Monday, April 30, 2012

Where Nature She Loses Her Temper

The dead are past all cares and sorrows the survivors their life's dreams destroyed
'Tis said that in Nature's moment of anger in Kashmir that thousands of people have died
She leaves behind grief and desolation great buildings toppled to the ground
Where Nature she loses her temper death and destruction to be found.

For our disrespect to Mother Nature there has to be some price to pay
When she flies into fits of anger she flattens everything in her way
Her latest earthquake in Asia proves how destructive she can be
Yet us humans are her benefactors since she feeds all of humanity.

We abuse our marvellous Mother Nature when we pollute her land, rivers and sea
Yet without her we would quickly die of thirst and hunger and none quite so generous as she
And despite her odd fits of bad temper to Humankind she is a friend
And her moods are so very natural since she is not one to pretend.

The dead they are now past all feelings from all cares and sorrows they are gone
And the survivors head for refugee camps and life on the Planet goes on
Where Nature she loses her temper destruction and sorrow are rife
And buildings like pancakes are flattened and there is a huge loss of life.

Marie Reen

Of late I hear she has been quite ill
But one can only hope in time she will
Recover fully and good health regain
And enjoy a life free of any physical pain.

One I recall from many years ago
On meeting she always smiled and said hello
And my good memories remain evergreen
Of Marie the wife of Frankie Reen.

With long brown hair and a marvellous smile
A lovely lady free of guile
And unaffected by conceit
People like her are nice to meet.

She is close to the three score years maybe
Her husband Frank is one age with me
One of the bright pupils in Millstreet Primary School
Where I sat on the dunce's stool.

My wish for her is to make a full recovery
And of any ache or pain live free
And that to an old age she will live
Since to life she still has much to give.

Hell Hath No More Fury

He bores me with the sorry details of his life
Of how he was forsaken by his ungrateful wife
She left and took their two young children a few years ago
And where they now live he does not seem to know.

She was aware he was having his 'bit on the side
And that would have hardly done much for her pride
Hell hath no more fury than a woman's scorn sounds ever true
And the karma we receive is the karma we are due.

With tears in his eyes as he sips on his beer
His sad story in the pub we are obliged for to hear
That he does not see his children on him taking toll
But he is one with not much light in his soul.

To karma for him the price was big to pay
His wife left with the children whilst in church he did pray
He came home to find that from him they had gone
But life in the bigger World out there goes on.

Of his infidelities his wife was aware
And he paid the big price for his extra marital affair
She left with the children for some distant town
And despite his best efforts he cannot track them down.

A Woman From Derrinagree

It is a far smaller cuckoo singing on the wattle tree
From the cuckoo that she once knew when she lived in Derrinagree
And his song is very different cuckoo cuckoo he never say
This bird has a high pitched whistle that he repeats through the day.

Far from North Cork and Duhallow where she lived long years ago
And the old fields green and fertile where the great Blackwater flow
Towards where it flows into the sea at Youghal it ever journeys on it's way
When she left her old home Village flowers were blooming in the May.

Sixteen years out of Duhallow seems a lengthy span of time
Thirty five on her last birthday she has now passed her life's prime
Married to an Aussie fellow with a boy of ten and a girl of nine
She is happy living east of Melbourne for the old home she does not pine.

Attractive, brown haired and a nice person free of guile and self conceit
From Derrinagree in Duhallow five or six miles from Millstreet
In Victoria she raises her children and she is happy with her lot in life
And to a decent Aussie fellow she is a devoted wife.

Speranza's Son

His poems and plays are literary gems his quotes popular today
A genius and a great poet with words he had a way
Incarcerated in Reading Jail he lived at a time
When for a man to love another man was looked on as a crime.

His mother was a great poet Speranza was her name
In the Dublin literary circles of her time she was one who knew fame
She gave to the World Oscar Wilde the truly enlightened one
What woman would not feel proud to give birth to such a son.

His father the antiquarian and gifted writer became famed far and wide
And as an expert on human diseases his worth could not be denied
But nowadays he is better known as Oscar's father the wit and literary great
A legend for the ages and one to celebrate.

The Importance of Being Earnest, The Ballad of Reading Jail
and Lady Windermere's Fan
From the pen of Speranza's son the renowned literary man
And though he died as a pauper in Paris from Dublin far away
Through his humorous quotes and insightful writings his legend lives today.

South Gippsland's First People

They had their corroborees ages ago
In the shade of the trees near where the Tarwin flow
On it's journey through Tarwin Lower on it's way to the sea
This Southern Land has a black history,
They lived in South Gippsland till the white people came
And for this part of Australia they had another name
And they were displaced now does this not seem wrong?
The South Gippsland we know of was Land of Bunurong,
South Gippsland's first people all but an extinct race
They are not seen now in their once old home place
With their dingos they hunted the emu and roo
And far more about Nature's ways than us they knew
And that they were South Gippsland's First people that fact must remain
But some always must lose out for others to gain.

Janet Frame (1924--2004)

A film on her life for to honour her fame
The great New Zealand writer the renowned Janet Frame
'An Angel At My Table' a film worth seeing
On the life of a great writer and a great human being.

Diagnosed as a schizophrenic which was later proved wrong
She survived life in an asylum she was mentally strong
She had years of electric shock treatment when she was in her prime
In the saddest period of her lifetime.

In film and book form her life story is told
And millions of copies of her books have been sold
From a humble beginning in Dunedin Town
She came up the hard way to literary renown.

Though wrongful detention did not ruin her life
Her story is a story of turmoil and strife
A New Zealand icon none greater than she
In life she was famous and in death legendary.

Will I Ever Again

Will I ever again see Caherbarnagh or Gortavehy and his face of stone
Though I fancy from the foot of Clara I can see the old Paps of Shrone
That rise towards the skies of East Kerry not that distant from Rathmore Town
In Sliabh Luachra the home of traditional musicians and of legends of literary renown.

Will I ever again see Duhallow and the fields where the Blackwater flow
Back there now I might feel a stranger and few of me would even know
Since I last lived there a new generation into young adulthood have grown
The old home place migrants never forget the past we should never disown.

Will I ever again hear the dipper singing in the clear mountain stream
The beautiful song of the chaffinch last night came to me in a dream
To the old fields to me once familiar the Seasons they come and they go
In the late Fall the redwings from the north migrate to them
when their home woods are covered in snow.

Will I ever again see old Clara above the fields of Claramore
Above his face of bracken and heather the larks in their nesting season soar
To carol above their nesting grounds up to the gray cloud world they fly
As for me I may well have my long rest far from the fields under the northern sky.

So Old

So old is the stream from the mountain that down to the big river flow
Far older than the first dinosaurs who died out many seasons ago
Forever 'twill flow to the river the river that flows to the sea
On it there cannot be a time span Nature seems so timeless to me.

So old is the cliff by the ocean the cliff that has a face of stone
The child of a volcanic eruption it's birth-date will never be known
Far older than the first hairy mammoth it does not seem to grow older with time
The artists have sketched it for it's rugged beauty and the bards by it inspired to rhyme.

So old is the lake in the valley swelled by the waters off of the hill
It only gave birth to one daughter the clear and free flowing mountain rill
That flows down to the flatter country it's voice one can never mistake
As old as the hill and that is old and as old as it's mother the lake.

So old is the gray haired old fellow though in time he does seem rather young
He lives in the house by the river and his praises have never been sung
In time's eye humans have a brief span and on looking back time seems to fly
And the longer we live which is not long the sooner we are going to die.

We Are From Quite Different Backgrounds

We are from quite different backgrounds and of a different lifestyle we know
And when we meet we don't hold conversation just a courteous
good day or hello,
Our social lives are very different in high class restaurants he dine
And I often eat at McDonalds and drink only cheap ale or wine.

'Tis said birds of a feather flock together with those words I cannot disagree
Our friends with us have much in common that's how it does seem to me
A person interested in greyhound or horse racing seldom pals around with fans of football
Each to their own sounds very truthful and surely that applies to all.

Bureaucrats and Working class people with each other do not pal around
And one can feel sure that in a Royal Palace the Homeless are not to be found,
Money, religion, nationality and culture are things that are known to divide
And between the haves and the have nots the social gap it keeps growing wide.

We are from quite different backgrounds and different in every way
When we meet we don't hold conversation we merely say hello or good day
His social group I'll never be part of though of him nothing ill I can say
To me we are all only mortals we die and our remains decay.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Old Debby Is Just One Example

There is not any truth in the saying that only the good do die young
Old Debby she died in her eighties and her praises never were sung
On her own she raised her two sons and three daughters her husband Joe in an accident died
She had to work to raise her offsprings when of the family bread winner she was denied.

Her Joe a builder fell from a barn eighteen metres to a concrete floor
Of years he had much life left in him the reaper claimed him at forty four
The youngest of their children was six and the oldest only thirteen
Though on looking back on her hard life she never said hard times she had seen.

It surely would make a great story if the story of her life were told
She is one of many examples that the good too can live to be old
She happens to be one of many since her type have never been rare
Though we only applaud the elitist, the celebrity and the billionaire.

Old Debby is just one example and of course there are many more
 Of good people who live on to be old some of them beyond the four score
Some good people live to be over one hundred and some good people as teenagers die
And 'the good only die young' a saying that to reality does not apply.

