Saturday, June 30, 2012

I'm Just

I'm just a mere poetaster with words i like to play
I try to bend and twist them in every different way
To rhyme it is so easy cat always rhymes with rat
And brown it is the colour of the limeburner's hat.

And what is life one wonders are we just born to die
And the promised life hereafter is that another lie
Told by religious zealots who spread fear by word control
The Earth will claim the body but what about the soul?

The poor old homeless fellow walks the street with long bedraggled hair
He hasn't washed or shaved for years but the World does not care
He is on the road to nowhere though like him we'll die one day
Yet from the face of poverty we look the other way.

The sparrows and the starlings by the park bench squabble for a crust of bread
By their need for survival their instincts are always led
And what applies in Nature to us too must apply
Like my most often used words are me, myself and i.

I'm just a mere poetaster just that and nothing more
And here am I repeating what I've often said before
And life goes on around me and from the gum nearby
The fluting of the magpie one only can enjoy.

Why Bow

Why bow to pope or president or why bow to queen or king
For to bow to anybody is a subservient thing
When they are only mere mortals the same as you or i
The clock is ticking on their lives and one day they too must die.

To you i may sound arrogant but that's me i suppose
The pig in his piggery can't be smelling like a rose
I may seem rough around the edges but for that i won't apologize
I'd only say sir to one with his gun pointing at me and does that not seem wise?

I'd only bow to someone for to protect my life
If he said bow or i will stab you with my deadly pocket knife
In such an instance of course i'd bow or so would anyone
Our fear of death is our greatest fear when all is said and done.

Why bow to anybody though respect one and all
When to the reaper's mighty scythe we are destined to fall
You create your tall poppies and homage to them pay
But only at the point of a gun 'sir' would i be forced to say.

Those Cruel To Animals

Those cruel to animals can be cruel to people they find their pleasure on inflicting pain
For cruelty to the cruel is a power thing gratification from seeing their victims suffer they gain
Cruel people they have lost their human compassion the window to their soul shaded to light
They even are bordering on the psychotic in distinguishing on what is wrong from right,
Those cruel to animals surely are powerless people when they behave in such a cruel way
If you are cruel to poor defenceless creatures respect to human life you cannot pay
The people who have genuine compassion could hardly bring themselves to harm a fly
The right to life to any living creature is something they would not wish to deny,
Those cruel to animals are themselves quite cowardly they are the people that are not hard to cower
What causes them to be cruel in the first place is that they feel helples in their lack of power
They get their kicks in causing animals to suffer and derive great pleasure from their cruelty
In some ways they deserve for to be pitied since they seem to have lost their humanity,
Yes the people who cause animals to suffer a saving grace in them is hard to find
And without reflecting far too harshly on them they do little for the race of human kind.

In Future Times

In future times there will not be war like people aggressive people will be of the past
The glorification of war which has gone on for centuries is something that is not destined to last
The peaceful people they will be the rulers and there will be a time of World harmony
Of the dark energy of those who divide and conquer some future generation will live free,
This war of us and they won't last forever for everything does have it's use by date
There will come a time in the not distant future when war men we will not celebrate
When only those for peace will be elected into the important possessions of power
And the rose of peace all but dead and forgotten will bloom again as the World's most lovely flower,
'The enemy' that is a well worn cliche that war men to the opposites apply
They sully the nice word of patriotism when their humanity of those who oppose them they deny
Time is running out for the war loving people they had their innings 'twould be fair to say
They had their chance to make the World a safer place to live in a chance that they seemed glad to throw away
But in future times there will not be war like people for those for peace will have the final say
As they are the people destined to be rulers and the rose of peace will bloom again one day.

Smiling Libby

There is such warmth in the smile of Libby she has a lovely and a happy face
Always quite willing for to help out others her higher self she surely does embrace
She is known around the town as smiling Libby her smile goes with her to wherever to she go
She surely is a beautiful young woman and her type always are so nice to know.

She hails from Broome in coastal north Western Australia with dark brown eyes and shoulder length brown hair
A pretty young woman in her early twenties unshackled it would seem by any care
A nursing sister at the local hospital a woman who possesses beauty rare
Lets hope she chooses to live here for the long term and not be tempted for to move elsewhere.

I love the smiling Libby's of this World their praises one feel happy for to sing
They seem to carry joy in plenty with them to smile to them is such a natural thing
One feel attracted to such happy people a magnet in their personality
The glow of joy it always does surround them the people that you always wish to see.

Like a breath of fresh air to the town is smiling Libby a charming one and lovely to behold
But 'tis her smile that makes her seem so special she is not one who does blow hot and cold
From sunny Broome and quite new to the southlands she makes a new friend or two every day
One can only hope the lust for wander leaves her and in our town she'll be happy to stay.

The Idle Mind

Of old cliches and well worn quotes i've had my bellyfull
The idle mind is the devil's workshop that seems a load of bull
If you pardon the expression with words i may seem coarse
But apart from Nature i don't know of a supernatural force.

Many of the most heinous of crimes not committed by those of idle mind
But by people of high energy not what one would call the lazy kind
The religious zealots will tell you that all of god's children are blessed
And that all non believers by satan are possessed.

In a World of religious mania fundamentalism abound
And amongst their paranoia their fear of those different to them is to be found
To them all agnostics and atheists are bad in every way
They do not even have a god to which to kneel to and pray.

The idle mind is the devil's workshop to me this doesn't seem right
Most criminals are not lazy though their souls bereft of light
To cover up for their crimes they lie so easily
The idle mind is the devil's workshop seems a load of bull to me.

Oh You With

You with your airs and graces you boast of your new car
But i really do not wish to hear of how marvellous you are
Your new car tells me little about the one that's you
If to a higher principle you even could be true.

Your children are young bureaucrats and they like you know of the good life
And you go off on expensive holidays you and your conceited wife
Yet half of the people of the World go hungry in want of food to eat
And you with your big ego swimming in your conceit.

You with your swollen ego you've convinced yourself you're great
But have you got one poor person you can claim for a mate
And everyone you call a friend is a budding millionaire
What would you know of the have nots of the other World out there?

Oh you with your airs and graces why should i wish to hear
Of the many successes of your successful career
I may sound a little jealous perhaps that may be so
But of your brand new mercedes why should i wish to know?

I Cannot Change The World

I cannot change the World no matter how i try
The only one that i can change is the person known as i
Big Multinational bureaucrats are ruling every town
Why bother wasting energy in trying to drag them down.

Just let them be tall poppies in pursuit of their greed
'Tis their way of seeking recognition and recognition we all need
So many must grow poorer for every new millionaire
But what's the point in saying that life can be unfair.

I've got to stop competing with the Joneses next door
And carry on with my life just as i did before
They don't worry about me since they do their own thing
And why should i sing their praises when their own praises they sing.

I cannot change the World so I'll let the World be
The only one that I can change is the person known as me
The sparrows in the backyard squabble over a crust of bread
They must be feeling hungry the hungry must be fed.


The Travellers parked at the Shannaknuck cross for the Millstreet Town horse fair
When Clara wore his hat of snow and the hedge rows were bare
Way back there in the fifties when i was a young boy
But time doesn't wait for anyone the years keep ticking by.

The Travellers horse drawn caravans at the crossroads now not seen
And not one sign to even tell that there they'd ever been
Their ways of life too have changed suppose nothing stays the same
To wander till the day they died was their curse on Cromwell's name.

Their ancestors were poor rural people that Cromwell's army had put on the road
To give rise to the wandering race of the no fixed abode
The last proof of the cruelty of Cromwell's ill renown
No longer seen in February at the cross-roads by Millstreet Town.

The World it keeps on changing and time for none does wait
And everything and way of life on it has a use by date
And at the Shannaknuck cross-road in late February
The vans of the Irish Travellers nowadays you will not see.

Kana From Japan

Her native language is quite different she hails from another Land
But in a few years she has learned English she's not hard to understand
Her partner Paul Ladds is an Aussie a former Belgrave man
The lucky one to win the heart of young Kana from Japan.

You meet her once the mental image of her with you remain
And what's a great loss to Japan is surely Australia's gain
Her humor is infectious she has a lovely smile
The lovely down to earth Kana free of conceit or guile.

So witty and so funny she laughs so easily
And so much to like about her she does seem so carefree
With a beautiful accent dark brown eyes and dark hair
The Kana's of this World to say the least seem rare.

In her moments of nostalgia she miss her friends and family
In the Country she was raised in many miles north by land and sea
But she mostly feels quite happy and in her own charming way
She bonds with other people and she makes new friends every day.

Friday, June 29, 2012

On receiving An Email From Sybil Leris

Received this email from one Sybil Leris she is the owner of Loch's Royal Hotel
I've been in there two or three times as my memory serves me well
A local told me it was owned then by the local Football Club
The food was good the beer tasted good in this grand old country pub.

She told me her family farmed in Yanakie of Latvian ancestry
A people known for their warmth and their friendship and their generosity
And true to the Latvian in her she even offered me free lunch and tea
On the next time i am in her pub whenever that might be.

Such a marvellous gesture on her behalf for my meal she would pay
To her i do feel grateful i feel stuck for words to say
To her to thank her for her generosity from Loch i now live far away
But i will pay her a visit if i am in Loch one day.

