waft across the street
I first heard that song more than thirty years ago
The teenager then now way beyond his prime
Those years creep up on you before you know.

It's almost midnight I should be asleep
But Elvis voice is keeping me awake
I hope this party on his birthday end
As I have heard as much as I can take.

In The High Woods Of South Belgrave

In the high woods of south Belgrave the bell miners I can hear
And their bell like notes are ringing and they seem so very near
And the sun is brightly shining on this warm october day
And the red rosella feed her young in hole of mountain gray.

In the high woods of south Belgrave I can hear the magpie sing
And his distinct notes so flute like always have a pleasant ring
And the butcherbird stick gathering she is building late this spring
And some early broods to hatch out have already took to wing.

And a warm wind from Tecoma up through the high country blow
And the paddocks lush and greener for the past two weeks or so
And willy wagtail perched on fence wire makes a chattering sort of noise
And his tail is ever wagging as he scans around for flies.

Were I a poet or lesser bard I might describe in words
The beauty of south Belgrave and the high woods and the birds
The gums, she oaks and wattles, the paddocks high and green
But I can't put to paper such great beauty I have seen.

Were I a gifted painter I would climb the higher ground
And from paddock of South Belgrave I would have a look
And go home an inspired man and paint from memory
For future generations to view what the painter see.

I can hear the magpie fluting I can hear the bellbirds ring
In the high woods of south Belgrave on this balmy day in spring
And the red rosella fly into nest hole in gray gum tree
With a morsel to be eaten by her hungry family.

In Birdsland In Tecoma

It hasn't been a fine day in Tecoma
It's rained all morning up until mid day
And on blackwood branch the grey shrike thrush is singing
Perhaps to warn more rain is on the way.

The grey shrike thrush is singing out of season
For spring long gone and summer too gone by
'Tis autumn now in Birdsland in Tecoma
And grass gone brown and of natural juices dry.

Out on the lake a white feral gander is bathing
He dip his body and give his wings a shake
And then in what seems a fit of sudden madness
He chase his neighbour ducks around the lake.

The fearful ducks quack loudly in a panic
Has he gone mad and lost his sanity
Or maybe he feels sexually frustrated?
Such strange behaviour seems so strange to me.

It hasn't been a fine day in Tecoma
Though sun now peep through clouds of dark to gray
And feral gander in a fit of madness
Chase after ducks who from him swim away.

Doug And The Possum

He brought a brush tail possum to work in a sack in her pouch a baby brush
And he took her with him in work van to a new home out the bush
He had trapped her in his attic and she now must live elsewhere
And another might have killed her but for native animals Doug care.

In Garfield in south Gippsland Doug set the possum free
And she ran along by a fence line and quickly climbed gum tree
And halfway up she sat on branch and peeped down sleepily
She looks like an old woman after a night's booze with a laugh Doug said to me.

One possum less in Doug's attic but she will find new home
And she has got her babe with her and she won't feel alone
She may find home in hollow log or seek a warmer bed
The attic of a farmer's house or ceiling of old shed.

Doug likes all native animals it's the non natives he hate
And against the descendants of the introduced kind he discriminate
The fox who slaughter native wildlife, the European mouse and rat
The rabbit and the cane toad and the feral pig and cat.

The birds introduced by colonial man the blackbird and song thrush
The Indian mynas who keep populating further out the bush
The starling and the sparrow and the spotted neck Asian dove
For all descendants of non native types Doug Walker show no love.

He brought a brush tail possum to work in a sack in her pouch a baby brush
And he took her with him in work van to a new home out the bush
He had trapped her in his attic and she now must live elsewhere
And another might have killed her but for native animals Doug care.

When we lived in Lang Lang 'For Ed'

I often think about my childhood day
Long before they built the south Gippsland highway
On gum tree by our house old magpie sang
As shades of night went creeping o'er Lang Lang.

When I was seven years or thereabout
Before mum and dad brought me with them to Richmond South
To Richmond South one hundred kilometres away
From Lang Lang of my early childhhood day.

My father yielded to the city's call
He sold our farmlet little cot and all
A decision he never did regret
Though childhood memories linger with me yet.

A dairy farmer bought our piece of land
And walls of old cottage are all that stand
And age has claimed old gum where magpie sang
In our backyard when we lived in Lang Lang.

We Thank Them For The Memories

Boxing had Muhammad Ali his greatness beyond dispute
And cricket had Don Bradman and baseball had Babe Ruth
And rock and roll had Elvis referred to as the king
And hurling had it's hero in Cork's own Christy Ring.