Quite Different To Patriotism

Quite different to patriotism 'the stay at home' would not understand
The nostalgia that's felt by the migrant when thinking about the Homeland
The nostalgia that gives rise to sadness for what was and cannot be never more
She fancy she hears the gulls calling above the cliffs of the Homeshore.

Her son and daughter in their early twenties and the clock on her life ticking on
Just a few years short of the fifty her better days surely are gone
In this big City she goes unnoticed she can recall a time when she
Was known and liked by everybody in her old home Village by the sea.

A forty eight years old divorcee she is one who knows about life
Her ex husband left her for a younger woman though to him she was a good wife
She has vowed to never re-marry and she will not give love one more try
Her marriage break-up left her shattered once bitten they say twice shy.

Her teen years were surely her happiest in her old Village far away
But back there now she would feel a stranger and here she is destined to stay
She looks well for one in her late forties with brown dye she covers her gray
Time does not wait for anybody the young even grow old one day.

Quite different to patriotism nostalgia is hard to explain
The migrant is far from the Homeland but the love of Homeland with her does remain
When she was a young one of nineteen she left the Village by the sea
On a morning in Spring when the robin was singing upon the birch tree.

Before A Fully Enlightened Human Age

Before a fully enlightened human age pigs will have learned how to fly
And elephants in huge air ships will trumpet in the sky
And dogs will communicate by email and cats will play guitars
And wombats will be astronauts and taking trips to mars.

Before a fully enlightened human age fish will have learned how to live on land
And miles and miles of lush green grass will cloak the desert sand
And sharks and dolphins will live at peace and all creatures of land and sea
Will not compete for territory and live in harmony.

Before a fully enlightened human age war will be a thing of the past
And snails will be born with long legs and be able to run fast
And people of hunger will not die and a good life enjoyed by all
And humans with each other will live in harmony as well as with all creatures great and small.

Before a fully enlightened human age Heaven will be on Earth
And people will not be privileged by their right of birth
And everyone will live forever more and none will have to die
And the predatory lion in reality with the timid lamb will lie.

He Is Now In The Land Of The Reaper

He is now in the land of the reaper the one who penned many a song
One of if not the last of the rhymers to the bardic tradition he belong
A fellow who loved life and nature he surely had the gift of rhyme
Right up till his end he was writing the greatest song man of his time.

He wrote about people and nature and he was a man who loved life
And he penned some beautiful love poems to the one he loved his long dead wife
'Tis sad to think he's gone forever that him we shall never more see
Sitting on the park bench in the sunshine in the shade of the blackwattle tree.

He was such a likeable fellow one who made friends quite easily
He had no illusions of greatness and few were as humble as he
On saturday he'd have a few drinks at the Local and he entertained us all night
He told us some wonderful stories and some of his poems did recite.

He is now in the land of the reaper the very last bard of the town
He was more than a local poet though he never wished for renown
He was such a happy old fellow he always had a smile on his face
And he is sadly missed from the Local since there is none to take his place.

It Would Be Nice

It would be nice to lay amongst the woolly looking clouds of the sky
To where the lark to sing his songs does fly
Of such a thing suppose one can only dream
Though nothing is impossible 'twould seem,
It would be nice to live in a World of violence free
Where difference would not lead to disharmony
In a peaceful World free of offensive crime
This well may be in some distant future time,
It would be nice if everyone knew wealth and fame
If everyone were seen as equal and the same
And everyone seen as a V I P
And no such a thing as inequality
Of such things one can only hope and dream
Though nothing is impossible 'twould seem.

Lets Hear It

Lets hear it for the unsung heroes our toasting glasses to them we'll raise
Those who volunteer their time free of charge for good causes they are surely worthy of our praise
They go off to third World Countries for to help out those in dire poverty
They surely deserve to be honoured for their love of Humanity.

Lets hear it for the men and women some of them well beyond their prime
Who dedicate their lives for others we should laud them in song and in rhyme
They are such altruistic people they care not for wealth and renown
They devote their skills to the poor and the needy a World away from their Hometown.

Lets hear it for all of the unselfish they never think of their own need
They give hope to the innocent victims of those who grow wealthy by greed
They help the poor and the malnourished, the Homeless and Stateless refugees
Who live in the harshest environments and are dying of hunger and disease.

Lets hear it for those worthy people who for the less privileged do care
With those who are poor and malnourished their great gift of caring they share
They devote themselves to helping others and to their higher self remain true
And why not we give them some credit since credit they are overdue.

The Gray Shrike Thrush

How can anyone mistake him this gray feathered minstrel of the Spring
On the sunlit gums and wattles all day long he whistle and sing
Nature lovers of Eastern Australia recognize him by his song
Once heard he cannot be mistaken the next time you won't get him wrong.

In wood, park and country garden one quite often heard and seen
In his slate gray to grayish plumage he stands out amongst the green
He is known as the gray shrike thrush no finer songster than he
He sings for only one reason to proclaim his territory.

Wild-born birds love their freedom born with the wings for to fly
Though some are restricted by their borders they have the freedom of the sky
Some birds by their songs familiar a bird one cannot mistake
Is the gray shrike thrush in the garden piping in the cool of daybreak.

How can anyone mistake him with his distinctive melody
The gray shrike thrush of the rural town garden piping on the wattle tree
Not that very pretty to look at but he pipes a beautiful air
And as a wild feathered songster few with him can hope to compare.

When We Speak Of Good And Evil

When we speak of good and evil we know not what we say
As we all have those traits in us or to me 'twould seem that way
Our so called honourable leaders who condemn crimes of hate
In truth only condemning what they've helped to create.

More bombings in Indonesia and Iraq and Afghanistan every day
And people dead and many left with horrific injuries does it have to be this way?
Where there is want, exclusion and discrimination only anger and mistrust to be found
And for violence of the extreme sort poverty can be a breeding ground.

When war men drop their bombs of death on foreign cities it would be far better instead
If they dropped large parcels of food containing rice and milk and meat and bread
The results would be far better we receive what we sow
We cannot expect respect from others if respect to them we do not show.

When we speak of good and evil we only speak of how great we are
For to bomb foreign cities our Government's war planes travel far
And violence breeds more violence or so it would appear
And peace is suffocating in a World ruled by fear.

The Judas Sheep

The judas sheep up the slaughter-house ramp leads her kindred to die
Yet as a reward for her act of treachery a long life she'll enjoy
The slaughter bound sheep trusted her to lead but she led them to their death
She does not have a sense of right or wrong or a sense of regret.

Tomorrow she will lead more sheep to their deaths and the day after that the same
She is not born with a sense of guilt or with a sense of shame
The slaughter men to save themselves exhaustive work exploit her for her natural need
For many sheep are born as followers and few are born to lead.

In the Human World are born leaders too just like the judas sheep
And for themselves and their close kin huge financial rewards they reap
But humans have a sense of right and wrong and a sense of guilt and shame or so we have been told
And some of our leaders are far more narcissistic and at heart far more cold

Than the poor innocent judas sheep one without a sense of sin
Each day to their deaths up the slaughter ramp she calmly leads her kin
To where the slaughter men for her followers wait she always leads the way
She is doing what she was born to do and she does that every day.

Do Not Take Yourself Too Seriously

Do not take yourself too seriously that's my advice to you
And always to your higher self you ought to remain true
And never steal from poor people that is an awful crime
And if you wish to be a poet never dabble in doggerel rhyme.

Free advice from a poetaster who happens to be me
And this I say not out of sense of a false humility
In the history of humanity I feel like a tiny grain of sand
And like many my own self I struggle to understand.

Do not take yourself too seriuosly as some of the naive do
And do not crave recognition and feel it is your due
That others should look up to you and in your success take pride
In the big picture you are small and the World is big and wide.

Do not take yourself too seriously and enjoy life if you can
For the clock on our lives ticks and ticks and short is our time span
Give credit where credit is due and a fair go to none deny
And though perfection we cannot achieve for it we ought to try.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Why Do We Always Have With Us

Why do we always have with us this sense of self esteem
When to the eyes of the judgemental we are not what we seem
Many dream of wealth and success on their highway to renown
But for the one that builds you up there are two to drag you down.

In the minds of the judgemental a fair go does not exist
Of expressing negative opinions on others they cannot seem to resist
In their assessment of others a fair go they don't apply
You show them a happy person they say appearances can lie.

We all have great dreams for ourselves even the battered wife
She once dreamed of love and happiness and success in her life
But of the man she loved and married she now lives in fear
Of happy dream come true stories we do not often hear.

'Tis everybody for themselves in the big World out there
And as in love and war and other things life is not always fair
For those who dream of greater things there is so much at stake
The uphill road to success is full of casualties and disappointment and heartbreak.

Why do we always have with us this desire in life to succeed
When the only pathway from success us to the reaper lead
And I speak for myself when I ask am I any greater than the short lived butterfly
It lives for a week at the very most and I too like it must die.

Mid Autumn In The Northlands

From the high ground of Claramore the old rill gurgles down
Through flatter fields of Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
And robin on the hedgerow sing his brief song of the Fall
And no mistaking the magpie by his hoarse and chattering call,
The wind from the cold Northlands it blows with a damp chill
And the low clouds only promise rain and the fog crawls down the hill
A cold and wet start to October the wind soughing in the trees
And a forecast high for the day of a cool thirteen degrees,
The first of Winter nearer with every passing day
And the swallows will soon be leaving for warmer climes far away
Mid Autumn in the Northlands and few wildflowers to be seen
And the fields are looking barer though they retain their green
And grass flattened by the river tell of where the floods have been
And a forecast low of seven and a cool high of thirteen.

