Saturday, July 31, 2010

A July Night In The Country Town

The rumble of thunder in the darkened sky
And the barn owl utters it's familiar shrill cry
As above the town park to the tall trees nearby
On silent wings the nocturnal hunter does fly
The darkened clouds open the rain buckets down
Clattering on the galvanize roofs of the town
The thunder shower ceases and in the chill of the night
The male possums on the gum trees do snarl as they fight
A typical wintery night in July
The breeding spur wing plovers above the park cry
They do not rest at night with young or eggs to defend
At this time of year to them none is a friend
Stormwater flowing on the streets drains of the town
Where cars and trucks to and from the big city do pass up and down.

Fond Memories Of What Was

The song of the blackbird melodious and clear
A familiar Voice of the Spring of the year
It takes me to places from here far away
To a Northern Land in the prime of the May
In the gathering gloom just after sundown
In the high mountain wood overlooking the town
His kin birds were singing their farewell to day
Good memories do live on as some like to say
'Tis a fact of life and facts do not lie
That good memories do live in us till we die
A voice I have loved since I was a young boy
Listening to the song of the blackbird I still do enjoy
The past may be gone and time ticking on fast
But fond memories of what was in us seem to last.

So Lucky Are Those

Since others you never do seem to impress
You do feel bitter for your lack of success
Accept who you are since in life that's your lot
So lucky are those happy with what they have got
Who only to live a happy existence ever to do aspire
In them there is so much to like and admire
On what success is many would disagree
To be happy in your life seems success to me
We all look at things one might say differently
But then if we all thought in the same way how boring we would be
With two healthy children and a beautiful and devoted wife
What more can anybody ask out of life
Your idea of success quite different to mine
And our values system different though that suits me fine.

Friday, July 30, 2010

You May Tell Others

You may tell others of your problems of the hardships in life you have known
And though they may sound sympathetic they do have problems of their own
They may say your's is a sad story of your life in your Earthly Hell
Only for to add of life's battle we too have such stories to tell
I understand people as you are of their hard life justified to complain
But why some wealthy people are whingers is beyond me to explain
Suppose some people are born to be whingers enough of money for them is never enough
Despite their huge assets and large amounts of money they feel that they are doing it tough
The thing known as greed is addictive much does crave for more as some say
Whilst for many survival is a battle a battle they face every day
You may be in financial difficulties but always many worse off than you are
You have a home and a warm bed to to sleep on and you drive to work in a good car
Spare a thought for the poor of the World the people in dire poverty
The homeless, the hungry and Stateless and the famine and war refugee.

A Wonderful Lady

She may have silver hair and age lines on her face
But she is one who is growing older with grace
And she remains beautiful in every way
The former town rose way back in her prime day
She has lost some of the great beauty she had in her prime
For everything fades with the passing of time
But she is one who does look well for her age
And she has the wisdom of an ageing sage
Her husband's remains in the town cemetery lay
And her children's sons and daughters are young parents today
Last year she turned sixty her best days are long gone
But time on us all is ever ticking on
A wonderful lady so lovely and kind
And her very equal would be hard to find.

So Many Poor People

So many poor people in the World of today
As homeless and outcasts they grow old and gray
In a fair Human World it would not be this way
Such is life as the less sympathetic would say
On Poverty Street where the homeless do dwell
Are people who know all about Earthly Hell
Poorer than they are won't be found anywhere
Those who talk of life's choices ought to visit there
As the gap between the haves and the have nots grows wide
Many of Poverty Street do commit suicide
That many do grow poorer for every new millionaire
Is not what one could call as anywhere fair
So many poor people hungry and sleeping rough
In the twenty first century this is not good enough.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

I've Been A Rhymer

I've been a rhymer for some time
Ever since my life's physical prime
For many years a rhyming buff
I have written reams and reams of stuff
One might say without any success
Still rhyming brings me lots of happiness
An addictive rhymer nothing more
That's something I have often said before
I do not pen rhymes for wealth or fame
Or to bring honour to my name
Years ago I daydreamed of literary renown
When working in the fields by Millstreet Town
And though from life we do receive our due
For many daydreams never come true.