Gaelic football had Mick O Connell in his code best of all
And soccer had Brazil's great Pele the black prince of football
And Hollywood had Norma Jean alias Marilyn Monroe
A legendary beauty of the silver screen some forty years ago

And athletics had Carl Lewis and Jesse Owens, Zatopek and Nurmi and Australia's best athlete
Herb Elliot the legendary miler who never tasted defeat
And tennis had Maureen Connolly the legendary Little Mo
Though she died young her fame still lives from all those years ago.

In the swimming pool Dawn Fraser at three Olympics won sprint gold
And of the greatness of the winter Olympian Jean Claude Killy we've been told
And in basketball Michael Jordan is man of the century
And in rugby union David Campese made his own history.

I have mentioned here some people who were revered and admired
They were role models for many and many by them were inspired
And add to them the name of Willie Shoemaker perhaps horse racing's greatest name
He rode thousands of winners on his great journey to fame.

As legends in their chosen field one could mention many more
But father time takes care of all as we've often heard before
And though we thank them for the memories they too had their day
And for the up and coming they too had to make way.


She once lived by the hills of the grey kangaroo
And on her birthday last month she turned twenty two
Marlena the bright one so charming and fair
With beautiful blue eyes and hazel brown hair.

The one from the country is now in her prime
And she knows how to party and have a good time
On saturday evenings she's out with her mates
And at the discotheque they dance on till late.

Her split from her lover she doesn't regret
For he is one she can quite easily forget
His life it revolves around beer and football
And they did not have much in common at all.

Her best friend is Eddy one year older than she
And whilst they enjoy each others company
No physical attraction that to love might lead
And a lover right now is the last thing she need.

Marlena the lovely is young and carefree
And on sunday morning at the disco till three
She dance with her mates her night out she enjoy
And when you're having fun doesn't time seem to fly.

Where The Araglen Waters Flow

Her hair was dark and glossy as the feather of a crow
And the mirror to her soul her eyes blue as the ripened sloe
And she lived in that green countryside where to manhood I did grow
Where the Araglen's bright waters on towards the Blackwater flow.

Just to see her very equal one might travel many a mile
She was young and she looked lovely and she had a marvellous smile
Free of guile and unconceited and one I remember still
Few if any of such beauty ever walked up Cullen hill.

She was the fairest in the village five foot six or seven tall
And she was coming to her prime then only nineteen I recall
But the wanderlust was in her and from Cullen she did go
To live distant from Duhallow where the Araglen waters flow.

In my memory she's still young a teenager she remain
And I fancy I can see her walking up the hill again
And it seems like only yesterday and not forty five years ago
When she lived near Cullen Village where the Araglen waters

Friday, July 22, 2011

You Must First Know How To Lose

You've received life's hardest punches and luck's not on your side
But still you keep on smiling and you take it in your your stride
You are not one to grumble a man amongst the men
And after a few losses it feels so great to win.

For to be a good winner you must first know how to lose
You must learn to hold your head high though bad for you the news
Life can be like a horse race the favourite can be beat
And victory for the outsider can be twice as sweet.

if you look sad and depressed and can't smile and say hello
Then others will ignore you and you they do not wish to know
But if you look bright and happy and you smile and say good day
People will want to know you it's always been that way.

It would seem your's is a losing battle and you've oft been on the floor
And you've taken life's hardest punches but you rise up and fight some more
And you rise above the challenge for you won't hear of defeat
And when your turn comes for winning victory for you will seem more sweet.

My Love For This Great Country

Why indigenous people love this country not even hard to understand
For one like me from far away a green northern land
In this land of open spaces scarcely a day goes by
That you won't feel the sun's warmth in the sunny southern sky.

'I love a sunburnt country' to these words one can relate
Of Dorothea Mackellar an Australian poetic great
She wrote her most famous poem when homesick in England far away
And her famous lines more so than ever are still relevant today.

This vast land home to many from countries and cities far away
Like London, Rome and Paris, Baghdad and Bombay
From every land around the globe and from every sort of place
You'll find them in this southern land of every creed and race.

From the high woods of Victoria through the dry lands on to Broome
A land of varying beauty where for all there's plenty room
From lands ravaged by droughts, wars and famines beyond the northern seas
They came in vessels scarcely sea worthy the boat refugees.

And though I like millions of others came from a land far away
My love for this great country gets stronger every day
And every morning I awake to the white backed magpie's song
I say to myself I love this land and I am where I belong.

To Jack Do Not Condemn The Rabbit

To Jack Iversen do not condemn the rabbit
For with you he is bound to disagree
I've often heard him say back in the lean years
The bunny was a real good friend to me.