Jim The Farmer

He sold off all of his milk cows last year at an auction the years have left him looking gray
His son a computer technician works in the City his wife in the cemetery lay
He now farms sheep and beef cattle he will never milk cows ever more
He has just had his seventieth birthday he hopes to outlive the four score.

His father a dairy farmer before him his farm to the son he did pass on
But his own son will be selling the farm when dad to the reaper has gone
To be laid with his wife in the graveyard the farm in the family name
Will be in the name of a stranger I suppose nothing in life stays the same.

He says he will live till he die in the farmhouse what better place for him to die
For more than thirty years he lived with his wife there each others company they did enjoy
She was such a beautiful woman so feminine charming and tall
Good memories we always remember and the good times we tend to recall.

A likeable man Jim the Farmer quiet spoken and just a tad shy
He has never made himself an enemy and he would not harm a fly
In the farmhouse he was born and raised in and he has lived there all of his life
And when the grim reaper will claim him he will go to join his deceased wife.

Lets Face It

Lets face it all cannot be winners for one to win many must lose
And success it never can be bought for the price of a bottle of booze
Success it does never come cheaply the big World out there a rat race
In life there is always some challenge and each day a new challenge to face,
Lets face it all cannot be winners though sour is the taste of defeat
The winners they bask in the glory and winning is always so sweet
The champion team is celebrated though some tell you 'tis only a game
And to them go all of the plaudits and they know of the glory and fame,
Lets face it winners are remembered the others we tend to forget
The one who would swap first place for second is the one that I have never met
The loud applause is for the winner that's how 'tis and 'twill always be
The others are quickly forgotten and they quickly fade from memory
But lets face it not all can be winners suppose such is life one might say
The winner is always remembered the loser forgotten in a day.

Timmy Carroll

His remains lay in St Mary's in Millstreet where he rests at peace I've been told
He passed on in his latter fifties he did not live on for to grow old
Of Dan and John a younger brother his sisters I vaguely did know
May he rest in peace Timmy Carroll my school friend from decades ago.

A strong and a  healthy youngster and I can well recall
The rough and tumble games of the school yard did not faze him at all
In the wrestling games in the school-yard he never came out second best
And he was never found wanting when he was put to the test.

A year or at the most or two older than me
In the early sixties he went off to England him I never more see
But good memories of that good man with me still remain
And what was a great loss to Millstreet was surely England's gain.

A kind hearted fellow in him so much good
And he was one who would help you if he could
In my memory he has not aged he remains as young
And surely his praises deserve to be sung.

The reaper who claimed him will claim us all one day
In Millstreet his Hometown his remains now lay
Farewell Timmy Carroll may you rest in peace
From life's cares and worries you found your release.

Mt Rouse

Mt Rouse in the Southern Grampians it rise above old Penshurst Town
Surrounded by wide open country of dry paddocks stony and brown
Way back when Australia was younger centuries before the first people came
To live in the Southern Country Rouse coughed up his rivers of flame.

Mt Rouse in the Southern Grampians so little about him is known
He was even old in the Dreamtime he seems lonely all on his own
He has inspired many an artist he has inspired the poets to rhyme
The black tribes who once hunted on him they too have gone to father time.

Mt Rouse in the Southern Grampians brown grass on his stony face grow
He surely has been in existence since the first creek downhill did flow
On it's journey to the big river the big water-way to the sea
The things even quite old in Nature that long predate Human history.

The people are much like the Seasons the people they come and they go
And of Nature's ways we're always learning but of Nature so little we know
And Mt Rouse in the Southern Grampians was there centuries before the first crow
And centuries before the dinosaurs and that was a long time ago.

It Is Not

It is not for how long that you live 'tis only for how well you live
Are you one of those selfish people who only know how to take but not give?
In society's eyes very successful and financially a huge success
Out of your business you make a huge profit though your workers must make do on less.

For three score and ten he looks fit and healthy and the reaper for him has to wait
One who has many millions in money and one society celebrate
Yet one who is not to be trusted and to the higher self far from true
Though money does speak every language and to that saying some credit is due.

So many they seem to grow poorer for every known new millionaire
And you tell me all people are equal and you tell me that life is fair
There is nothing wrong with being wealthy when you live in the honest way
If you reward your employess for their hard work for you with what is considered fair pay.

It is not for how long that you live or how much money you accumulate
And though many may see you as successful these things do not prove you to be great
You ought not to be judged by your money or the size of your house or your car
You ought to be judged by your sense of values by the sort of a person you are.

On A Morning In Late September

Above the sunlit paddock just like a small speck in the sky
The little brown skylark is carolling as up to the high clouds he fly
On a beautiful morning in September approaching the prime of the Spring
On bushes and trees all around me the nesting birds whistle and sing.

Each species of bird distinctive by their voice Nature is a marvellous thing
The skylark to proclaim his borders is obliged to take to the wing
In a tussock of grass quite well hidden her eggs kept warm by the heat of her breast
Incubating the next generation his partner she sits in her nest.

A small mob of kangaroos hop through the paddock to the scrub dotted with trees nearby
Away from prying eyes they feel safer their privacy they too enjoy
They stay in cover till twilight and as night fall nears they venture out
And under the cover of darkness they feed and go on hop about.

On a morning in late September the lark o'er the paddock in song
Even by his voice he is distinctive a bird one can never get wrong
And kangaroos hopping to cover they are not often seen by day
Amongst the scrub surrounded by gums and wattles hidden from prying eyes in safety they lay.

Time Does Not Wait For Anybody

Her mirror tells her she looks older she feels time is not on her side
She use hair dyes as well as makeup but the ageing signs she cannot hide
Her body does not look as shapely as it was in her beautiful prime
But then she is not alone in that we all become victims of time.

High cholestrol foods she does not eat one might say she watches her diet
She does not eat chocolate,cream or sugar she does not have a big appetite
She wakes before dawn in the morning and jogs a few miles of the town
Her pet hates are putting on weight and ageing and she has to keep the kilos down.

She cannot recapture her beauty nor she cannot recapture her youth
And she not unlike many others have a problem with facing the truth
That time does not wait for anybody and their better days forever gone
The clock on our lives it is ticking and it never will cease to tick on.

She looks well for one in her sixties she wears makeup and dyes her hair
And she is conscious of her appearance and of herself she takes good care
Yet despite that her body is ageing and her youth and beauty she cannot regain
And in the darkness of the morning she jogs through the town in the rain.

The Homeless Street Kids

For them life is an uphill battle the Children of the lesser Gods
Yet they are the greatest of survivors they survive against all of the odds
From broken homes and of poor parents the future for them looking bleak
Just to survive in their environment they cannot be mentally or physically weak,
As young teenagers on the street and homeless their sorry lives only lead them to crime
They become addicted to narcotics and they look worn and old in their prime
They spend most of their time in prison like their parents as parents they are doomed to fail
You do not reform a person by sending that person to jail,
If they feel the whole World is against them one cannot blame them for feeling this way
In their circumstance of birth and in their parents they never did have any say,
A minority of those born to poor parents against all of the odds succeed
Despite their less privileged childhood a successful life they do lead
But the majority of the homeless street kids they turn to drugs and live by crime
And some of them by the Law wanted and some of them in jail serving time.

Friday, April 27, 2012

The Superb Lyrebird's Song

Amongst the songbirds of Australia with the superb lyrebird as a mimic there is none to compare
He can incorporate the songs of the local songbirds in his song something that is quite rare
The voices of the kookaburra, blackbird, butcherbird and currawong
Are just three of the many voices in the master mimic's song
With the World's best songbird mimics the lyrebird he does rate
The voices of the cockatoos, rosellas, whipbirds and shrike thrush he can easily imitate
The songs of the robins, magpies and scrubwrens in his song you can recognize
Yes the lyrebird is a mimic who never ceases to surprise,
His varied song is beauitiful and his voice it carries far
He can imitate the noise of a chainsaw or the horn of a motor car,
On his display mound with his lyre shaped tail feathers above his back fanned out in a great display
He imitates the songs of the other birds in the woodland every day
And in his breeding Season he gushes forth in miming song
And the notes of any local bird he never does get wrong.

Farewell To Humphrey Kelleher

Farewell to the great Humphrey Kelleher though his was not a lengthy life span
In his prime in the sixties and seventies he was a mighty man
Full back for the Millstreet and Cork Gaelic football teams fearless in the field of play
But a kind and generous man at heart he surely had his day.

I recall him from my schoolgoing days a year older than I
In the class-room in the Millstreet Primary school he was the classroom strong boy
A huge lad for his age then and a giant in his prime
He became the Humphrey Kelleher who inspired the bards to rhyme.

Farewell to Humphrey Kelleher he scaled the heights of fame
In the annals of Gaelic football his is a household name
In September in nineteen seventy three along with three of his famed Clubmen
John Coleman, Con Hartnett and Denis Long he helped Cork to an All Ireland win.

