Thursday, January 31, 2013

It Is We Create Our Borders

It is we create our borders and our borders we defend
And we often make an enemy by losing a former friend
And that the Country owns us we struggle to understand
Since we are part of Nature we return to the Land
Of being wealthy and famous so many do daydream
But for so few such dreams never come true or so it does seem
Yet for rich and poor there's a last night and day
In the bosom of our Earth Mother our remains will lay
like the animals and birds we proclaim our territories
Yet it is Nature we live off of her land and her seas
She supplies us with water and food and with our every need
So much food she produces from every tiny dark seed
We feel that the Country we live in to us does belong
But the Reaper proves to us such thought has proved us wrong.

Perhaps I'd Feel Like A Stranger

Perhaps I'd feel like a stranger in Millstreet today
And in Claraghatlea my old Homeplace far away
The people I know there like me showing time's decay
And our biological clocks ever ticking away.

The boy of the fifties now showing his years in gray
And time does not wait for anyone as some are known to say
The future unknown and we all have a past
And few things as they were ever seem to last.

But the old fields I once knew would still look the same
I recall that some of them had a given name
The skylark is carolling as upwards he flies
As I walk in the old fields when I visualize.

Where the Cails and Finnow meet and forever flow
To the Blackwater at Drishane by ditch and hedgerow
But perhaps I'd feel a stranger now as I'd walk up and down
The West End and Main Street of old Millstreet Town.

In His Early Twenties Only Twenty Three

His financial affairs in a horrible mess
Alas the poor bloke could not cope with the stress
The financial company had re-possessed his car
When you are in trouble you wonder where your friends are
His crosses in life for him too heavy to bear
And he had lived for too long on the brink of despair
With day to day living he was struggling to cope
Of a happier life he had given up hope
When his girlfriend forsook him he was without a friend
The reason that he brought his life to an end
In his early twenties only twenty three
He was found in the wood hanging from low branch of a tree
Now out of his misery at peace he now lay
The poor luckless bloke who was buried today.

I Know I Am Selfish

I know I am selfish and no need to tell me
That what in others I dislike in my own self I do see
But the seed of selfishness it is in us all
In our own ways we can be so very small.

I know I am selfish to that I say so
You are telling me something that I already know
But you only see in me what you see in you
That we see ourselves in others happens to be true.

I know I am selfish but that's not my only flaw
To be selfish is not breaking any man made law
I would be in prison if such were a crime
With billions of others like me serving time.

You say I am selfish tell me something new
I am one of many my type are not few
And as for you well you are not the most unselfish person I've known
But the flaws we see in others in ourselves we disown.

Nature Herself She Looks Lovely Today

The sun is not shining the sky looking gray
But Nature herself she looks lovely today
The magpie lark in the park is singing pee wee
And honeyeaters chirp on every blossoming tree
With scarce a puff of breeze and the rain drizzling down
Bringing moisture to the parks and the gardens of town
In early October in the southern Spring
The territorial nesting birds whistle and sing
The song of the blackbird so pleasant to hear
And the pipe of the magpie melodious and clear
With the warmer and drier weather of late Spring and Summer near
The rain always welcome at this time of year
The nature strip by the footpath is looking quite green
And Nature herself at her finest is seen.

On Swinburne

It is true that Swinburne with words had a way
Though long dead his poems they are widely read today
He did bridge the gap between modern and rhyme
One of the most popular poets of his time
There is little doubt Swinburne was a major poet
In the Literary World one well worthy of note
In his lifetime a literary legend and in death his legend grow
All lovers of poetry of his poems would know
Of language he had such a marvellous command
His poems though not simple are not hard to understand
Lovers of poetry are happy to read and recite
The beautiful poetry that Swinburne did write
The mantle of greatness he surely did don
And in his poetry his legend it is living on.

A Far Greater Threat

More of a threat to human existence than the economic recession is the ozone hole in the sky
That scientists claim is growing bigger as the years go by
Caused by carbon emissions that cause Global warming by experts we have been told
The climate is warming even in Lands known to be cold.

Compared to climate change economic recession as a problem seems small
To human existence on the Planet the greatest challenge of all
Is Global Warming which we know is Worldwide
Due to our greed for material gain we've put Nature offside.

This World is for us to live in not for to destroy
For the future generation every young girl and boy
We are making life for them harder for our greed they must pay
I hope I am wrong in this though it does seem that way.

The economic recessions they come and they go
And after every recession the economy does grow
But Global warming to humanity is a far greater threat
As it does seem a matter of life and of death.

Memories Of The Male Snipe

Above his breeding territory in the night sky
with his wings and tail he sends out a warning as to and fro he fly
To the males of his own kind those living nearby
The sound that he creates seems like a goat like cry.

Often from the bogland road on evenings in May
In my northern Homeland from here far away
I heard the male snipe in his territorial display
He drummed out his warning 'til the dawning of day.

The snipe of the bogland elusive and shy
When flushed by day low to the ground in quick zig zag flight they fly
For the small game shooter the mottled brown bird with the long thin bill
Is the most elusive of targets to shoot at to kill.

The whirring flight sound of the male snipe to this day I recall
Above the quiet bogland 'til dawn from nightfall
With his wings and tail he makes a goat like sound
As above his territory he flies around and around.

You Are Who You Vote For

The people we elect to Govern us more about us does say
Than we ourselves can or so 'twould seem that way
As we vote for the people to whom we relate
Our own image in them we do seem to create
If you vote for one who is racist of you it does say
That you too must be a racist in your own narrow way
For if not so then why would you bother at all
To vote for those in their ways so very small
If you vote for war lovers you must see war as okay
And respect for those you see as different you have no wish to pay
You are who you vote for since you vote for who in you believe
And if you say differently your own self you do deceive
And though with you are who you vote for you may not agree
I only state here how it does seem to me.

It Does Seem A Very Hard Thing To Explain

It does seem a very hard thing to explain
Why one person's loss is another one's gain
A downturn in the stockmarket millionaires to paupers does create
Whilst some from others loss gain and their good fortune celebrate
In a fair society this never would be
Though what's fair to you may not seem fair to me
That somebody's huge financial loss creates a new millionaire
That society is structured in this way to me seems unfair
It is an ill wind that does not blow somebody good you do hear some say
And sometimes lady luck behaves in the strangest way
But is this what the Human World is all about
For one for to win someone else must lose out
And that many must lose for a few for to gain
For to say the least seems a hard thing to explain.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

The Miracles Of Nature

A tiny dark seed to a great tree can grow
A miracle of Nature that much we do know
And Nature's miracles are many and her secrets not few
In telling you that I'm not saying anything that's new.

The miracles of Nature we witness every day
We see life existing where there is decay
Amongst the dead leaves that are strewn on the ground
Insects and slugs that live on decay are crawling around.

The Mother of Nature lives by her own law
Of her workings one only can live in awe
The life that she give she eventually receive
And for her dead children she never does grieve.

In Spring the pink blossoms on the fruit bearing tree
In Nature all around us miracles we do see
For our existence and survival to her we do owe
Yet so little about her we can claim to know.

Try To Live Happy

In life you should make the most of every day
And respect to others be willing to pay
And try to live happy for time ticks away
It does not wait for anyone as some are known to say
It is a fact of life and facts never lie
We are born as mortal and all mortals physically die
But if to your higher self you remain true
Good karma it would seem in heaps you are due
Though of a life hereafter I cannot claim to know
Respect for the beliefs of others I show
And though I believe it is not possible to know of the unknown
It took a wise one to say to each their own
Any act of kindness on your behalf is never too small
And I admire you for believing on a fair go for all.

One Well May Describe Me

One well may describe me as quite a rhyme buff
And I'm one of those who has penned heaps of stuff
That literary critics dismiss as mere doggerel
The type of stuff I pen is the type that doesn't sell.

I never refer to myself as a poet
Or neither am I one of literary note
I just have this addiction that compels me to write
The stuff that few bother for to read or recite.

The passing of the Seasons has left me looking gray
And physically I've known a far better day
But I want to live for as long as I can
And die in my sleep as a very old man.

I've loved Mother Nature since I was a boy
A blessing in life that is mine to enjoy
In Nature there is so much beauty to see
It is all around us on land and on sea.

Compared to some my crosses not heavy to bear
Though I'm into my sixties and showing life's wear
An ageing poetaster often racked by self doubt
Though I'm never short of things to write about.

Memories Of Wonthaggi

Since the last time I see old Wonthaggi many weeks and months have gone by
Above the scrub by Powlett River the lark sang in the sunny sky
The country side by the old coal Town I do see when I visualize
And on the bracken clad hill of Baxter's land I see the roos box at sunrise
A historical Town old Wonthaggi it's fame it is known far and wide
Where miners won their strike for higher wages and better working conditions in the mine where some of their comrades died
The mine closed down in the late nineteen sixties but it's history in writing lives on
And most of the old Wonthaggi miners like the mine to the reaper have gone,
In fancy I can hear the shrike thrush whistling on a black wattle tree
Between Dalyston and Kilcunda where the Powlett flows down to the sea
A place that has such an ancient history the old home of the Bunurong
In the countryside by Powlett river they had their corroborees and song
Of the old Town in Coastal South Gippsland such fond memories I do retain
And often in my flights of fancy I visit Wonthaggi again.