Back in the fifties he can still remember
When jobs were scarce and workers underpaid
He quit his job with a stingy local farmer
And more money out of trapping rabbits made.

Before the introduction of the myxomatosis
The rabbit a huge part in some lives played
A cruel disease that wiped out most of the wild bunnies
And brought an end to the wild rabbit trade.

But still the rabbits are the great survivors
And despite man's persecution they live on
They've survived myxomatosis and the clavixal virus
When it was felt that all hope for them had gone.

And that they survived Jack Iversen feels happy
And of the rabbit he has good to say
In the hard times he made more out of trapping
Than stingy farmer was prepared to pay.

Jack O Ray's Customers

They come here after work each day
To drink their fill and spend their pay
To merry make and poker play
In the uptown pub of Jack O Ray.

The old familiar foul mouth sound
Of low class public house abound
The coarse, crude barroom voice of sin
The obscene talk of drunken men.

The barmaid a pretty dame
A honey blond of well built frame
Serves them glasses of liquor, stout and beer
And accepts their money with a thank you dear.

The owner of the bar big Jack O Ray
Has just celebrated his thirtieth birthday
Weighing sixteen stone and six foot tall
With two broad shoulders like a wall.

He has yet to take a bride
The young barmaid is his pride
The folk who live in this town say
That he will marry her some day.

Jack O is a stingy bloke
He does not drink or even smoke
The people living in this town
Say he's the richest man around.

Close to the bar sits old Sam Greene
Sixty years of life he's seen
His leisure time is spent in here
Drinking whiskey and pints of beer.

Sam as grey as a mountain goat
Wears a shabby overcoat
A baggy pants and worn shoes
His only joy in life is booze.

His son, his daughter and his wife
Who with him led a hungry life
Left him many years ago
And to where they went nobody know.

Playing poker is young Frank Kane
He lives down in Elbow lane
Gambling runs in this man's blood
It comes from his dead father Jud.

With reddish hair and eyes of brown
The greatest gin drinker in town
It's the heavy drinkers like young Frank
That Jack O for his wealth can thank.

The two King brothers Phil and Bill
They live up by Chester hill
The Punter Kings is their nickname
And gambling is their favourite game.

Glass cutters they are by trade
Men of skill and highly paid
They often have to walk home from the greyhound track
As they do not have the bus fare back.

In a melancholy mood is Ronnie Drum
He has got a taste for rum
He has led a lonely life
Since the death of Kate his wife.

His wife she was a suicide case
A life of stress she could not face
Frogmen brought the woman he wed
From the dark deep river bed.

Drinking stout is Jack O Brien
He makes a living selling moonshine
In the book of law the moonshine maker
Is branded as a tax evader and law breaker.

A slender man with raven hair
And hardy as a mountain hare
Like all the moonshine making men
He's not an easy one to pen.

To make the liquor he uses a still
He brews it by a mountain rill
In a lonely heathery place
Uninhabited by the human race.

Some of those who make and sell moonshine
Are in the jailhouse serving time
With a wife and three children to feed
It is a risky life he lead.

Dark haired brown eyed young Nell Dean
She's known as Miss Scandal Queen
She's a low class girl of vice
Who rents her body for a price.

Her dad's in jail for larceny
For stealing others property
And her forty year old mother Ann
Is living with her new love man.

And though she's still in life's teenage stage
Just barely nineteen years of age
It would seem that lucifer in hell
Is waiting for the soul of Nell.

Paying for her drinks is Michael Grace
A pervert with a freckled face
With long black hair and twisted smile
They should have named him Michael Vile.

Even his marriage was ill fated
He and his wife are separated
After three months of marriage he lost her trust
Due to his love for liquor and pleasure lust.

Drinking whiskey is big Jim Flynn
One of the town's best labouring men
He leaves most of his hard earned pay
To money hungry Jack O Ray.

A batchelor in his forty first year
He loves the barroom atmosphere
A simple man of honesty
His only fault booze gluttony.

The Reidy twins from Chester row
The twenty year olds Jim and Joe
Both around five foot eight with curly brown hair
There has seldom been a more look alike pair.

If they have one claim to renown
It's for gulping shots of whiskey down
A shot of whiskey they can drink
Near faster than the eye could blink.

It's closing time big Jack O shout
Folk drink your drinks the time is out
I was caught open after hours before
And that won't happen anymore.

And so Jack O's customers go home
With their pockets empty and stomachs blown
They had slaked their thirst and drank their fill
And left their cash in Jack O's till.

In Jack O's public house uptown
The doors were locked the blinds pulled down
As Jack O counted with delight
The takings of a busy night.