In that marvellous All Ireland final Humphrey was brilliant at full back
And for the highly rated Galway forwards he proved too tough a nut to crack
It is sad to think that at fifty nine to the reaper he has gone
But good memories of the man himself are certain to live on.

Farewell to Humphrey Kelleher memories of him stir up tears
He was a legendary Gaelic footballer way back in the bygone years
A folk hero in his own right yet unaffected by conceit
And one renowned beyond Duhallow and the Parish of Millstreet.

I've Never Said

I've never said that I was a great person
And I've never said that I climbed the Paps of Shrone
And I've never said that I am one without sin
So I won't be the one to cast the stone.

I hail from Millstreet a place in Duhallow
Far north of here even as the crow does fly
And though I am a migrant in this Southern Country
Do not think that makes you better than I.

You are lucky to be born in this great Nation
But that doesn't give you the right to look down
On any man as well as any woman
Who came to live here from a foreign town.

You boast your eldest son is a brave soldier
He fights for his Country in a war waged far away
But many they would look on that quite differently
And they would not agree with what you say.

You tell me that on Anzac Day you always
At the war memorial salute your Nation's flag
But this does not tell me of your patriotism
Seems to me far more like an idle brag.

A true patriot loves all creeds and races
And a true patriot will not tell you war is good,
True patriots love and only defend their own Country
The word patriot is often used but seldom understood.

I've never said that I was a great person
I am just a doggerel writer nothing more
Yet it does not give you the right to look on me as inferior
Because I arrived here from a foreign shore.

When The Angled Onions Are In Bloom

They are considered as a noxious weed by those who profess to know
But the angled onion look pretty in their blossoms as white as snow
Nicknamed the angled onion because of their oniony smell
In woodlands and shady damp places they seem to thrive quite well.

In September and October when yellow flowers are on the broome
In the Woodlands around Sherbrooke the angled onions are in bloom
The flowers of Mother Nature are blooming everywhere
And the loud screechings of the white cockatoos are in the morning air.

When the angled onions are in bloom you know 'tis early Spring
And on bush and tree and scrub clad places the wild birds nest and sing
The pied currawong sing in the wood and gray clouds tell of rain
And the tiny frogs are singing in the pool and watery drain.

When the angled onion are in bloom you know that Spring is here
The piping of the gray shrike thrush is sweet music to the ear
The soft chirps of the crimson rosella one never could mistake
And the white backed magpies are fluting in the faint light of daybreak.

The Famed Millstreet Web Site

Millstreet Town has it's own World wide web site few dreams like that come true
And for that Webmasters Hannelie O Connor and Michael Cashman credit is only due
A great achievement for them and for their back up team
Though lot's of honest effort goes into this 'twould seem.

To Millstreet migrants living around the World their Hometown web site is a marvellous thing
Photographs of familiar faces from the past nostalgic memories to them bring
The old friends may have visibly aged but time on none does wait
And on each and every one of us there is a use by date.

John Tarrant keeps us well informed on sports and the G A A
And Eily Buckley keeps us up to date on the local happenings of today
And Sean Radley 'In passing' to the recent local deceased due respect pay
The present is linked to the past 'tis always been that way.

They are Michael's and Hannelie's main back up team as well there are many more
Who help to bring the news from Millstreet to many a distant shore
And what better way for any Duhallow migrant than spending half an hour at night
On a nostalgic visit to the famed Millstreet Web site.


The World only dark shadows in her sightless eyes
And colours are a thing that she can only visualize
But she can tell the bird it is just by the chirp or song
Her ears her link to her environment and have never proved her wrong.

Lily doesn't need your pity she feels her sightlessness to her is not a drawback
And in confidence and optimism she surely does not lack
Her three years old brown labrador Meg for her eyes is a substitute is with her where ever she goes
A greater friend to her than any Human being and their bond of friendship grows.

Her sightlessness to her she will tell you does not impair her in any way
And she lives her life as others do in their lives of every day
A fluent reader in braille and short stories and essays she does write
As gifted as most people are blessed with the gift of sight.

To recognize me by the sound of my voice Lily does never fail
And her dog Meg to greet me always wags her tail
And often on Sunday mornings in the park off the by street
Out walking in the sunshine them I happen to meet.

Keep Singing Your Own Praises

Keep singing your own praises you surely may as well
For to even those who care to listen to you 'twould seem you cannot sell
Your notion of self achievement they smile at you and say
You've done well for yourself mate greatness from you not far away,
Your sense of yourself as one of life's successes in your presence they embrace
But what they say of you behind your back they will not say to your face
They do not wish to hurt your feelings though your false sense of greatness grows
The ego can be a strange one that's life I do suppose,
Though success from you seems distant and far up the steep hill
If you do not sing your own praises there is none other who will
Even tell of your existence to the bigger World out there
We can be such selfish beings and for our own selves only care
So keep on singing your own praises heaping praise upon your name
For most others not unlike you too are seeking their own fame.

On Seeing A Nankeen Kestrel Being Mobbed By Noisy Miners.

Around a nankeen kestrel a pair of noisy miners fly
And they drive him from their territory across the morning sky
They have their nest with young in it on a tree somewhere nearby
And to protect their nestlings their outmost they will try.

The kestrel would steal and eat their nestlings of that they are aware
And to drive him from their territory no effort do they spare
On behalf of their next generation the songsters of next year
The ever agressive miners of danger lose all fear.

The gray feathered miners with the brown nankeen kestrel their territory they won't share
They keep mobbing him in the sky till he fly to elsewhere
They have their invisible borders and their borders they will defend
And in their breeding Season they trust none as a friend.

They kept mobbing the nankeen kestrel until they had moved him on
And then they returned to a nearby tree when from their borders he had gone
When they feel their young are threatened great courage they display
And the much bigger nankeen kestrel from their territory they chase away.

Paddy Casey

When Paddy Casey left the Clara road forever
The feeling was widespread he would be back
For he could never be happy in heaven
If heaven did not have a greyhound track.

Three times a week to Cork track he did journey
From Inchaleigh just out of Millstreet Town
Sometimes through Macroom and sometimes on the narrow high road
That winds along by Mushera up and down.

I doubt that he could feel happy in heaven
If he could not watch two greyhounds course a hare
In January at the Millstreet Coursing meeting
In the Town Park I fancy he's still there.

He is one I still remember Paddy Casey
I knew him since I was a five year old
He was a cheerful and kindhearted fellow
And you well might say he had a 'heart of gold'

I recall his renowned track bitch Rainbow Lady
Duhallow's fastest greyhound in her prime
At Cork track she won many open races
And bettered thirty seconds every time.

He had so many friends around Cork County
And the feeling was widespread he would be back
For Paddy could not be happy in heaven
If heaven did not have a greyhound track.

In A World Where Money Only Matters

When your amount of money can say more about you than words of you can ever say
It does not speak volumes of the society that we have to live in today
If that only speaks of our true worth it does not say much for humanity
When you say money only matters you seem spiritually bankrupt to me.

In a World where money only matters how poor indeed we all must be
Not surprising that so many people are living in dire poverty
If a few have the most of the money what does that mean for the majority
They struggle just for to make ends meet and they are poor financially.

In this 21st century of big Corporations we now have the privileged few
The wealthy are only growing greedier as more millions in cash they pursue
And thousands they have to grow poorer for every new millionaire
And for millions all around the World about life there is nothing fair.

When we are valued by our worth in money we surely are spiritually poor
The wealthy they keep getting wealthier and for the disease of greed there is no cure
And thousands every day dying of starvation and thousands are dying of disease
And in the refugee camps of the World there are thirty million refugees.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Why Do You Wish To Make Yourself An Enemy

Why do you wish to make yourself an enemy when your friends are so few
That person he is harmless and he does not speak ill of you
You know so little of him and yet you put him down
And doubtless if you had your way you'd run him out of town.

You say you do not like him yet for what reason you cannot say
If he seems quiet and withdrawn that is his natural way
He does not go to the local pub or talk about football
Respect him for the one he is and a fair go for all.

He is new to the neighbourhood which goes in some way to explain
Why to you he is an outsider and as an outsider must remain
For you are a parochial type of person with a narrow point of view
And to the truth of live and let live you never could be true.

Why do you wish to make an enemy of one you hardly know
He is new to the neighbourhood why not give him a fair go
If everyone were like you he would have to move to elsewhere
For by you passing judgement on him do you not think you are unfair?

A Literary Dinosaur

I'm close to the three score years and well beyond my prime
A literary dinosaur a minor man of rhyme
In the modern Literary World an outsider looking in
Suppose there must be many losers for even one to win,
My only god is Nature none so wonderful as she
Her wild born birds they chirp and sing on bush and hedge and tree
For years she has sustained me in her bosom I will lay
When her reaper will claim me in a not too distant day,
A literary dinosaur one more forgotten name
Many fall by the wayside for one to know of fame
Yet the reaper does not respect fame and though their fame will live on
The World's most famous people back to Mother Earth have gone
And the little mouse that lives in the ceiling is no less a mortal than I
Though I may well outlive him one day I too must die.

Inverloch In South Gippsland

For your ideal holiday location Inverloch is such a place
For to sunbake on the wide beach there is always heaps of space
Free of dirty factory chimneys puffing black smoke to the sky
'Tis a place well worth a visit and a place you will enjoy.