'Tis nice to know that she is one who enjoy reading the stuff i write
Positive feedback from a visitor to my Web Poetry Corner Site
Though penning rhyme for me at least a hungry belly game
The gift of making other people happy i would not swap for wealth or fame.

An email from Sybil Leris one i have yet to meet
I thank her for her kind words and her offer of a treat
An Aussie of Latvian heritage a warm and a friendly race
I thank her for her generosity her heart's in the right place.

The Sound Of Laughter

The sound of laughter is a thing of beauty for laughter spreads the very gift of joy
That people they are drawn to happy people is not that hard for to understand why
Since everybody wishes to be happy and laughter it spreads happiness around
And only the heartless could not like the sound of laughter for laughter is a very happy sound,
Than laughter there is no more happy feeling laugh and the world laughs with you seems so true
But if you feel sad and for yourself feeling sorry the saddest person in the world is you
Even your friends would rather not be with you if they see you as one who worship gloom
The happy people attract people to them and in their presence happiness does bloom,
The sound of laughter sends out laughter ripples it is a sound one always loves to hear
And laughter it gives rise to smiling faces and never fails to fill the cup of cheer
The sad one who feels comfort in self pity is the one others do not wish to know
But if you are one who laughs away your worries your friends in numbers seem to grow and grow
And who could not but love the sound of laughter to it there always is a joyful ring
It seems to send happiness out in ripples it is a joyful and infectious thing.

I Somehow Feel

I somehow feel that people are like the Seasons we come and go but the land does remain
In the sands of time those we see as important are like us all another tiny grain
Yet Mother Nature she does live forever as the one immortal she lives on and on
She has the power of self regeneration and she'll be here when all others are gone
Into the nothingness of the non feeling when we will be as lifeless as a stone
Beyond all cares that come with our existence our fear of death is fear of the unknown
But as the poet Shirley said death is the great leveller the monarch and the pauper will be equal one day
Yesterday's babes to their end one day nearer and the reaper on us has the final say,
We do create what are known as tall poppies those who become conceited with renown
But Mother earth receives them and does not treat them any differently as she would the poorest person of the town,
We may think other creatures to us are inferior but like them we live and like them we must die
The sheep, the dog, the cow or the donkey are they that any different to i?
Our life span can be measured in our heartbeats but Nature she will live forever more
And not one ever has come back to tell us of another World beyond this Earthly Shore.

On The Last Time I Saw Old Ballydaly

On the last time I saw old Ballydaly the weather it was cold enough to snow
And the river from Kippagh along by Feirm bank high on down towards Annagloor did flow
It was an overcast November morning and on a naked birch a lone gray crow
Was cawing his voice echoed in the silence of an empty landscape all of those years ago.

Many Seasons since have come to Ballydaly and many Seasons gone the way of time
The young children back then are now in their twenties and almost at the peak of their life prime
They too have seen Springs, Summers and Winters come to Ballydaly and they've seen the brown leaves falling in the Fall
And on a naked birch tree by the river they too as i have heard the gray crow call

On a windy and a cold November morning when dark gray clouds were about to spill their rain
When the river through drenched fields was bank high flowing and water gurgled in the roadside drain
And will some of them like me leave for another Country before the swallows come home in the Spring
And o'er the lush green fields of Ballydaly as they chase winged insects they do chirp and sing.

On the last time i saw old Ballydaly a gray fog enveloped old Clara hill
The brown flood waters flowed bank high by Feirm and the wind about it had a Wintery chill
And though i now live far from Ballydaly and the winding roadway that leads to Rathmore
The words of a sage i often do remember 'the savage too does love his native shore'.

In Mt Eccles

In Mt Eccles surrounded by wooded volcanic cliffs is green old Lake Surprise
That echo to the wood duck calls and the dusky moorhen cries
Along the cliffs above the lake gray gum and blackwood grow
From the look out deck the view is breath taking Nature's beauty is on show.

On the gum trees beyond the cliffs one hears the pied currawong
Crimson rosellas pipe and ravens caw and the magpies are in song
And the laughter of the kookaburras is carrying in the breeze
On a pleasant evening in the Fall just under twenty degrees.

Whoever called it Lake Surprise for it found an apt name
It had been around for centuries before the first white pioneers came
From old Mt Eccles volcanic hills hot lava once did flow
In the Indigenous Dreamtime many centuries ago.

Each time I visit Mt Eccles koalas I do see
On the manna gums by the track to the volcanic caves today i counted three
And grey kangaroos and wallabies in the wooded park abound
One can see and hear them hopping across the stony ground.

The Rain Has Fallen Steadily

The rain has fallen steadily through the morning to swell the creek and fill the roadside drain
And on the blackwood tree the white backed magpie is singing his kind always sings in wind and rain
This dry countryside needs rain as much as we need to drink water but the difference between Mother Earth and you and i
Is that after rain the earth again starts living but we are dead forever when we die,
How nice to hear the rain on the galvanize roof it does make for a pleasant sort of sound
Bringing back the greenery to the dry brown country and giving new life to the drought stricken ground
In this dry Country the rain is always welcome in a short time from now the landscape will look more green
After the rains the earth again is living and Nature at her finest she is seen,
The rain brings out the very best in Nature it generates life in every grass seed
That in dry weather on the earth lay dormant to feel inspired to grow rain is it's only need
The gurglings of rain water in the gutterings that flows into the stormwater drains of the town
In a few weeks the old hill will look greener right up till now it did look rather brown
The white backed magpie in the rain is singing on a swaying branch of the windblown blackwood tree
And after months of drought in the dry stony country the rain is such a pleasant thing to see.

She'll Return To Wonthaggi To stay

The wanderlust was in her soul the far off hills were green
She has been in London, Paris, Rome and New York she has seen
She miss the hills of Archies Creek in Summer they look brown
And she'll return for to stay in old Wonthaggi Town.

On Baxter's track she often walked her parents labradors black Joe and golden Sue
And through the knee high bracken they often chased the wild grey roo
In her parents back yard old Joe and old Sue at rest by the ageing apple tree
When she returns to Wonthaggi them she never more will see.

In her late twenties it would seem at the twilight of her prime
She'll return to Wonthaggi for to stay in September in Spring time
When the hills of Archies Creek are green and the lark carols in the sunny sky
And above the paddocks all day long the swallows chirp and fly.

She has fallen in and out of love and she has travelled far and wide
And next Spring she will return to her Home-town in the coastal Countryside
To Wonthaggi in Gippsland where she first saw light of day
She has seen the bigger World out there and she is going home to stay.

I Will Always Be Stranger In This Town

Here I'll never even know local renown
I will always be a stranger in this town
Some of the locals body language tell me what their tongues don't say
He is not one of us he is from far away.

I'm a stranger here I was born and raised elsewhere
And with most locals little in common i do share
I'm very much an outsider 'twould seem
And i don't even barrack for their football team.

From them i do not try to woo their wives
And my presence amongst them does not effect their lives
Yet for some strange reason unbeknown to me
A threat of sorts some of them in me see.

We live in an age that's corrupted by fear
And you need not scratch too hard for to find racism here
Parochial sorts in their own small ways can be rude
All outsiders from their own groups they exclude.

Even if i could their wives from them i would not try to lure away
Yet here i do not make a new friend every day
To many here mine's not a welcome face
I will always be a stranger in this place.

Show Them

Financially have you ever been on the floor though not yet counted out
And of your worth as a person many are in doubt
But like the champion boxer you will rise from the floor
And go back to battle and fight on some more.

Financially down but down you won't stay
Show them what you're made of is all one can say
Your doubters at you they may sniggle and scoff
But show them that they are wrong for to write you off.

Depressed at the moment you may feel quite low
But rise up and keep fighting and have one more go
Far too many are willing for to keep you down
And some small minded people live in every town.

You are down on your luck doesn't life seem unfair
But show them what you're made of those ratbags out there
To their idea of success your kind don't belong
They see you as weak but you can prove them wrong.

Show them what you're made of the juydgemental kind
When finished with judging you someone else they will find
For to snigger and laugh at and verbally drag through the muck
'Tis a cruel World to live in when you're down on your luck.

On Lake Hamilton

On Lake Hamilton lengthwise from shore to shore
On a kilometre of water counted two hundred swans or more
In early May in the Fall of the year
Perhaps to moult the reason they are here?

Big dark brown birds to mateship they are true
On Hamilton lake so beautiful to view
Musk and black duck, coot, moorhen and a pelican the lake with them share
On Lake Hamilton water birds are never rare.

A haven for the wild and for the free
Is Lake Hamilton far inland from the sea
Spoonbill, silver gull and ibis too live there in harmony
In Hamilton so many species of water birds one see.

In Hamilton as shades of darkness fall
Out on the lake one hears the black swans call
And in the park the spur winged plovers cry
As the Goddess of night spreads her darkness in the sky.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

What Does It Really Matter

What does it really matter if I'm never more to see
The beautiful male bullfinch upon a sunlit tree
When the wildering flowers are blooming in lush green fields far away
And the hawthorn trees are covered in their white blossoms of the May.

What does it really matter when I've lived my final day
If i am buried or cremated or where my remains will lay
I will return to Nature for me 'twill be no more
Since none have come back to tell us of life beyond this Earthly shore.