Big Jerry Shea

Big Jerry Shea was in his prime when I was a young fellow
He was a wild one on his day though the years have made him mellow
In the pub with a few drinks in he could be very funny
And with the big fellow about the atmosphere was sunny.

Of social or of sporting club he never was a member
And I doubt he ever watched Cork play in Croke Park in september
He never played gaelic football or through sports sought his glory
But a biography on the man's life would make a damn good story.

When Phil Cronin talks of his hometown of Millstreet far away
One name he always mentions is the name of Jerry Shea
And when he reminisces of the characters of the Millstreet he did know
He always mentions Jerry Shea, John Sing and Mister O.

He's worked in the National Bank in Millstreet Town for long as I can remember
And I'll be fifty six years old on the first day of december
And though he's past the three score years I hear he's hale and hearty
And there's still laughter in the air when Jerry's in the party.

They Applaud The Evil They Create

She thought if I can kill some of the enemy
A place in Allah's kingdom is for me
And the glory of the martyr will be mine
When I sacrifice my life for Palestine.

An eighteen year old girl known to be shy
Around her waist explosives she did tie
Under her cardigan and coat where none could see
How could anyone suspect one such as she?

That a teenager still a decade from her prime
Would even contemplate such a callous crime
By in the taking of her own life inflict death and pain
Would be way beyond the many to explain?

She walked into Jerusalem up to a super store
Where she was stopped from entering at the door
And then she detonated her explosives killing herself as well as two
And twenty five were wounded as the shrapnel flew.

To her mentors her death was not an act of shame
For only the bravest die in Allah's name
She killed and died for Palestine they say
And her name will live for forever and a day.

But her mentors don't have much to celebrate
For her victims did not deserve such a fate
They instilled in her the desire to kill for God and State
And they applaud the evil they create.

If I Were A Venomous Spider

If there's such a thing as re-incarnation and were I to return as a lower form of life
I'd love to be a venomous spider and live where coruption is rife
I'd live in the chambers of parliament and I'd bite everybody I'd see
And I'd kill a few unworthy people before they would get to kill me.

If I were a venomous spider I'd live where reputations are destroyed
And in a dark corner in Parliament I would find a safe place to hide
I'd creep up behind an m.p. or a minister and catch them completely unaware
And bite them as hard as I could bite whilst they sat relaxed on their chair.

If I were a venomous spider I would not live in the poor side of town
And I'd not bite the poor or their children when in search of my ill renown
No I'd live in the parlour of a tycoon in a dark nook I would hide away
And at my first chance I'd bite the home owner and for his crimes against the poor make him pay.

If I were a venomous spider I would lead a sinister life
I would live in the parlour of a tycoon and bite him and then bite his wife
And I'd live in the chambers of parliament where the seed of corruption grow
And sink my deadly fangs in the buttocks of some so called honorable so and so.

Life's Journey

Life's journey isn't always smooth and easy
And every day for you not a good day
Yet every road you travel isn't bumpy
And you meet some decent people on your way.

You met someone you fell for on your journey
And you recall as you grow old and gray
That she was wise when she said we're not suited
And find yourself another for with you I won't stay.

You finally found true love on your journey
And by raising your children she proved her love for you
A woman still with you and who still loves you
For true love's a thing that always remain true.

In sports you never wore your country's colours
And you won't live in the sporting hall of fame
But what matter most is you help out other people
And that your good deeds have earnt you a good name.

Life's journey isn't always smooth and easy
The hills may look quite pretty from the town
But the mountain road to travel on is steep and narrow
And for miles and miles it just winds up and down.

Do Not Judge Me By My Verses

I have been seen as negative as one who doesn't believe in hope
And 'twould seem with day to day existence I find it hard to cope
But don't judge me by my verses as my verses are not me
And there is more to a person far more than the eye can see.

There is far more to people than what they write or say
For everybody looks at life in quite a different way
And from the mistakes that we make we have some price to pay
And why should one be seen as wise because their hair is gray?

I write about the battler who has been scarred by life
And I write about the poor bloke who grieves for his dead wife
And I write about the down and out who always seems to lose
And the sad and battered woman that her husband did abuse.

I talk about the hungry who live from hand to mouth
And those who know of the hard life and what the hard times are about
And though I write about the many who live in poverty
Don't judge me by my verses for my verses are not me.

We Do Not Own This Planet

In years to come the Chinese people may come to regret
What their government is doing right now to the highlands of Tibet
They build roads through the high country and cut the hill trees down
And on land for birds and animals they've built an ugly town.

But to point the finger at China may seem a bit unfair
As what's happening in Tibet has happened everywhere
And even in this twenty first century man yet doesn't understand
That we don't own the Planet we do not own the land.