Inverloch in coastal South Gippsland it is lovely in the Spring
In the Parklands on the gum trees all day long the magpies sing
And the pleasant song of the blackbird a familiar song to me
And the gray shrike thrush is piping as he flies from tree to tree.

Once the hunting, fishing and meeting place of the Indigenous Bunurong
To the culture of the Dreamtime their history belong
They had their festive gatherings in the shadow of the trees
Where they laughed, sang and made merry and danced their corroborees.

Inverloch in South Gippsland a nice place to holiday
Or to spend a few days by saltwater for a weekend getaway
From the polluted and noisy suburbs where the air is never clean
Though the birds too sing in the Suburban Parklands and Suburban parks are green.

The Changes Keep Happening

The changes keep happening in Millstreet I'm told
And the baby boomer generation are now getting old
And for anybody time never does wait
We are all mortal beings on us a use by date,
It seems a changed Parish from the one I did know
But the old Finnow river through Inchaleigh flow
Down to the Blackwater it gurgles along
Where in fancy I can hear the dipper in song
The dark brown river bird with breast white as snow
His ancestors I did know many Seasons ago
And where mine was as one might say a familiar face
I would be a stranger now in the home place
But Clara Mountain by Millstreet Town I surely would know
The bracken on his face as ever does grow.

I Am A Very Lucky Fellow

In a World where many go hungry and millions of malnutrition die
I tell myself I am so lucky yes so very lucky am I
To have never known what it feels like to be hungry life is like a game of chance
Things might have been different for me were I born in different circumstance.

Compared to many I may seem poor though I don't see it that way
Since I've never known what it feels like to go hungry even for a day
Thousands of poor homeless people are wandering on no hope street
Searching through rubbish bins in desperation for discarded food to eat.

Of war and terrorism in the news of late we only hear
And the power hungry cling to their power by their broadcasting of fear
And so many homeless people on the long road to nowhere
In the World that they live in compassion is very rare.

I am a very lucky fellow though financially in the red
Never once gone without dinner and I sleep in a warm bed
Millions of others not so lucky lady luck is kind to me
In the bigger World out there so much want and poverty.

She Has Her Plans Made

Quite near retirement age she is sixty three
She has her plans made to grow old by the sea
She looks at the real estate ads every day
A one bedroom apartment would suit her okay.

She dyes her hair brown for to cover her gray
Her daughter has Primary School going children today
For one in her sixth decade she does look quite well
Though the passing of time on her beginning to tell.

A Primary Schoolteacher she knows about life
Her ex husband is now with his second wife
She will not re-marry once bitten twice shy
A divorcee she'll remain till the day that she die.

In a quiet sea side town by car less than two hours away
From polluted Suburbia she will retire she say,
She will go into old age free of stress and care
In a healthier environment in the clean coastal air.


I feel saddened to think that I'll never more see her the one with gray hair and brown eyes
She was such a wonderful person so charming and clever and wise
Her insights and quiet sense of humor in memory with us will live on
Her legacy will remain with us though she from us is forever gone.

I often see her in the Parkland always with a smile on her face
The old Town worse off for her passing since there is none to take her place
She is now with the Town departed though her soul is not where her body lay
Decomposing in her pine coffin surrounded by brown earth and clay.

Tammy she was such a good person and her I shall never forget
And I do recall with great sadness the last time that she and I met
It was down at the shopping centre and clearly she was on the fail
And though she seemed happy and smiling she looked rather sickly and pale.

In retrospect she had a good innings she reached the age of eighty three
But 'tis sad to think that she is gone forever that her we will never more see
The ups and downs of life she knew of but she was not one to regret
And she left us with wonderful memories and her we will never forget.

In September In Duhallow

The storm water is gurgling in the swollen roadside drain
And I hear the robin singing in the wind and drizzling rain
And brown Autumn leaves in their thousands to Mother Earth drifting down
Off of the trees and hedgerows in the fields by Millstreet Town.

Old Finnow bank high is flowing babbling loudly on his way
Through the fields of Inchaleigh and Coomlogane and Claraghatlea
And above the loud flood waters I can hear the dipper's song
His voice can't be mistaken one could never get him wrong.

From the old fields by the river I am never far away
In my happy flights of fancy I walk them every day
The man can leave the Townland the wise have been known to say
But the memories of home go with him and the memories with him stay.

It is raining in mid morning through gray clouds the sun doesn't shine
In September in Duhallow 'tis not always warm and fine
And old Clara Hill is hiding behind a blanket of fog
And Finnow bank high is rushing through the wet fields by the bog.

Leave Nature Be

With Nature's ways why do we interfere
Of genetic modification and cloning too much we hear
Why tamper with our Earth Mother why not let her be?
Human interference with her seems all wrong to me.

Leave Nature to her own devices please
As humans experimenting with her can give rise to disease
She grows our food and off of her we do live
And we take from her but to her we never give.

In her workings we should not have a say
Leave Nature be to live by her own way
To herself Nature remains ever true
What we do to her to our own selves we do.

We do not own Nature though to her we belong
And to tamper with her to me seems all wrong
Leave Nature be that is my earnest plead
Interference from us is one thing she doesn't need.

We Should Make The Most Of Every Day

We should make the most of every day and life's challenge enjoy
For the longer that we live 'tis said the sooner we will die
The people who have the most power are mere mortals after all
They too have a use by date on them like brown leaves of the Fall.

I'm not the man I used to be the years have left me gray
But I'm determined for to make the most of every day
We age a bit with every hour and short is our time span
But do as honest people do and live long as you can.

So many people doing it hard in the big World out there
And many have the right to say that life to them's unfair
I too could have been born in the slums but luck is on my side
And if I should die tomorrow a good life I'll have enjoyed.

The gap between the haves and have nots is widening and it only grows and grows
And the wealthy getting wealthier that's life I do suppose
And the poor keep getting poorer and their numbers multiply
And only the very privileged life's luxuries can enjoy.

We may be at the wrong end of the great social divide
But we should make the most of living since time's not on our side
On our lives the clock is ticking and it ticks and ticks away
And I feel grateful to be living when I wake to light of day.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

When Nice Things Of Us Are Said

When words to them have a ring of flattery and praise goes to the head
And our egos become swollen when nice things of us are said
We become smug and arrogant consumed by our conceit
The humble one in the house of flattery will never find a seat.

The ego is so cowardly the truth the ego fear
The raw truth on them is something that few people wish to hear
But of an overinflated ego the truth can set us free
It can make us look inward and our true selves we can see.

The Club of Mutual Admiration it is a Worldwide Club
And even some of it's members drink at the Local pub
They sing each others praises words of flattery they enjoy
Praise it seems to keep them happy like a child with a new toy.

How can we improve as people if the truth on ourselves we do not wish to know
If light cannot penetrate the aura 'tis the ego only grow
That's what happens when we fall for insincere words of flattery
Many of us take ourselves too seriously that's how it seems to me.

What They Stand For I Hate

To any form of a higher self they never could be true
I cannot say I hate them but I hate some of the things they do
To the naive and vulnerable to get rich quick is their aim
They are the type of people who do not have a sense of shame.

'Tis sad to think that nowadays their type are not rare
And some will stoop to any low to become a millionaire
To them it comes quite natural to lie, embezzle and cheat
And others must grow poorer whilst they grow wealthy by deceit.

To get rich quick by their get rich quick schemes they tell lie after lie
But the words what goes around always comes around to them surely does apply
They save up in bad karma to karma they must pay
And karma for payment will call on them one day.

Through their greed and corruption their little empires grow
But the poor seeds of bad karma for themselves they only sow
And with the one known as bad karma they have booked a future date
And though I can't say that I hate them what they stand for I hate.

Memories Of The Past With Me Remain

The mentors I knew in my boyhood with the dearly departed lay
But they are alive in my memory and mental pictures of them till death with me will stay
They left me their great gift of insight the wisdom to them handed down
By the wise elders of their younger years who lived in and near the Hometown,
Some of the boys and girls I grew up with are the grandparents of today
And like me the years now telling on them the years leave us all looking gray
And the hands of time ever keep turning the clocks on our lives ticking on
Of the past we now only have memories for the past from us is forever gone,
I was a school-boy of the fifties in time now that seems long ago
In the clear stream that flowed by my old home the dipper's voice I got to know
The robin he sang on the cypress the dunnock chirped on the hedgerow
And I had become quite familiar to the hoarse loud caw of the gray crow,
The stream bank high flows to the river swelled by recent heavy showers of rain
And despite the comings and goings of the Seasons memories of the past with me remain.

The Honest Politician

He told the truth the truth as he did see it the Politician up to a few years ago
But truthful Politicians not appreciated and even some of his old mates nowadays see him as a foe
Rejected by the people and his Political Party truthful Politician not meant to succeed
In politics the honest fall by the wayside the shady characters destined to lead,
I see him as a very honest person though he seems to have a sharp sting to his tongue
'Tis one like him we do need for a leader though Politician like him become the unsung,
One might say that he told it as he see it the truthful person is one free of fear
But in politics the truthful come out losing for even the voters the truth do not wish to hear,
The political leaders we vote to represent us tell more of us than words can ever say
We respect people who do not have high values and from those who stand for something we choose to turn away
The honest Politician now seen as a ratbag his gift of truth proved to be his downfall
But in years from now in a more enlightened era wise people with some sadness will recall
The Politician who told it as he see it his gift of truth robbed him of his place in history
And it will be noted he was a good person and few left politics as clean as he.

