Friday, August 31, 2012

When Negative People Have Power

When negative people have power they seek to conquer and divide
They refer to the flag of the Nation as a symbol of courage and pride
A big speech at the war memorial where respect by them to the war dead is paid
By their false show of patriotism their foundation to power has been laid
We are ruled by negative people so cunning in their own narrow way
With the fears of the vast majority of the voters they do certainly know how to play
They vow for to kill every terrorist and the praises of war heroes they sing
They do seem such power hungry people and to power they do desperately cling
Of the words of the aspiring political leaders the voters do seem to take note
For the one who does not play to their fears the majority never would vote
The one who is not patriotic in parliament will not hold a seat
The innovative thinkers in politics at the polling booths facing defeat
We vote for the people most like us for those who can play to our fear
And suppose that does seem only natural since they tell us what we want to hear.


They are a special breed of people compassionate, caring and kind
Not paid enough for the work they do for better than them you'll not find
They care for the ill and the dying they have the gift of empathy
Nurses are such wonderful people and a credit to humanity,
They have such a warmth about them high praise for them not good enough,
They work very hard for a living their easiest shift it is tough
Yet we seem to take them for granted and their praises we never do sing
They are born with the gift of compassion and that is a wonderful thing
They tend to the sick and the injured yet them we never celebrate
We never look on them as heroes or heroines yet their contribution to society is great
To their work they are dedicated though they are not amongst the highly paid
The people who do help so many but not enough of them is made
They care for the sick, dying and injured and for their kindness and compassion known
We should sing the praises of nurses they are in a class of their own.

He Was Born And Raised By The Mountain

He was born and raised by the mountain and the memories he retain
Of the old fields by the river flooded after heavy rain
And of the cold days of Winter when the chilly winds did blow
And the hill and the high fields by it wore their Winter cloaks of snow.

He was born and raised by the mountain where in the mildness of the Spring
On the hedgerows and the high wood the nesting birds did whistle and sing
The skylark flew above the mountain he seemed a small speck in the sky
And his carolling seemed to grow fainter as upwards and up he did fly.

He was born and raised by the moutain but far from the mountain he'll die
And when people ask do you ever feel homesick his answer is never not I
He now lives in the distant suburbs and the suburban life he enjoy
He will not even return for to visit the places he knew as a boy.

He will never again see the old fields and the wild hare in his coat of brown
In the coldness of a Winter's morning to warm himself run up and down
On the field by the foot of the mountain where the rill bank high downhill does flow
When rain on the high ground is falling and the hill wears a blanket of snow.

That Is Life

Tell me have you ever slept on a bed ridden with fleas
They crawl around your private parts, your stomach and your knees
And in the morning many tiny red spots where they had chosen to bite
They had given you a hard time you had not slept well that night.

Tell me have you ever suffered from a sickening disease
Though from it you recovered very slowly by degrees
Life is not meant to be easy you are entitled for to say
For their gift of life for many there is some price for to pay.

Tell me have you ever been in a bar-room as drunk as drunk can be
And in the space where one was standing two like him you did see
You were suffering from double vision from the affects of too much grog
And you woke up the next morning sicker than an old sick dog.

Tell me has your friend ever told you that the pretty one who lives next door
Told him that you she fancies and your chances you explore
When you ask her on a date she says no way and with sadness you recall
That the one you thought was your friend is not your friend after all.

If these things to you did happen you've an idea what life's about
You know what it feels like to be embarrassed and to be down but not counted out
Been flea bitten, suffered illness, felt lousy after too much booze
That is life as some will tell you and in life you win and lose.

John Leary Of Gortavehy

He was the best stone mason that I have ever known
John Leary of Gortavehy he built great walls of stone
He worked for the Cork County Council and as a Schoolgoing boy
To see him working at his trade a thing I did enjoy.

A quiet sort of a fellow in his own gentle way
To support his wife and daughter he worked hard for his pay
The Council's top stone mason in decades long gone by
His worth as a stone wall builder of him none could deny.

As a builder of dry stone walls with him none to compare
Stone masons of his calibre to say the least are rare
I knew him in my younger years when his better days were gone
And though decades with the departed good memories live on

Of the builder of the dry stone walls of the Duhallow Countryside
A quiet and unassuming fellow who in his work took pride
In the Barony of Duhallow he built many a fine stone wall
He was the quiet achiever and one I feel happy to recall.

I Do Not Write

I do not write for reasons aligned to wealth and fame
And writing of verse for me has been a 'hungry belly game'
I am one of those addicted to the penning of rhyme
Though in a Land of free speech that cannot be a crime.

It matters little to me at my time of life if I'm not good enough
I am just one of many who has written reams of stuff
'Twould seem that our very existence we all must justify
But better to try and to not be successful than never for to try.

I have written a whole pile of stuff and I add to it every day
On Nature and life in general there's always so much to say
And no shortage of subject matter on which to write about
But on my ability as a writer I do have serious doubt.

In school a below average pupil I was not a clever boy
But in my late twenties I took up writing rhyme a thing I do enjoy
I have reached my sixth decade and I am showing the wear of time
One more addictive rhymer three decades beyond my prime.

I do not write for money and I will never know renown
Just an ageing addictive rhymer in an ordinary town
One who has seen a better day and far from my Homeland shore
I write just for the love of it just that and nothing more.

When I Return To Millstreet

When I return to Millstreet it will be in the Spring
When the fields are full of wildflowers and the nesting songbirds sing
And the hawthorns will be laden in their white blossoms of the May
And the skylark will be carolling above the rushes all the day.

When I return to Millstreet the fields will be lush and green
And the bluebells will be blooming on the ditch of the bohreen
And though I may be a stranger to many there I will meet
At heart I will feel at home in my old homeplace of Millstreet.

When I return to Millstreet some young people might say
Who is he that old stranger he looks so tired and gray?
But others who remember me with a shake hands will say hello
And add you've aged since we last see you more than two decades ago.

When I return to Millstreet a place of which I still do dream
The dipper will be singing in the babbling mountain stream
That flows through Claraghatlea north from the heights of Claramore
Far distant as the crow does fly from this far southern shore.

When I return to Millstreet Duhallow will look lush and green
And the swallows o'er the old fields chasing flying insects to be seen
And the familiar voice of the cuckoo will be pleasant for to hear
When I return to Millstreet in the Springtime of the year.

Karma Applies To Everyone

To anyone I have ever wronged in any sort of way
Will return to me in karma for to karma I must pay
For past sins against others there is a karmic law
On your idea on this subject your own conclusion draw.

To anyone reading what I have written here who sees what is past has gone
Why waste your energy on reading this stuff with your ways carry on
If you do not believe in karma with me that is okay
As I am not out to influence you in any sort of a way.

I know I am not a wise one though I am growing old and gray
And few bother to take heed of anything I do say
But I believe in the workings of karma I see it as quite true
If you do wrong to others bad karma you are due.

What goes around always comes around you may dismiss that as a lie
But I believe karma applies to everyone as well as to you and I
I am not free of superstition that fact I won't deny
But I do believe that karma to everyone does apply.

In The Wood Over There

I hear the wild birds singing in the wood over there
Their songs clear and melodious in the clear morning air
The children of Mother Nature are welcoming the day
Their songs much like a birthmark to their identity a give away,
A pleasant Summer's morning of around twenty degrees
And white butterflies are flitting around the garden trees
In the calmness of the morning there is hardly any breeze
And the air is full of the buzzings of the nectar gathering bees
The flowering gums covered in red flowers make for a pretty sight
And the sunflowers look resplendent in the warmth of the sunlight
So much beauty in Nature to look at and admire
And a scene such as I behold now an artist would inspire
A memory for to cherish and with others for to share
And the wild-born birds are singing in the wood over there.

An Old Migrant

In his youth he was as restless as the silver tongued mountain rill
That babbled on by his home from the foot of the old hill
The wanderlust in his young heart the far off hills seemed green
And he said goodbye to his parents and his younger brother when he had turned eighteen
A seventy eight year old grand father with an eighty year old wife
Far from his old home by the northern hills he will live out his life
The old home he has not seen for some thirty years or more
And perhaps he'll never again see the the cliffs of his homeland shore,
A likeable old fellow to all he says good day
And to help out other people he goes out of his way
For his years he looks healthy and he enjoys good cheer
And on saturday evenings at the Local he still likes to have a beer
He has such a good memory and his thoughts are always clear
And he looks a decade younger than his seventy eight year.

Mick Barry

Mick Barry was a road bowler in his time Ireland's best
And he was never found wanting when he was put to the test
The pride of Cork road bowlers and old road bowling fans still recall
That his scores with Armagh's Danny McPartland were the greatest scores of all,
Mick Barry not a big man but deceptively strong
And amongst the greats of road bowling his name rightfully belong
Few could hope to match it with him when he was in his prime
But everyone sooner or later bow to father time,
Mick Barry was a great bowler the facts and records do not lie
Amongst the fans of road bowling his name will never die
He threw the steel ball further than anyone his name lives in renown
And when big bets were on and the stakes were high he never left his backers down,
Mick Barry was a champion road bowler one who loved to compete
And 'tis said of him that in his time he was the one to beat.