We do not own this Planet to this Planet we belong
And we cut down the woodland that support the birds of song
We lay to waste this Planet Earth but the Earth we can't destroy
And Mother Earth will always be around 'tis man himself will die.

'Tis we belong to Mother Earth and off of Mother Earth we live
We eat her crops and animals but to her we do not give
We smear her face with concrete and we strip her forests bare
And what's happening in Tibet has happened everywhere.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

House Of Murder

Rat holes by the kitchen door
And roaches crawling around the floor
Home for cockroach, rat and mouse
Old Dan Nash's little house.

Two hooded thieves the windows broke
And smashed the table made of oak
Pulled up the floor boards, broke the chairs
And ransacked the cupboards and smashed the wares.

But what they came for they did not find
And still with money on their minds
Pushed in the bedroom door of Dan
A very shocked and frightened man.

With blankets pulled above his head
He tried to hide himself in bed
And in his heart did silent pray
That they'd leave him be and go away.

They dragged him from bed hands and feet
And with these words him they did greet
Old man where do you keep your cash?
You will find no money here said Nash.

On retirement pension I must live
And I don't have money to give
You have wrecked my house and caused me pain
But from this break in you will not gain.

Shouted: the taller of the hooded two
For lying we ought to torture you
You've got hidden money we know well
And we'll finish you if you don't tell.

But old Dan Nash quick to reply
Said I'm not a liar and I don't lie
The only money that I possess
Is a ten pound note under the mattress.

Leered: the smaller hood you sly old goat
As from under the mattress he took the ten pound note
There's more money than this around
At least three to four hundred pounds.

The sinned against with silver hair
Stood trembling in his underwear
As one of the thugs from his pocket pulled a knife
Saying old man your money or your life.

He put the knife up to Dan's throat
Saying of what I've said you'd best take note
You've got a choice to make old boy
You tell you live or if not you die.

There's no more money left you are out of luck
All the money I've possessed you've took
But I beg you on my bended knee
Please don't take my life leave that to me.

Into Dan's throat the knife he pushed
And from his wound blood freely gushed
A painful moan and then no more
And Dan Nash died on his bedroom floor.

They took their knife with them and fled
Down pathway that to main road led
And like foxes they crept out of sight
Under the darkened cloak of night.

On looking back time seem to fly
But since then a dozen years gone by
And the murderers live as free men
They remain unpunished for their sin.

No one live in Dan Nash's house
Save for cockroach, rat and mouse
Though some of those who knew the old man swear
That his ghost is still living there.

As Some Men Grow Older

As some men grow older they grow sillier just look at Bruce Ruxton old Bruce
He hasn't got much of an I.Q. you might say the man is a goose
His own opinions only matter and if he can't have his own way
He rants and he raves like a spoilt kid though he's over eighty and gray.

But he is well known and quite famous forgive me if i don't understand
Since I'm a migrant in this country one who hails from a distant land
One of those Bruce wants out of Australia since I refuse to bow to his queen
Some see me as quite Un-Australian whatever the hell that might mean?

I must say that I love Australia for Australia has been good for me
But that doesn't mean that i'm patriotic or with Ruxton I have to agree
I'd not risk my life for any country and though I'll never become a sage
I'd like to grow a little wiser and live on to a ripe old age.

The words that as people grow old they grow wiser to Bruce Ruxton does not apply
As you will find more sense and more wisdom in the average primary school going boy
Like a spoilt child who argues with mummy he shouts if he doesn't get his way
And by all accounts he's over eighty and his hair is silvery gray.

Oh Take Me To The Open Spaces

On the side walks of the city
I see greed though little pity
Hardened eyes and hardened faces
Of all the world's different races.

African, Arabic, Latin, Asian,
Polynesian, Indian and Caucasian,
Young and fit and old and brittle,
People tall and people little.

People young and lean and hardy,
People overweight and tardy,
People aged bent and slow
All sorts walking to and fro.

Oh take me to the open spaces
Far away from crowded places
Far from place of little pity
From the bleak streets of the city.

To where the voice of joy is ringing
And the wild born birds are singing
And the air is fresh and cleaner
And the world is wide and greener.

Young Denjoe

In his school going days young Denjoe was a wild and carefree lad
But he was kind and generous and in him nothing bad
He got into small mischiefs and his boyhood years he did enjoy
And received a real good spanking when he was a naughty boy.

When last I heard of Denjoe he was living far away
From Farnanes and County Cork where he first saw light of day
In the land of opportunity in eastern U S A
Working as a deep sea fisherman out of Massachusetts Bay.