It Is Survival Of The Fittest

On the flesh of smaller forms of wildlife the eagle she does fill her craw
A predator of Nature's wild kingdom and Nature lives by her own law
And the predators of Nature's wild kingdom they have to kill to stay alive
It is called the survival of the fittest where only the fittest survive.

The fear of creatures of the jungle when they listen to the big cats roar
But in Nature big cats are not seen as killers they hunt for survival nothing more
They have to hunt when they are hungry of meat they need their daily fill
It is one of the Laws of Nature that the predator to eat must kill.

Nature never grieves for her dead creatures to grieve it is not Nature's way
She is above sorrow and pity when on her bosom her dead creatures lay
Us humans too are part of Nature we live for awhile and we die
The creatures of Nature's wild kingdom they are not less mortal than I.

It is called survival of the fittest it happens in Nature night and day
Those that are born to be meat eaters on other creatures have to prey
And birth and death to Mother Nature are part of life and of the same
And for the deaths of her wildborn her predators she never blame.

For One

For one who often kneels and prays to god
I must say some of your ideas do seem odd
When you say all of those with a different god to your's are wrong
To a narrow church 'twould seem you do belong.

For me a godless man of doggerel
You only see an afterlife of hell
And though we will all receive the karma we are due
Judge not and thou shalt not be judged also applies to you.

For one who profess for to lead a pure life
You are not kind and loving to your wife
You see women as inferior to men
Is verbal gender bashing not a sin?

For one who says your god loves humankind
Your own flaws are not very hard to find
One can only hope that the god that you love true
Is less judgemental and fairer than you.

All He Has Left Are The Memories

All he has left are the memories the memories of what used to be
Of where he grew into manhood in the Village by the Atlantic sea
Where everybody knew everybody everyone in the Village he did know
There now he would be a stranger since he left there a long time ago.

He has retained his Welsh accent with him no doubt it will stay
Until the reaper will claim him and in time from him that can't be too far away
For he has had his eighty third birthday for him time too did not wait
All of us Humans mere mortals we are born with a use by date.

Way back in the early forties he proved himself a man amongst men
In the last great war in Europe medals for his bravery he did win
Back then he was quite a hero and his praises often were sung
Back then he did have a future as the future belong to the young.

All he has left are the memories of his Village by a distant shore
Here in this southern Country his bones will lay forever more
One more forgotten old hero time has left him bent and gray
He was a child of the twenties but children too grow old one day.

The Gods Are Against Him

So much of his time and effort has been wasted 'twould seem
And his lack of success bad for his self esteem
The glory he dreamed of to him never came
And he remains anonmyous due to his lack of fame.

The gods are against him some even would say
And lady luck from him she has turned away
And that he is not appreciated for his art
It does seem to weigh heavily on his heart.

His paintings on wildlife to me seem so good
Of the animals and birds of the hedgerow and wood
And though visually his art seems quite good enough
That he cannot even sell one canvas on him must be tough.

As a very fine artist he is not recognized
And that he is not very famous I for one feel surprised
But only in his late twenties he still seems quite young
And his praises may yet be deservedly sung.

The Mother Will Stand By Her Son

A fellow not fired by ambition than him not a lazier one
But one woman always will love him the mother will stand by her son
Others criticize him for his lack of motivation but the mother her boy will defend
In her eyes he is a true champion she will always be his greatest friend.

His spouse left him and with her took their baby for to start off a new life elsewhere
She had grown tired of their poor existence of trying to get by on welfare
And though the fair minded do not condemn her for trying to do better in life
For the breakup of her son's marriage the mother she blames his ex wife.

He will always be loved by his mother in her eyes he cannot do wrong
Despite his flaws obvious to others her loyalty to him remains strong
Whilst others dismiss him as a loser one woman remains on his side
His mother sees him as a success and she speaks of her son with great pride.

A fellow not fired by ambition he sits at home and drinks every day
And whilst others see him as a failure one of him has great things to say
And at every given opportunity the praises of her boy she will sing
To her he is the World's greatest the one who deserves to be a king.

In Those Old Rushy Fields

O'er an old rushy field in Duhallow like a tiny speck in the sky
A little brown skylark is carolling as up towards the gray clouds he fly
Till out of my sight he has vanished though his pleasant song I still hear
In the silent sky his voice echo so beautifully natural and clear.

In those old rushy fields west of the Town of Millstreet where old river Finnow ever flow
On his Journey to the Blackwater of some of Nature's ways I got to know
The tiny wren with the big bird song he often sang in the hedgerow
But the years have left me looking older and that was a long time ago.

The gray crow cawed on the old beech tree his voice one could never mistake
And on a cypress tree in the garden the robin he piped at daybreak
The old bird has gone to the reaper his descendants the songsters of today
Back then I was a young man of twenty but the years have left me looking gray.

In those old rushy fields west of Millstreet 'suppose they have not changed in time'
I fell in love with Mother Nature and I became addicted to rhyme,
I fancy I hear the song of the chaffinch and the gentle babble of the rill
As it winds it's way down to the river through the fields at the foot of the hill

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

If There Is A Life Hereafter

If there is a life hereafter life won't be so bad in Hell
If old Satan allows me pen and paper for to pen doggerel
Just to appease my addiction and practice my gift of poor rhyme
Many frown on such a hobby see it as a waste of time.

Though my friends were never many and my enemies were few
I would write about the people that on Planet Earth I knew
Some of them god fearing people and they regularly did pray
And for my denial of the existence of a supreme being in the afterlife I pay.

In Hell I would write about the rivers that flow downland to the sea
And the wildborn birds of Nature that sing on bush and tree
Were I allowed pen and paper life on Earth I would recall
And Hell it would be bearable not such a bad place after all.

Of an entry into Heaven at the gate I'll be denied
And if there is a life hereafter in Hell I will reside
But if Satan allows me pen and paper his praises I will even sing
And me he may even honour me with the title of doggerel king.

She Cannot Be Called A Quitter

She has lived with many men in her time a mother but never a wife
And she knows about the great battles that are part and parcel of life
She has recovered from major heart surgery brought on by a massive heart attack
And she cannot be called a quitter when down she rises and she fights back.

No substitute for life experience and plenty of that she has known
Her two sons now in their mid thirties have school going children of their own
She lives in a one bedroom basement apartment in the working class side of the town
To be one of life's great survivors is her only claim to renown.

A gap in her mouth two of her upper front teeth missing for teeth replacement she can't afford to pay
In her younger years she was attractive the years have left her wrinkled and gray
She has been a victim of male violence for life's experience in pain she did pay
But she will tell you that all men are not women beaters that most of her ex lovers to her were okay.

She is one you will not hear complaining though of the hard life she has known
One in her mid to latter fifties she will live into old age alone
I often see her in the Parkland a very nice person to meet
When she smiles one can't help but notice the gap caused by her missing teeth.

McDonalds Best

The one who served me in McDonalds a brown haired lass her eyes were blue
To me she did seem very friendly some would say too good to be true
She served me with a happy giggle to such memories one does like to cling
A small wall plate on the wall at McDonalds states a smile doesn't cost one a thing.

Perhaps she was carrying out Company policy though not all of McDonalds staff are so friendly to me
She made me feel good about myself not the man in my mirror I see
She may not have been one hundred per cent genuine but with her she had a charming way
And she won me with the warmth in her greeting and her beaming smile did make my day.

McDonalds best she surely is that in her nothing aloof or cold
A warm greeting pleases the customer a smiling face nice to behold
A woman perhaps in her early twenties the role of the top hostess she played
But despite her value to her Company she is not amongst the highly paid.

She may not have been one hundred per-cent genuine but she seemed so friendly and nice
And I could only smile along with her though fast food had gone up in price
A smiling face is good for business like the steel plate on McDonalds shop wall
That reads 'a smile does not cost a thing' one must say those words say it all.

The Future Belong To The Children

The future belong to the children their best years of them lay ahead
And though for some from humble beginnings life's pathways to glory have led
The children born of wealthy parents in life are advantaged with a huge head start
Though money cannot buy one a good soul or give one a generous heart.

The future belong to the children that cannot be said now of me
My better days they are behind me each time I look in my mirror I see
A gray haired old bloke pushing sixty one might say I've seen a better day
I've earned my greyness and wrinkles to reach here I've come the hard way.

The future belong to the children time is on the side of the young
The songs about long dead war heroes are songs that are never more sung
Old age it is surely a punishment when aches and arthritis sets in
If you cannot win in your twenties you are never destined for to win.

The future belong to the children though the prime years of life go so fast
I was a young man of the sixties but now I'm a man of the past
The children of the wealthy parents have a huge advantage 'twould seem
To be born and raised in the poor suburb cannot be good for one's self esteem.

You Who Are Into Comparing People

You who are into comparing people your favourite subject is Human I Q
Of the true worth of an individual I'm sure you do not have a clue,
You tell us all people are equal yet people you always compare
And sad to think your type are many and sad to think your type are not rare.

You who are into comparing people by their financial well being or the work they do
Your own higher self you cannot find to your own self you ought to be true
The so called under achievers of the Classroom may one day be seen as the best
They may be quite outstanding people when values are put to the test.