Where The Hopkins River Flow

I hear the monotonous cawings of the dark glossy pale eyed crow
And the sweet flute of the magpie where the Hopkins River flow
Through green and fertile coastal lands near Warrnambool to the sea
I love this grand old Country It is home from home for me
This very ancient Country that inspire story, song and rhyme
It was a very old Land even in the Dreaming Time
Where the Indigenous people had their Corroborees
In warm Summer evenings in the shadow of the trees
On the last day of September a near to perfect day
The coot and musk duck for their food diving on the Hopkins waterway
Such beauty that's in Nature that inspires writers to write
Stories and poems for others to read and to recite
Of where the Hopkins River ever slowly winds it's way
To the great Pacific ocean every night and every day.

Don't Judge Me

Don't judge me I'm not one that you do know
Just treat me as a would be friend not a potential foe
I am one who comes from a distant place
Though we all belong to the one human race
What you think of me is your business not mine
And that you have your beliefs surely suits me fine
That our different ways make us interesting would you not agree
But we see in others what we want to see
In thinking we may seem quite far apart
But we all are prone to affairs of the heart
We fall in and out of love we laugh and we cry
To every human being this does apply
Don't judge me I am just an ageing man
And just like you I am one on a time span.

Is There One Better

He does not have a good job or he does not bother to vote
And he is not seen as one worthy of note
But is there one better than him in the town
He is willing to help anyone poor and down.

Withour asking for reward he helps out old dears
Poor people on pensions in their twilight years
Drives them to the supermarket their grass for them mow
The seeds of good karma for himself he does sow.

In his early twenties of him the fault finders say
He does not go to a church to any God he does not pray
The great person he is in him they cannot see
A man of compassion who for others does have empathy.

He is one who is seldom seen in the pub
And he is not a member of any community club
And the seeds of good karma for himself he has sown
And one better than him I can't say I have known.

Belgrave Town

On the Burwood Highway cars and trucks buzz up and down
Through Upwey and Tecoma and the main street of Belgrave Town
Those cars and trucks that seem to multiply
On the mountain roads of Melbourne's outer eastern suburbs as the years go by
To Belgrave Town the Seasons come and go
And few there nowadays I can claim to know
On the hills above the Town the mountain ash stand tall
Compared to them most other trees seem small
In the high woods from mid Winter through the Spring
The lyrebird on his mound does often sing
The songs of his neighbor birds in his song he recall
In the World of Birds the greatest mimic of them all
In the place of many a giant eucalypt tree
Those hills that once were home from home to me.

Of Nature It Has Always Seemed To Me

I can tell the difference between a finch and a crow
But few things about Nature I can claim to know
Yet learning of her creatures I thoroughly enjoy
And I've always loved her since I was a boy.

The more I learn about Nature the more I realize
That she is one who never ceases to surprise
And so little of her I can claim to know
Yet every day my wonder of her grow.

From Nature we learn new things every day
But her secrets from us she does hide away
It is not for a sense of joy the bird does sing
Since song to him is a territorial thing.

I can tell a wombat from a kangaroo
Or a kookaburra from a cockatoo
But of Nature it has always seemed to me
That there is more to her far more than the eyes can see.

The Poor Bloke's Prayer

My electricity bill I just cannot pay
Dear God when I need you where are you today
You don't seem to listen when to you I pray
And when I need your help from me you turn away.

The prayer of the poor bloke on poverty street
For his children he cannot afford to buy meat
His wife is unwell in bed feeling run down
A poor family on the poor side of the town.

He prays but God never pays heed to his prayer
Life can be so tough for one on welfare
On a below poverty line income and job opportunities rare
Of how real poverty feels he is all too aware.

If your wife and children are hungry and payment on your bills overdue
To positive thinking it is hard to stay true
You pray to your God for assistance but your prayer God does not heed
And your so called friends do not wish to know you in your times of need.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

When I Look In A Mirror

When I look in a mirror I feel surprised to see
This ugly looking old fellow who is looking at me
He must be over sixty his balding head gray
And clearly he has known a far better day
A tired looking old bloke quite wrinkled and fat
It cannot be myself I am looking at
Perhaps from looking in mirrors I ought to refrain
I'd rather not see that old fellow again
The face in the mirror ugly to behold
It cannot be me I do not look that old
That it could be me I refuse to believe
I do not look that old my eyes me deceive
Each time I look in a mirror an old man I see
I wonder why he keeps on staring at me?

Post Grand Final '2008'

Don't want to hear or to see the Grand Final replay
We know the results it was played yesterday
The Hawks of Hawthorn beat the Cats of Geelong
The experts and punters this time got it wrong
The favourites as we know in finals sometimes get beat
And for the team, club and supporters no joy in defeat
But there's always next year a new football season begin
But as in life one has to lose for another to win
The Hawthorn Club and their fans celebrate
Their own piece of history they did create
At Glenferrie Oval flies the Premiership flag
The winners are happy the winners can brag
In football as in life one's loss is another one's gain
But next year the losers for glory they can try again.

The Happy Divorcee

Such a lovely person and so nice to know
By the smile on her face she has the inner glow
The windows of her soul are open to light
She is always so cheerful and bubbly and bright.

In her early fifties her brown hair flecked with gray
Perhaps physically she has known a far better day
To her horrible ex husband she was a good wife
And without him she lives a much happier life.

Her ex husband has re-married on her he used to cheat
And when drunk he was aggressive her he used to beat
He done his best for to lower her sense of self esteem
Life for her better without him much better 'twould seem

Their only daughter in her mid twenties is married in a town far away
Her young son will be three on his birthday in May
At Christmas her daughter and grandson she will see
And life is looking good for the happy divorcee.

Such Beauty Comes To Me

I do live far south of Hibernia's shore
And from Clara the old hill above Claramore
But in my flights of fancy I'm walking again
In the Claraghatlea fields in the wind and the rain
The robin is singing on the silver birch tree
The sound of his voice is familiar to me
And the white breasted dipper in his cloak of dark brown
In the Finnow is singing west of Millstreet Town
Primroses, snowdrops and bluebells on the ditch of the bohreen
And the old fields decked in wildflowers are looking so green
Such beauty comes to me when I visualize
Above the rank bracken the brown skylark rise
And like a small dot in the gray morning sky
He carols as up to the cloud World he fly.

The Word Bogan

It is such a put down word 'Bogan' Aussie and Kiwi slang used to demonize
Poorly educated people from poorer suburbs seen as inferior in the self conceited eyes
If somebody refers to you as a Bogan at such a reference you should take offense
As they are dismissing you as uncultured and in the ways of the World quite dense
I really don't like the word Bogan as it is used for to put others down
A word never used in reference to those of the top end of the town
Our societies are built around rank and class distinction and for each of us a pigeon hole
Though our circumstances in life often can be something that's beyond our control
It is easy for to be judgemental though the judgemental in their own ways so small
Judge not and thou shalt not be judged those words should apply to us all
The word Bogan is a put down word and not complimentary in any way
Such a word is used to demean people and that does seem a sad thing to say
But our mortality makes us all equals since we are all born to die
That is a fact of our existence and as we know facts never lie.


He has been compared to Bango Paterson an Australian giant of the Wordsmith trade
Whoever said that about Greenwolfe a huge compliment to him has paid
But it truly can be said of Greeny that he's worthy of the accolade
For he is a poetic legend and 'tis true poets are born not made.

Coffeeconnection and Poemhunter are blessed with his presence one like him an asset to any literary site
A poet who aims for perfection such beautiful poetry he write
A mentor for all younger writers his poetry others do inspire
He never writes a nasty comment him for his graciousness one must admire.

An online poet admired by many 'tis by good example he lead
It truly can be said of Greenwolfe that his poems are well worth the read
His poetry is not esoteric but well written and easily understood
Than Greenwolfe you won't find one better his poetry is so very good.

An asset to John Nightingale's ' Coffeeconnection' I only say here what is true
He brought joy to Poemhunter readers and that is to give him his due
In his own right a poetic legend and one who is well worthy of note
He has been compared to Bango Paterson arguably Australia's greatest poet.

A Lovely Spring Day

In the clear blue sky woolly looking clouds of gray
The sun it is shining on a lovely Spring day
A high of a warm enough 28 degrees
With only the faintest sign of a slight breeze.

Around the park flower beds and every bush and tree
White butterflies flitting so lovely to see
And on the park lake baby ducklings are out
With their parents eating insects as they swim about.

Such natural beauty there is to be seen
After the recent rains the park looks so green
The nesting birds whistling on the bushes and trees
The balmy air full of their teritorial melodies.

Out here in the park amongst the wild and the free
The beauty of Nature is all around me
And for viewing Nature's beauty no price for to pay
I thank Goddess Nature for such a nice day.

A Credit To Humanity

The stories of their lives are so good to read
Those unselfish people who helps those in need
From their Homeland they travel far away
For love of helping the less fortunate without any pay
For their altruistic ways respect and recognition they are due
To their higher selves such people always true
Known for their compassion and their empathy
These people a credit to humanity
At home and in drought ravaged lands overseas
They help the Homeless and the hungy and the Stateless refugees
For humanity's cause they put self ambition aside
True greatness of them never should be denied
In the helping of the less fortunate their time they devote
And in words I would laud them if I were a poet.

Football His Diversion

He is not getting on with his unhappy wife
His Football Club his diversion from his problems in life
He looks forward to the weekend through each working day
To cheer on his team such is life some do say.

He and his wife seem to have little in common at all
She does not have any interest in football
And their nineteen year old daughter is living elsewhere
Experiencing life in the big World out there.

With his mates in the pub football stories they share
A diversion for them from their every care
Than football no greater passion in their lives they can name
To them it is more far more than a game.