Like Most

Like most for every friend you have you surely have a foe
And like most the ups and downs of life you too have come to know
And it would seem from your address and your side of the town
For you 'tis a stiff uphill climb to success and renown,
Like most for you no easy pay you struggle to survive
And only your great lust for life is keeping you alive
You've had to cope with tragedy but your cross you bravely bear
And despite the hard times you've been through you somehow hang in there,
You may be one of many but in ways you are quite rare
For you refuse to feel suicidal in your moments of despair
Nothing easy ever in life has come your way
And may the last day be the hardest day you have been known to say
Like most life for you is a battle but you refuse to give in
But a wise one once said that every loss is one nearer to a win.

I Am Only Reminiscing

When I was a young fellow and that's going back in time
John Twomey the master wordsmith was Duhallow's Prince of Rhyme
And the travellers in their horse drawn vans they travelled far and wide
On the main roads and the by roads of the green old countryside.

On Summer evenings in the meadows as I can well recall
I heard the corncrake calling as darkness began to fall
But the earlier cutting of the grass their nests and eggs destroyed
And their voices lost forever in the green old countryside.

Though with the passage of time few things do seem to last
I revisit my memories and I go back to the past
When I picked whortleberries on old Clara in July
And the small brown lark was carolling in the clear and sunny sky.

At least we have our memories of the things that used to be
When our young hearts filled with wonder of Nature's beauty we did see
But as we age it does seem we lose some of our inner glow
And as we lose our innocence more cynical we grow.

I am only reminiscing of times long past and gone
And though few things last forever time and life goes on
But of our long lost childhood memories we do retain
And in our flights of fancy we visit the past again.

Maureen Connolly

Perhaps the greatest tennis player the World has ever seen
She had won nine grand glam tournaments before she was nineteen
Till her marvellous tennis career was prematurely ended in such a tragic way
Thrown from her horse her foot was crushed that's life as some might say.

The marvellous Maureen Connolly the greatest tennis player of her time
Her great career had ended long before she had reached her prime
Nine grand slams as a teenager her record may never be beat
She won every grand slam tournament in which she did compete.

The greats of present day tennis we hear so much about
Though 'tis not on their greatness we ever cast a doubt
But of nine grand slams as a teenager none of them can boast
To the late Maureen Connolly we ought to drink a toast.

Great tennis players like the Seasons they come and then they go
But there was only one Maureen Connolly the legendary 'Little Mo'
Nine grand slams as a teenager believe it if you may
The champion amongst champions her record stands today.

Most Writers

Most writers 'twould seem have moments of self doubt
But they never go short of things to write about
And to become a top writer of one a big ask
And to succeed as a writer for many seems too daunting a task.

Most writers do not write for wealth or for fame
And despite lack of success they pen on just the same
For every one hundred thousand writers perhaps one writing millionaire
Amongst the ranks of the wealthy the writers are rare.

Few writers can hope for to scale success height
For the love of writing they only do write
Few writers get published and fewer know of success
But in their writings on paper their thoughts they express.

Most writers will never know wealth and renown
And they are not even well known in their own Hometown
They never will be known beyond their home shore
They Write for the love of it and little else more.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

The Old Finnow River

Swollen by heavy rains that melt the mountain snow
Bank high by Millstreet Town the old Finnow flow
A river that will flow till the end of time
That has inspired poets to song and to rhyme,
The old Finnow river will flow forever more
On to the Blackwater that flows to the ocean shore
In the Spring and Summer the brown skylark fly
Above the rank rushes to sing in the sky
And robin on the silver birch sings his familiar song
Near where the old Finnow goes babbling along
On towards the Blackwater on it's way to the sea
The old Finnow river does flow ceaselessly
From the lake by Gneeves in flood waters of brown
The Finnow bank high flows down by Millstreet Town.

Few Go Through Life

Few go through life without making a foe
And you cannot like everyone you do know
Though your friend tomorrow can be your foe today
And such is life as some are known to say.

Though our foes we may not profess to hate
Our enemies for ourselves we help to create
It takes two to quarrel tell us something new
And for everyone of us good friends are few.

True friendships often reach the breaking strain
But as a friend your true friend will remain
Despite disagreements your friend stays as your friend
The great bond of friendship in death only end.

We are only human and when all is said and done
Few can go through life as friends with everyone
And in your time of most need when with your cares you struggle to cope
Your friends are there to offer you support and hope.

In Point Smythe

In Point Smythe quite close to Venus Bay
From where I am now in distance far away
The kangaroos known as the eastern gray
In the paddocks graze in the gloaming of the day,
On the coastal mudflats the tiny crabs are out
In their thousands they are running about
Sensitive to sound the least noise they do hear
And at approaching footsteps into their holes they disappear,
In Point Smythe miles from the nearest rural town
The grey butcherbird pipes as the sun goes down
And there's a cool freshness in the coastal breeze
That gently soughs in the melaleuca trees
And the gray roos they graze and hop around
As shades of darkness creep across the ground.

I Am Not The Type

I am not the type a mum and dad would feel proud to call son
But if I can live till I die without harming anyone
Then my existence will not have been in vain
Since I did not inflict on others pain,
I may well be one more forgotten man
But if I can live out my natural time span
Without harming another then I will not die in regret
Though I am one that others will forget,
In the eyes of others I am not a success
And I do not live at a fashionable address
But if I can live without too much greed
And help some poor soul in a time of need
And do not cause another grief or pain
Then my life will not have been all in vain.

'Tis Hard To Say Goodbye

On leaving home to those you love 'tis hard to say goodbye
And you cannot choke back the tears though hard you well may try
An experience known to many and an experience known to me
And the memory of a goodbye is not a pleasant memory,
The memory of a goodbye few do wish to recall
And a last goodbye to a dear friend is the saddest goodbye of all
We all have crosses in our lives some heavy for to bear
And last goodbyes that are not sad for to say the least are rare,
I find it hard to say goodbye that word seem hard to say
But life for some not easy it is uphill all of the way
And goodbyes can be so sad and the tears do start to flow
An experience known to many and an experience I too know,
We all have our ups and downs in life and some good memories to recall
But of the hard words for to say goodbye one of the hardest of them all.

Old Bill

Old Bill one I know fairly well never laughs at a joke
In fact I've never seen him smile he is a sour old bloke
He seems bereft of humor which seems a little sad
As he is an honest person and in him nothing bad.

Seventy five years old and single he has never had a wife
And he has never fathered children he leads a lonely life
With a red brick home in the leafy Suburb he is quite a wealthy man
He has more than enough of money for to live out his life span.

He does not seem to have vices cigarettes he does not smoke
And he never has drunk alcohol not a blokey sort of a bloke
His true self is the one you see for he is free of guile
He always looks so serious I've never seen him smile.

He will never go short of money he is financially secure
And he will not die laughing of that one can seem sure
He looks so very serious and those who have known him for years say
That he has not changed from year to year he has always been this way.

On Hearing A Greenfinch

I know the singer of the song though him I cannot see
His voice I knew in my younger years lives in my memory
The green he wears it blends in well with the foilage of the blackwood tree
Where he sing in the sun and wind in the warmth of January.

The beauty born of Nature for us all to enjoy
In the green groves of Duhallow when I was a school going boy
Amongst the lush green foilage his nesting kin did chirp and sing
The distinctive song of the greenfinch a familiar voice of the Spring.

The years on me are creeping up I have known a better day
And that we are only born to live and breed and die does that seem fair to say
And though many with those sentiments may strongly disagree
We too are part of Nature that's how 'twould seem to me.

The songs of the birds we heard sing in our younger years in our memories do remain
And sight unseen we know them by their voices when we hear them again
The greenfinch I hear sing today his song to him was passed down
Through his ancestors D N A from the groves beside the town.

At the distinctive song of the greenfinch old memories awake
That voice I first heard as a young boy I never could mistake
It stirs up memories of the northern Spring and the the leafy woods of May
And it has followed me across the World from places far away.

For Some Life Is A Hard Journey

For some life is a hard journey it is uphill all of the way
And every day of life for them is just another day
Of struggling for survival but still they battle on
The ray of hope remains with them that all is not lost and gone
The children of poor parents they know of poverty
But they can only live in hope of better times to see
And that hope does spring eternal so happens to be true
And if they have a change of luck it only is their due
Of the have nots of the World we hear of every day
And those of them who have jobs only work for small pay
The social gap is widening and that does seem sad to say
And the poor do not grow wealthier they just grow old and gray
And thousands do grow poorer for every new millionaire
And only the very wealthy will tell you that all in life is fair.

In My Wild Flights Of Fancy

The blueness of the saltwater the white waves rolling free
In my wild flights of fancy the ocean I can see
The silver gulls and black backed gulls above the white beach cry
And the sun is shining brightly in the clear and sunny sky,
The children in the shallows they laugh and splash and run
In the coolness of sea water their way of having fun
On a pleasant day in Summer of 25 degrees
And there is a soothing freshness in the freshening ocean breeze,
The distinctive smell of the seaweed washed in by the last tide
A refuge from beach predators for tiny sea things to breed in and hide
Coastal people love the ocean and near the ocean they choose to stay
And in the coastal cemeteries their last remains do lay
The rumble of the ocean the white waves running free
And in my flights of fancy the sea is calling me.

The Great Goddess Of Nature

The great Goddess of Nature is the one true God for me
I feel I sense her presence in every bush and tree
You may dismiss me as an atheist since to your God I do not pray
But what you think of me is your own business and with me that seems okay
The mother of the Seasons Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring
The great Goddess of Nature her praises I must sing
The great Goddess of Nature is around us everywhere
The foods of her creations with all of us she share
We buy and sell her produce and the land we claim we own
Of the great Goddess of Nature the only God I've known
Her sky, rivers, lands and oceans we see fit to pollute
But what we do to her to our own selves we do that only seems the truth
The great Goddess of Nature she is all around me
And everywhere I turn to look her beauty I can see.