You who are into comparing people you help to uphold the social divide
You are not an endangered species there are millions like you Worldwide
You feel at home amongst the judgemental you look at life through narrow eyes
And you will never be remembered as one who was prudent and wise.

You who are into comparing people you have your own problems 'twould seem
Your talk of the haves and the have nots says little of your own self esteem
When you waffle on without thinking you do nothing for Human kind
And sad to think that people like you are abundant and never have been hard to find.

The Rill From The Foot Of The Mountain

The rill from the foot of the mountain that joins the river to the sea
It has babbled on downhill forever by hedgerows in the high
It has witnessed the birth and death of millions of Seasons even before the first Human was born
In the upland wood where it flows through the birds sing at dawn of the morn.

The rill it is truly immortal something that will live forever more
Forever 'twill flow to the river that flows to the great ocean shore
To it there is not a time limit it is as old as father time
It has inspired the long dead poets to glorify it in their rhyme.

The rill from the foot of the mountain towards the river ripples along
And sometimes above it's quiet babble the dippers can be heard in song
The dark brown white breasted waterbirds of Human kind they do seem shy
By the water-way they were born and in the water-way they will die.

The rill from the foot of the mountain downhill to the big river flow
The ancestors of the upland farmers who lived by it centuries ago
In the old Village graveyard it flows by with the long departed they lay
As on for to join the big river it babbles on it's downhill way.

You Can Only Live In The Present

Some people they lament their lost youth whilst others their life's twilight enjoy
You laugh the whole World laughs around you but you worry and soon you will die,
You wish you were young again in your twenties but the clock on your life it ticks on
And to the past you cannot return for the past it is forever gone,
You can only live in the present so do make the most of today
Tomorrow who knows what awaits you though tomorrow is only hours away
If you are cranky and in a foul mood others of you do not wish to know
But if you are happy and nice to others the numbers of your new found friends grow
Your happy face is like a magnet it draws other people to you
And your friendly greetings others will greet in likeness with a cheery 'how do you do'
All of last week you were in a good mood but the good mood for you did not last
And you cannot return to last week for last week is now in the past
You can only live in the present and the present for you is today
Who knows what tomorrow holds for you though tomorrow is only hours away.

The Mystic And The Realist

In his poem 'To the Cuckoo' Wordsworth described the bird as a mysterious thing
As if a bird's voice without a bird out of nowhere did sing
As he told he searched for the bird on bush and sky and tree
And yet that voice to him remained as a great mystery.

John Clare the poet from Helpston where he lived when he was young
Once got so close to the cuckoo that he even see her tongue
A leading student of Nature's ways Nature he did not mystify
He never told of searching for a mysterious bird in bush and tree and sky.

Poor John Clare had a mental illness by life he was given a raw deal
But he did see Nature for what she is he see Nature as real
The birds and animals that lived around him he intimately knew
And to the reality of Nature till death he remained true.

The Mystic and the Realist they see things differently
What was a real bird to one to the other was a mystery
What makes us all interesting is that we are more different even than we realize
And we see the World around us through very different eyes.

Cape Paterson In South Gippsland

Renowned for it's natural beauty and it's great scenery
Cape Paterson in South Gippsland that overlook the sea
A nice place for to visit if you are passing that way
And one could not find a more peaceful place for to grow old and gray,
By coastal holidaymakers it is not that well known
But Cape Paterson in South Gippsland has a charm of it's own
As near a place to Utopia as one might wish to find
The freshness of the sea spray is blowing in the wind,
In the quiet coastal Village in the early days of Spring
Upon the coastal banksias the red and brush wattlebirds sing
When compared to most other sea side places Cape Paterson seems quiet
And even in the holiday Season no loud parties that last into the night
In the quaint Village by the ocean that will never grow into a Town
Miles from the nearest highway where few cars pass up and down.

Winning Only Matters

The praises of the winners we only like to sing
But when big egos are deflated it is not a bad thing
For an over inflated ego on some champions takes it's toll
And they can become quite arrogant with less light in the soul.

Some people become arrogant when their egos are fed
And when others sing their praises it goes straight to the head
But those who helped to build them up are the first to drag them down
The fear of failure is the price for success and renown.

In a World where winning counts for everything so much of self interest is at stake
It is the reason why for some that defeat is hard to take
Humility and graciousness are gifts that few possess
The bigger the size of the ego the more craving for success.

To be the best at something for many a great dream
And winning only matters at least that's how 'twould seem
We honour them in victory and give them self conceit
And leave them with deflated egos when we ignore them in defeat.

Monday, April 23, 2012

The Poor Are Left To Suffer

The Natural disaster that has happened in and around New Orleans could happen anywhere
But that the poor should suffer most as always seems unfair
When unpredictable Mother Nature her breath of anger blow
The wealthy thanks to their money to live to elsewhere can go,
The poor are left to suffer as if they do not count
Though the numbers of the injured dying and dead to many thousands now amount
Millions in money spent in fighting wars by Governments every day
But when their own poor are in trouble from them they turn away,
Our lack of compassion and empathy will be Humanity's downfall
When money only matters 'tis a poor World after all,
In the history of Humankind we are at an enlightened stage
And we have come far in technology in this space and nuclear age
But Governments lacking in compassion or so 'twould seem that way
And the poor are getting poorer a sad thing to have to say.

Yvonne Delacy's Brainchild

The market at Kallista is Yvonne Delacy's brainchild
For to get it up and running she worried and she toiled
Yet in the mountain village few mentions of her name
She is the quiet achiever she never yearns for fame.

The monthly market at Kallista into a huge success has grown
The brainchild of a brainy woman who is not that well known
Even in her own place of Kallista where she still resides today
Fame is for those who yearn for it or so 'twould seem that way.

On the first saturday of every month the quiet Village of Kallista comes alive
And the market field deserted at other times like a busy Human hive
Of stall holders and market goers and trade is always good
In the market of Kallista in the shadows of the wood.

The brainchild of Yvonne Delacy it was her dream come true
But she does not get the credit the credit she is due
For starting Kallista Market it has grown and grown in time
And to the one whose idea it grew from I dedicate this rhyme.

Mother Nature Without Us Will Live On

If you go by the Mayan and Hopi predictions life as we know it in the year 2012 will end
But I'm not one who can claim to be psychic so why should I even pretend
That on the 21st of December in 2012 some catastrophe will happen that will wipe out all of Humanity
If you want more light on this subject ask one more enlightened than me.

The Mayans are thus far right in their predictions of every Empire's rise and fall
So will December the 21st in 2012 as predicted be life's final day for us all?
But these predictions are quite esoteric we can interpret things in our own way
Though Mother Nature is getting more angry and more talks of wars every day.

In Humanity's lust for survival our own kind we may well destroy
But Mother Nature will live on without us and Nature's creatures will surely enjoy
A life free of Human persecution some of us can be so very cruel
This World is ours for to live in this World is not ours for to rule.

Some people think war is not terrorism though in truth they are one of the same
For war too spreads panic and fear amongst people terrorism by another name
This war that is now waged on terrorism will be a war without end or win
This World is not ours for to destroy this World is ours to live in.

If you believe in the Hopi and Mayan predictions the end of Human existence is near
But if there's a Heaven for good people the good they have no cause for fear
And Mother Nature will live on without us and her Seasons they will come and go
And songbirds will sing in her Wild Kingdom and her rivers to her oceans will flow.

Kallista In The Early Spring

Pink blossoms blooming on the fruit trees at the start of a nice sunny day
From this wooded place on the high ground Utopia can't be far away
On a young mountain ash near to where I am standing the familiar gray butcherbird sing
I love it for it's Natural beauty Kallista in the early Spring.

Tom Roberts, Arthur Streeton and Fred Williams in old Sherbrooke lived years ago
Those who know anything about culture of these famous artists would know
As well as the famed Indigenous artist Lin Onus seven or eight years ago as a young man he died
He too a great talent of Sherbrooke and his fame is known far and wide.

One can understand why they choose to live in Sherbrooke as Sherbrooke has a soul of it's own
The giant mountain ash trees east of Melbourne one can say are very well known
For size they rival the redwoods of America in the Yarra Ranges from Gembrook to Upwey
They tower over all on the high ground the monarchs of all they survey.

It is such a beautiful morning with only a very faint breeze
And the weather temperatures are near to perfect from 18 to 20 degrees
The magpies piping in the woodland the currawong's voice to it has a familiar ring
And the rosellas chirp in the sunshine in Kallista in the early Spring.

We All Seem To Be Very Different

Some like to play sports or watch football and some like to dance or to sing
Suppose we are very different we all like to do our own thing
And some like to go to the theatre and some sketch and some like to write
And some like to sit and watch  t v  and some go to the pub at night.

Some are known to be outgoing and chatty and others are known to be shy
We all seem to be very different having said that I do wonder why?
That we are not creatures of sameness even differences in like minded kind
Two people who agree on all things would be very hard for to find.

Life for us is a learning process from the time that we learned how to talk
We crawled on the floor watched by our mother before we could stand up and walk
Some never stop learning from living and their past mistakes they can recall
Whilst others with far bigger egos from life learn nothing at all.

We all have our different ambitions and different careers we pursue
But no matter what your vocation to your own self always be true
And though you be quite good at something there is always one better than you
And always respect other people and give credit where credit is due.