It would seem love in their marriage it is of the past
But then few things in life ever do seem to last
On saturday he barracks for his team whilst she
Is with her friend in the cafe enjoying afternoon tea.

What Was Has Gone Forever

Only in memory we can go back the years what was has gone forever
But the ties that bind me to the past I find too hard to sever
Perhaps I'll never more see Clara hill near Millstreet in Duhallow
I left there many years ago I had my dreams to follow.

In fancy I am far away far north in distant places
In an old pub in the old Town amongst familiar faces
The dancers they take to the floor to dance the Siege of Ennis
And I one of the non dancers enjoy my pint of guinness.

The past may well be in the past but when old memories awaken
The robin starts singing in the grove his voice can't be mistaken
The rill goes babbling down the hill to the river ever flowing
And swallows fly close to the grass as winds of rain are blowing.

The last time I saw Claraghatlea 'twas a cold day in December
Old Clara wore a hat of snow as I do well remember
But I did not return in Spring as does the migrant swallow
And time is catching up on me far south of old Duhallow.

Monday, January 28, 2013

That Some Are So Cruel

That some are so cruel does seem sad to say
Of such terrible crimes one hear and read of each day
Many unlit streets unsafe after nightfall
For some not a nice World to live in at all
So many good people fall victims of crime
We seem to be living in a troubled time
With the social gap widening and a shortage of police
Robbery with violence is on the increase
For the unequal distribution of wealth in serious crime we must pay
But many criminals themselves are victims it does seem that way
Victims of the society they are living in
In their poor and tragic lives for them never a win
In the widening gap between the haves and the have nots the price is huge to pay
With the huge increase in crime where there's social decay.

A Wise One

With the saying age brings us wisdom I can't say I agree
It has not made a wiser person out of me
I am growing old but I'm not growing wise
To learn wise people are rare is not a surprise
Christine in her early thirties few as wise as she
One of few words she learns from all she hear and see
Those who like to speak all of the time insight from others will not gain
Wise people born to be wise and wise they remain
Wish I were half as wise as Christine though I'm twice her age
One can say of her that she is a true sage
When in company she waits for her turn to speak
But she is not bashful or in any way meek
Down to earth and attractive to look at with wavy brown hair
The Christines of this World to say the least are rare.

His Name It Was John Clare

On natural science or on horticulture or on ornithology
Or on botany or on environmental studies he did not have a degree
And though he died in a mental asylum one hundred and forty four years ago
He knew more about Nature than most today can claim to know
Of Nature poets of the English language he is arguably the best
Despite the changing face of poetry his poems withstand the time test
A herdboy from Helpston in England his name it was John Clare
With the classic poets of his time he favourably does compare
As he himself said ' I found my poems in the fields and only wrote them down'
The only one from Helpston who lives in literary renown
One who proved that to write marvellous poetry one does not need a degree
In Nature Poetry of the English language was or is there a greater poet than he?
The one who gave us poems such as 'The Thrush's Nest' 'Badger' and 'Clock A Clay'
Was forgotten in his lifetime but is a poetic legend of today.

Amateur Critics

The literary critics are well paid for others literary works to criticize
Though they themselves seldom do win a literary prize
And though as writers few critics ever do make the grade
At least for their criticisms they do get paid.

It is the unpaid literary critics I do wonder about
Are they people who as writers their own worth do doubt
Amateur writers who put fellow amateur writers down
A few of their type live in every town.

For some it is easier to criticize than it is to praise
The hopes of the not so confident they never raise
They have not learned than saying something cruel better not say anything at all
Suppose they cannot help it if in their ways they are small.

The professional literary critics though not a great asset to the Wordsmith trade
At least for their work do get very well paid
But those amateur critics who use their words as fuel
For putting down of others how can they be so cruel?

The Silver Back Crow

Compassion for them the sheep farmers cannot show
They hate with a vengeance every silver back crow
Since of newly born lambs they do pluck out the eyes
Their hatred of them they don't try to disguise.

Distinctive to look at and distinctive in their raucous caws
And to the mountain sheep farmers feathered outlaws
Each Spring the presence of predators to them come at a huge cost
To crows, dogs and foxes far too many sheep and lambs they have lost.

Though poisoned and trapped and shot at as they fly
Their survival instincts of them none can deny
And though Sheep farmers to make them extinct their best they do try
Their numbers in some places seem to multiply.

For the mountain sheep farmer another poor Spring
With joy you will not hear him whistle and sing
Many lambs lost to bad weather the rain, sleet and snow
And the predator known as the silver back crow.

They Came From Distant Places

They came from distant places to this far southern shore
The men who built the city at rest forever more
Some of them could not speak the language but they were strong and young
And they were willing workers and their praises ought be sung
The men who built the city their grandchildren old today
They worked hard to support their wives and families from their old homeland far away
They built the factories, homes and railways and they worked hard for their pay
The men who built the city for years with Nature lay
No monument built to them no last post for them played
For the men who built the city there was never a parade
Only their direct descendants would have heard of them by name
To be honest and hard working is never a claim to fame
The men who built the city their praises remain unsung
And today their grandchildren are not what one would call young.

Ignore Government Spokespeople

Ignore Government Spokespeople their success depends on the spreading of fear
And they only tell you what they want you to hear
To them to mislead is not to deceive
And a bigger fool you if them you believe
Few of their kind trustworthy that seems sad to say
Though for leadership we always do look their way
Their addiction to power is not a healthy thing
Yet many too many their praises do sing
The lies that they tell they cannot take back
The Tampa in Australia the war in Iraq
I am fully convinced they believe their own lies
Why should I respect any crooks in disguise
For them it is so easy so easy to lie
But because of them many poor people must die.

Since That Is Nature's Way

By their deciduous mother tree on the grass they do lay
The brown leaves of the Autumn have gone to decay
The magpie is piping in the dawn cool and gray
And life it goes on since that is Nature's way
Like her Seasons her life forms to Nature come and go
Yet so little of her ways we can claim to know
I marvel at the wonders in Nature I see
But Nature remains as a mystery to me
The beauty in Nature is ours to enjoy
I first fell in love with her as a young boy
And though the father of time mercy for us doesn't show
My wonderment of her only seems to grow
The brown leaves of Autumn lay near their mother tree
And the fate that befell them is also for me.

Joan And Carmel

Since I've last seen them 21 years in time has gone
They soon will be forty the clock is ticking on
Married with children in Millstreet Parish Joan Cotter and Carmel Dinneen
It has been awhile now since they were nineteen.

Now well into mid life and the clock ticking away
For anyone time does not wait as some are known to say
Our young years go quickly and young we cannot stay
I wish Joan and Carmel a happy birthday.

Though since I've last seen them it does seem long ago
Two beautiful young women I felt privileged to know
Where have the years gone to time went so fast
And them I recall when I go to the past.

Though separated by distance and in years apart
Joan and Carmel retain a place in my heart
In Millstreet their children into adults will grow
Where the river Finnow to the Blackwater flow.

Some See My Verses As Dated

Some see my verses as dated as out of their time
And I seldom bother to polish my rhyme
The best years of my life to time have long gone
And I must be addictive to keep scribbling on.

Though except they speak of me in an uncalled for way
I care not what others of me have to say
They have their opinions and that suits me fine
And what they think of me is their business not mine.

Since my chances of becoming a successful writer would be beating the odds
I must be a child of the doggerel gods
For I am addictive and my addiction compel
Me for to keep writing reams of doggerel.

Those who organize literary readings me never invite
But I write when the urge is upon me to write
I am quite addictive the facts never lie
And I'll be penning stuff 'til the day that I die.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

At Night In Kallista

At night in Kallista the wood of the white cockatoo
The powerful owl calls out in his mournful woo hoo
Where in the pale moonlight the giant mountain ash trees
Are soughing ever softly in the freshening breeze
The shrill voices of the ring tail possums one cannot mistake
They forage for young leaves from nightfall 'til daybreak
By day their nests of leaves on outer branches can be viewed from the ground
In Kallista wood their numbers seem to abound
For it's natural beauty a place widely known
Kallista at night has a charm of it's own
Fond memories of such beauty with me does remain
And in fancy I'm back in Kallista again
Where the night creatures call and the giant mountain ash trees
Are soughing ever softly in the freshening breeze.

Don't Tell Me About It I Already Know

Don't tell me about it I already know
That money on bushes and trees does not grow
Yet of it some do have far more than enough
Whilst millions of poor people are doing it tough.

The unequal distribution of wealth seems humanity's shame
For every millionaire hundreds without a penny to their name
Homeless and hungry on poverty street
They hardly would know of the taste of good meat.

So many of life's opportunities denied
Their circumstance of birth their future's for them decide
Of their lives of poverty of varying degrees
In the refugee camps millions of refugees.

Don't tell me about it I know all too well
That millions are living in their earthly hell
Money breeds inequality doesn't that seem unfair
It is a rat race in the big World out there.

The Young Evergreen

It is said she is eighty three she does not look that old
For one of her age attractive to behold
Her wavy hair time has left silvery gray
She must have been quite a beauty on her day.

A mother who never was anyone's wife
In the Vietnam war in 1969 her son lost his life
The brave young man that she raised without his dad
By life one can say she has been treated bad.

At the local bowling club rooms she often is seen
The one who is known as 'The Young Evergreen'
She dances to her heart content for two hours or more
And at the last dance she joins in the encore.

An octogenarian still going strong
As she dances with the band she does sing along
Her great gift of happiness with others she share
The Young Evergreens of the World are so rare.