When i am gone forever of all cares i will be free
And what does it really matter if none remember me
I will have had my innings to me it will not matter then
The birds will sing without me down in the furzy glen.

When life for me is over to me 'twill matter none at all
If I'm one of the forgotten or some my name recall
Leave me with Mother Nature in her bosom to rest
Beside a tree or shady hedge that is my last request.

Some Of Us

Some of us become victims of our addictions we can become addictive one might say
And I'm not one who should reflect on the faults of others since I'm addicted too in my own way
I am a slave to the penning of doggerel and i yield to my addiction every day
Perhaps professional help i am in need of but for such help i could not afford to pay.

Some people say to me you've made your statements your own thoughts now on paper you repeat
'Tis time that you gave up your doggerelizing there are bigger challenges in life for you to meet
They do not suffer of addictive behaviour so of those like me so little they do know
Addiction in some ways is like a cancer a lust for something that seems to ever-grow.

True poets to poetry never are addictive and they can write in blank verse or in rhyme
To write they do not feel need or compulsion true inspiration comes to them in time
Yet look at me I'm always doggerelizing and doggerels always forming in my head
I write in different ways on things which I have written and in other ways repeat the things that I've already said.

Some of us become victims of our addictions and I should know as it's happened to me
You've got it right I'm an addictive person beyond my own addictions i can't see
But then you show me those that you think are near perfect and flaws in them may not be hard to find
For after all we all are only human and imperfection belong to human kind.

The Prophesy The Meek The Earth Will Inherit

There's a prophesy that the meek the Earth will inherit
Though i don't think i will live to see that day
At least 'twould seem it is a long time in coming
And now from us it seems further away

Than it was three decades back when i was younger
In a World of wars and famines and disease
In the crowded refugee camps of our Planet
It is said that there are thirty million refugees.

The prophesy the meek the Earth will inherit i won't live to see fulfilled
But for the billions of have nots i hope it will come true
A few super rich control the most of the World's finances
And for the many less fortunate a change of fortune is overdue.

In the twenty first century billions know of want and suffering
But one has to ask how long can this go on
Perhaps in some future day the meek the Earth will inherit
Though by then the life from me will have long gone.


In his younger years Jazzo was not a soldier though of battles he took part in he can tell
And he never was a professional boxer and for wealth and glory never fought from bell to bell
In the local pubs he did all of his fighting some brawls he won and some tough brawls he lost
Old scar tissue around his eyes and front teeth missing for bad behaviour there's a lasting cost.

In his mid fifties the years have made him mellow Jazzo will tell you that brawling's a mug's game
He'd rather not talk of his bar-room battles he looks on that now as a thing of shame
He seldom now goes to the local bar-room and when he does he does not drink much at all
A favourite quote of his is live in the present and some of his past he does not wish to recall.

Gray haired and balding an amiable fellow and from his past experiences he has become wise
In his prime years he was known as a loose cannon his temper it was very quick to rise
But he has learned to control his temper a nice person to talk to and to meet
From his younger years a very different person the changes in him one can say complete.

Sometimes he does call in at the local for to socialize and drink a few beers
But he has not raised his fist in anger at another for at least three decades of years
Devoted to his wife and his adult daughter of his life he has made a success
And like good wine with age he has mellowed and he now knows of only happiness.

No Matter How Good you Are

No matter how good you are some bound to find fault with you though you may please many you will not please everyone
Since the facts are that none of us are perfect and we are mere mortals when all is said and done
In a perfect World people would not be homeless and people of the hunger would not die
And as for me I've yet to meet a person who could truly say that they never once did lie.

Most people from their past they hide some secret and carry with them needless guilt and shame
In the eyes of the law their's may not be a crime but they feel very guilty just the same
Some from their children hide a family secret that becomes a heavy burden on their mind
To tell their children for them may seem so hard but in so doing great relief they would find.

No matter how good you are someone will fault you 'tis a known fact that you cannot please them all
And there's always one who only is too willing some negative thing about you to recall
I've yet to meet a person who is perfect but if to your higher self you can live true
Though you may not be admired by everybody at least a lot of credit you are due.

Oh Take Me To The Woods And Open Spaces

Oh take me to the woods and open spaces in fancy i feel distant from the town
Upon the wooded hill amongst the bracken that overlook the landscape green to brown
That seem to stretch on miles into the distance much further even than the eyes can see
You like the shopping centres of suburbia the kind of life you like is not for me.

In Nature's kingdom all is quiet and peaceful and Nature's voice is seldom ever loud
Except when a big storm it is raging and thunder rumbles in the gray rain cloud
The loudest bird song does not damage your hearing and in Nature's World there's beauty all around
I love the peace of the high wooded country and the marvellous scenery from the higher ground.

One well can say that we all are very different the things i like you may not like at all
My happiest times are spent alone with Nature such memories that i most like to recall
The golden whistler singing on the wattle how beautifully he whistle and he sing
Compared to the loud throbbings of the rock band the voice of Nature is such a pleasant thing.

Perhaps I'm an old fashioned fuddy duddy a boring fellow that time has passed by
The day and night life of the busy city is the sort of life i never do enjoy
My happiest times are spent with Mother Nature where the babbling creek it's tongue is never still
It winds it's way downland to join the river from it's birth-place in the woodland by the hill.

The Girls Of Minor Row

When i was in my better days some four decades ago
Some pretty and quite friendly girls they lived in Minor Row
I never got to talk to them though them i often see
And they remain as they were then young in my memory.

Perhaps some of them left Minor Row for places far away
Whilst others less adventurous in Millstreet Town did stay
Perhaps some married and raised children and others single did remain
I knew them by sight only and i may not see them again.

Often see them on Summer evenings walking either up or down
To and from the Town Park at the West End through the streets of Millstreet Town
Lovely young females in small groups laughing free of any sort of care
With a freshening breeze of Summer blowing and tossing up their hair.

Perhaps they have lost some of their beauty like the wildflowers of the Fall
By sight now i may not know them and me they hardly would recall
Walking in the evening sun-shine or the drizzling Summer rain
Memories of their youthful beauty all of these years i did retain.

Has time stolen some of their beauty does the years on them now show?
Them I'd prefer to remember as the girls of Minor Row
In their prime back in the sixties though time for anyone doesn't wait
Us human beings are only mortal on us there's a use by date.

The Future Is The Children's

The future is the children's and i am of the past
And i too had my young years but nothing ever last
On looking back the Seasons how quickly the years have gone
Old age is fast approaching and the clock ticks on and on.

The future is the children's the children of today
They have the gift of youth with them though youth with them won't stay
On looking back decades from now when time has left them slow
They will wonder as i do where did the years to go.

The years are catching up one me and time has left me gray
And the future is the children's that would be true to say
The people in their sixties are running out of time
And few of them will be living when today's children are in their prime.

The future is the children's and to them alone belong
And those who will tell you differently have somehow got it wrong
But the hands of time keep turning and time on none does wait
And all of us are branded with an invisible use by date.

Volcanic Hill Of Mt Rouse

Volcanic hill of Mt Rouse for centuries you've looked down
On that brown and stony country-side long before there was a Penshurst Town
Long before the fair skinned subjects of a distant foreign crown
Waged war on this Land's first people in search of their tainted renown.

Long before the burning lava from your stomach it did flow
And left some of your intestines as rocks on the landscape below
You were there before the Dreamtime when this land's first people had their corroborees
And sung their songs and told their stories in the shadows of your trees.

Europeans first laid eyes on you some two hundred years ago
Though little of your history 'twould seem they wish to know
But the black tribes knew more of you for you they had some other name
They watched as your brown hills burned by your hot stones set to flame.

Volcanic hill of Mt Rouse you may spew hot stones never more
And the anger in your hot breath like a huge furnace may never again roar
But when the last human being has departed never to be seen again
Overlooking the brown countryside you forever will remain.

This Is The Football Season

This is the football Season it is that time of year
When men in the pub talk football as they enjoy their beer
And look forward to September when one club will fly the winner's flag
The team that wins the Premiership gives their fans the right to brag.

Their wives nicknamed the footy widows their husbands at the football club
Or after work talking football with their mates down at the local pub
They take football so seriously 'tis their passion in life
The footy fan loves his football club as much as his children or his wife.

And if their team lose at the weekend they feel and look so sad
What's known as football addiction they seem to have it bad
They feel sad for their football team and the chance of four premiership points gone
But they cheer up and look forward to next weekend's game as the working week wears on.

This is the football Season football has gone to their head
And their football scarves and beanies they even wear to bed
About their team they feel so passionate as if to them it did belong
And 'tis with delight and pride in victory that they sing the club song.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

I've Known People

I've known people in their life's twilight with hair dyes they cover their gray
So full of pride yet pride's not a bad thing to feel proud of how you look seems okay
Some declare their small wars on ageing whilst others age in a natural way
But wisdom can belong to all ages no fool like an old fool they say.

I know blokes well into their seventies with their words they can be so cruel
They reflect in a negative way on those they see as different as if they were born to rule
Yet some near the end of their life's journey from life have learned little at all
Though the babes in their cots they start learning long before they learn how to crawl.