In Fifty Years From This Day

The animals we choose to eat like the pig and sheep and cow
Than us are not less mortals in fifty years from now
Few will know I ever did exist back to Nature I'll have gone
And the Seasons they will come and go and time will be ticking on.

The past has gone forever and the future is ahead
And in fifty years or far less from now I will be with the dead
The so called successful the famous and the wealthy not that important overall
Since for each and everyone of us there is a final Fall.

In fifty years from this day there will be less songbirds to sing
Though Nature will bring to the parks and the fields her wildflowers of the Spring
And due to Global warming the changes to the natural environment will be great
For the future generations such hardship we do create.

I've had my boyhood and prime and old age creeps on me fast
And in less than fifty years from now I will be of the past
Like the animals we choose to eat we too are born to die
That is a simple fact of life and facts do never lie.

You Win Some And Lose Some

You win some and lose some in life why pretend
Not everyone you know will become your friend
Your foe of tomorrow may be your friend of today
'Tis part of being human as some like to say
You may not have many friends on your side of the town
But your true friend will stand by you when you are financially down
When those who were your friends when the good times you had known
No longer wish to know you and you they do disown
'Tis said money speaks every language that few would deny
But why money cannot buy you a true friend no need to ask why
Your true friend to help you out for you will travel far
Since he or she does love you for the person you are
We learn from living human life is this way
Your foe of tomorrow may be your friend of today.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Since I Last Looked On Old Clara

The gray clouds of December pregnant with Winter rain
And brown storm water gurgling in the flooded roadside drain
And the old Boggeragh peaks wearing their hats of snow
And the stream to the big river bank high did flow.

It has been twenty three years going on twenty four
Since I last looked on old Clara above Claramore
In Claraghatlea where mine was once a known face
To many I'd be a stranger now in my homeplace.

A stranger nowadays in Millstreet my Hometown
On streets that I often did walk up and down
Though many of the old fields with a given name
Would be as they once were and look much the same

As I do remember from Seasons gone by
In my flights of fancy I see the lark fly
Up from the rank rushes to sing in the sky
A fading musical speck as to the clouds he does fly.

From Millstreet in Duhallow I live far away
Where the years have left me looking older and balder and gray
The face of old Clara I have not seen for years
But for the life I once knew I have shed all my tears.

Though a migrant in this Land is all I can be
My years of absence from Claraghatlea there has made a stranger of me
The silver billed magpie flutes on a gum tree
And the magpie lark sings his familiar pee wee.

Goddess Nature Or Mother Earth

The Goddess of Planet Earth from the far north to the far southern shore
What can be said of her that has not been said before
Her great power and beauty none ought to deny
Mother Earth or Goddess Nature are names she is known by
Her marvellous creations are for all to see
And her beauty is everywhere all around me
The one who can create a beautiful flower
Remains unchallenged as the World's number one Super Power
In her angry mood the ground she does shake
And death and disaster she leaves in her wake
Yet such beauty she creates for us to admire
The Goddess of water of wind and of fire
The fact of the matter and fact never lie
Is that she is the only immortal she will never die.

Tell Us Something That Is New

We eat to live and live to die and time keeps ticking on
And yesterday is in the past to the forever gone
Tomorrow is another day the now we must live in
And life does have it's ups and downs one lose for one to win
You can only do your best in life and live good as you can
That's all that anyone can ask of any woman or man
The seeds of karma that we sow in life becomes our due
And we cannot treat others well if to self we are not true
The seeds of karma that we sow we reap that you have heard before
That is a fact of human life just that and nothing more
A good person treats all equal and gives credit where it is due
You cannot be true to others if to your own self you are not true
There are good people in the World one might say quite a few
And you may even add to that tell us something that is new.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Australian Magpies

Their flute like notes unmistakeable, melodious and clear
The Australian magpies sing all through the year
In their breeding season the males even sing at night
How lovely to hear them in the calm moonlight
In the quiet countryside or the park of the town
They warble in unison after sundown
Their flute like notes one could never mistake
They sing in the daytime and before daybreak
Still about them they do not have a gentle way
On mice and insects and smaller birds they do prey
Yet amongst lovers of songbirds held in high esteem
In the World of the songbirds they are songters supreme
To defend their territories at nesting time humans they even attack
These singing Australians in their feathers of white and black.