I Find Your Subjects Boring

I find your subjects boring your conversations seem so dull
Of politics, religion and nationalism I've had a bellyfull
The World only divided by human created borders in reality it is all of the one crust
We were born of a woman and we decay to dust
Your Country not your Country you were just born there
And everyone who is born to life has to be from somewhere
Those who talk of my Country have surely got it wrong
Any Country to any one race ought to not rightfully belong
Enough of politics, religion, patriotism and nationalism these things only divide
For God and love of their National flag far too many have died
Your subjects as well as boring are provocative that's how 'twould seem to me
You sure are doing your own bit for World disharmony
That the World is of one crust you don't seem to understand
And since we are mortals born to die we are owned by the land.

It Is Often Said Of Karma

It is often said of Karma we receive what is our due
Though you may look at it quite differently you may say that is not true
Yet by saying as much you're saying to lie and cheat is quite okay
If for such you don't go to prison is that what you are trying to say?
I'm one who believes in Karma it's concept does seem true to me
Though with the idea of what goes around comes around some do choose to disagree
But each to their own way of thinking or in other words each to their own
Though they too will receive the fruits of as I will of the Karma for ourselves we've sown
Karma is for everybody that is how I see it anyway
For every wrong you do to others to Karma the price you will pay
And for every good deed you perform happiness in your life you'll know
I believe that in Karma we will reap what we did sow
Karma is for everybody that's how it does seem to me
But everyone in their thinking are different and may see it quite differently.

The Arrogant Winner

The arrogant winner may bask in his fame
And wave to the fans as they chant aloud his name
He feels so superior to those he has beat
And he feels so enraptured in his own self conceit
At his post race interview he says I'm the best
I can say I'm so much ahead of the rest
The sound of his own voice he does like to hear
And to those he has beaten himself he does not endear
The arrogant winner is lacking in grace
Humility in his life does not have a place
His opponents he does like to humiliate
Not surprising their feelings towards him are bordering on hate
As a person the arrogant winner seems small
And in many ways he's not a winner at all.

Tadgh Driscoll

Tadgh Driscoll and his late Wife Kathy raised their three sons in Millstreet and by Millstreet Town his last remains now lay
In his ninetieth year of life he was a good age since for all of us a final night and day
He was a chemist and a travel agent an honest man one well liked and well known
Around Millstreet Town quite a familiar figure his friends in numbers through the years had grown
Memories of him will live on in Millstreet those who knew him with fondness will recall
A man who loved life and was loved by many and a good and decent person overall
He did his best in life that's all one can do to the higher self he was one who was true
He was a credit to his Town and family and that is only giving him his due
If I return to the Town of Millstreet Tadgh Driscoll is one that I will not see
But he is one I always will remember he will not fade out of my memory
It has been awhile now since I lived in Millstreet I hear the changes have been happening there
Some of those I knew in my young years are deceased and some others they have gone to live elsewhere
And Tadgh Driscoll gone from Millstreet Town forever from life one hopes his was a painless release
He was an honest and a decent person and like it is said may he now rest in peace.

Always There's Some By Law

You may be a good person of which there's little doubt
But always there's some by law that's bound to catch you out
You think you've put enough money in the parking meter but your watch is running slow
And when you return to your car an hour later the look of surprise on your face show
Under the wiper on the windscreen a parking ticket you see
A fine of eighty dollars for your oversight how cruel life can be
The by laws officer had been around for compassion one not known
For printing parking tickets for Local Government Bureaucracies his or her good reputation has grown
You are a law abiding citizen and by the law try to do the right thing
And your praises for your honesty those who know you do sing
But the by law parking officers do not see it that way
They must keep printing tickets for to justify their pay
You are an honest person the law intentionally you would never break
And now you must pay eighty dollars for your innocent mistake.

Do Block Thoughts

Do block thoughts of them from your mind
Those to you who have been unkind
Such cruel thing of you they did say
But to karma for such they must pay
They leave you with a mental scar
Just goes to show how ignorant they are
Before they think they speak twice
Some don't know just how to be nice
We've been learning from life before we've learned how to crawl
Though some seem to have learned little at all
From living they don't grow wise they just grow old and gray
There's no fool like an old fool they say
And though they don't believe in live and let live
Them you should forget and forgive.

From Early To Mid Spring

The weather changeable from early to mid Spring
But so nice to hear the nesting songbirds sing
In the town park in the gray dawn of the day
Song in their breeding season to defend territory a huge part seems to play
Yesterday we had some heavy showers of rain
But today the sun shines in the sky again
The cooler weather of the Winter all but gone
And the days will become warmer as the Spring goes on
The parks and paddocks looking lush and green
And Nature at her very finest seen
In early Spring the white backed magpie he pipes day and night
And the blackbird can be heard at dawn's first light
And magpie larks build their cup shaped nest on branch of tree
And all day long sing out pee wee pee wee.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Johnny Keeffe Is A Legend In Millstreet Town

To sing his praises how could one begin
He Captained Millstreet Gaelic Footballers to their greatest win
He never did leave Millstreet or Cork down
Johnny Keeffe is a legend in Millstreet Town.

A man who never bragged about his fame
He only played because he loved the game
Never found to be wanting when put to the test
A gentleman as well as one of Millstreet's best.

Johnny Keeffe is a man who lived his dream
The Captain of Millstreet's County winning team
And what a game against St Vincent's he did play
His legend living on with him today.

Yet so down to earth and untainted by conceit
We laud him as a hero of Millstreet
Not alone a great footballer but a good person in every way
The truth of him to you I only say.

The story of his life would be so great to read
Today as he always did by good example he does lead
These simple words to honour the renown
Of a living legend of old Millstreet Town.

Some People When They Are Drunk

Some people when they are drunk they like to dance and sing
And to the dullest party some happiness they bring
Their jokes give rise to laughter they enjoy their night out
And little room for sadness when laughter is about.

Some people when they are drunk not nice people at all
These are the type of fellows you see in a pub brawl
And they go home from the pub angry swearing at everyone they meet
And take it out on their families their wives and children beat.

Some people when they are drunk to themselves like to keep
And at home on the sofa they just doze off to sleep
Alcohol to them a sedative or so 'twould seem that way
People to each other different as some are known to say.

It is said that alcohol brings out the very worst in some people this very well may be
But alcohol on everyone it does act differently
Some when drunk they grow happier they sing and laugh all night
And others when fueled by alcohol are spoiling for a fight.

Your Word Should Be Your Bond

It is said money speaks every language and talk can come cheap
But a promise you make is one you ought to keep
Your word should be your bond but with some it is not that way
Some don't stick to their word that does seem sad to say.

With honourable people the World does not abound
And when it comes to money trust is hard to be found
That's why we have legal documents some to their word not true
Those who honour their word great respect are due.

Your word you should honour that is how it should be
But some people are only known for their dishonesty
Their word is quite worthless they cannot be taken on trust
But their word it is sacred to the honourable and just.

The honourable people their word never break
And they never go back on a promise they make
But those without honour their word never keep
And the karma we sow is the karma we'll reap.

The Last Rose Of The Fall

Her pink petals strewn upon the grass beside her mother tree
In full bloom a thing of Nature so beautiful to see
Where the gleaners of Nature's decay grubs, slugs and insects crawl
Last week she looked so beautiful the last rose of the Fall.

So bare and thorny looking without her leaves and flowers
The rose tree looks forlorn in the cool Autumn showers
Next Summer again pink roses she will wear
The rose tree in bloom has a beauty that's rare.

The beauty of Nature is seen Worldwide
In town parks and gardens and in the countryside
And Nature herself she lives on every shore
The one destined to live forever more.

For the gleaners of Nature who live on decay
The beautiful rose petals on the grass lay
But the rose whose life span can be measured in hours
Her fate it is not any different to ours.

What Matter If Others

What matter if others do not see you as great
If your's is a name they do not celebrate
That you be a good person is what matters most
You do not need others to you for to drink a toast
We all have our egos I know all too well
And on what is good for us we do like to dwell
But why worry if others your praises don't sing
Too much thought of self for you is not a good thing
The wealthy and famous of every town
Are the people that some do their best to drag down
For success and fame there is some price to pay
That's people and life as some are known to say
So don't seek out praise and help out others if you can
And try to make yourself a better woman or man.

Never Give Up On Life

Never give up on life live for as long as you can
That goes for every woman as well as every man
We only live once at life no second chance
So why not be happy and laugh, sing and dance.

Never give up on life though you are aged and gray
And live for the moment and enjoy every day
Our time is too short for worry and woe
The sad sacks of the town few do wish for to know.

May your last day be your hardest as some are known to say
For the weeks hurry by and time keeps ticking away
We are only mortals like the sheep or the cow
And we only can live in the here and the now.

The great gift of life is a marvellous thing
And it's praises we ought to feel happy to sing
Your crosses may be hard to bear but why wish to die
Since none know of a hereafter and the facts never lie.

A Club Legend

In that memorable Grand Final such a great game he did play
But the man he was two decades back he sure is not today
Now in his early fifties the years have left him gray
Time even takes care of the best as some are known to say
In that memorable Grand Final he was the best on ground
And the cheers of his club supporters in his ears did resound
Like the other surviving members of that Premiership team his better days long gone
For anyone time does not wait it just ticks on and on
But to the club supporters he's still a legend and a legend he'll remain
And those who watched him in his footballing days fond memories do retain
Of the dashing onballer who for the club played many a marvellous game
The passage of time may have left him slower but the passage of time has not dimmed his fame
He was a great footballer when he was in his prime
But that was twenty years ago and that's going back in time.