Some males as they age grow more bitter and feel unhappy with their lot in life
Go home from the pub with a few in and have a verbal with their wife
They even grow more xenophobic and those different barely tolerate
As they age they grow more unhappy but suppose in life we receive what we create.

I've known people in their life's twilight unassuming and worldly and wise
They have their few drinks at the local without adding to the pub noise
They never argue with their women and for everyone believe in a fair go
One might say for the young role models  people who are nice to know.


The bullfinches I remember from my younger years so nice to look at favourite birds of mine
The male much brighter coloured than the female so lovely looking lit by the sun-shine
With dark head, blue back and beautiful pink breast of Europe's finches the fairest of all
For beauty only rivalled by the goldfinches though differences in their habits i recall,
The bullfinches are not liked by orchardists they eat the fruit tree blossoms in the Spring
They build their cup shaped nests in hedgerows and on small trees and a low volume song the male bird sing,
Distinct from their neighbours in hedge and woodland you hear them once you know their song again
Each species distinct in their songs or chirpings once heard the memory of the voice remain,
The chaffinches and goldfinches and greenfinches in Winter months in medium sized flocks congregate
But bullfinches seldom flock even out of their breeding season the male bird likes to stay close to his mate
Indeed they seem devoted to each other in bird life that is something that is rare
The male and female bullfinch i remember i see together almost everywhere
At woodland edge, in grove and on the hedgerows i often see them when i was a boy
One of my favourite birds for their great beauty and looking at them i used to enjoy.

What Matter Now

What matter now the past is gone forever we really only can live for today
And life of course it just goes on as usual the birds sing in the wood across the way
Our worries compared to some are very little but people somehow manage to get by
Hope springs eternal in the human spirit our survival will is a hard will to deny.

Each morning on the radio news sad stories of wars that cause injury, death, famine and create refugees
In Nations that are distant from our borders in war torn cities far beyond the seas
Compared to the problems of the Stateless and the homeless our little worries must seem very small
Our setback yesterday not worth remembering and not for human historians to recall.

What matter now we can only live in the present though the present for many is a tragic time
Especially for the victims of the war criminals than crimes against humanity there is no greater crime
Two days ago our old car rendered a write off when a semi trailer smashed it hard up the backside
In retrospect we were so very lucky we were not even injured where we could have died.

What matter now the past is gone forever the present is what only matter now
And father time he never does respect us though to father time we are obliged to bow
The present really is what only matters and yesterday it has forever gone
Compared to some in life we are so lucky but against all odds they seem to battle on.

Percy French (1854-1920)

He penned so many great songs in his great writing prime
'Paddy Reilly' and 'McBreens Heifer' songs that live on in time
Percy French of Cloonyquin in Roscommon was a poetic great
And the beauty he created does not have a use by date.

Perhaps his best known song of all is Abdulla Bulbul Ameer
Though The Mountains of Mourne is one of his that i do love to hear
And as well of course 'There Michael' and Phil The Fluters Ball
His memorable songs now old time ballads who could not wish to recall.

Shlatery's Mounted Fut and Eileen Oge the list goes on and on
And though their great creator to the reaper has long gone
His memorable songs and music will never ever die
His legacy his genius for others to enjoy.

And add to the list of the great songs Andy McElroe
Of the poet who died in nineteen twenty more than ninety years ago
If you've not heard of his songs so little of life you know
In his life he was a legend and in death his legend grow.

Too Many

Too many observe the unwritten commandment man and woman of thine own self take care
And forget the suffering we hear of in the World of the have nots out there
It is not our fault they will tell you that people of the hunger die
And if they were in our shoes they then add they would not care about you or i.

Most of us humans in our small ways selfish we only think of our own need
We try to insure our genes survive by planting in the World our own seed
We may mention our human brothers and sisters but such talk only tongue in cheek
A person with genuine empathy by many is seen to be weak.

Too many indifferent to the sufferings of others and too many see war as okay
But war never seems to affect them from the war zones they live far away
The sufferings some people must go through is even hard to visualize
Suppose ourselves we first have to suffer before with others we can empathize.

The gap between the have and the have nots so sad to say keeps growing wide
And to the poor of the poor suburbs opportunity as ever is denied
Too many saying we are doing nicely and the poor of themselves can take care
And why bother to talk of a fair go when life to some is so unfair.

We Did Not Have A Very Pleasant Day

My hair even than yesterday more gray
We did not have a very pleasant day
And yet 'tis nice to watch the sun go down
Beyond the hill west of the country town.

Though a big truck went into our car from behind
We did not get injured lady luck in that way to us kind
And though our car 'twould seem is beyond repair
To escape injury free from such a smash is rare.

And though on me I won't say there is a curse
I have known better days though i too have known worse
The good and bad days are known to us all
But we somehow rise again after a fall.

And though our second hand car from duty may be retired
One slipshod rhyme at least it has inspired
And as for the driver of the offending truck
To remain injury free he did not even need luck.

As If They Have Their Own Identity

All of the Autumn leaves that fall from their mother tree
Are shaped so very differently
As if each has their own identity
At least that's how they seem to me.

In the cool gusts of the freshening winds they blow
Along the footpath fast and then quite slow
As if searching for a final resting place
On the Nature strip or in stormwater drain for to hide their wrinkled face.

Their span of time is brief so quick to meet decay
And in Nature's bosom within weeks they rot away
And off of their compost insects and beetles will live
When Nature takes in other ways she give.

Leaves too have life despite what some might say
And all things of life return to earth one day
And though they have life cells they do not have a mind
But they serve some purpose just like human kind.

I hear them rustle on their invisible feet
The dead dry leaves that are blown down the street
All of different shapes and sizes though from the one mother tree
As if they have their own identity.

Did Britney Have A Tummy Tuck

Did Britney have a tummy tuck on the cover of 'New Idea'
I did not buy the magazine to find out as it matters none to me
Of Britney Spears and her figure i really don't much care
Though many will buy the magazine there are plenty of fools out there.

A pretty singer who enjoys huge fame without me she will succeed
One uninteresting boring old fart in her fan club she does not need
But may success remain with her and may her fan club grow
Though of her recent tummy tuck why should i wish to know?

Did Britney have a tummy tuck that's her business not mine
And if she spends millions on herself to look good then that too suits me fine
Millions of poor people in the World of the hunger slowly die
Did Britney have a tummy tuck i care not why should i lie?

Did Britney have a tummy tuck such small talk magazines do sell
By all accounts from what i hear for herself she's doing quite well
A movie or a rock star or a singer of renown
Many look up to their kind there are fools in every town.

My impressionable years have long since gone and time has passed me by
And did Britney have a tummy tuck i looked but did not buy
Though i have grown older but not wise and I'll never be a sage
'Tis about time i do suppose for me to act my age.

If I Should Die Tomorrow

If i should die tomorrow say only this of me
He was one who was never known for acts of bravery
But he never did commit crimes against humanity
And now that he's gone forever to Nature let him be.

If i should die tomorrow on me why waste your tears
I did have a good innings and i lived for many years
I laughed and i made merry I've had my ups and downs
And on my many travels I've been in many towns.

If I should die tomorrow just leave me rest in peace
From life's cares and tribulations i will have found release
I will be past joy and sorrow we all must die one day
And if I'm not remembered that too will be okay.

If I should die tomorrow i will be past every care
So many other people than me heavier crosses had to bear
I will have had a good innings and lady luck on me did smile
And as for my life's journey well that was worth my while.

One Would Have Thought

One would have thought that George W Bush would forget about Iran
But then again who knows with him he is a silly man
He is the one who declares wars but in his wars he never fight
And despite thousands dying on account of him he does sleep well at night.

One would have thought that George W Bush would have learned his lesson in Iraq
But 'twould not surprise if on Iran he ordered an attack
Just one more war leader who does not fight and for peace does not have the will
How come in free elections voters often elect a dill?

One would have thought that George W Bush would have come to understand
That respect is something that you earn and not what you command
When the masses wave their National flags and patriotic songs they sing
Such misplaced patriotism can be such a dangerous thing.

There will be peace in some future time for wars won't always last
And one would have thought that George W Bush would have learned from the past
But there's no fool like an old fool a wise one once did say
And George W will not grow wiser he will just grow old and gray.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

My Only Claim To Fame

I've never won a literary prize the stuff i pen doesn't sell
Some refer to it as slipshod rhyme more call it doggerel
I've written reams and reams of rhymes and though my prime years are long gone
My pen i never will retire i just go on and on.

Sliabh Luachra from me a short drive when i lived near Millstreet Town
A place of musicians and poets and of cultural renown
Sliabh Luachra had it's glorious time but nothing ever last
The poets and musicians at rest and the past is the past.

Some twenty years in time has passed since i last climbed Clara hill
And heard the dipper singing in the babbling mountain rill
With views of Gortavehy and the ageless Paps of Shrone
It remains fresh in my memory the great beauty i have known

In Millstreet Town i went to school but there i may not grow old
The weather there is seldom warm the climate wet and cold
Where I grew up is far north of here even as the crow does fly
But the savage loves his native shore to me too does apply.

The stuff I write may not be good but I write it every day
And one thing i will never do that is give writing away
I once lived near Sliabh luachra my only claim to fame
Great musicians and singers and poets lived there so many one could name.