On An Email From Frankie Reen

An email from a fellow for years I had not seen
A schoool friend from the past decades the likeable Frankie Reen
His daughters now young women and time keeps ticking on
On looking back the decades where have the years to gone?

The young and dashing Frankie Reen is one I can recall
For Millstreet and Cork County he played Gaelic Football
Well liked and well respected far beyond Millstreet Town
Yet he never hogged the limelight or felt proud of his renown.

He had great news to tell me of his lovely wife Marie
Of the illness that affected her 'tis good to hear she's free
Good things happen for good people that's how it ought to be
And fortune do favour the brave with that most would agree.

An email from one Frankie Reen one from my old home-place
Where I had lived for many years and mine was a known face
I've not been there for twenty years and time keeps ticking by
On looking back it does not seem that long the Seasons seem to fly.

An email from a school friend Frankie Reen all with him seems okay
For Millstreet in the green and gold some great games he did play
From Claraghatlea my old Townland from here so far away
From where he lives he can see Clara Mountain every day.

Bureaucracy Directors

Bureaucracy directors can be so immoral and dishonest
They pay their C E O's millions in salaries every year
For to sack workers and run on slender budgets
'We must protect our profits from them we only hear'

They are the lawful crooks of the World,
They help themselves to profits at their workers expense,
They are dishonest, arrogant and greedy
And little can be said in their defence.

'Tis profit for them at the expense of others
And profit for them only seems to count
They are the emperors of little empires
And their empires grow as their profit margins mount.

They have the big say in electing Governments
To the political parties who favour them huge sums of money they subscribe
For to spend money on fightings elections
The gullible voters are not hard to bribe.

Most bureaucracy directors are not honourable people
Though there is always an exception to the rule
They can be very untrustworthy people
For their success they use their workers as their fuel.

The Blackwater In Flood

The Boggeragh hills white in January snow
In ancient Duhallow where the Blackwater flow
Through that old flat countryside by Derrinagree
On it's way through North Cork on it's way to the sea.

The Blackwater in flood it has a mighty roar
As it rumbles along to the Atlantic shore
It floods across the land like a great inland tide
And in water covers the fields of it's banks either side.

The Blackwater in flood is amazing to see
Awe inspiring that's how it did seem to me
As it rages through Dromtarriffe in flood waters of brown
Through the flat countryside on towards old Mallow Town.

The Blackwater in flood it inspires awe and fear
When it bursts it's banks 'tis not safe to go near
Swollen by heavy rains and the melting of snow
To human or beast mercy it does not show.

Memories of cold January of frost, snow, wind and rain
And of the Blackwater in flood with me does remain
It submerges the fields like a great inland tide
As it rages it's way through the old countryside.

In Nature's World

In Nature's World Nature's wonders do abound
The billions of ants that crawl around the ground
The trillions of flying things beetles, flies and bees
That buzz around the blossom laden trees.

In Nature's World the birds sing every day
And migratory waders from the Northlands far away
On the southern beaches searching for insects ten thousand miles or more
From their birthplace on the cold Arctic shore.

In Nature's World a bird I often hear and see
In the town park the black and white pee wee
With little variation in his song
Pee wee pee wee he calls out all day long.

Of Nature's World so much to learn and know
Of how the plants and flowers and grasses grow
And though many of Nature's wonders to recall
Her best kept secrets she hides from us all.

They Do Have Swollen Egos

They do have swollen egos but for that them one cannot blame
Since fans beg them for autographs and loudly chant their name
The millionaire sports men and women how arrogant they do seem
So proud and self conceited and so full of self esteem
If people were chanting my name how conceited I too would be
And any humbleness I'd show would be false humility
For too much of adulation does go to the recipient's head
And people do become arrogant with their egos too well fed
Perhaps of them I'm jealous but few who would not like wealth and fame
And if those who have both feel self conceited for that can one them blame
For they are the centre of attention where-ever to they do go
And they are the people the sports mad fans wish to know
And 'tis by their adoring public that celebrities are made
And so many hard luck stories for one to make the grade.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Shouting At The Trees

His hair is long and straggly his pants torn at the knees
The old man in the parkland who keeps shouting at the trees
A homeless poor old fellow and of him it is said
That he should be in an asylum he is not right in the head
He is not deemed to be dangerous since he would not harm a fly
And young lovers in the park ignore him as hand in hand they go walking by
On the pathway where he is standing at the trees he shout and swear
Whilst the wildborn birds are piping in the balmy evening air
A mentally ill poor fellow with shoulder length unkempt grey hair
Perhaps in his early seventies for him none does seem to care
Without a friend in the World and himself his only foe
Recognized by all of the locals yet of him none does wish to know
The evening it is balmy with a cool and freshening breeze
As he stands there on the pathway shouting at the parkland trees.

He Told Me Of His Top Job

He told me of his top job and of his Uni degrees
And I had to stop myself of telling him enough is enough please
A man I had never met before in the supermarket park
Perhaps he had to tell someone of how in life he had made his mark.

A person I had never spoken to or never before had seen
Perhaps he needed to tell someone of how successful he had been
But perhaps he should have picked some one else for to tell of his success
For if he was the President I could not have cared less.

We all need recognition that so happens to be true
But why solicit of strangers what you feel is your due
And though self praise is always no praise some have been known to say
Suppose some need to seek due recognition that is not coming their way.

Out of his life opportunities 'twould seem he had made the most
And of his many achievements he did seem proud to boast
On parting to him I said 'good on you' as I went on my way
The birds sang in the parkland it was a lovely day.

May Your Last Day Be Your Hardest

May your last day be your hardest you have heard that said before
And here's to the great gift of life 'tis well worthy of an encore
You may feel old and weary and have lost your sexual drive
But otherwise you are in good health just feel glad to be alive.

You may be decades past your prime and your better days long gone
But for as long as you are healthy just keep on keeping on
You only get one chance at life so of it make the most
Forget about your noble death to life we'll drink a toast.

May your last day be your hardest you have reason to feel sad
For lady luck to you is cruel and life for you going bad
But hang in there the good times may not be that far away
And fortune does favour the brave a wise one once did say.

May your last day be your hardest though you feel burdened by care
You are not alone in feeling this way in this respect you are not rare
To despondency and despair you never should give in
Tonight your luck may even change with a huge tattslotto win.

I Would Love To Go To Africa

I would love to go to Africa to see the wildlife there
To bring away from there great memories that with others I could share
To see the Serengeti the World's greatest wildlife park
And hear the male lions roaring and hear the wild dogs bark.

I would love to go to Africa to the Countries of the Nile
The home of the World's largest reptile the African crocodile
To see the wildebeest and zebra in huge flocks congregate
Across the bare savanna in thousands they migrate.

I would love to go to Africa the cradle of humanity
As long as marvellous wildlife there's colorful people for to see
The indigenous people of a Continent that is as old as time
A Land sketched by great artists and that has inspired writers to story, song and rhyme.

I would love to visit Africa from here many a mile
To see the World's greatest Continent would be something well worthwhile
The cradle of humanity a Land beyond compare
Of there I would have such great memories with others for to share.

Back There In Old Duhallow

Back there in old Duhallow the frosty fields are gray
And the wildborn birds are silent at the dawning of the day
And the chilly winds of January sough in the naked trees
And ice is on the dark pond from the hard overnight freeze
In January in Duhallow the hedgerows looking bare
And in the rushy field by the river the shy and elusive hare
In the greyness of his surroundings quite visible in his coat of brown
For to warm the coldness in his bones through the rushes racing up and down
From the fields of old Duhallow the Spring seems far away
And the cattle in the farm-yard shed are bellowing for hay
And hungry birds by the back door squabble over crusts of bread
And before the warmth of Spring weeks of cold weather ahead
And the chirping house sparrows in the back-yard the only birds one does hear
Back there in old Duhallow 'tis a cold time of the year.

'Tis Easy For To Be Judgemental

'Tis easy for to be judgemental and judgemental people not rare
And I should know as I too am that way and there are plenty like me everywhere
Perhaps we dislike in others what in ourselves we seem to see
The things in others I do not like are the things I do not like in me
And what about you Mr Rabbit have you any kind thing to say
About that weary ageing battler he may have seen a better day?
But one day you too will be like him and from life looking the worst for wear
Yet he is a very brave fellow and with bravery his crosses he does bear
'Tis easy to find fault with others and them you may well criticize
But you will not find judgemental people amongst the ranks of the thoughtful and wise
When we are into criticizing others our own higher selves we cannot embrace
We should concentrate on our own faults we all have our own problems to face
'Tis easy for to be judgemental so many lack in empathy
And the weaknesses I see in others are the weaknesses I see in me.

The Truth Can Be Bitter

I have written reams and reams of stuff and bugger all my gain
And why I keep on penning on is beyond me to explain
The lesser goddess of doggerel she has a hold on me
Addictive behaviour it does seem keeps one in poverty,
I once had dreams of wealth and fame but dreams for few come true
And we only deserve in life what we are only due
The cream to the top always does rise that fact with us remain
And those with talent who work hard their goals in life attain,
I choose not to heed those who say to me you've written so much rhyme
And why do you keep on penning stuff it seems such a waste of time
The truth can be bitter I suppose their advice I do ignore
I just keep on penning more stuff with me it's much wants more
No shortage of addictive kind there are many such as I
But I will keep on penning rhyme until the day I die.