The Boobook's Call

When the pale full moon is stealing through the calm and starry sky
It is an eerie sort of feeling for to hear the boobook's cry
Mopoke mopoke he cries out unmelodious though clear
At times he seems quite distant and at times he seems quite near
A brown spotted owl that roosts in thick tree foliage out of the sunlight
The boobook's is a familiar voice of the Australian night
So often I have heard them as I lay in bed awake
Mopoke mopoke they cry out in a voice none could mistake
Birds that hide away in tall trees from the light of day
On mice, small birds and insects it is said they do prey
They fly out of their roosting trees in the evening at nightfall
And they cannot be mistaken in their distinctive call
Mopoke mopoke he cries out in the Australian night
On the tall gum and acacia trees in the calm of the moonlight.

They Came From Distant Places

They came from distant places to this far southern shore
The men who built the city at rest forever more
Some of them could not speak the language but they were strong and young
And they were willing workers and their praises ought be sung
The men who built the city their grandchildren old today
They worked hard to support their wives and families from their old homeland far away
They built the factories, homes and railways and they worked hard for their pay
The men who built the city for years with Nature lay
No monument built to them no last post for them played
For the men who built the city there was never a parade
Only their direct descendants would have heard of them by name
To be honest and hard working is never a claim to fame
The men who built the city their praises remain unsung
And today their grandchildren are not what one would call young.

Would I Be A Stranger

From Claraghatlea my home Townland I now live far away
Would I be a stranger in Millstreet today
My friends of the past me may not recognize
With time we age and change in appearance I've come to realize
A stranger in Millstreet that's how it may be
Since very few there now would remember me
It has been twenty one years since I last saw Clara Hill
And heard the faint babble of the Glasheen Rill
That through Donal Hickey's and Donal Sullivan's fields journey on down
To join the Finnow just west of Millstreet Town
I hear the rooks cawing in the wind and the rain
In my flights of fancy I am back home again
And though I'm a stranger to many I meet
The fields look the same in my old home in Millstreet.

Friday, January 25, 2013

Rudd And Turnbull

Australia's P M Kevin Rudd and opposition leader Malcolm Turnbull many things in common share
They are very wealthy fellows each of them a millionaire
And neither of them did have a privileged childhood which they like to talk about
Of the facts of their poor boy makes good story they never leave us in doubt.

To the working class of voter themselves they like to endear
Though of their underprivileged childhoods many do not wish to hear
Their hard earned wealth and fame does not tell us of the kind of men they are
One should never judge a person by their wealth or house or car.

It would seem to me that Rudd and Turnbull at their power and wealth feel shame
Otherwise it does seem obvious they are playing the political game
Many like to hear the story of the poor boy making good
By guileful people like Rudd and Turnbull such things are well understood.

Powerbrokers, wealthy and famous people good luck to them anyway
Kevin Rudd and Malcolm Turnbull for themselves have done okay
Kevin's job Malcolm wants badly their praises their supporters sing
Most politicians are power hungry with them that's a natural thing.

If Penning Of Doggerel Was A Crime

If penning of doggerel was a crime
I would be serving prison time
And the more judgemental of me might say
We told you so crime doesn't pay.

I've written reams of rhyming stuff
In reference to slang a literary duff
My rhymes around the edges rough
My best is hardly good enough.

For literary success at least I did try
And I will not die wondering why
At penning of good rhyme I did not succeed
Since I tried my best I did indeed.

Not everyone can be a poet
Or even one of literary note
Few so few pass the good poet test
Yet one can only try their best.

Since the less kind call it doggerel
My sort of stuff nowadays don't sell
It is out of fashion nowadays rhyme
And it has been for quite some time.

My better days in life long gone
But true to myself I just rhyme on
And since to you I will not lie
As a poetaster I will die.

So Many People Themselves Do Promote

So many people themselves do promote
Yet not everyone can be someone of note
Your own praises to others you may sing
But only one can be the best at anything
Not everyone can know of Worldly fame
But the Reaper treats all equal all the same
With his sharp scythe he mows the wealthy and famous down
He treats them as he treats the paupers of the town
It is a fact of life and facts do never lie
That we are mortals and all mortals are born to die
We cannot bring back the Seasons that are gone
And only Nature herself does live on
You may promote yourself as someone great
But you may not be the one others do celebrate.

In The Bogs Of Claraghatlea North

In the bogs of Claraghatlea North just west of Millstreet Town
The hare sits in the rushes in her coat of chestnut brown
Of man with gun and man's dog and fox she lives her life in fear
And her's is never a deep sleep as she rests with one pricked ear
In the bogs of Claraghatlea North sunday hunts I used to enjoy
With Pudsy our brown cattle dog when I was a young boy
She often flushed and chased a hare but by the hare she always was outrun
What nowadays by many is frowned upon back then to me was fun
That was back in the fifties some five decades ago
In the bogs of Claraghatlea North near where Cails and Finnow flow
The boy into a man grew and time ticks on so fast
And only the good memories of what was seem to last
Poor Pudsy in her long rest she was a tough old dog
She often chased a brown hare in a Claraghatlea bog.

The Rose Of Caherbarnagh

Have the years left their mark on her with dye does she hide her gray
The Rose of Caherbarnagh where might she be today?
When I was a schoolboy in the fifties she was eighteen or nineteen
A beautiful young woman as fine as I've ever seen
Her eyes blue as the dunnock eggs her hair was sandy brown
The finest of the finest her side of Millstreet Town
She left old Caherbarnagh and her home by Caher hill
When the nesting birds were singing and wildflowers bloomed by the rill
That babbled from the foothills as inland it did flow
In May when the nesting birds were whistling on bush, tree and hedgerow
She was driven in a taxi to the Station at Rathmore
And her future would be elsewhere distant from Hibernia's shore
The Rose of Caherbarnagh I would never see again
But memories of her youthful beauty to this day with me remain.

In Life

In life disappointments I have known
But still my problems are my own
For with others your problems why share
When they have their own woes to bear.

Since human nature is this way
Even for success there is some price to pay
The wealthiest person in the town
Is the one some wish for to drag down.

Yet what is success I only know
That on trees and bushes it doesn't grow
Some say it is a state of mind
That only in happy people you will find.

But with that you well may disagree
Since we all look at life so differently
Apart from your children and your wife
You see money as the most important thing in life.

In life I've had to cope with stress
But I also have known happiness
Have known the difference between joy and sad
But in life you take the good times with the bad.

Abandoned Eggs

I saw two green blotched eggs on short grass on the ground
Masked lapwing eggs though none of their kind anywhere near around
Birds quite defensive of their territory
Their absence seemed quite puzzling to me
The abandoned eggs to the touch seemed quite cold
A thing of natural beauty to behold
No angry lapwings screaming above my head
Methought the owners of the eggs may be dead
The masked lapwing or spur wing plovers their eggs and young defend
And at breeding time none to them is a friend
Had they been around they would take to the sky
And scream at me as close to me they did fly
I left the eggs there to naturally decay
Such things one see in Nature every day.

God Helps Those

Though to the one God everyone does not pray
God helps those who help themselves the more cynical say
But in what they do say there is truth to be found
Since in the Human World greed does seem to abound.

Though many say what we receive from life is only our due
God helps those who help themselves does seem to be true
To those who commit legal fraud God seems to turn the blind eye
But of their karmic justice Karma them won't deny.

Though many other sayings to the ways of time have gone
God helps those who help themselves is one that lives on
In some bureaucracies corruption is rife
Not every multi millionaire or billionaire leads a moral life.

God helps those who help themselves the greedy are not few
And that the greedy are growing greedier tell us something new
And many are homeless and hungry for every millionaire
That's life some will tell you but is life always fair?

Not Exactly The New Robin Hood

You live for yourself and your own self esteem
And you are not the one that to many you seem
But this great image of yourself you do create
And your's is the name many do celebrate.

You talk of your young years you were a poor boy
And a privileged childhood you did not enjoy
But despite all of this in life you did succeed
When you tell us your life story your own ego you feed.

Such a story the aspirational love to hear
And to the battlers with such a story yourself you try to endear
The poor boy who became a multi millionaire
That does seem a good story with others to share.

But of your right wing politics the battlers have taken note
And for you they may be reluctant to vote
But to vote for you the middle class you may inspire
Since people like you they do tend to admire.

You say for the Country that you will do good
But you are not exactly the new Robin Hood
To help out the poor from the rich you won't steal
And to some and some only you do have appeal.

Am I Any Different To The Rabbit Or Hare

Though the ravages of time on me physically show
So little of life and of Nature I know
What hair I have on my head is looking rather gray
And clearly I have known a far better day.

This Planet with other life forms we do share
Am I any different to the rabbit or hare?
Like them I was born to live and then die
The facts tell us that and facts never lie.

The praises of celebrities and V I P's we may sing
But for them like the bird there is a final Spring
Like the cricket who lives in the crack in the wall
To the scythe of the Reaper we too have to fall.

We honour those that we look up to as great
And their successes see fit for to celebrate
But they are mere mortals despite their renown
They too have to die like the poor of the town.