I Am A Believer In Karma

I've met good people in my travels quite honest and generous and kind
But in every pack there is a joker and a villian is not hard to find
The windows to their souls are curtained and light it cannot enter in
When they cheat you out of your money they see your financial loss as their win.

The good for themselves save good karma what goes around comes around they say
You do the wrong thing by somebody to karma you surely must pay
I am a believer in karma what goes around does come around
With those who commit crimes against others prosperity does not abound.

I am a believer in karma for to help some one you go out of your way
You build up for yourself good fortune and in kind karma you will repay
For karma it does work in two ways and if to it credit you do owe
Then you will eat the bad grains of karma for each bad seed of karma you sow.

I am a believer in karma and karma believe me is real
And there are two different karmas for good people and for those who steal
What goes around comes around they tell you and those words do seem very true
And we will all receive the karma the karma that to us is due.

Don't Ask Me

Don't ask me why birds sing and whistle since I am not one who does know
You may as well ask me why some trees on certain soils never will grow
I've always had great love for Nature still Nature's a mystery to me
I cannot even understand why most species of parrots like to nest in a hole in a tree.

There are small river birds known as dippers darkish brown with a snowy white breast
Under the bank of a stream or a river they always like to build their nest
They are birds that can walk underwater in their hunt for their tiny water dwelling prey
And they sing in the babbling waters flowing through places from here far away.

A mystery to me in my childhood and as a mystery to me they remain
On wet days often heard them singing in the stream that was swollen by rain
Just one of the wonders of Nature and Nature's wonders and mysteries not rare
But Nature from us keeps her secrets and with us them never will share.

Don't ask me how migratory wading birds from the northlands can find their way to the far south
'Tis something that scientists for decades have argued and argued about
And they return to their breeding grounds at the very same time every Spring
Just one of the mysteries of Nature and her praises i always will sing.

I Don't Feel Sorry Anzac Day Is Over

I don't feel sorry Anzac Day is over enough of talk of war for one more year
I did not attend the ceremony at the war memorial their tired old speeches i did not wish to hear
I do not wish to belittle their glory but their sameness i find boring just the same
They pass their torch to the young generation who to the war drums march on towards their fame.

Why don't they leave the young to make up their own minds instead of brainwashing them in such a way
To poor refugees who flee for their lives from the war zones more respect we all ought to pay
I am frowned upon as not a decent person as i do not attend the ceremonies on Anzac Day
But than to grow old as a false patriot I'd prefer for to grow old and gray.

The big headline news of the morning was as you guessed it was yesterday's big Anzac Day parade
I can understand of war veterans of why so much of a big fuss of them is made
Such occasions are used by the Politicians as to power they so desperately try to cling
It means more votes for incumbent parliamentarians when the praises of old war veterans they sing.

I feel very happy Anzac Day is over by such occasions i for one don't feel inspired
Too much of anything can become boring and of war and of war heroes I've grown tired
Why should i wish for to leave my bed at daybreak for to go and watch a silly war parade
I'm tired of hearing of war and of war heroes and far too many last posts have been played.

The Old Shearer

Each morning between nine and eleven at the table by the kiosk by the lake
He sits alone reading the morning paper whilst drinking his coffee and eating his cake
The old bloke from the snowy river country he was a shearer many years ago
His hair is gray he has seen many Seasons and much of life and living he does know.

I have been talking to this wise old fellow one who worked and lived distant from the nearest town
A humble man he does admit he was a good shearer whilst pointing out that gives him no claim to renown
He never married or never fathered children places he shore in and lived from towns too far away
The shearer's life he says can be quite lonely one did not see or meet a woman every day.

Back in my prime years when i was fit and younger motor vehicles in those days were so few
And on how to talk to and to chat up women i as a shy young person little knew
When we went to town me and my fellow shearers 'twas never for the women but the beer
Nowadays i don't go to the local bar-room and i haven't tasted alcohol for many a year.

He lives in his small bungalow in the suburbs and a very simple life style he does lead
And every day he's at the local library where books and magazines he loves to read
And with coffee and cake at the lakeside cafe he always does like to begin his day
A nice old man he was an outback shearer till fifteen years ago he gave that work away.

That Is Their Business

What some others say of me i have been made aware
But since i never do them any harm why should i even care
Since that is their business and their business not mine
I do my own thing and i get along fine.

Some small minded people in every small town
The middle sized poppies trying to drag the small poppies down
They treat every new person they see with suspicion and fear
They are the victims of localization or so 'twould appear.

Take people as you find them with those words I agree
And what others think of me means nothing to me
And though half truths of others we never should say
We all can be judgemental in our own way.

If they feel that my business is their business with me that's okay
But for my own loaf of bread at the grocery i pay
I am just an ageing bugger who has knocked around
Stranded like an injured migratory bird far from his home-ground.

I am not a criminal i don't wish on others ill
And since i am one who has to pay my own bill
I live my own way and i do my own thing
And to my life till the reaper claims me i will cling.

A Multicultural Millstreet

I've been told 'tis a changed place from the place i did know
Where the old Finnow river to the Blackwater flow
But the landscape as such would not have changed much at all
Every bend of the river i still can recall.

But lots of new people in the Town of Millstreet
And new Irish people live on every street
Yes Millstreet is now carving it's own renown
As north Cork and Duhallow's most multicultural Town.

Of the old Duhallow the bards well may sing
But a multicultural Millstreet is such a good thing
Once migrants in Millstreet did seem very rare
Whilst many of the local youth went off to live elsewhere.

Some long time locals of Millstreet must find this quite strange
But in time they too will come to terms with change
For multiculturalism is a thing that we ought to embrace
We all  after all are part of the one race.

Of a multicultural Millstreet i feel so happy to hear
The best news I've heard from there for many a year
It thrills me to think that people from other Lands live there
Since i myself went off for to live elsewhere.

Each Day Things Of Beauty

Each day things of beauty I'm privileged to see
The beauty of Nature is all around me
The gray butcherbird pipes on the wattle tree
His song is embedded in my memory.

Beauty is around me whereever i go
Though of Nature's ways very little i know
Embedded in my memory many a beautiful sight
Like butterflies flitting in the warm sunlight.

Around the flower beds of the parkland on a Summer's day
Such beautiful memories till death with us stay
The Goddess of Nature to her i belong
The wind in the trees to her sings it's wild song.

Each day things of beauty i see everywhere
In Nature's wild garden it is never rare
A flock of rainbow lories through the parkland fly
So beautiful to look at in the sunny sky.

Pene's Favourite Poet

Pene the artist has a favourite poet
And lines of his verses she recalls and quote
Without much prompting of him she does speak
In John Shaw Neilson's poetry solace she does seek.

On Neilson's poetry her thoughts she does share
And her favourite poem of his 'You And Yellow Air'
His sort of verse to her senses appeal
The Aussie poet who bordered on the surreal.

Pene a fine artist in her own right
Things of beauty on her canvas she does highlight
Visual images from Neilson's verse in art form she create
To the beauty in his poems she can relate.

We all look at life in a different sort of way
And our difference make us interesting some are known to say
And with their sort of thinking one has to agree
And like Pene, Neilson's poems too appeal to me.

Since Neilson died many decades ago
The poet she loves she never got to know
But visual images of his poems she does create
And on her canvas his life she celebrate.

I Won't Be Going

I won't be going to that far Land to see the flowers of May
And hear the chaffinch singing in the leafy wood all day
And watch the swallows o'er the fields chase insects as they fly
And hear the lark above the hill a minstrel of the sky.

Were i born to the wordsmith trade i would feel glad to sing
Of beauty i have known and seen in the far northern Spring
The song of the curlew in the bog i still can visualize
And yet his whereabouts 'twould seem he always could disguise.

I daydreamed I'd become a poet but few dreams do come true
But as some would say i had a go to give myself my due
In the fields and woods by my old home my love for Nature grew
In June the young birds left their nest and through the woodland flew.

I won't be going to that far Land when May is in her bloom
And the woods and fields and hedgerows scent of Nature's own perfume
But i can visualize and see the valley lush and green
And the bluebells and primroses bloom along the old bohreen.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Youth Has To Have It's Fling

I hunted hares and rabbits back in my teenage years
And for the suffering of wild things I did not have any tears
But the years have made me mellow we all mellow with age
And now i pity the little bird i see locked in a cage.

But you take the bird out of the cage and in the wilds set him free
The wild born birds will kill him as he does not have a territory
They would harass him and peck at him and cause him ache and pain
And he'd feel happy to be back safe in his cage again.

Some are quite cruel to animals though they don't see it that way
And crimes against innocent creatures are committed every day
But in some instances what is cruel or not cruel is not for me to say
For the slaying of the smaller bird how can one blame the bird of prey.

In the wilds of the wild kingdom the strongest always rule
And the creature that must kill to live cannot be classified as cruel
Lions are not herbivores they solely live on meat
They hunt and kill the wildebeest to live they have to eat.

I hunted fox and badger cruel sports i did enjoy
But that was many years ago when i was a school-boy
The years have left me mellow i now frown on such a thing
But like a wise one once said youth has to have it's fling.