The Amazing Oscar Wilde

By an affair of the heart his character was soiled
And he spent some time in Reading Jail the amazing Oscar Wilde
And in his wit and writings his legacy lives today
The memory of true genius takes centuries to decay.

A son of William Wilde and Speranza a fine poet in her own right
It would seem that the young Oscar was born and bred to write
Long after the works of many of his contemporaries to the ways of time have gone
His wit and works of genius still fresh and living on.

The author of The Ballad of Reading Jail and The Importance of Being Earnest and Lady Windemere's Fan
He died almost in penury though not a forgotten man
For he was unforgettable with words he had a way
And his literary works will still be living many centuries from today.

A genius of the Literary World his life full of romance
He died in nineteen hundred at forty six years of age in Paris in France
His health was poor he did not live on for to grow old and gray
Some of the good have a short span you hear some people say.

A man who in his lifetime knew of literary renown
He scaled the heady heights of fame and then came crashing down
He blossomed into a literary giant he was a gifted child
Speranza's son the writer and wit the amazing Oscar Wilde.

The Peerless Willie Neenan

Though well into his seventies and his better days long gone
The peerless Willie Neenan he keeps on running on
Cork, Munster, Irish and World Championship and other medals by the score
He still runs on the roadway between Millstreet and Rathmore.

A legend of Duhallow and one of Ireland's best
He never is found wanting when he is put to the test
The peerless Willie Neenan is still racing to win
To age and the wear and tear of time he refuses to give in.

The runner for all Seasons who refuses to bow to father time
When I was a young fellow the great man was in his prime
At Cross Country and track meetings he was the one to beat
His heart as big as Clara hill this marvellous athlete.

The athletes he competed against as a young man nowadays are walking slow
But Willie is still running and his legend grow and grow
Between racing and training a million miles he must have run
In all Seasons and all weather wind, rain, frost, snow and sun.

One of Duhallow's finest that would be fair to say
And though the peerless Willie Neenan may have known a better day
Still racing and competing he will not bow to father time
He ran against and beat the best when he was in his prime

The Brown One From Tahiti

The brown one from Tahiti is only twenty three
And she is feeling homesick for her island in the sea
From here even a long way thousands of miles by sea or sky
Yet her great love for her Island she never would deny
The brown one from Tahiti brown eyes and coal black hair
So down to earth and lovely and unburdened by care
A credit to her people and her Island far away
Though here she has worked and lived for two years here she won't grow old and gray
The brown one from Tahiti she has a lovely smile
So easy for to talk to and free of conceit and guile
A great loss to Tahiti is surely Melbourne's gain
And though at times she does feel homesick here for now she will remain
A credit to her family and a credit to her race
Is the one from Polynesia with the lovely smiling face.

In The Age Of Celebrity Worship

In the age of celebrity worship our own small gods we do create
And mortals like ourselves in the flesh we worship and celebrate
People who are good at golf and tennis and various other games of ball
We give them their big egos though pride can come before a fall
We look up to wealthy people and those of privileged birth and give to politicians power
And in the presence of the dictator they've created a Nation's people cower
We give big egos to strangers people we may never meet
At the table that they dine at we will never have a seat
Yet the unsung heroes of our town we choose for to ignore
He is just an ordinary fellow the bloke who lives next door
But he helps his wheelchair bound neighbour without asking for reward or pay
And for someone in need in the neighbourhood he does a good deed every day
But we see him as an ordinary bloke and his praises are unsung
Many of our heroes are quite dashing and competitive and young.

Mr Lucky

They call him Mr Lucky he is a lucky man
He and his wife on holidays in Tokyo in Japan
On the profits of his gambling the horses he bet on always seem to win
And winners always grinners and with joy he does grin,
'Tis said that gambling is a losers game but not in Mr Lucky's case
He always leaves the race track with a big smile on his face
The man must be a genius on horse racing to know all he does know
As most who gamble on horses have only losses for to show
In a risky venture that a genius in could only hope for to succeed
The one nick-named Mr Lucky must be a clever man indeed
He seldom bets on favourites most of his winners at long odds
He must be one of the few who has been blessed by the gods
They call him Mr Lucky he is a lucky man
He and his wife at present are touring in Japan.

Drishane In May

To that quiet and old green countryside the Seasons come and go
Where the waters of the Finnow into the Blackwater flow
In Drishane in Millstreet Parish a place as old as time
A place known for it's beauty that inspire the bards to rhyme
In the leafy groves of Drishane in Duhallow in the Spring
Mother Nature at her finest and the nesting song-birds sing
In my pleasant flights of fancy distance seems to disappear
And in a grove by the Finnow redbreast robin I can hear,
In the quietness of late evening a few miles from Millstreet Town
Singing on a silver birch tree as the sun is going down
Near the famous Drishane castle finches singing on the trees
And there is a pleasant coolness in the freshening evening breeze
And the rooks caw on the tall trees in the gloaming of the day
In Drishane in old Duhallow on a balmy evening in May.

Anyone Can Be A Rhymer

Anyone can be a rhymer but poets are born not made
And so few for their writing can hope for to get paid
And millions of would be writers into oblivion fade
The failures are so many and so few make the grade.

There surely are far easier roads to success and to fame
And penning verse for many is a 'hungry belly game'
Some great poets even died in poverty and that seems sad to say
The paupers of their lifetime and the legends of today.

Anyone can be a rhymer since Pru will rhyme with Sue
But to their gift of creating beauty the true poets do remain true
By their use of words the great poets great beauty do create
Their fame it does outlive them and does not have a use by date.

Anyone can be a rhymer I say it once again
But poets are few and far between that fact with us remain
Of poets who died as millionaires one seldom hear of or read
And there must be many failures for just one to succeed.

When I Return To Koroit

When I return to Koroit it must be in the Spring
When the paddocks are looking greener and the nesting wild-birds sing
The sun is shining bright today in the old Country Town
But the countryside around it is looking rather brown.

The magpie in the moonlight will pipe his flute like air
And the fruit trees in the gardens their pink blossoms will wear
And the blackbird and the grey shrike thrush will be whistling melodious and clear
When I return to Koroit in September of the year.

When I return to Koroit the sparrows will build their grass lined with feathers nest
Under house eaves or bushy small tree in a place that suits them best
And the weather will be pleasant a high of 25 degrees
And there will be a cooling freshness in the gentle coastal breeze.

The corellas will be brooding their eggs in their nest in hole of gum tree
And the Town Park will echo to the call of the pee wee
And the ground nesting spur winged plovers with aggression in their cry
Will be calling in the moonlight around their borders as they fly.

When I return to Koroit in September of the year
To that old Town in the flatlands many miles distant from here
The paddocks will look greener they are looking brown today
And the butcherbird will be piping in his cloak of brown and gray.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

The Artist Jim

The artist Jim he still dreams of wealth and glory
He has been painting for some forty years
He did his first canvas as a teenager
Still his lack of success often has him close to tears.

In his mid fifties he won a prize in an art competition
With a landscape painting that he later sold
Perhaps he will die as a forgotten artist
And his life story never will be told.

His ten years of marriage was not blessed with children
With a man ten years younger his fifty year old ex wife now reside
By her betrayal he felt quite devastated
And damage has been done to his sense of pride.

Without art he would find life scarce worth living
In his mid fifties his better days may be gone
But he feels that his glory days are coming
And his dream of success in him living on.

Peregrine Falcons

The fearless hunters of the day they circle in the sky
And faster than a swallow 'tis said that they can fly
They can kill birds far larger than themselves in flight they make the kill
They nest in holes in the sandstone cliffs on the face of the brown hill,
The fearless hunters of the clouds with terror in their cry
The fastest birds of prey on Planet Earth few that fact would deny
Than the peregrine falcons in their cloaks of dark to grey
You will not find a greater or more fearless bird of prey
They now nest on tall city buildings and though not seen everywhere
They are making a comeback ten years ago they were rare
They travel at breath-taking speeds when when they are in full flight
And to see them wheel above the cliffs is an amazing sight
The fastest birds on Planet Earth though some may not agree
They often cry out in full flight an amazing thing to hear and see.

A Flock Of Starlings

A flock of  at least 500 starlings in the darkening evening sky
Towards the reed beds in the swamplands for to roost they quickly fly
In a tight flock together they fly at such great speed
They seem to be quite leaderless a leader they don't need
The way they fly in tight flocks could be an anti predator thing
Of the praises of the starling you won't hear many sing
Yet despite human attempts to curtail them they seem to multiply
They are the great survivors of them that none can deny
The commonest of common birds some of them known to say
But they can look quite beautiful in the bright sun of day
Their feathers that look dark brown on overcast days to them have a purply sort of sheen
At least that's how they do appear when in the sunshine seen
At high speed in a tightly knit flock in their zig zag flight on their way
To the reedbeds in the swamplands in the twilight of the day.

The Sound Of Grecian Music

The sound of Grecian music where the Greek diners eat
From the Athenian restaurant it floats across the street
And a beautiful Greek songstress with the music sings along
One could listen to the music and the singer all night long.

Greek music and Greek poetry is in a class of it's own
And the legends of Greek history by history not outgrown
And there is life in Greek music it has a bubbling sound
It makes you want to shake your feet and to it dance around.