I last laid eyes on Denjoe more than fifteen years ago
And he was in his mid teens then just sixteen years or so
But the boy has grown into a man and like migrant bird he's flown
And now he lives on foreign shore five thousand miles from home.

Young Denjoe was a care free lad and his boyhood years he did enjoy
But the boy has grown into a man how quick those years do fly
And from Farnanes in County Cork he lives far, far away
But like the swallow he'll return in not too distant day.


She looks much younger seventy not much more
And who would believe that she is eighty four
She keeps her house clean each day vacuum the floor
That marvellous lady Trix who lives next door.

She has lived in Wonthaggi all of her life
And for many years she was devoted wife
Till her husband died some thirty years ago
But Trix still live and her great grand children grow.

Perhaps the oldest person in Watt Street
But there's still much life in those tireless hands and feet
She still plays bowls and keeps on keeping on
And most of her childhood friends long dead and gone.

She gave me pikelets that she baked a treat
The most delicious cakes I ever eat
And to her friends she has added one friend more.
That marvellous lady Trix who lives next door.

Paul Ladds

Since his years at 36 Bayview where he often strummed on his guitar
Along with his older brother Damian, Paul Ladds has travelled far
They often jammed together from ten till after one
And whilst I was losing out on sleep the Ladds were enjoying their fun.

He went to live in Queensland but I often wonder why?
Since he is not a beach man and in the sun doesn't lie
He won't return to Melbourne in Queensland he'll grow old
And just like his grandma Betty said he says the southern winter's cold.

The old timber house on Bayview road to the house reaper gone
But houses come and houses go and life must carry on
And a timber house without repair doesn't have a lengthy span
Three score and ten years the average just like the life of man.

Paul Ladds strummed on his guitar music is for the soul
To the pleasure of his friends then Marty, Lisa, Gertrude and Nicole
But the wander bug was in him and his car he did repair
And he drove north to Queensland for to try his luck up there.

He has worked in hospitality and in the building trade
But as we know out of hard work big fortunes cannot be made
He now says he'll go to Uni and study for a degree
And change his direction in life and climb the social tree.

He and his older brother Damian jammed some nights till after one
And I was losing out on sleep whilst they were having fun
And why he went to live in Queensland I have often wondered why?
Since he is not a beach man and in the sun doesn't lie.

A Victim Of Workplace Bullying

His redneck workmates tease him at least that's what he said
They say such rude things to him like we've taken your girl to bed
They've doused his sandwiches in petrol and put salt in his flask of tea
And they've made life in the workplace for him a misery.

He is new to the workforce and to the workplace life still green
And he's just out of high school and he's only turned eighteen
About his older workmates he's too scared to complain
He'd rather keep his mouth shut and suffer the mental pain.

They taunt and persecute him his workmates a thuggish mob
And he won't complain them to his boss for fear he might lose his job
How many more are like him and suffer as he do?
For the victims of workplace bullying are no longer in the few.

He suffer on in silence and his problems only grow
And he is young and naive and his rights he do not know
His working life off to a bad start he's in at the deep end
And in the place he works in he doesn't have a friend.

Winter Memories

The farmer said 'twill rain again for sure
And dykes and drains were full in Annagloor
And river gray to brown was flowing bank high
And northern winds howled in the wintery sky.

And sun has not been seen for many a day
And cows in sheds are bellowing for hay
And birds feasted on crumbs by the back door
Swept out by housewife when she swept the floor.

In leafless wood the chirping of redwing
They will be many miles away by spring
By march the migrants will be homeward bound
To raise their young far from their wintering ground.

And hungry rooks cawed on the sycamore
And darkness came early around half past four
A high of five to minus five degrees
And all night long the wind howled in the trees.

In january spring seemed a distant dream
And dipper silent by the flooded stream
And even daisy nowhere to be found
And snow on Clara and the hills around.

Some bards and poets have only wrote of spring
And leafy woods where nesting songbirds sing
And grassy fields and hedgerows cloaked in green
And only things of beauty they have seen.

But I have seen the fields frostbit and gray
And heard hungry sheep bleat on a winter's day
And I have seen poor songthrush by hedgerow
Her little body lifeless on the snow.

The river flowed bank high through Annagloor
And farmer said 'twill rain again for sure
And hungry birds don't have a song to sing
And sixty days till the first breath of spring.

Where Love Stories Began

Amazing how a simple thought can bring old memories back
Like the advertisment in the Cork Examiner by ballroom proprietor Dominic Mac
Which read 'the Star in Millstreet where love stories begin'
The gray haired grandmother today a teenager back then.