A Memory To cherish

The wildering flowers are blooming in the Parkland by the sea
And nesting birds chirping and singing on bush and shrub and tree
And there is the scent of freshness in the cool clean coastal air
Days like today are perfect and perfect days are rare,
From the park above the ocean the sea looks calm today
To describe such beauty as this the words I cannot find to say
The swallows o'er the sunlit parkland in circles chirp as they fly
A memory to cherish until the day I die,
The surf waves at their tamest towards the beach gently roll
And the calmness all around me it seeps into my soul
The Goddess of Spring has arrived resplendent in her green
And the beauty she brought with her in abundance to be seen,
All is peaceful in Nature's Garden beneath a sunlit sky
A memory to cherish until the day I die.

Wattle Day

In this great Land of Australia today is Wattle Day
And in South Gippsland in Victoria the morning sky is gray
On the first day of September the first of the calendar Spring
Upon the flowering wattle tree the gray butcherbird sing.

The colours of Australia as it often has been told
Were inspired by the green wattles in their flowers the color of gold
From mid Winter to early Spring it is a marvellous sight to see
The golden blossoms blooming on a lovely wattle tree.

Before dawn it was raining and a slight chill in the breeze
But the morning it is not cold around nine or ten degrees
And overnight across the parks and paddocks whilst many were asleep
The beautiful Goddess of Spring in her green dress into the town did creep.

She arrived without fanfare the town band for her did not play
But the wild birds sang to greet her in the dawn of Wattle Day
The frogs sing in the roadside drain a sign that rain is near
But balmy days not far off since Spring herself is here.

Show Them What You Are Made Of

The past is gone forever your challenge lay ahead
And that you are a quitter let that never be said
The odds may be against you the going you may find tough
But show them what you are made of that you are good enough.

In the recent past you have been feted as a hero of the town
But there are people out there who will kick you when you're down
Most people admire winners or so 'twould seem that way
The past is gone forever your comeback starts today.

From a humble beginning you became a huge success
But nowadays you are living at a less well known address
Lady luck she smiled upon you yet with you she did not stay
When the going gets tough the tough gets going a wise one once did say.

Show them what you are made of do not throw the towel in
You have had your spell of losing you are overdue a win
The odds may be stacked against you your back is to the wall
But you have got it in you to rise after a fall.

You Like To Talk About War Heroes

You like to talk about war heroes I'll take you to meet one today
On warm days he sits on a park chair from here in distance a short walk away
In him you may feel disappointed he is frail and aged and gray
He has blocked out most of his war memories of war he has little to say.

He is not your idea of a hero but heroes they too do grow old
Just one more forgotten old warrior the years on him in wrinkles have told
He fought under the flag of his Nation in his Country he had great pride
A survivor of the war trenches where thousands of brave young men died.

He lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in a cold and drafty place to live in
Yet in his early twenties he was a decorated soldier and medals for his bravery he did win
For him it has all come to nothing and on the reaper's call he wait
On war memorial day he does not walk in the parade he feels no cause to celebrate.

You like to talk about war heroes you come for a short walk with me
And sitting on a park chair in the sunshine a war hero in the flesh you will see
Long before your father was born he fought in a war from here far away
He is the last of his battalion his war comrades amongst the dead lay.

When Alison Met Scotty

When Alison met Scotty the sparks of love did fly
Though outwardly an extrovert he did seem rather shy
When making the approach to her to ask her for a kiss
But when their lips met for the first time the feeling was sheer bliss.

When Alison met Scotty the feelings of love did grow
And of her feelings for him she quickly told him so
And now when out together they do walk hand in hand
Love can come accidentally it is not always planned.

When Alison met Scotty Winter was in the air
And the deciduous trees in the Parkland without their leaves looked bare
But love is a warm feeling and their passion it did glow
And their feelings for each other in public they now show.

When Alison met Scotty the wind soughed in the trees
And the night was rather chilly close to zero degrees
But the glow of love is warm and as they walked in the night air
Of their feelings for each other they did feel so aware

When Alison met Scotty the chilly winds did blow
And now at the dawn of Spring the snowdrops as white as snow
Are blooming in the Parkland and their bond has strengthened with time
And their love for each other will surely outlive this rhyme.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Life Is Only About Living

You may be financially wealthy or you may be struggling to survive
But life is only about living yes only about being alive
The dead can't be of assistance to anyone though their legacy they leave behind
In death we still sing the praises of those who in life were good and kind.

So many are poor and downtrodden life can be so very unfair
Yet the poor always help out each other their meagre possessions they share
They only live for the tomorrow their better days may be ahead
You are only of use whilst living why would anyone wish to be dead?

Life as always is about living so do live for as long as you can
The longest Human life in time a brief one an average of three score and a ten year span
But live till the reaper will claim you for none have yet come back to tell
Of the supposed life hereafter The Worlds of Heaven and Hell.

Life is only about living death it is forever more
I meet this old bloke in the Parkland of years he is the four score
He never talks about dying for as long as he can he will live on
'Tis soon enough the reaper will have us and we will be forever gone.

Beautiful Port Fairy

The air is so clean of pollution 'tis free
In Port Fairy the beautiful Town by the sea
With little development it's old charm it retain
You visit it once you will come back again.

They have a huge music festival there once a year
And to it music lovers come from far and near
Musicians from every Land entertain on every street
For three days Port Fairy the place where all cultures do meet.

From Britain and Ireland and Italy and France
The lovers of culture they sing and they dance
Musicians from Africa, Germany, Brazil and Spain
Arrive for the big weekend come sunshine or rain.

Of beautiful Port Fairy 'twould be fair to say
That Utopia from it cannot be far away
It's beautiful beaches the clean ocean air
So few places with it can hope to compare.

The Norfolk pine trees there five or six decades old
One might say a beautiful sight to behold
Just part of Port Fairy's charm and it does seem to me
That Utopia is near to this Town by the sea.

Why Condemn A Whole Race

Why condemn a whole race of people for the crimes committed by one
Though he is a seriously flawed person to some mother he is a son
He is in safe keeping in prison till death he must serve out his time
He will die in his cell as an old man the price is big for serious crime.

'Twas not his Race committed his crimes for his crimes why put down a whole Race
Remember he is just one more individual who has brought upon himself disgrace
Some of us can be very racist and we do tend to generalize
To condemn a whole Race because of the few unworthy is not very prudent or wise.

Why condemn a whole Race of people for one who has lost all control
He is after all an individual one who does not have light in his soul
He is dismissed as a bad person and in all of the World he only has one friend
His mother she surely does love him and the mother her child will defend.

Why condemn a whole Race of people because of one guilty of a serious offence
Some generalize because they are racist either that or they lack in common sense
For a whole Race cannot be responsible for one of their kind who did stray
From the righteous path to becoming a criminal for him his kind should not be made to pay.

Where The Ancient Araglen Flow

On a tall beech that has seen many Seasons the distinctive caw of the gray crow
And swallows fly to and fro o'er the old fields where the ancient Araglen flow
On his journey to the Blackwater through old places as old as time
That inspired the bards of past centuries to poetry and song and to rhyme,
Old Araglen he is still flowing forever he will journey on
Through beautiful and green Duhallow though the poets who glorified him long gone
To the reaper who claims every mortal but the old river will never die
Mortality is not for old Araglen mortality is for such as I,
From Kiskeam it journeys through Cullen through fields and by many a hedgerow
I've seen him in flood bank high flowing when I was young decades ago
I've seen him on warm days in Summer as he babbled quietly along
On an alder tree by his green bank the chaffinch was singing his song
And still the old Araglen flows on through old places from here far away
Through green places in old Duhallow he babbles onwards night and day.

In The Only Pub In Penshurst

In the only pub in Penshurst saturday is the big night
Some of the locals there for a meal and drinks of their worries make light
And some even have their children there in a child friendly place
And everyone seems happy a smile on every face.

In the only pub in Penshurst I was made feel welcome there
It did not seem to bother them that I was from elsewhere
To me they were so welcoming as if I were a long lost friend
And I felt like a Local there before the night did end.

In the only pub in Penshurst they sell the best of beer
And talk of cricket and football one is obliged to hear
The Aussies playing cricket in England and football finals time drawing near
And Spring around the corner it is that time of year.

In the only pub in Penhurst though there I was not known
The locals made me feel welcome as if I were one of their own
I had gained at least twenty new friends by last drinks at closing time
And to these lovely people I dedicate this rhyme.

Bound For Warrnambool

The Winter days are at an end though the weather remains cool
And for the weekend Ken and Joan have taken their children Luke and Kate for a drive to Warrnambool
To watch the southern right whales with their young calves from Logan's beach swimming in the shallow sea
A thing of natural beauty and a marvellous sight to see.

The children excited about the trip are smiling in delight
A five hour journey doesn't seem long for to witness such a sight
As gentle marine giants surface for air a hundred metres from the ocean shore
For to see such a wondrous thing some would travel for a day or even more.

The southern right whales in Warrnambool  for a month to six weeks stay
They will soon swim far from Logan's beach in deep waters far away
But they will return again to give birth within view of the sandy shore
Their breeding place for centuries and where their descendants will breed forever more.

The children are delighted free of the boredom of school
For the weekend with their parents on the road to Warrnambool
To watch the southern right whale mothers with their young surface for air
A wondrous thing of Nature and few sights with it to compare.