And when the diners have drunk and eaten the dining tables are put away
And the dancers will be dancing till the small hours of the new day
They sing as they dance in a Greek ring around the timbered floor
And enjoy themselves as the Greeks do for three hours or even more.

The marvellous sound of Grecian music from the Athenian restaurant nearby
Is food to the soul and senses and something to enjoy
To the quiet street on a friday night such happiness they bring
Till the small hours of the morning they laugh and dance and sing.

We Cannot Have Trust And Justice

We cannot have trust and justice if we deny the truth
If in the face of prejudice we do remain as mute
Where one race feels superior to another there never can be trust
Let us drink to equality and what is right and just
In our narrow society where rank is seen as good
And where the true meaning of equality by most not understood
We cannot have equality and a fair go for all
If not one prejudice free society of which one can recall
In the 21st century we have not learned from the past
For old prejudices and hatreds in our time seem to last
As long as there is an underclass and as long as there is poverty
We will never even take one step closer to equality
The past may be behind us but the past from us not gone
As discrimination, war and poverty are things that do live on.

When Other People Doubt You

When other people doubt you and you are low in self esteem
Do not give up on yourself just follow on your dream
For many the road to success is uphill all of the way
You may feel down at present but you too will have your day.

Your failed attempt at success has left you feeling down
But many must know of failure just for one to know renown
You must try that bit harder in order to succeed
That extra bit of will to win is all that you do need.

Though there is great joy in victory and sadness in defeat
You cannot be a winner if you do not compete
And you cannot be a failure if you have tried your best
If you gave it your everything when you were put to the test.

To the winner goes the accolades and victory is always sweet
And though there is disappointment there can be honour in defeat
The honour of being winner by one better than you denied
But you can feel proud of your effort since your very best you've tried.

Warrnambool In January

'Tis warm in the full sun but in the shade 'tis cool
And the magpies and the mudlarks are singing in the City of Warrnambool
Their music in the Summer air where the cars buzz up and down
On Lava Street in the heart of the busy seaside Town.

A pleasant day in January a high of twenty nine degrees
And there is a nice sort of coolness in the freshening coastal breeze
And the magpies and the mudlarks pipe their distinctive melodies
Near where the traffic it is buzzing on the sunlit street trees.

In Warrnambool in January in the holiday time of year
The accents of different races in the shopping malls one does hear
Quite a nice City to visit if you are driving that way
So many people there do smile at you and bid you a good day.

An old rural City in Victoria in the coastal countryside
The famed City of Warrnambool it is known far and wide
The magpies they are fluting and the mudlarks sing pee wee
And the Summer sun is shining on the City by the sea.

Love Has Many Forms

That love has many forms that does seem fair to say
The love between man and woman we hear of every day
The parents love for their children is love in a special way
It makes for far more happiness when love has a part to play
But sometimes you'll find bitterness where love has lately died
And hatred only can be found where love used to reside
And like some say of hatred 'tis love turned upside down
And one might say tis a stranger to the love side of the town,
True love should be unconditional or at least that's how 'twould seem
A thing of which few know of but of which so many dream
For love cannot be bought with money 'tis a child of the heart
And there cannot be harmony where love does not play some part
And love has many forms and no form of love is bad
But when love leads to bitterness that does seem very sad.

The Pariahs Of The Future

Any credibility that they've had they never can win back
The leaders of the so called Coalition of the Willing who ordered the invasion of Iraq
The deaths and sufferings their war has brought about is to their eternal shame
But these arrogant ageing males for their mistakes do not accept any blame,
They have introduced terrorism to Iraq that does seem sad to say
And made it the most dangerous to live in Country in the World of today
Their talk of their so called war on terrorism of late is wearing thin
When violence is waged on violence only violence does win,
Those who ordered the invasion of Iraq have been caught out on their lies
Fools rush in where angels fear to thread these ageing men are not wise
And no fool like an old fool a wise one once did say
For each big mistake we make in life the price is huge to pay,
They have lost the little credibility they've had and it cannot be won back
And the pariahs of the future will be those who ordered the invasion of Iraq.

Smirking Danny

He is a very cunning chap and his friends are not many
And his nickname seems apt enough for him he is known as Smirking Danny
A millionaire at twenty five and with money very clever
With friends he once had now not doing well all ties he has chosen to sever.

His smile it looks more like a smirk he is so self conceited
And as the young high achiever of the year of late he has been feted
By the Chamber of Commerce of the town financial success does matter
Smirking Danny smirks all the more and his ego is growing fatter.

He has female admirers money to one draws attention
That most women like financial security is a fact worthy of mention
But when it comes to women like in most other things he is hard to please young Danny
It will not be Melinda, Kate or Jo or it won't be Flo or Annie

That he will ask to marry him a future with any of them he is not contemplating
And if any of them expect a call from him for a lifetime they will be waiting
The Local young achiever of the year as money making goes a man of action
And the smug look and smirk on his young face one of self satisfaction.

Don't Ask Me What Is Spirituality

Don't ask me what is spirituality of it I would not know
For as I age it does seem to me the sillier I do grow
And about spirituality ask a wiser one than I
Since I may be a redneck until the day I die
But there are billions such as I living from pole to pole
Who could do with a lot more light in the windows of the soul
And not enough of spiritual people and those who are spiritually aware
Since their type have not grown plentiful and their type always rare,
There are billions of religious people and the praises of their God they do sing
But religion to spirituality is quite different as some might say a very different thing
For a spiritual type of person to war always says no
They do believe that we ourselves create our every friend and foe
And if you want to know more about spirituality ask someone other than I
For I will be a redneck until the day I die.

The Day That Old Jack Died

The cold north winds of January blew across the countryside
And Clara wore his hat of snow on the day that old Jack died
Old Jack our brave brown cattle dog we never more would see
We buried him in the backyard by the sycamore tree
Where he often had lain and slept when the sun was in the sky
In his latter years years for an hour or two in weather warm and dry,
We found him dead in the coal shed he had turned fourteen years
A sad day for the family we farewelled him in tears
To us boys he was more than a dog he was a devoted friend
And to us he remained faithful right till his very end
We hunted with him as schoolboys and with other dogs he fought
And a sense of adventure and excitement into our young lives he brought,
I have seen a bit of life since then and I have travelled far and wide
And more than forty years in time has passed since the day that old Jack died.

The East Gippsland Fires

In East Gippsland the fires are still going miles of woodland and farmland and bushland destroyed
The huge fire front it keeps on burning it's way through the brown countryside,
Fires started by thunder and lightning and fires started by human kind
Amongst every rural community a firebug or two you will find
For many East Gippsland farmers a financial disaster by drought conditions already hit hard enough
The fires that have burnt to death many of their animals in their paddocks has made life for them far more tough,
The fire quenching rains are not coming the fires raging onwards and on
But the financial stress for them will continue and their heartbreak with the passing of the fires will not have gone
A tough time for farmers in general and they are facing a very tough year
But when fire rages in drought ravaged paddocks sad stories of heartbreak we do hear,
Many homes have been burned to ashes wildlife and domestic animals to the flames have been lost
Between drought and fire many rural communities left burdened with the huge financial cost
Left by the fire that burned it's way through their country financial recovery for them may take years
And they will remember the bushfires that blackened the landscape with tears.

Those Who Can Be Cruel To Birds And Animals

Those who can be cruel to birds and animals to people can be cruel
The cruel streak that is in them to their brutality gives fuel
The evil bubbling in them is all out of control
They lack in the warmth of love with darkness of the soul
Those who are cruel to birds and animals great pleasure seem to gain
In seeing innocent creatures suffer when they inflict upon them pain
Those who lack in compassion too lack in empathy
To the defenceless and the vulnerable they don't offer sympathy
In the suffering they inflict great pleasure they do find
They do not have it in them what it takes to be kind
They have lost their humanity which does seem a little sad
Perhaps as children by their parents they have been treated bad,
But whatever the reason for their callousness great pleasure they do gain
By inflicting on the innocent and defenceless injury and pain.

January In Annagloor

The river bank high through the old fields does flow
And the weather is cold quite cold enough to snow
And the ground in the morning with frost hoary gray
In Annagloor it is quite wintery today.

The steel cross cloaked by gray fog on old Clara hill
And the winds of mid January blow with a cold chill
And in farm sheds cattle are bellowing for silage or hay
It does seem a long wait for the wildflowers of May.

In Annagloor it is a bleak time of year
The songs of the birds one cannot wish to hear
Still many cold weeks till the first breath of Spring
Till the white breasted dipper in the river does sing.

The windswept hedgerows and deciduous trees bare
And the cold nip of frost is in the morning air
And the bellowing cattle one only can hear
And Spring to Annagloor is not anywhere near.

Monday, August 27, 2012

That's The Reason

On the night of his election I well can recall
He said he would represent us one and all
Even those who voted against him he would represent
But as usual he was lying as that was not his intent
Without even blinking on t v he did say
I will represent you who even voted against me today
In his moment of victory he was trying not to gloat
He cannot represent those who against him did vote
And they are not a minority their's is a huge voice
And for to lead the Nation's people he has not been their choice
And they do not like him better though the Nation's top job he hold
Towards him they will always feel indifferent and cold
They do not want him as leader despite what he say
That's the reason why they voted against him today.