If tomorrow I don't wake to the light of day
You who do know of me of me only say
He lived and then died like the rose of the Fall
But in life he believed on a fair go for all.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

A Wasted Energy

I cannot say I hate anybody as hate does seem a wasted energy
Although there are people not many that I would rather not meet or see
As people I can't say I like them and they surely do not like me
We have very little in common and we look at life quite differently
I can only hope they do not hate me for hatred is not a good thing
That if they once harboured a grudge for me that to their grudges for me they don't cling
I'm too old for nursing old grudges the clock on my life ticking fast
I want to forget my bad memories I feel they belong to the past
'Tis natural for to not like a person but hatred as a feeling too strong
The word itself sounds even angry to hate someone does seem all wrong
You must have heard of the old saying when you lose a friend you make a foe
I first heard that as a primary schoolgoer and that's going back five decades ago
I cannot say I hate anybody though I can say I do not like every one
And I would rather not dwell on old grudges the past is past when all is said and done.

The Mother Believes Her Son

He is serving three years for armed robbery but the mother says my son is not a crim
He is not the one who robbed the uptown drug store for someone else the cashier mistook him
My son has told me that he is not guilty and what he tells me I always believe
He is a kind, honest and loving person and does not use guns and is not known to deceive
The mother believes her son has been wrongfully imprisoned she says my son should not be serving time
My son was mistaken for a lookalike person he was not anywhere near the scene of the crime
Of course she believes what her son did tell her even though her son told her a blatant lie
And she will go on believing he has been wronged right up until the moment that she die
You will not find a love truer or greater than the love a mother has for her daughter or son
She stands by them through their trials and tribulations her offspring in her life are number one
A good mother will stick up for her children despite what others of them have to say
She will always be there for to support them when all others from them turn away
Her son has served a third of his three year sentence she visits him every second day
She says my son he is not even guilty for someone else's crime why should he pay

Yellow Rumped Thornbills

Searching for insects on the ground them I often do see
Such tiny birds their eggs small as a pea
With yellow on their rumps of lightish fawn to gray
I see them often though not every day.

Not that much bigger than a butterfly
Yellow rumped thornbills the name they are known by
They live in small flocks and feed on the ground
And they look so tiny as they hop around.

So vulnerable in their defenceless way
To kookaburras, hawks and magpies they sometimes fall prey
Yet every Spring their numbers multiply
And the tag of Nature's survivors to them does apply.

As they do fly the yellow on their rumps does show
But of them little I can claim to know
If I said how long they live I would be telling a lie
Only know that they do quickly age and die.

Of Global Warming And Climate Change

Of Global warming and climate change we read of and hear
The changes in our natural environment gives us reason to fear
Of what does lay ahead for the children of today
We've brought climate change forward by centuries it does seem that way.

The polar ice caps are melting at an alarming rate
Our polluting of our natural environment not something to celebrate
To combat global warming we've left it a bit late
As a species we may well have sealed our own fate.

The burning of fossil fuels and carbon emissions have gone on for too long
On what causes climate change the experts have never been wrong
What we do to Nature in kind she repay
Global warming a threat to human existence many experts now say.

War and terrorism as a threat to humanity seems little at all
When compared to climate change it's impact seems small
Humans not known to learn from mistakes of the past
We must change our ways and we must change them fast

Some Religious People

Some religious people do look on as odd
Those who do not believe in the existence of God
They refuse to believe that in an atheist you'll find
A person who can be quite good and kind
But such people will never come to realize
That they do not see others with God in their eyes
A truly devout person in those different would see
The good and caring side of humanity
A truly devout person be it she or he
Is blessed with compassion and have empathy
For those who see life in a different way
Respect to all people they only can pay
And since they do not believe on a fair go for all
Some religious people in their ways are small.

A Lively Old Man

For his age he is full of elan
He is such a lively old man
He laugh and he dance and he sing
To him life is a wonderful thing
His hair may be silvery gray
But he makes the most of every day
On his last birthday he turned eighty three
But he does not look his age most would agree
A great grandfather without a wife
He has always led a single life
The one who gave birth to his daughter another man wed
She is now in the place of the dead
That old men should rest up for to die
His lifestyle does seem to belie.

When Nature Grows Angry

When Nature grows angry she spreads widespread fear
Of the death and damage left in her wake we we read of see and hear
No greater power than her the super power supreme
When compared to her so insignificant we do seem.

When Nature grows angry she leaves death and havoc in her wake
And the life that she gives at anytime she can take
Her Reaper with his scythe claims lives night and day
The young and those time have left feeble and gray.

Of Nature's ways little we can claim to know
And our wonder of her only does seem to grow
In all of her Seasons her beauty we do see
The Goddess of land and the Goddess of sea.

When Nature grows angry she roars through the town
She shakes and she blows trees and great buildings down
In her wake she leaves death and destruction behind
Yet she does not have a sense of what is cruel or is kind.

You Feel As Helpless

You feel as helpless as a leaf borne in the flooded stream
But don't give up on hope and hang on to your dream
Of wealth and of happiness in the days ahead
If you do give up on hope only life's breath in you not dead.

If happier times in days ahead you cannot seem to see
For all it will be worth to you I offer you my sympathy
Through the dark clouds of your soul happiness cannot shine
I do feel blessed quite blessed indeed that your worries are not mine.

The cares of life a weight on you and your sad face matches your mood
And you drink on your own in the pub where in silence you do brood
When you are in a depressed mood few of you wish to know
And the more you think about your woes the more your worries grow.

You sit on your own in the pub sad looking as you drink your beer
As a reminder of unhappiness where there is laughter and cheer
Suppose amongst any happy crowd one sad one you will find
And the worries that engulf you are a huge weight on your mind.

The Hard Roads Of Life

The hard roads of life I have been up and down
Since I left the old fields west of Millstreet Town
Where Finnow from Gneeves by grove and hedgerow
On towards the Blackwater at Drishane as ever does flow.

In fancy I climb on old Clara again
And hear the lark singing in the clouds of rain
His descendants sing o'er the old hill today
And the clock on my life it is ticking away.

To the father of time we eventually must bow
And we only can live in the here and the now
The boy of the fifties decades past his prime
To remember his best days must go back in time.

So many miles south of Hibernia's shore
And the roadway that leads from Millstreet to Rathmore
The clock on our lives it ticks on and on
And though we remember the past the past it has gone.

His Breeding Ground

His breeding ground the bird defends in song
But those who say his song is born of joy have got it all wrong
Or 'tis not out of love he feels compelled to sing
No song to him perhaps is just a territorial thing
Is he that different to human kind
In our sort too aggression you will find
Our borders too we do fight to defend
And to make a foe we often lose a friend
To birds and animals in some of our behaviour we relate
We even have to compete for a mate
As is often is the case of man and wife
That they do not remain that way for life
His breeding ground the bird in song defend
And at breeding time even his own kind not his friend.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

The Memories Of Boyhood Years

The memories of boyhood years my source of joy
Slashing thistles in my uncle's fields in Lisnaboy
In changeable weather in early July
So close to the grass the barn swallows did fly
A lesson from Nature that I do retain
When swallows fly close to the ground to expect rain
From the nearby meadows the sweet scent of hay
The joy of such memories with me today
My wonder at Nature's ways beginning to grow
But the more one learns of Nature the more one comes to know
That compared to Nature human achievements seem small
And of her ways we seem to know little at all
The green thistles fell around me with each slash hook blow
But that's going back in time some five decades ago.

Australia's Head Of State

She does not live in Australia but she is Australia's Queen
The Monarch of Great Britain her majesty supreme
But why she is Australia's Head of State seems hard to understand
As Australia from Great Britain seems a distant foreign Land
There is nothing wrong with Elizabeth the second in case you get me wrong
But her bond to Australia to say the least not strong
In her palace in London lives our honorary Head of State
Those who yearn for an Australian Republic may have decades for to wait
In this great southern Country she is not often seen
Her visits to Down Under are few and far between
Not that long ago the Aussie voters her as their Queen did retain
And perhaps as Australia's Head of State 'til death she will remain
For she is an octogenarian and she too has to die
That surely is a fact of life and such facts never lie.

Just Wealthy Whingers

Why do some very wealthy people see fit for to complain
When they already have more than enough seems beyond me to explain
Since to whinge they do not have a reason it does occur to me
That their money is not an antidote for their spiritual poverty
Worth millions in money and assets but it does seem sad to say
That their type more to be pitied spiritually poor in their small way
Like 'tis said much always wants more in their case this does apply
Why some wealthy people crave for more I really wonder why
Not far from their leafy suburb live the poor of poverty street
The homeless and the down and outs who never have enough to eat
Five hundred thousand dollars in yearly profit after tax and they complain for us not a good year
The more some have the more some want or so it does appear
They are just wealthy whingers some are so hard to please
In a World where millions of poor people are dying of hunger and disease.

To Be kinder To Others

To be wealthy and famous no longer appeals to me
For to be a better person is all I wish to be
To be kinder to others and live as good as I can
And as a better human being try to live out my life span
To try not to be judgemental since I too can be that way
And try to perform at least one good deed every day
Make yourself a better person make your town a better place
That's how it is and always was and will always be the case
In life I have been lucky never had to do it tough
And to be a better person for me now seems good enough
I've left them all behind me my daydreams of renown
In the old fields of Claraghatlea just west of Millstreet Town
To help out those in need of help and do at least one good deed every day
If I could achieve that much in life I would be doing okay.

Who Is This Sarah Palin

Who is this Sarah Palin what is she on about?
When she talks of war with Russia her sanity one must doubt
A war with Russia for the U S A would come at a huge cost
It would become a messy blooodbath with millions of lives lost.