You Will Find

You will find every human being has some story to tell
Of a life of great happiness or of a life of hell
One born to be a pauper and one born to be a millionaire
Yet despite our different lifestyles things in common we share,
We all have one thing in common one day we will grow old
And it will not matter to us if our life story is never told
When we die as we all must what will it matter to us then
If we are of the forgotten deceased women and men,
Caesar ruled an empire he conquered far from Rome
But was he any greater than the one who stayed at home
And worked to raise his children and provide for his wife
And never harmed anyone and led a quiet life
And though the reaper claims the anonymous one and the reaper claims the great
Of their life every human being has a story to relate.

Elica Rizmal

She died in a horrific motoring accident close to her Monbulk abode
Her life from her was taken on the Belgrave Kallista road
Elica Rizmal Vinko's beloved wife at rest forever more
And her spirit is in Slovenia far from Australia's shore.

On S B S on the Slovenian program her voice became well known
And in the Yarra Ranges they claimed her as their own
A warm, kind and friendly person with a lovely smiling face
Sad to think she's gone forever and none to take her place.

How heartbreaking for her husband Vinko and their children such a heavy cross they bear
For the Elica Rizmals of the World to say the least are rare
And how sad for the Yarra Ranges community they have lost a marvellous friend
And sad to think in such a way that her life's journey did end.

Though it can be said of Elica that she did not warrant such a fate
'Twas a privilege to have known her and her life we should celebrate
For to help out other people she went out of her way
And she was one in her life who made a new friend every day.

The Old Pair there

The old pair there they seem so very happy and they are two who've never sought renown
Raised on the same street they were childhood sweethearts and they raised their children here in their Hometown
Still so much in love and they in their late sixties they walk in the town parkland hand in hand
And others unhappy in their third or fourth marriage us human beings are hard to understand.

How come some can fall in love in their teen years and stay in love for the rest of their life
After all these years she's in love with her husband and after all these years he's in love with his wife
Whilst others go through many wives or husbands and their marriage always seems to end in tears
But they go searching for another partner they've fallen in and out of love for years

And could it be that they've never found their soul mate and unhappiness in love is all they find
They fall in and out of love so very quickly but then again some do say love is blind
But some will stay in love till death will take one and the living one for the dead one will grieve
Suppose they who stay in love for their whole lifetime in each others worth must firmly believe.

They've been in love since they were in their teen years and arm in arm they walk along the street
They are so in love after fifty years of marriage as if last week for the first time they did meet
Whilst others are in their fourth or fifth marriage but their love out of love's feeling seems to run
And then they go off in search of another perhaps it's in the chase they find their fun.

Give Me Recognition Whilst I'm Living

I know that I was born in a far Country but I'm not to know or where my life's journey will end
And on our life's journey there's many a crossroad and on our life's journey there's many a bend
In life we all have different expectations and dreams for everyone do not come true
And some in their old age become disillusioned without the recognition they feel to them that is due,
'Twill matter none to me if i am or am not remembered for anonymity post life to one the same as fame
We will be then past any sort of feeling and for each of us it will be all the same
Give me the recognition whilst I'm living or leave me to rest at peace forever more,
Of an afterlife i question the existence i doubt there's life beyond this Earthly shore
Great human beings have died quite disappointed they felt their life's journey was not worthwhile
Though they were wealthy and knew fame and recognition and lady luck on them did seem to smile,
Perhaps they thought in the end what does it matter though they were seen to have achieved something great
That was the way it was with Michaelangelo the artist the whole World did celebrate,
He was a great who died quite disappointed though not the only great to die that way
But give me wealth and recognition whilst I'm living and when I'm dead in peace then let me lay.

Across The Bare Brown Hill

Across the bare brown hill of this old Country the kookaburras voice rings loud and clear
Just before twilight in the quiet of evening a voice that one is likely for to hear
Overlooking the quiet streets of the village the silence one might say almost profound
And when the kookaburras have done with their laughter silence and darkness covers the high ground.

A sort of scene a poet might find inspiring the street lights glow in the village main street
In the late Fall a month before the Winter when day and night in the quiet country meet
When night spreads it's darkened cloak across the high ground and the hunting fox starts barking on the hill
He will grow quieter as he grows more hungry the small and timid he does stalk to kill.

In a hundred years from now one yet not born will feel privileged for to witness such a scene
He will hear the kookaburras laugh at twilight on the bare hill where the rare trees don't look so green
The birds to the quiet country so familiar perhaps descendants of the birds i hear today
By then i will have long returned to Nature and in her dark bosom my whitened bones will lay.

The kookaburras laughter rings out loudly on the high ground as day fades to the night
And when the birds have finished with their calling the darkness comes and all is very quiet
Save for the barking fox just out of his den his voice familiar though sounding rather shrill
And all is silent in the higher country as the moon's face peeps above the quiet hill.

The Goddess Of Nature

The Goddess of Nature she lives eternally
Her rivers forever they flow to the sea
Her Seasons they come and her Seasons they go
And the food of the World from Mother Earth grow.

Long before the dinosaurs Nature's Goddess did live
And us humans who live off of her nothing back to her give
We were less harmful to her when we crawled on our knees
Before the dawn of history when we lived on the trees.

Her presence surrounds us by night and by day
But to the Goddess of Nature few bother to pray
The Gods that we worship and the Gods that we fear
Are the Gods we don't see or the Gods we don't hear.

Her warm and her cold breath is blowing in the breeze
And her wild birds are singing on her bushes and trees
And she is our Earth Mother and to her we belong
And she has inspired me to pen for her this song.

I'm One Of Those

I'm one of those your average poetaster my type the type not many wish to know
One might say a dweller of the social fringes respect for highbrows is something we don't show
We never go to church to pray on Sunday, we don't attend council meetings of the town
Whilst others like to nurture the tall poppies we are the type who'd like to cut them down.

We are the have nots of the social fringes that's what the ruling classes of us say
And we are condemned to suffer on in silence the laws that others make we do obey
We do not need the faithful to pray for us for their own salvation they ought to pray
If their god as they say has the gift of forgiveness we too may be in their heaven one day.

To any sort of greatness we don't have pretentions but we too will live till our time comes to die
The monarch, the pope or the president no different in that respect to you or i
Suppose if we could only live forever we may well may become quite bored with life
Wearied from our many problems and our struggles with our worries and our inner strife.

I'm one of those an ageing rhymer one who has penned many pages of rhyme
But I too will be one of the forgotten when I fall victim of old father time
But show me a cause i think worth fighting for and for it i assuredly will fight
And for those who are in any way disadvantaged i never feel shy for to write.

The Pride Of Knocknagree

Where might she be now The Pride Of Knocknagree
In her prime there was none as lovely as she
Brown eyes and shoulder length darkish brown hair
With her in Duhallow not one could compare.

She left her home Village when she was nineteen
The bigger World out there it was to be seen
She went off to London but I've heard some-one say
That she ended up in the U S of A.

She left behind one lovesick young man in tears
He was older than her by just a few years
And though she was one that he never did kiss
The Pride Of The Village he sorely did miss.

In the early sixties she was in her prime
And no doubt she has aged with the passing of time
With hair tints and hair dyes does she cover her gray
And with anti ageing creams hide her wrinkles away?

The Pride Of Her Village four decades ago
She left in the Spring when the gray hooded crow
Was building her stick nest on the tall beech tree
By the Village on the hill known as Knocknagree.

'Tis Raining In The Village

'Tis raining in the village on a dark and windy night
'Tis almost like a ghost town and not a soul in sight
Tom cats fight in the laneway they snarl and claw and bite
Apart from that the village is almost deathly quiet.

The stormwater  gurgling in the guttering of the street
And on the galvanize roofs the heavy raindrops beat
Apart from the sounds of Nature the silence is profound
And the hunting fox is barking his is a familiar sound.

'Tis raining in the village on a bleak night in the Fall
And the snails with their homes on their backs on the wet footpath crawl
On the Nature strip lit by the street light they slowly move about
On wet and windy weather at night they venture out.

'Tis raining in the village and in the village park
The calls of the spur winged plover are echoing in the dark
I am the only human being who seems to be around
And apart from the sounds of Nature there is no other sound.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

You With Your Airs And Graces

You with your airs and graces you do feel so proud
And you like to be seen to stand out in the crowd
And you even feel that others should bow to you
You've got a swollen ego to give you your due.

You tell everybody who wishes for to hear
Of your daughter the uni professor and your son the engineer
But your husband a black sheep or so 'twould appear
Since he is a flawed person who enjoys his beer.

You with your airs and graces you do like to brag
You are known in the town as a leading windbag
Your ego is swimming in your self conceit
Though one or two like you live on every street.

With everyone who cares to listen you like to impress
Them with your grand stories of your childrens success
But your husband you never once mention his name
He gets drunk off and on that seems human but in that you feel shame.

The Norfolk Pine Of Port Fairy

'Tis said they grow more than a metre each year
And they do seem to have grown since I was last here
The Norfolk Island pine of Port Fairy they tower over all
Beside them most other trees look rather small.

Though not quite as tall as the mountain ash tree
They seem to grow well in the Towns by the sea
On either side of the streets by Griffith Island tall and evergreen
These beautiful trees in their dozens are seen.

As a feature of the Town in the Coastal Countryside
The norfolk pine of Port Fairy have become known far and wide
They do look quite graceful for want of a better name
And without them Port Fairy would not look the same.