Nature Outlives Us All

It is the law of Nature the strongest does survive
And on the flesh of their victims the predators do thrive
And her creatures like her Seasons to Nature come and go
And the more we learn of Nature the more our wonder of her grow
Us humans belong to Nature we think we own her Land
And the more we learn about her the less we know we understand
The strangeness of her nature her beauty in every flower
The fierceness of her anger before her humans cower,
Nature is our sole source of food yet we pollute her water and air
Due to our greed for the health of our Earth Mother we do not seem to care
And what we do to Nature to our own selves we do
And that applies to all of us to me as well as you
Only the strongest thrive in Nature but Nature outlives us all
From the World's largest mammal to the smallest of the small.

On Seeing Sanderling

From the Arctic shores to Warrnambool in Victoria thousands of miles of sky
And the little gray brown sanderling that long journey does fly
And back again via coastal Asia to breed in the Arctic Spring
The mysteries of Nature are such a wondrous thing
On the quiet beaches of Warrnambool in the warmth of a Summer's day
They eat tiny living things the waves wash in and from the incoming waves run away
Not much bigger than a sparrow for birds of their size
At the thought that they can fly such distances one might say a surprise
On the quiet beaches of Victoria in the Summer sun they feed
And when Spring is in the Arctic they will fly north to breed
Their journeys a wonder of Nature from north to south they fly and back again to breed they go
The more we learn of Nature the less of her we know we know,
On a quiet beach at Warrnambool thousands of miles from where they were born
They eat tiny living things the waves wash in on a warm January morn.

The Clock On Us Is Ticking

The clock on us is ticking and it ticks and ticks away
And we are getting older with every passing day
And few live to be one hundred and many do die young
And millions die in poverty and millions die unsung.

And many evil people their names keep living on
For centuries and centuries after the life from them has gone
And they are still remembered even though they died in shame
Why is an evil person even worthy of ill fame?

So many decent human beings are forgotten where they lay
Respect for the laws of god and man in their lifetime they did pay
And they are now forgotten that does seem sad to say
Many of the good are not remembered and memories of them left to decay.

The clock on us is ticking and time on none does wait
And the pauper and the billionaire on them have a use by date
And I'll drink to the reaper for none as fair as he
Since he does not respect rank or class the monarch of equality.

I May Be

I may be getting older and decades past my prime
And I may seem very ordinary a man of slipshod rhyme
But with the wealthy and influential I will share a common fate
On each and everyone of us there is a use by date.

The years have left me weary though of life I have not tired
And for to write just one more doggerel I only feel inspired
To the goddess of poetastry I have always remained true
And I too will receive the karma the karma I am due.

I do feel very lucky since I do feel aware
Of the suffering of the have nots of the bigger World out there
The millions dying of malnutrition in Lands ravaged by war and disease
And the homeless and the forsaken and the poor refugees

Of the refugees camps of the World where their numbers grow and grow
People forced to flee their Homelands stuck with nowhere else to go
For to seek asylum they are not wanted anywhere
Any dreams they have had of a better life are shattered perhaps beyond repair.

I may be getting older one without success for to show
For my six decades of existence and I've so much to learn and know
About the World around me and millions worse off than I
For I will have shelter and enough to eat and drink until the day I die.

Homesick For Warrnambool

He was born and raised there and there he went to school
And he is feeling homesick for his Hometown of Warrnambool
And though he is only twenty two and at the doorstep of his prime
Two years out of Warrnambool for him seems a long time
When the magpie in the moonlight sings in the Town by the sea
And pink blossoms are blooming on the fruit bearing tree
And the whales give birth at Logan's beach in September of the Spring
And the musical grey shrike thrush all day long whistle and sing
He will return to Warrnambool to his beloved Hometown
He would prefer to be happy than pursue his dreams of renown
In the hustle and the bustle of the bigger World out there
Where you feel so much on your own and none for you do care
But he has never felt this way in his Hometown of Warrnambool
Where he has so many good friends and where he went to school.

You May Feel Sad For Yourself

You may feel sad for yourself though you have a roof over your head
And you do not lack comfort in your comfortable bed
And you don't lack for nourishment with lots of good food to eat
You are not one of the millions who are homeless on the street
Of the poorest street of the poor suburb those who struggle to survive
And only their desire for life seems to keep them alive
They sleep in disused factories infested by rodents and fleas
Places not fit for homeless dogs to live in and breeding grounds for disease
Or on concrete park benches or by the parkland trees
Without shelter from the elements the rain and the cold breeze
You may feel depressed and lonely from the World you'd like to hide
And though you may feel down at present with lady luck not on your side
Compared to millions you are lucky you are not homeless on the street
And you've got a nice home to live in and more than enough to drink and eat.


Proud is a word that is so often used
And proud is a word that's too often abused
Proud of our Nation's war victories and proud of our Nation's flag
Pride as well as coming before a fall gives us the right to brag

When we sing of the brave soldiers who for our flag died
Their ultimate sacrifice is our Nation's pride
And our pride in a National sporting win in a huge parade
In our patriotism and nationalism our sort of pride made.

Of our pride in our difference from others we feel proud to name
For tis our pride in our difference that keep us as the same
Sort of people as our ancestors were and with pride we recall
That their idea of a fair go for some was not a fair go for all.

Proud to wave the national flag amongst the nationalistic crowd
And of our ties to our culture of which we feel proud
And yet by ignoring the plight of the homeless and those in poverty
We don't see everyone as equal that's how it does seem to me.

The Love Poetess

The love poetess pens her pretty love verses she makes the World seem such a loving place
At local poetry readings and gatherings her's has become a very well known face
She is still young only in her mid twenties and as a poet her reputation grow
And as a wordsmith she keeps on improving so much in life there is to learn and know
If everyone were like her the World would be peaceful and love on all shores it would reign supreme
She is a major poet in the making that's how to the literary experts it does seem
She has a way with words the fair young poetess and to better things she is surely on her way
A friendly person with a passion for poetry and one who makes a new friend every day
The World is better for her living in it and success to her in life is surely due
For herself she does set quite a high standard and to her higher self she remains true
To local poetry readings she's always invited and for her loud applause and an encore
The lovers of love poetry surely love her and they always ask her to recite some more
A pretty young poetess in her mid twenties with shoulder length dark hair and lovely eyes of brown
With her talent for herself a name she is making she is the finest wordsmith in the town.

Officially Still Married

No love between them though they live together for nowadays each of them does their own thing
She dances in the Bowling Club room with her lover and at the pub with his mates he does sing
In their early fifties and officially still married but love between them it would seem long dead
Under the one roof but not as mates and lovers for many years they have not shared a bed.

Their thirty year old son has a seven year old daughter but he's not one to play the father's part
His daughter born from a fling of passion and not conceived from an affair of the heart
He lives in London that's all they know of him they lost contact with him six years ago
And their grandchild they never have lain their eyes on and of her whereabouts they would not know.

She has her lover and he has his pub mates and though they are still legally man and wife
And they are still living under the same roof they do share very little else in life
No longer good friends though on speaking terms in different company now they socialize
As man and wife they live under the one roof but from a different bed at morn they rise.

At the Bowling Club she dances with her lover and to slow tunes they waltz cheek to cheek
Whilst her husband is drinking with his mates he is in the pub every night of the week
Together they had many nights of passion but that does now seem in the distant past
Love for awhile between them brightly blossomed but few things in life do ever seem to last.

Homesick For Bombay

She speaks in a beautiful accent one could listen to her all day
The dark haired brown one in her twenties a beauty from distant Bombay
So friendly and so unconceited of her beauty she does not seem aware
A good wife for some lucky fellow for people like her are so rare
She is feeling homesick for India in this Land she won't grow old and gray
Her family to her is important she will return to them in April or May
A nurse in the big City hospital yet here she's not wishing to stay
Me love your Country and your people that's what she so often does say
She will be going back home to India and that has to be India's gain
But with everyone she has befriended fond memories of her will remain
A credit to her community and family as well as a credit to her race
She never seems surly or moody and she has such a sweet smiling face
She will be missed by all who knew her tis sad that she is not to stay
But she is nostalgic and homesick for her family and friends in Bombay.

Writer's Drought

You've heard of a thing called writer's block and you've heard of writer's drought
But writers are never short of things on which they can write about
It's just at times their inspiration well does seem to run dry
And they cannot seem to pen a line though hard enough they try.

The writers drought it causes writers moments of self doubt
Till the words that seem locked in them eventually flow out
Through their pens to their notebooks their dry spells do not last
And on time lost out on penning words they seem to catch up fast.

Some writers in their writing drought cannot seem to feel inspired
To write even a single line they feel mentally tired
But when fresh inspiration comes to them much better stuff they do write
And feeling re-invigorated they sit and pen all night.

Most writers you will talk to of writers drought can tell
When there is no inspiration in their inspiration well
But when inspiration returns to them and their creative juices flow
They become much better writers and in self confidence grow.

Mary From Macroom

She grew into a young woman some forty years ago
In Macroom a mid Cork Town where the Sullane waters flow
She left there in her early twenties in her life's youthful bloom
And she is known to everyone as Mary from Macroom.

She settled in the seaside City of Warrnambool many miles from Erin's shore
And she has been married to an Aussie bloke named David for some thirty years or more
Their marriage brought one daughter mother of a seven year old boy
And Mary in her sixties her twilight years enjoy.

She was a brown haired beauty back in her younger day
And now she uses brown hair dye for to cloak her ageing gray
Though she is not conceited or proud in any way
She just wishes for to look young and that seems quite okay.

Though in her early sixties the years on her don't show
And since she came to live in Warrnambool some forty years ago
The changes have been happening and Warrnambool has grown
Though she is quick to add in Macroom nowadays I would not be known.