On thursday night at the Star Ballroom we danced our cares away
But the feet that moved so quickly then are not so quick today
And the showband days forever gone each decade something new
And that time doesn't wait on any one so happen to be true.

The Star Ballroom in Millstreet Town where love stories began
But all things in life as we should know don't always go to plan
And many love stories that began there were also quick to fade
And disappointment of the jilted one in heartbreak tears were paid.

I often return to the past as it's not hard to visualize
And the young men and women of the Star Ballroom they dance before my eyes
I see them dancing cheek to cheek to music soft and low
And I am back there in the past back in the long ago.

The Star where love stories begin that advertisment i still see
A little piece of history from the past etched in my memory
But the showband days forever gone and all things don't stay the same
And memories of what used to be are all that now remain.

A Man Named Bill

In a little valley by a bracken covered hill
Stand a white washed cottage by a rippling rill
The owner of this cottage is a batchelor named Bill
And his only true companion is his border collie Jill.

His father was a soldier who died fighting in the war
And his mother got run over by a speeding motor car
And his only living relative his younger sister May
Lives in a distant country many miles away.

But Bill is no ordinary man he's won himself a name
And thoughout the hills and way beyond his is a widespread fame
He's risked his life for others how more noble can one be?
And he's been decorated by the courts for acts of bravery.

He has risked great danger where others might refrain
He once pulled a boy to safety from before a speeding train
And found the little girl who got lost among the hills
A mighty and a brave man is this humble man named Bill.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

My Better Days May Well Be Gone

Though I've been told what I already know that my better days are gone
I don't intend to lie down and die no I will carry on
Until the reaper who claims all life will come for to claim me
Some time in the future whenever that may be.

My better days may well be gone but that doesn't mean that I
Should sit and pine for my lost youth and for decades long gone by
And moan of my lost opportunities and of how the years just seemed to fly
No but I will make the most of life and what time is left to me I will enjoy.

My better days may well be gone but that doesn't bother me
And I won't be found hanging off of a rope tied to a low strong branch of tree
I will live on for as long as I can and of old age fade away
For as Longfellow the poet once said 'it is not always may'

Have You Ever Been To The Arctic

Have you ever been to the Arctic the land of the midnight sun
Where the temeperatures in winter low as minus 51
Where in the prime of summer the sun never goes down
And most of the population live in and close to town.

I've never been to the Arctic the land of the Eskimo
To the wild and rugged north lands where the icy north winds blow
Where the white fox in the winter dig for lemmings in the snow
Of a land I've never been to little I can claim to know.

I've never been to the Arctic the land of the north pole
Where the Polar bear on the sea ice stalks the seal at his blowhole
Home of the caribou and snowy owl, musk oxen and snow goose
And of timber wolf and wolverine and the mighty antlered moose.

It's a harsh climate to live in those who have been there recall
A wide and open landscape where the tallest shrub is small
Where the Eskimo his sled full of skins with his dogs up the snow hills crawl
Of all of the world's peoples he's the hardiest one of all.

Those who have been to the Arctic tell of the wild beauty they did see
Where the narwhal and the beluga hunt in the cold northern sea
Where the walrus dive to great depths and the Polar bear range free
And you wish to know more about it ask some one other than me.

On The Death Of Peter Hayes

You won't find any life around where his remains will lay
And words of praise won't bring him back his soul has gone away
And though he died young at fifty one suppose he had his day
And for flying in fast planes you might say there is a price to pay.

This morning I heard in the news how Peter Hayes did die
The light plane he and his mate David Noble were in just dropped out of the sky
Near Mildura in Victoria their end came suddenly
A cruel blow to the horse racing world and the Hayes family.

A brother to Hong Kong's leading trainer David and the late Colin Hayes eldest son
So much success in horse racing the Hayes family have won
Peter was Victoria's and South Australia's leading trainer and his passing leaves a void
In horse racing a household name he was known far and wide.

The horse racing world is in shock at the news of the death of Peter Hayes
And though the horse racing writers write the eulogies and heap upon him praise
You won't find any signs of life where his remains will lay
A shy and unconceited man his soul has gone away.

The Man From Kilavullen

The man from Kilavullen his ghost is living still
In Claramore near Millstreet Town by ancient Clara hill
From the high woodland and the fields he can't be far away
And where he once lived physically his spirit lives today.

The man from Kilavullen in Millstreet was well known
He had lived there for many years and they claimed him as their own
He liked the taste of porter one of the many who
Enjoyed some time out with the boys in the pub for hour or two.

The man from Kilavullen he never spoke too loud
And he was not the type of bloke for to stand out in a crowd
He did not waffle on for hours as others often do
No Malachy was not that sort and words with him were few.