Who is this Sarah Palin is she out of her mind?
She talks of war with Russia that's talk of the dangerous kind
When John McCain selected her as his running mate he did err in his choice
At the thought of a U S war with Russia I for one cannot rejoice.

If John McCain is elected U S President and whilst in office to the Reaper's scythe does fall
To lead the mighty Nation Sarah will answer the call
It should not be an occasion for one to celebrate
When prospects of a U S war with Russia to a dangerous level escalate.

Compared to a war with Russia a mighty Nation with far more bite than bark
The U S war with Afghanistan and Iraq would seem a picinic in the park
It would not only be a catastrophe for Russia and the U S A
But for the World we live in or so 'twould seem this way.

Who is this Sarah Palin she seems to speak before she think
When she spoke of a U S war with Russia did she have too much alcohol to drink?
In selecting her as his running mate ageing John McCain did err
To be Governor of Alaska seemed a big enough job for the likes of her.

Ireland Ancient Ireland

The Country I come from in size compared to most small
And it has a wet climate with lots of rainfall
But is is a green Country of splendid scenery
Ireland ancient Ireland on the Atlantic sea
The Irish a people of music, dance and song
To the great Celtic culture like the Scots they belong
A people once ravaged by famine and war
That's going back in time though not that very far
For Ireland I have shed my nostalgic tears
I have not been back there for some twenty one years
In Ireland I first looked on the light of day
But like many others in Ireland I did not choose to stay
And I live many miles south of my Homeland shore
And from Clara mountain above Claramore.

Suppose You Are What You Think You Are

Suppose you are what you think you are you say you are a poet
And you believe that you are one worthy of literary note
You are what you believe you are is all that I can say
Though I have yet to hear for you a rousing hip hooray
Still self praise really is not praise which after all is true
And others you they will applaud if applause you are due
Your verses do not seem too bad though they are far from great
You are not the one the poetry lovers choose to celebrate
Still you think you are a true poet and that's what matters most
Though to your own self it does seem you will have to drink a toast
To find a poet it does seem to me one would have to travel far
And not everyone can be a poet though many think they are
You are what you believe you are that's how it seems to be
But of how you feel about yourself others may not agree.

So Many People Wrongfully In Jail

So many people wrongfully in jail
Even in some so called Democratic Countries where the justice system some does fail
For political reasons or for reasons otherwise
Democratically elected governments spread fear through their lies
Of people they imprison from elesewhere
Who to challenge their right to be in their homeland did even dare
Many imprisoned as terrorists are not terrorists at all
And many of those with power in their ways are so small
They cling to power by their spreading of fear
From them we hear what they only want us to hear
Democratically elected governments who in their justice system take pride
With the power of might who feel they have right on their side
They may talk of human rights, justice and freedom but that's rhetoric nothing more
Actions speak louder than words we have heard that before.

The Poor Old Homeless Lady

Her clothes looking the worst for wear her straggly hair is gray
The poor old homeless lady I see her every day
Her worldly possessions she carries in a plastic bag she knows of real poverty
Yet she does not beg or borrow or look for sympathy.

Perhaps in her late sixties or early seventies maybe
Sitting alone on a park bench her I sometimes do see
A few times I said hello to her but she did not reply
She does not mix with people and she seems aloof and shy.

Why she must live as homeless I've often wondered why
What should be her right to live comfortable in her old age society her deny
Is she one who has children who for her does not care?
Everyone has a life story though her life story with none she share.

Did she have a drunken husband who her did often beat
Who caused her for to flee her home and live rough on the street
Or has she a mental illness which might go some way to explain
Why she walks with her plastic bag in the parkland in the rain.

So very much a loner to none she bids good day
In a fair and just society one should not have to live this way
Just a plastic bag full of old clothes she does not even have a mobile phone
To not feel sorry for her one would need a heart of stone.

On The Second Week Of September

Across the high green paddocks the freshening winds blow
In the sunshine of September near where the river waters crawl slow
Near the end of it's journey the deep salty sea
The river water like us fulfill their life's destiny.

A pair of crows are building their stick nest high on a gum tree
And the mud nesting magpie lark known to some as pee wee
Are singing out pee wee their familiar song
Some voices of Nature one cannot get wrong.

On the second week of September in the early Spring
The nesting songbirds chirp and whistle and sing
With young to be raised and borders to defend
The circle of Nature does not have an end.

I do feel quite grateful as the word can be
That another Spring I have lived for to see
For the natural beauty to look at that's free
Of Nature herself who is all around me.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

How Can I Respect People

How can I respect people who do not respect me
Who to others do not grant me my due equality
Since equality to others is everybody's due
That is if to one's higher self one wish to remain true
Too many far too many support the inequality of rank
Our sadly flawed socities for such people we must thank
I cannot respect people who see fit to put me down
Far too many of their sort inhabit every town
These people not good people strange mind games they do play
They uphold rank and class distinction and create us against they
How can I respect people who like to pigeon hole
Those they look on as inferior in life this their chosen role
On who should be seen as important they like to have their say
They are small minded people small in their own small way.

In Love As In life Everyone Does Not Win

In love as in life everyone does not win
And though to love one who does not love you cannot be a sin
Unrequited love for one does not end well
Self condemned to live lovesick for years in one's own lovesick hell
Who loves us or not is not for us to choose
In love as in life some are destined to lose
And love seldom lasts until death does us part
And few things are sadder than a lovesick heart
The praises of love popular singers do sing
And to fall in love is such a natural thing
But the feeling of love ache can linger for years
And the tears of lost love are such sorrowful tears
In life as in love some destined to lose out
One has to say this is what living's about.

On Dorothea McKellar's My Country

One of Australia's all time great poems she did write
A poem many Aussies feel proud to recite
A poem that has moved migrant Aussies to tears
My Country will live on for centuries of years.

As a poet one can say that her equals are few
Of the nostalgia of the migrant Dorothea McKellar knew
She penned My Country in England of homesickness feeling down
The poem that assured her of literary renown.

A poem that in Aussie migrants awake memories
Of the Land of the waratahs and the gum trees
Of emu, echidna, koala and platypus, wombat and roo
Kookaburra, rosella, lyrebird, lorikeet and cockatoo.

On the great mountain ash trees the pied currawong
The dark birds it is said that have rain in their song
Sing out karrawang in the wind and the rain
The Aussie migrants are back in their home woods again.

In the outback many miles from the nearest big town
The drought stricken paddocks looking bare and brown
In McKellar's My Country the rural migrant Aussies see
The beauty they loved in their Homeland Country.

My Country from Dorothea McKellar's pen
A poem loved by Aussie migrant women and men
The migrants from the homeland may live far away
But nostalgia for what was with them seem to stay.

The Blackbird Is Singing

The blackbird is singing in the twilight gray
In a long gone Spring I heard his kin bird in a wood far away
Singing in the rain on a breezy Spring day
When the hawthorns were wearing their pale blooms of the May
It has been twenty one years time flies it does seem
Since I last heard the dipper singing in the stream
That flowed by the grove from the field by the hill
Where the glossy blackbird with the bright yellow bill
Was piping for to proclaim his territory
On the highest branch of a silver birch tree
As the dark shades of evening creep through the grey sky
A blackbird he pipes on a wattle nearby
In the wood I can hear his kin bird pipe again
As I walk in the fields in the wind and the rain.

It Takes A Special Person

'Tis easy for the winner for to have a smiling face
But it takes a special person to accept defeat with grace
To congratulate the winner with a smile and say well done
There can only be one winner when the prize is to be won
There can only be one winner though for first prize many compete
But it takes a special person to be gracious in defeat
To not offer excuses and respect to the winner pay
This person too a winner in his or her own way
There must be many losers since winners seem so few
To this quite obvious statement you may say tell us something new
And though it seems quite natural for one to feel joyous in victory
It takes a special person to accept defeat graciously
This person is a winner by being gracious in defeat
Where only one can be the winner though many do compete.

Old Warrnambool Town

Many different races and colours of white, black and brown
Are happy to call home to old Warrnambool Town
A place with a proud history for to recall
Where the majority believe on a fair go for all.

In Warrnambool many a nice sunny day
With a freshening sea breeze blowing up from Lady Bay
As a sea side holiday destinatiom it is widely known
Old Warrnambool does have a charm of it's own.

How pleasant to walk on a Warrnambool street
Where happy faces one feels sure for to meet
Where the stranger is met with a cheerful good day
In what is referred to as the old Aussie way.

No matter where you come from or your colour or race
You should find Warrnambool to be a welcoming place
An old Rural City in the coastal countryside
That for it's hospitable people is known far and wide.

I Had This Great Dream

I had this great dream that I was a poet
A man seen as worthy of literary note
A winner of many a literary prize
My success to me even quite a surprise
The fellow from Claraghatlea near Millstreet Town
Had become a figure of literary renown
In my chosen field I'd become a great name
And I was enjoying the fruits of my literary fame
At last recognized as one who could write
Verses others felt happy for to recite
But then I awoke to find it was a dream
Though real and so wonderful it all did seem
The magpie larks they were singing out pee wee
And the magpies were piping in the park by the sea.

We Are What We Think We Are

Do you ever ask yourself what life is about
And your worth as a person do you ever doubt
Or are you one of those buoyed by high self esteem?
We are what we think we are that's how it does seem.

Are you blinkered to your faults by your self conceit?
It is not a crime to live with self deceit
A perfect person is one I have not known
We all have our faults and our faults are our own.

Even though he does wear a hairpiece for hair
Do you feel envious of the aged millionaire?
Some of us feel good fortune is not on our side
And with our own lives we are not satisfied.