In Warrnambool at every Irish gathering you are bound to see her there
A woman in her sixties of brown shoulder length hair
And though she doubts she'll ever see her old Hometown again
The mellow tones of mid Cork with her do remain.

He Still Feels Like A Stranger

He still feels like a stranger in the small Country Town
And people he meet on the street they look him up and down
Though he greets them with a cheery good day as he goes walking by
To him they do show little warmth in their hello reply.

Though he has lived for six years here and he is not a snob
He still feels like an outsider he is not one of their mob
This is a closed community they look on him as not home grown
Of him you never hear them say he is one of our own.

He often does think to himself maybe the fault's with me
That I'm not a respected member of the community
Although I do go to the pub and amongst the locals enjoy a beer
True mateship with them I will never know but then I am not from here.

He is a suburban fellow and though the country lifestyle he enjoy
He will return to the suburb where he lived as a boy
He will never feel a local though not snobbish in any way
The reply is a cool hello to his cheery good day.

In Fancy

In fancy I am where the Powlett is inching it's way towards the sea
And high above the rank and brown scrubland the skylark I hear and I see
His voice it cannot be mistaken as upwards and upwards he fly
Surely one of Nature's great songsters a small speck in the sunny sky
On down to the sea by the sandhills the Powlett slowly crawls along
And on high sunlit branch of a blackwood the grey butcherbird is in song
His familiar pipe so melodious to my heart he sings ever near
In fancy I am by the Powlett in distance a long way from here
To the old coastal lands of Kilcunda the Seasons they come and they go
To the once home of the indigenous Bunurong of their history little we know
Perhaps under the brown scrub by the river their bones at peace forever lay
In fancy I am by the Powlet in distance from here far away
The skylark sings as he flies upwards o'er the scrub by the saltwater shore
And over beyond the brown sandhills I can hear the great ocean roar.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

The Cold Winds Of January

Last night in my dreams I did hear the winds roar
Above the old high fields of far Claramore
A cold Winter moon crept behind clouds to hide
And on the bleak hillside the hungry fox cried
And a bird so distinctive even in his wild cry
The screech of the barn owl echoed in the sky
A Winter's night in January by old Clara hill
The howling of the wind drowned out the babble of the rill
That towards the big river downland ever does flow
Through many a field and by many a hedgerow
Old jack frost of January is in the cold air
And the hedgerows and deciduous trees of their foliage are bare
And the cold winds of January in the dead of night roar
Above the old bare fields of high Claramore.

Mary Murphy

She was married to Donie Murphy and they lived in Millstreet's Town's West End
And on her journey through life she made many a friend
A good wife and good mother she never sought renown
And a credit to her Parish and her beloved Town.

Before she married Donie Murphy Mary Riordan was her name
And without her smiling presence the West End won't seem the same
To fill her role in her family there is none to take her place
But she will be long remembered for her lovely smiling face.

There was more to Mary Murphy than a good mother and wife
She was such a special person we should celebrate her life
In life we all have our crosses but she had one huge cross to bear
And she bore it without complaint people like her are so rare.

On her journey towards her last day many a new friend she did gain
And fond memories of the one she was with them will long remain
In the West End of Millstreet Town one we never more will see
But the one who claimed the life of Mary will claim the life of you and me.

Perhaps I'd Feel A Stranger

Perhaps I'd feel a stranger now in the Town of Millstreet
A stranger in Pound Hill or Minor Row
A stranger in the Tanyard or Murphy's Terrace
Not many in the old Town now I'd know.

A stranger in the Station Road and Church Street
A stranger in the Square or in Main Street
A stranger at the Bridge or at the West end
A stranger at Clara View  and a stranger now to everyone I'd meet

In Millview Lane or Inchaleigh's old Townland
And in my old Townland of Claraghatlea
The memories of what was in me is fading
And I feel out of touch and I live far away

From people I knew and friends I grew up with
And though them again I never more may see
I will always have good memories of their friendships
And life goes on for them as well as me.

Young Pete

Young Pete in his late twenties is quite serious
And if he smiled perhaps his face would crack
He owns his home outright without a mortgage
And money is a thing he does not lack.

A batchelor on the lookout for a woman
For a young and wealthy and a pretty looking wife
But most women do not find him attractive
Perhaps one can't have everything in life.

Most women like their men to wine and dine them
And young Pete with his money is rather tight
And few would enjoy his idea of relaxation
Sitting at home and watching t v at night.

Young Pete he has his eyes on one young beauty
He even gave her his phone number but him she never call
She tells her friends he is so dry and boring
He doesn't seem to interest her at all.

Young Pete does not drink alcohol or smoke or go to parties
One would think women would be knocking on his door
But to local single females he is not attractive
You ask them they will tell you he's a bore.

When I'm With The Departed

When I'm with the departed few will remember me
Not then to me it will matter if I fade from the memory
Of anyone who knew me without me life will go on
You can be of little use to anyone when you are dead and gone

And in the place of nothingness with darkness all around
Your ashes scattered to the winds or your body decaying in your coffin underground
May they rest in peace the departed is all that I can say
Their lot will too be my lot and amongst them I must lay.

When I'm with the departed on me do not waste your tears
I will have had my innings and enjoyed my better years
At living life one might say I will have had my fling
But for as long as I can to my gift of life I'll cling.

Our gift of life it does seem is on a terminal lease
And when I'm with the departed let me rest in peace
We seem to age a little bit with every passing day
And old father time as ever he ticks and ticks away.

Big Brother's Judges

By a court of law judge you may not have been judged but you are judged by people every day
Big Brother's judges passing their judgements on you they never seem to fail to have their say
On you and your step on the social ladder they judge you by your influence in your money bank
And though money may be only made of paper it sure enough does give you social rank,
Big Brother's judges you are always judging they pass their judgements on you all of the time
Although you are a law abiding person and you've not been guilty of any crime
Against the State or against another person of their judgements Big Brother's judges of you will not spare
And Big Brother's judges sad to say are many and sad to say they never have been rare
Of Big Brother's judges we do not need their judgements they look at life in such a narrow way
They only respect their narrow idea of what is successful respect to all their type never does pay
They never could understand the true meaning of what it does mean a fair go for all
We are the creators of our own small worlds and their world is so very very small
And still they create their mortal gods at the expense of others and all is black and white in their small eyes
And like us all every day they grow older but sad to think they never do grow wise.

Get Rid Of

Get rid of passports and visas and let people travel free
To any Country they wish to go to by land or air or sea,
Get rid of every warlord and get rid of poverty
And get rid of class distinction and here's to equality,
Get rid of religious fundamentalists no matter what their creed
They only cause division and them we do not need,
Get rid of every bureaucrat and every bureaucracy Worldwide
They become very wealthy by causing a class divide,
Get rid of every royal and every snobbish squire
People because of right of birth we should not have to admire,
Get rid of every despot no matter who they be
And lock them up in jail for life for their crimes against humanity
And give homes to the homeless and every poor refugee
And here's to a fair go for all and to equality.

Mt Rouse Or Kolor

It has inspired story and rhyme
Mt Rouse the hill as old as time
Kolor it's indigenous name
Given to it by those here when Europeans came.

Long before there was a Penshurst Town
Old Kolor like a sentinel looked down
On what now is the Southern Grampians Shire
A once land of volcanos and fire.

The signs of volcanic eruptions can be found
In the paddocks for many miles around
The stones formed where the hot lava did flow
From Kolor many centuries ago.

Since a name it is only a name
Mt Rouse and Kolor are one of the same
It has seen many Seasons come and go
Since the hot lava from it did flow.

Drawing A Narrow Line

In some art competitions as well as literature judges their criterion define
But on their definition of subject matter they are drawing a narrow line
And though on the merit of every winner everyone does not agree
The one who holds the winners cheque can smile in victory
And to the one who holds the winner's cheque the audience drinks a toast
And the winner can feel satisfied without having to boast
Of his or her achievements the judges judge you as the best
Of their narrow criteria you have withstood the test
And such is life one must suppose the best in their field succeed
But in the World of good example you too can also lead
The judges define the criterion and the winner they do decide
But you can lose with bitterness or you can lose with pride
Yet those who define criterion are drawing a narrow line
For as we know any good wine tasting judge has a taste for more than one wine.

Marion O Callaghan

She ran her father's pub for many years in the Square in Millstreet Town
A quietly spoken person who never sought renown
Her name then Marion McCarthy and her I do recall
She now rests in peace forever death does come to us all.

She married a local man Teddy O Callaghan and in Millstreet Town they raised their family
Well known and well liked people in their community
And though now she's gone forever and that seems sad to say
For each and everyone of us there is a final day.

In the Millstreet I grew up in changes keep happening fast
But as we learn from living life few things in life do last
Still good memories of Marion will take some time to fade
For in her pub in Millstreet Town so many friends she made.

She was the quiet achiever in her own quiet way
And with the dead of Millstreet she now forever lay
But she will be remembered as a good mother and wife
And fond memories of her did not die with the end of her life.