Of the man from Kilavullen the memories with me will stay
Of him driving tractor for Ben Cronin in the morning damp and gray
And harvesting silage in the summer 'twas a long hard tiring day
And he does deserve his rest now for he worked hard for his pay.

The man from Kilavullen his ghost is living still
In Claramore near Millstreet Town by ancient Clara hill
On the hilly field by the high wood his spirit still reside
That overlook Duhallow and that green old country side.

A Farewell To Sherbrooke

For me it was love at first sight with Sherbrooke right from the very start I loved the place
But now I feel the time is ripe to move on where mine would not be a familiar face
For eleven years I've lived near the Town of Belgrave and on looking back how quick those years have gone
And I am getting older over fifty and I won't be sorry to be moving on.

I like the people of the Dandenong Ranges and good memories of them with me will remain
I found them good and kind and caring people and will I ever meet their likes again?
But the time has come for me to move on elsewhere of the same old scenery I have grown tired
And to live elsewhere for me is a new challenge and we all need challenges to be inspired.

But I shall miss the wooded hills of Sherbrooke and I shall have the fondest memories
Of places such as Selby and Kallista the homes of the majestic old gum trees
And I shall miss the wild creatures of Sherbrooke the kookaburra with the laughing call
The crimson rosellas and the yellow tailed black cockies and the lyrebird the greatest mimic of them all.

And I too shall miss Birdsland near South Belgrave and those pleasant walks I had around the lakes
The loud quacks of the wild born female black duck and the softer quacking of the feral drakes
The cormorant standing quietly on the lake shore with wings stretched out for sun and wind to dry
It's been said by those who know when he's been fishing with water on his wings he cannot fly.

Perhaps I might have lived too long near Belgrave for eleven years in one place seems quite long to stay
And despite my years the wanderlust still in me and I still yearn for places far away
In my dreams I walk the surf beach at Kilcunda and hear the waves against the breakers roar
And at Inverloch stand by the quiet inlet and watch the water lapping on the shore.

Farewell to you old Sherbrooke I am leaving it's time you moved on the voice within me say
And though I hate the thought of parting from you suppose it had to come to this one day
For despite my years the wanderlust still in me though what hair left on my head now silver gray
But I still love the challenge in each new beginning and I still yearn for places miles away.

The Man Who Loves Wonthaggi

The man who loves Wonthaggi is showing his years in gray
And back in the mid fifties he was in his prime day
When he played for East Wonthaggi and he often recall
The year he won the club's best and fairest the best player overall.

East Wonthaggi now a defunct club their colours no longer seen
But memories of his football days with him are evergreen
Born and raised in Wonthaggi and into a man there he did grow
An in his home town he's seen changes as the seasons come and go.

Amongst his friends and family five miles from the sea shore
In Cameron Street he will be laid to rest forever more
In the historical ex coalmining town where he first saw light of day
In Wonthaggi in Gippsland his bones will forever lay.

The man who loves Wonthaggi grows old in his homeplace
For decades now around the town his a familiar face
He played for East Wonthaggi and their juernsey he wore with pride
In the late forties and the fifties before the old club died.

Your Mother

In your days of babyhood when you lived in a cot
This lady took good care of you and loved you quite a lot
She kept you clean and fed you and protected you from harm
And every time you cried she took you in her arms.

You spent the first nine months of life in this lady's womb
She shared with you the happy times and led you through the gloom
Of all the friends you ever had this lady is the best
She fed you from a bottle and you suckled from her breast.

When you are in a gloomy mood and feel down in the mouth
This understanding lady is there to help you out
She worries a lot about you and works for you each day
But the funny thing about it is that she never gets no pay.

This lady is your mother one who is so dear
A person never far away but always very near
Your mother is a part of you she's much more than a friend
Your mother is a woman on whom you can depend.

The Spotted Neck Dove

The spotted neck dove a stocky bird he has a distinct coo
He walks around with bobbing head as insects he pursue
With spotted neck and shortish legs and mostly brown to gray
In parks and gardens near where I live I see them every day.

The spotted neck dove from native crested dove easy to identify
The crested dove makes a whirring sound with his wings as he fly
With crest on head and bronze on wings the difference one can see
And crested dove belong to Aussie bronzewing family.

The spotted neck doves from Asia brought and in the south east set free
And with the Australian bronzewings they do share territory
But with the bronzewings they never mate or mix in any way
They live as neighbours but don't mix and in their own groups stay.

The spotted neck doves build frail nest of sticks in fork of a small tree
And in that nest they hatch their young and raise their family
With spotted necks and shortish legs and mostly brown and gray
In parks and gardens near where I live I see them every day.