A feature of Port Fairy for visitors to recall
The evergreen norfolk pine trees stand graceful and tall
Nature's beauty at her finest for Nature lovers to see
On either side of the streets that lead down to the sea.

Thanks To His Money

His mistress younger than him by four decades though he looks fit for one of sixty nine
And only to the most expensive restaurants does he take her out for to wine and dine
The old bloke he has got heaps of money and of money 'tis true what they say
That of those who have got plenty of it they do seem to have things their own way.

A pretty brown haired young one in her twenties with him she walks out hand in hand
That she is living with a sugar daddy should not be that hard to understand
Since he gives her what most of her own age cannot give her and that is a marvellous time
And she may as well seize the moment since she is one who now is in her prime.

His ex wife she is in her sixties and she now has a life of her own
Of him she says he is a silly bugger far better men than he is I have known
Her toy boy than her is twenty years younger and a fit and virile young person is he
And when asked about him she says he is randy and he is one who does satisfy me.

With darkish brown hair dye he covers his gray and he no doubt has known a better day
But he is one who does look fit for his age and money speaks all languages they say
He is living with one forty years younger and she lives with her toy boy his ex wife
And in his latter years with much thanks to his money he is enjoying a very happy life.

For Everyone Of Us

For some people there will not be tomorrow we are mere grains in the great sands of time
For the doctor there will be one last patient and for the man of rhyme one final rhyme
We are no different to all other creatures their fate it is no different to ours
It makes no difference to the deceased people when their loved ones decorate their graves with flowers.

For everyone of us there is a last day and no proof of life beyond this Earthly shore
Few humans ever do live for a century and death 'twould seem it is forever more
Yet we create so called important people mere mortals just as much as you or i
Our life span in hours and days is easily measured and like other creatures we are born to die.

For some people there won't be a tomorrow like for every bird there is a final Spring
And a final nest to build in wood or hedgerow and a final brood to raise and song to sing
Their song they pass to the next generation and without them in the woodland life goes on
And like the bird there is one to replace us when the life from us forever it has gone.

For everyone of us there is a last day the seconds of our lives they tick away
The babies one day nearer to their last day the babies who were born yesterday
Than other creatures are we any different we live for awhile and are dead forever more
And anyone has not come back to tell us of an afterlife beyond this earthly shore.

They Are Only Hypocritical Bullies

Those who condemn others for the building of Nuclear Energy Stations
Should practice themselves what they preach
What is right for them is not right for some others
Yet they themselves are like teachers without their degrees to teach.

They are only hypocritical bullies
They say you do as we tell you to do
What we do is our business only
And what goes for us does not go for you.

They are speaking the truth yet in their own terms
As their truth to themselves does not apply
Nuclear energy is for their business only
And it's use to those they do not like they try to deny

Nuclear Energy is for themselves and their trusted friends only
And with it's use by some they strongly disagree
In their sense of truth you will find there is truth
Though they preach it with hypocrisy.

I Won't Be There

The swallows fly above the old fields all day
And the birds nest and sing in the woods far away
But i won't be there when the Spring is in bloom
And the valley is fragrant with Nature's perfume.

In the tall reeds of the river pool the wary moorhen cry
To warn her chicks of danger nearby
And three tiny dark chicks in cover disappear
They've learned from mother her call which warn them to fear

Human kind and predators and of them to stay clear
And hide themselves if predators they see or if footsteps they hear
In the wilds of Nature the fittest survive
And only the wariest do stay alive.

And i won't be there when Nature's wild-flowers
Bloom in the lush fields in the mild April showers
And bluebells and primroses on the ditch by the bohreen
I do often recall the great beauty I've seen.

And i won't be there for to welcome the Spring
And in the leafy grove hear the male robin sing
But white blossoms do bloom on the hawthorn tree
And life in the old parish goes on without me.

Your Noble Old Hero

At his graveside memorial the last post was played
And a very fine speech in his honor was made
By a famed army general who is known far and wide
For a brave old ex soldier who of old age had died.

But one fact was omitted of his heroic life
Of how from the pub he often came home drunk and battered his wife
She was a good woman and with her he now lay
We ought not speak ill of the dead many say.

In words your idea of a hero how would you define
Is it someone who in war puts his life on the line
In a far Land where too many young people died
In his fight for his beloved flag and his Nationalistic pride?

Your noble old hero with the deceased lay
And that he battered his wife with you does seem okay
Of those who have died let no ill be said
Since you only judge the living and your God judges the dead.

His children and grandchildren at his graveside
As well as mourners who had travelled from places far and wide
To honor a man who had once travelled far
For to fight for his flag in one more tragic war.

So Often I've Tried

So often I've tried to make sense of my life
The cares of the present and the inner strife
That seems part of life in the twenty first century
And in that respect so many others no different to me.

So many I've known back to Nature have gone
But night follows day and life it goes on
The fate they have known awaits one such as i
We all are mere mortals just born to die.

Why bother to worry about our lack of success
Since such will not guarantee us happiness
And what does it matter success anyway
Since we are mere mortals and we must die one day.

We need a few laughs for to brighten our day
Just to keep our black dogs of despair at bay
If with you a sad face you carry to everywhere you go
You are the one others do not wish to know.

To make sense of my life so often I've tried
And my true self from others i manage to hide
I've learned so little though my hair is quite gray
And i too will return to Nature one day.

We All Do Our Own Thing

To give up on all religion is something i did not plan
Since there is no advantage in being a Godless man
As people pigeon hole you and to each other say
He cannot be a good man to a God he does not pray.

I gave up on all religion since it occurred to me
That Christ he did a foolish thing to die on Calvary
For the sins of the masses and for flawed humanity
His point in dying for human kind i somehow fail to see.

Why waste your time devout one in praying for the dead
The dead are gone forever pray for yourself instead
Of the existence of a God or of a Satan none have come back to tell
Or of an afterlife life of heaven or of an afterlife of hell.

I am not a religious person nor i have never been
I have often looked up at the sky and God I've never seen
You go to Church on Sunday your hymns of praise to sing
But suppose we all are different and we all do our own thing.

The Blackbird In The Garden

The blackbird in the garden I know him by his song
His voice is unmistakeable one cannot get him wrong
His kind I knew many years ago when I was a young boy
In a wood that is far north of here even as the crow does fly.

The blackbird in the garden is one I often see
Sometimes he is quite silent perched on a bush or tree
And sometimes by the hedgerow he scatters leaves around
In his search for slugs and worms that are hiding in the ground.

His female a very quiet one I never hear her sing
She even remains silent in her breeding months of Spring
Her kind I also used to see in feathers of mottled brown
In the high wood by the mountain that overlook the town.

The glossy blackbird in the garden with the lovely orange coloured bill
His song to me as familiar as the babble of the rill
That to the bigger river down the high country flow
His kind I used to hear sing as a boy long years ago.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

For To Linger Here In Such A Place

For to linger here in such a place perhaps is not that wise
What to many is good music to me seems only noise
A wiser thing is for me to leave a foolish thing for me to stay
When I can enjoy a cappucino in a far quieter cafe,
This place designed to suit the young not one time has left gray
The one young in the sixties has known a better day
Those young back in the sixties are now well past their prime
And rather settled in their ways and losing out to time,
And 'tis true what is said of the youth that youth must have it's fling
And if twenty first century teenagers like loud music they are doing their own thing
For such a youthful noisy place mine is too old a face
The little cafe down the street is much a quieter place
Where I can drink my coffee in an atmosphere I enjoy
Why linger in a noisy place with peace and quiet nearby.

Well That Seems Okay

You call me a ratbag well that suits me fine
What you think of me is your business my business is mine
Say what you wish of me but of me don't lie
Mud sticks are words by one far wiser than i.

People like you i meet with every day
On every subject they have plenty to say
Yet by their waffle one comes to realize
That empty vessels do make the most noise.

To one's own self one can only be true
Every day from living we learn something new
No two think in the same way in any one town
Though everyone crave their moment of renown.

We look at life in a different way
And to you one thing i only can say
Words can be harmful you should feel aware
That damage done by words is hard to repair.

Say what you like of me but stick to the truth
Words can be hurtful when used without ruth,
You call me a ratbag well that seems okay
As such things are said about me every day.

I Have No Desire

I have no desire for to try to change your ideas
On politics and life you just suit yourself please
But do not waste your energy in trying to convince me your ideas are right
Since we are as different as day is from night.

You say refugees should be sent back to from where they came
For their circumstance beyond their control poor souls you do blame
But due to circumstance of birth it would seem to me
That you or I may have been born to become a refugee.

That you and I are so lucky you don't see it that way
That we are responsible for our predicaments you are trying to say
But in some cases that only seems to apply
On your sort of reasoning I won't waste a reply.

So many think like you of that I am aware
And so little in common we do seem to share
But before we first walked we learned how to crawl
And long live the truth in a fair go for all.

Bridgie Collins

Never more at the Cork track she'll watch her greyhounds race
And cheer home her winner with a smile on her face
Bridgie from the land of the living has gone
But good memories of her are destined to live on.

Pre-deceased by her husband the one and only Dan
The Collins of Cockhill are a well known clan
They raised a big family the Collins name won't die
And the Cockhill Collins in numbers they will multiply.