For Those Who Caused Such Suffering

For those who caused such suffering in Iraq poor karma for themselves they only sow
Before they gave the go ahead for an invasion of the consequences one might think they should know
They well may say now that it is not our fault but for the Iraqi bloodbath they gave the go ahead
They may have brought an end to cruel old Saddam but they cannot give back life to the dead
Or the maimed for life as a result of their invasion they have not done any favours for Iraq
To poor Iraqi people they have done no favours the death toll huge for their unprovoked attack
They may call themselves the coalition of the willing but the Iraq mess a huge dent to their pride
The cost of war it always is colossal and that too applies to the so called winning side,
The so called leaders of the so called Coalition of the Willing must wear the taint of their mistakes in shame
They should have learned from the past mistakes of others but for their own mistakes they do not take any blame,
Their arrogance it does know no bounds it does seem and for their mistakes others with their lives must pay
These ageing male leaders with inflated egos there are no fools like old fools as some do say
They can retire on their inflated pensions and their inflated egos with them bound to stay
Until they have that one date with the reaper for they too have to face their final day.

Ignore Them

What matters if you are an honest person behind your back what others of you say
As long as their opinions are not libelious by ignoring your feedback is a better way
Than feeling mentally heated about it just shut such negative people from your life
Do not accost them in a fit of anger as their type only seem to thrive on strife,
Ignore them that is surely your best option some people with their words can be so cruel
Your friends would never put you down with their words your anger they are only trying to fuel
Just ignore them and they will respect you better their type seem to thrive where heated words do fly
Ignore them and they will respect you better when satisfaction of them you deny
These people were not your friends in the first place your friends to you could never be so unkind
But true friends they are always rare and precious and enemies are never hard to find
You thought they were your friends by thought you've been fooled from life we learn lessons every day
For this experience you will be the wiser for every lesson there's some price to pay,
Ignore them that is your best course of action since in your life such people you do not need
To accost them would give them satisfaction for heated words of you to more put downs would lead.

In One Hundred Years From Now

In one hundred years from now
There will be pig, goat and cow
And donkey, horse, sheep, rabbit and hare
Though many wild birds and animals may be rare.

In one hundred years from now there will be wallaby and roo
Currawong, finch, rosella and cockatoo
Turkey, swan and duck and goose
Wombat, badger, bear and moose.

In one hundred years from now there will be bushes, shrubs and trees
And rivers will flow to the seas
And in Spring birds will sing every day
But my bones with Nature will lay.

And barn owl will be seen at night
In the pale moonlight ghostly white
And birds will sing in wind and rain
And breeding frogs will sing in the flooded drain.

In one hundred years from now waders from the northern shore
Will Winter in the sunny south and in Spring fly home to breed once more
And sparrows will chirp in the hedge by the house
And the house cat will stalk the bird and mouse.

The Southern Grampians Balladeer

He pens and sings his own ballads the Southern Grampians balladeer
And through the famous old shire he is known far and near
At pubs and clubs in Hamilton he often does entertain
A middle aged bush poet and about him nothing vain.

At Tarrington and the Penshurst pub he is one you will hear sing
And to the bar-room patrons great happiness he bring
He always wears his bush hat and his corduroys as he strums on his guitar
And to see his very equal one might have to travel far.

Around the Southern Grampians his is a well known face
But he refers to Hamilton as his beloved home-place
He sings his own bush ballads and he can hit the high note
And in Hamilton they are proud to claim him as their own bush poet.

He pens and sings his own songs the southern Grampians poet supreme
And in all parts of the old Shire he is held in high esteem
Some of his songs are humorous he is a witty bloke
And in many of his funnier songs great laughter he provoke.

What Happened Yesterday

What happened yesterday is done and gone
Today is another day and life goes on
And yesterday's failure a dent to my pride
I may have failed but at least my best I tried
And to the winner the big cheque was paid
And to the winner went the accolade
And many have to lose for one to win
Yet at dawn another day it does begin
We cannot change what has happened yesterday
For such is life and life it is that way
We can know of success even past our prime
And there is another day and another time
When others they will sing our praises loud
And we will hear the clapping of the crowd.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Of Inhibitions

Of inhibitions none of us are free
Not him or her as well as you or me
Even the most confident are lacking in some way
Despite what he or she might have to say
About themselves and of how confident they feel
The self they portray is not always real
The seed of doubt is there within us all
We scale the heights and then we fear the fall
Despite the confidence we may display
A tiny voice within us to us say
You hang right in there though the going is tough
Though this time you may not be good enough
That grain of self doubt others in us may not see
But of inhibitions we are not truly free.

True Friendship

Your relationship has undergone great strain
But your true friend as your true friend does remain
And as friends with him you are destined to stay
Till in your lives the reaper has the final say.

Your true friend always will be your true friend
A bond that remains until your life's end
True friendship it transcends anger and strife
A mateship that is destined to last for life.

True friendships often are put to the test
And true friends have often even come to blows
But true friends always do make up again
They could not bear for to remain as foes.

Despite the tests your friendship has endured
And your true friend is a trustworthy mate
For friendship it is based on truth and trust
And our gift of friendship we should celebrate.

Young People

Young people in the Village swimming pool
Their laughter carrying in the freshening breeze
On such a warm and a humid day
A high 'tis said of 34 degrees.

The very warm weather some enjoy
And like they say youth has to have it's fling
Their sense of joy they vocally express
The gift of laughter is a marvellous thing.

Young people in the Springtime of their lives
They've found a pleasant way of keeping cool
Their sheer enjoyment in their laughter ring
As they splash and dive in the local swimming pool.

At two o clock on a warm afternoon
I hear them laughing in the pool nearby,
Young sparrows of their parents beg for food
And not a rain cloud in the clear blue sky.

Why Waste Your Time

Why waste your time in arguing with fools
Let them enjoy their opinions in life
Just to their own devices let them be
Since disagreements only lead to strife.

Why waste your time in arguing with those
Whose opinions you cannot hope to change
I suppose arguments are born of a power thing
In our own small ways we can be very strange.

Their views are set in concrete it does seem
Although with them you do not see eye to eye
Their own opinions surely are their own
And self thought to none we have a right to deny.

Why waste your time in arguing with fools
When they only believe in what they think they know
You tell them their opinions are all wrong
And of them you will only make a foe.

Cattle Egrets

To the grazing cows or steers they stick close by
To devour tiny things that from big hooves hop or fly
The cattle egrets for them an apt name
Though shy of people when with cattle they seem tame.

The cattle egrets travel far and wide
For miles and miles through the brown countryside
Lanky and fragile and so slow in flight
In Winter paddocks a familiar sight.

Cattle egrets as white as new fallen snow
Are birds that every country person know
And though they fly to places near and far
You will always find them near where cattle are.

From big hooved mammals never far away
They hang around the grazing herds all day
And at twilight as darkness cloaks the sky
They fly off to their roosting trees nearby.

On Climate Change

'Twould seem that the Polar Winters are becoming far less cold
And of the consequences of global warming by climate experts we've been told
And with the meltdown of the polar ice caps the over swollen seas
Will flood across the coastal lands creating millions of refugees
In my simple words I only quote here what the climate experts say
And we are in part responsible for the weather of today
We drive environmentally unfriendly vehicles and burn polluting fossil fuels
And we foul the air and waterways where Mother Nature rules
The World at it's driest and warmest since weather records began
And Nature of course will outlive the family of man
For Nature lives forever the one who will never die
And the talk of human immortality is an imaginary lie
And the Polar ice caps melting and it comes as no surprise
The talk of impending disaster when the sea levels rise.

If I Were A Good Writer

If I were a good writer of many things I'd write
And on mysterious stories I could help to shed some light
But I am not that clever though I try the best I can
Do for to meet the standard of a true poetic man
I send my verses to Willy Chaplin he puts them on his Dreamagic Site
One of thousands of amateur writers all not equal in the literary critics sight
For every successful writer so many doomed to fail
So many have their rejected manuscripts returned to them by mail
And yet they keep on writing they never do despair
Of knowing of recognition in the bigger World out there
And so few for their writing can hope for to get paid
And some say good writers are born that way and they cannot be made,
Many retain the unfulfilled dreams they had as girl or boy
And if I were a good writer success I would enjoy.

Old Peter

He never more again will drink, laugh and make merry at his old favourite pub the Rhyme and Song
And he never grew foul mouthed or abusive even though he had been drinking all night long
He was the same old Peter drunk or sober a gentle soul and always nice to meet
He will be missed by his mates at the Local and by everyone who knew him on his street
He loved the drink the life of every party and sad to think the life from him has gone
But for as long as there is life in those who knew him fond memories of him in them will live on
Of the local Football Club a senior member he never more will cheer them as they play
The reaper took him quickly he did not suffer he turned eighty on his last birthday
A character such as he is not seen often without him the local pub a duller place
He was a fellow with the gift of laughter and he always had a big smile on his face
We need the good old characters like Peter a man who made the most of every day
He did love life and he was a people person about him he had such a lovely way
'Tis sad to think that he is gone forever but fond memories of him with his friends will remain
He will be missed by everyone who knew him and will we ever see his likes again?

The Javanese

He says me like Australia but me from far away
From Java in Indonesia 'tis there me first saw light of day
Me cannot be an Aussie though me can say 'good day mate'
And when Aussies win at cricket me too do celebrate
When people ask me where me come from me say me Javanese
They ask me to repeat that you say that again please
Perhaps me slur me words a bit after five or six beers
But then some Aussies it does seem are born with lazy ears
Me a hard working fellow me work hard for me pay
And nothing ever easy ever seem to come me way
Me work hard and me party hard and me make the most of life
Just twenty two close to me prime and don't have a child or wife
And when some ask me where you from me say me Javanese
And when they ask say that again me say it rhymes with cheese.