The beauty in Nature we struggle to see
And we are what we think we are 'twould seem to me
To the scythe of the Reaper we eventually fall
There is a last day and last night for us all.

Do Not Pity Those

Do not pity those in the ground of the dead
Since they are at peace now of them that can be said
Their worries behind them and at peace they lay
Like leaves of the Autumn in Nature's decay
There is life after bodily death if you believe all you read of and hear
But 'tis only the fear of dying that we do fear
But since most religious people do not wish to die
Do they secretly fear life after death may be based on a lie?
I would like to live for as long as I can
And die in my sleep as a very old man
And though to the father of time we eventually must bow
The only life one can be sure of is in the here and the now
But do not pity those who are resting at peace
From life's cares and worries they have had their release.

What Is True Love

On bushes and trees it surely does not grow
I ask you what love is since I would not know
A mother's love for her child has got to be real
That sort of love to it as true love does appeal
A much stronger love than the love between man and wife
Which in many instances has a short life
'Tis said between young people love's feelings are strong
But such love in some cases does not last long
The poets and singers of true love do sing
They make love out to be quite a wonderful thing
But words as we know are so easy to say
Since passionate love is so quick to decay
And what is true love since it does seem to me
That you will not find it on a bush or a tree?

Monday, January 21, 2013

'Tis Not Possible

'Tis not possible to please everybody though try your best to do so you may
To help those of help who are in need of it you often go out of your way
The majority may sing your praises and due credit to you do pay
But the negative will never laud you since good of others they cannot say.

No you cannot please everybody as that seems an impossible thing
The fault finders will see flaws in you and your praises they never will sing
The majority of those you know may like you but you won't be loved by everyone
'Tis not in their nature to praise others you never hear them say well done.

Though you help others out of your sense of kindness and not for monetary gain
They doubt you for your generosity of spirit as they are they always remain
They think everybody else is like them their World revolves around me, myself and I
They look on the good and the caring as those who are living a lie.

'Tis impossible to please everybody like 'tis said you cannot win them all
Some people cannot help how they are in their ways they are very small
These people live in their own small Worlds and though to the higher self you may be true
They never will give you the credit the credit that is only your due.

New Holland Honeyeaters

In their dark and grey feathers and their wings tipped with gold
The new holland honeyeaters lovely to behold
And long thin bills for probing for nectar in the blossoms and flowers
That bloom on bushes and trees in the sunshine and showers
Quite pretty to look at though seemingly frail and small
They do not seem to fear bigger birds much at all
From the flowering banksia they chase the bigger wattlebird away
There is might in numbers as some are known to say
Like most honeyeaters they have not been blessed with a memorable song
But by their low scratchy twitterings one could not get them wrong
Nature poets to poetry they do seldom inspire
But them for their colours one cannot help but admire
Small nectar eating birds in dark, grey and gold
Gregarious in their ways and lovely to behold.

By The River

The high paddocks lush in their Spring greenery
And clusters of bright yellow flowers on the old wattle tree
And the mud nest building magpie larks are calling out pee wee
On the golf course a couple of miles from the sea
The flute of the magpie melodious and clear
He sings his finest in the Spring of the year
I feel grateful to the Reaper for at least one more Spring
So lovely to hear the birds whistle and sing
So graceful to watch in the blue and grey sky
Above the golf course the dark welcome swallows fly
The musk duck and coot in the calm rivers waters for their food do dive
On a cool and sunny day in Spring 'tis good to be alive
By the river tranquillity is all around me
In Nature there is so much beauty to see.

A Talentless Person

You may be one afflicted by low self esteem
But since everyone is good at something you too must be 'twould seem
A talentless person I have never met
And such a one 'twould seem has not been born yet
You are better off than the one whose ego is swollen by vile self conceit
The type of person I would rather not meet
Such people who never make anyone's day
Self praise it is no praise as some are known to say
Though the praises of high achievers we do sing
I have yet to meet one not good at anything
Though of their special gift some are not aware
The gift we know we have with others we should share
In the World gifted people in great numbers abound
And a talentless person is not to be found.

Who Is Or Is Not A Loser

Who is or is not a loser why do you ask me
We all become losers eventually
The animal, insect or bird no different to you or I
We like them are mortals and were born to die.

Does it matter if you are one destined for fame
Or if few very few even know you by name
The egalatarian reaper brings an end to us all
With each sweep of his scythe a tall poppy does fall.

If so is life quite pointless that's not for me to say
Since we all look at life in a different way
We all look at things one might say differently
Our eyes only tell us what they want us to see.

On who is or is not a loser I am not one who know
But if in you compassion is your's for to show
For others and you live as honest and kind
Then one of life's winners in you one does find.

The Old Yarra River

The Yarra from Mt Baw Baw it journeys it's way down
Through rough and shrubby places and paddocks rank and brown
From the foothills of Mt Baw Baw by many a country town
On it's sea going journey on through Melbourne a City of renown
The Yarra from Mt Baw Baw has inspired story and song
Through Collingwood, Richmond and Southbank it slowly crawls along
The old Yarra river in the Dreamtime was old
Many legends of it have been written and told
Carrying plastic cans and bags and bottles the brown Yarra crawls slow
As through the City of Melbourne towards the sea it crawls slow
Of human created pollution the river is rife
One who drinks of such waters does not value one's life
The one who inspires song, story and rhyme
The old Yarra river was old in the Dreamtime.

Writers Block And Writers Drought

Despite writers block and despite writers drought
There is always something for to write about
Above the ocean a rainbow in the sky
A thing to inspire one to write when one's creative well is dry
The beauty of Nature inspires Nature Writers to write
A book or play for to read or poems to recite
The wonders of Nature I see every day
To describe her words I don't have for to say
Writers block or writers drought only lasts for a short while
'Til the Literary Goddess again on you smile
After a short break from writing you feel re-energized
And by the strength of your creativity you are even surprised
Call it writers drought or writers block or call it what you may
With most writers it does not have that long a stay.

The Unlikely Hero

Where he lives none does help you when you are down
The one out of work in the poor side of town
A young man in his early twenties with life struggling to cope
Though of finding employment he is not without hope.

Disadvantaged by the suburb he lives in and his postal address
Such things potential employers do fail to impress
But of searching for a job start he never does cease to try
Of courage in adversity none of him can deny.

One cannot say of him he does not do his best
And he showed his true courage when put to the test
He saved a baby girl's life in a house fire
In the unlikely hero so much to admire.

To save a grateful parents child life he put his own life on the line
Yet an offer of an award for bravery he did decline
Of saving a young life he did not make a big thing
And his praises he does not wish others to sing.

In the factory he worked in his job he enjoyed
'Til when the company went into receivership he became unemployed
But to the victim mentality he is not inclined
And he will keep searching 'til a job he will find.

No Matter What

Whatever your skin pigment black, white or brown
Where-ever you come from and whatever town
From somewhere that's near or from here very far
We are only human that is all we are.

No matter what your nationality your creed or your race
You were born of a woman and you come from Someplace
And your mum must have loved you like my mum loved me
And love is a great gift would you not agree?

Yes our journey through life from a woman began
And the longest human life in time not a long span
Not everybody as we know can be a millionaire
But the gifts we were given with others we should share.

No matter what your race or your gender or creed
If you live true to yourself and others never mislead
You are a good human being one of the best
And you are one who has passed the good person test.

The Dying Cry Of A Hare

Out there in the darkness the dying cry of a hare
It pierces the silence of the calm night air
Then silence as the vixen she makes her way
To her den to share with her cubs the meat of her prey
'Tis a fact of Nature and facts never lie
That for some to live some others must die
The creatures of Nature don't have sins to forgive
The hare had to die for the foxes to live
At this time of year the vixen hunts night and day
In nine out of ten of her chases the quarry gets away
The cry of a dying rabbit or hare in her mouth to her a thrill
For herself and her cubs to survive the vixen has to kill
On this cool and calm night in the Spring of the year
The cries of a dying hare such a sad thing to hear.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Helpston's John Clare

In his tragic lifetime he suffered his share
A true poet of Nature was helpston's John Clare
Far away from his family and far away from his wife
In Northampton Mental Asylum he lived out his life
His poems often read and recited today
The Thrush's Nest, I Am, The Badger, Clock A Clay
Despite his lack of education and mental illness great poems he did write
Poetic gems that are easy to read and recite
As a boy whilst he worked in the fields he learned the Wordsmith Trade
A natural poet true poets born not made
Northampton's Asylum's most famous inmate
His name it lives on as a poetic great
He proved that poverty and mental illness is no barrier to renown
Like 'tis said hard for to keep a good one down.

In This Human World

In this Human World we live in ourselves with others we compare
But of what it takes to be a good person many do not seem aware
Few aspire to be better people though at what they do they want to be best
Many know of material success though many do not pass the good person test.

In this Human World we live in an often used word is success
As we seek the approval of others and others we want to impress
But most seek the success that comes with material possessions is this what life is all about
The idea of success to the majority is something that's open to doubt.

Few see success in helping the less privileged or for showing for them that we do care
Many see success in wealth accumulation yet too few with others their wealth does share
We come into the world with nothing and we cannot take our money with us when we die
The idea of what it takes to be successful is an idea that's based on a lie.

In this Human World that we live in for material success many compete
Where many crave for recognition of being the wealthiest one in their street
But being the wealthiest person in your street or owning the biggest house or car
Does not tell us that much about you or of how good of a person you are.