The Collins of Millstreet are known far and wide
Far beyond Duhallow's old green Countryside
Through athletics and wrestling, greyhounds and gaelic football
Their names from the past one can readily recall.

And Bridgie their good mother she has passed away
For her sons and her daughters it is a sad day
But for each of us sad to say a final Fall
And the reaper who claimed her will one day claim us all.

You Only Preach Intolerance

Since you believe the fear mongers who keep filling you with fear
Of your little fears and worries I do not wish to hear
So many times you've told me of how your God is great
Yet those you see as different to you in any way you do not tolerate.

Since to the one known as your higher self you never could be true
Your God is not a good God if your God thinks like you
'Tis no wonder we have war zones and 'tis no wonder famine is rife
And 'tis no wonder in the World there is great loss of young life.

Since with the feelings of those different you cannot empathize
I do feel sorry for you your thinking is not wise
Between your God and their God the gulf keeps growing wide
But you feel so much superior to them with your real God on your side.

Since I am one without a God or one who doesn't believe in prayer
You see me as a bad person one damaged beyond repair
But what you think or feel about me I really do not care
You only preach intolerance take your message elsewhere.

Oh You There

Oh you there you pen such good rhyme
You would have known fame in a by gone time
But in this the age of the non rhyme poet
You are not seen as one worthy of note.

In so few words so much you say
With words you surely have a way
Of language you have a great command
And your poems not hard to understand

Your Nature poems I do like best
Of how birds in Spring-time build their nest
In hole in bank or old stump cavity
Or on ground or fork of branch of tree.

Whilst few have heard of you by name
And others enjoy greater fame
I read a poem of your's each night
And I enjoy reading the stuff you write.

Oh you untainted by conceit
One like you doesn't live on every street
You've never penned a slipshod line
And you've matured well like good wine.

Concentrate On The Present

Concentrate on the present and on your present cares
The futures is like climbing up a dark stairs
You open a door and who knows what you'll find
The future will come and your past is behind.

The past we look back on and often recall
But the here and now matters to us most of all
And though to look to the future is never a crime
Tomorrow it will come on it's own good time.

You've heard of the story of the wealthy man
To become the world's wealthiest person his great future plan
But now all is dark and so quiet where he lay
On hindsight he ought to have lived for each day.

My only desire is to pen better rhyme
But even for that there may well not be time
The clock on the wall it just keeps ticking on
And the sky it is dark and the daylight has gone.

I'll Always Be

I'll always be a migrant in this Country and I'd feel like a stranger now in from where I came
But in the end my feelings will not matter for in the end 'twill all come to the same
I live far from the house where I was born in though nostalgia for me a thing of the past
'Tis true enough that time is the great healer though few things in time ever do seem to last.

I now can look back without tears of nostalgia and recall the beauty I have known and seen
Of Springs gone by when robin with the red breast sang on the alder by the old bohreen
When the leafy crab apple tree looked rather lovely in her fragile pink tinted blossoms of gray
And the swallows home from their Southern wintering Country above the fields chased their flying insect prey.

I day dreamed of being a poet in that far Country though for me there has been no such a renown
'Tis true that poets are not made they are born and a poet is not born in every town
Yet the beauty all around me did inspire me as Nature she inspires us all to write
The wildflowers in the lush green fields of April for anyone is a memorable sight.

I still recall the dipper's song in April he sang on a rock amidst the babbling stream
Such things of beauty one tends to remember though of such things I seldom now do dream
And though I'll always be a migrant in this Country the present is to where we all belong
And one might say that I have grown familiar to the natural beauty in the magpie's song.

The Grand Old Fellow Joe

He was a fine old gentleman though him few seemed to know
He lived his life his own way the grand old fellow Joe,
He is with his wife Daisy in the same grave they lay
And may he rest in peace now for he too had his day,
He was a man of few words as most wise people are
And though from his old Hometown he never did travel far
He was a Worldly person insightful and well read
A wise and a knowledgeable fellow of him it could be said,
His only offspring Billy in the war in Vietnam died
His sense of loss and disappointment from others he did not hide,
He said my son was a brave young man who threw his life away
I'd rather him be a living coward and be with me today,
He never harmed anyone though he did his own thing
And he was a grand old fellow and his praises I must sing.

Yellow Billed Spoonbill

By the lake shore in the shallows where the waters are still
He walks in water to his knees the white bird with yellow legs and long yellow spoon like bill
With his bill in the water as he walk moving from side to side
His prey water insects, crustaceans and tiny fish in the water weed hide.

He and his partner build their nest on a high branch of a tree
On her nest of sticks she lays four white eggs though sometimes two or three
They both take care of their young a bird devoted to fatherhood as well as to his mate
Food from their stomachs to their nestlings they do regurgitate.

On river rapids never seen the still waters they need
Birds of the inland lakes and dams in the shallows they feed
Of humans 'twould be fair to say they have a healthy fear
To a human standing on the shore they never venture near.

Yellow billed or yellow legged spoonbill are names they are known by
On the lake I see one yesterday he did seem rather shy
With his long yellow bill moving from side to side in the shallows he shuffled up and down
The shyest of the water birds in the big park by the town.

Friday, June 22, 2012

What Goes Around Comes Around

What goes around comes around that seems so true
For we only receive the karma we are due
And if to help out others you go out of your way
Good karma will be your's to enjoy one day.

But if you are one who likes to live by deceit
And others for your own gain you feel happy to cheat
And whether you do or you do not on karma believe
It will not be good karma that you will receive.

What goes around comes around the wise always say
You will receive the karma for which you did pay
On good or bad karma you do have a choice
Since karma like most things on it has a price.

What goes around comes around I say that again
If you do wrong to others bad karma's your gain
The students of karma will have you to know
That in karma we only receive what we sow.

A Good Sport

His best ever finish is a seventeenth place
And 'tis likely now he'll never win any race
He goes by the nickname of 'the unplaced athlete'
But the main thing about him is that he does compete

As without his type others they could not run for gold
And stories of their greatness could not be written or told
And though for him the bonfires they never will blaze
He should be remembered and we should sing his praise.

He should be remembered for trying his best
And though always found wanting when put to the test
Great courage of him we should not deny
And credit him for giving it his best try

And credit him if only for taking part
A sportsman in ways and a sportsman at heart
He is always out jogging in rain, hail or sun
And every race to him is just a fun run.

He will never be one sports writers will recall
Though that doesn't bother him one bit at all
His next run the ten mile road race on Sunday
And of him 'a good sport' seems a fair thing to say.

The Girls Of My Young Years

The girls of my young years where are they today?
Perhaps some from the Hometown they live far away
And are in their late fifties or early sixties maybe
And perhaps any of them I will never more see.

Some of them in the home Parish they choose for to stay
And their grandchildren are local school-goers today
And do they use hair dyes for to cover their gray?
So few choose to age in the natural way.

The girls of my young years I've not seen for years
No doubt they have enjoyed laughter and they have shed tears
That falling in and out of love it can bring
Of their youthful beauty I gladly will sing.

The girls of my young years are now getting old
I recall them when they were lovely to behold
And young in my memory they will remain
And I see them when I am on memory lane.

Hate And Dislike

Hate and dislike are not the same thing between them the difference is great
We well may not like everybody but our dislike should not give way to hate
For hatred leads people to bad crimes since hatred as a feeling is very intense
The feeling of hatred is noxious and is poison to common sense.

Some commit murder due to hatred and than murder there is no worse a crime
Their hatred has landed them in prison for to serve a lengthy span of jail time
Their life it is ruined forever and darkness envelopes their soul
Suppose that is what's bound to happen when hatred is out of control.

Hate and dislike are two different creatures and though dislike to hatred can grow
Hate in it has got far more venom those who hate mercy will not show
Whilst those who dislike you may not harm you at least not in a physical way
And if you asked me to choose between them I would choose dislike any day.

For Every

For every bird in the wood there is a final Spring
And a last nest to build and a last song to sing
And in the same wood in the Spring of next year
The very same songs from their offsprings we'll hear.

The rabbit she does not have a long life span
She lives in fear of predators and in fear of man
But despite diseases her species will live on
And her young will be breeding when the life from her has gone.

At the top of the food chain human beings multiply
Our success as a species not many would deny
Humans have walked on the Moon and been in Outer Space
No challenge seems too daunting for the human race.

Some live to be old though in time brief the life stay
And we all have to die for others to make way
And the years roll on by and time ticks on fast
And each day we live is one day nearer to our last.

The Countryside Here

The Countryside here of few trees open rugged and brown
Is not like the high Wooded Countryside near Belgrave Town
Where I lived up to going on eight years ago
In the dry stony country few tall trees do grow.

So many different sorts of Landscapes in this Southern Land
All you who have not been here you would not understand
The scenery it seems to change from Shire to Shire
And the artists and writers it never fails to inspire.

For to sketch and write of it in poetry and prose
Though what's beautiful to one to another is not that's life I suppose
Some like the dry Inland country some like the lands by the sea
And some like the high woods of the mountain ash tree.

So much Natural beauty for awe to inspire
And the scenery it keeps changing from Shire to Shire
And such great natural beauty everywhere to see
In this Southern Land of varied scenery.