They leave their hometowns for the big World out there
Migrants are people who live everywhere
Some for their own self betterment and others for adventure migrate
To places far distant from their Country or State
Of renowned World travellers the praises many do sing
But the lust of the wander is an addictive thing
Some migrants with silvery gray hair and age lines on their face
Return for to grow old in their old homeplace
Only to feel like strangers where they once were well known
In their absence old friends apart from them had grown
They leave their home countryside, village and town and street
In any part of the World migrants you will meet
Some of them return to grow old at home whilst some of them die far away
And are buried far distant from where they first saw light of day.

If Everyone Were Equal

If everyone were equal how marvellous this would be
The monarch and the president the same as you and me
Everyone would be equal in a Human World of equality
And no such a thing as homelessness, discrimination and poverty.

If everyone were equal that surely would be great
It would be something special for all to celebrate
No such a thing as class distinction in a Human World where equality reign supreme
But such a World to live in may never be 'twould seem.

When everyone will be equal does seem so far away
And I know I will not be alive for to witness such a day
When inequality in the Human World will not have a part to play
Still anything is possible as some are known to say.

On this Planet Earth we live on there would be harmony
If everyone were equal none would know of poverty
And of racism that leads to war we would finally be free
But anything is possible with that would you agree?

Friday, July 23, 2010

Though I Hail From The Place

Though I hail from the place of the silver back crow
Of birds and their ways little I can claim to know
Though learning of Nature I still do enjoy
I have always loved her since I was a boy
And living in Claraghatlea by Millstreet Town
Where I often heard dipper with cloak of dark brown
And breast as white as the new fallen snow
Sing in the stream that to the river does flow
When the old fields are wearing their wildflowers of the Spring
Still there's more to the bird than the song it does sing
Her mysteries are many so 'twould seem to be
Yet so many know more about Nature than me
But we never stop learning as some like to say
And of her we do learn something new every day.

Since We Are Born As Mortals

Since we are born as mortals why otherwise pretend
The difference between success and failure does it matter in the end
It matters to the living the things known as wealth and fame
But death the equalizer treats everyone as the same
For each and everyone of us there is a final Fall
And what most see as important not that important after all
Whatever you do achieve in life will fade away in time
And fleeting are our childhood years and our lives physical prime
On looking back the Seasons time ticked along so fast
And many spend their twilight years on recalling the past
But the past has gone forever we can only live in the now
And since we are born as mortals like the sheep or horse or cow
To be a successful person treat everyone as equal of every race and creed
And show kindness and compassion to those of such who are in need.

On Rudeness

Though trash talking will not make you the most popular one of the town
'Tis easy very easy in words to put someone down
'Tis always nice to be nice and being nice to others pay
Rude people don't win any friends that's obvious one might say
The one who hurts your feelings is the one you don't wish to know
Between you and the insulting one a bond of friendship will never grow
As rudeness never does win one admirers why otherwise pretend
Only a masochist would have a rude person as a friend
I am sure not many people with me would disagree
When I say I could not grow to like one who is rude to me
That nice and kind people have many friends not hard to understand
Respect is something you do earn and not what you demand
Those who are rude to others are low in self esteem
And self loathing leads to loathing of others at least that's how 'twould seem.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

He's A Better Man Than Me

Though he is one who does know of a life of poverty
In an out of sort or grumpy mood him I have yet to see
He carries on his life's battle with the outmost bravery
Without trying to patronize him he's a better man than me
To the financial lure of a wealthy man he lost his children and wife
That money does speak every language does seem so true to life
Out of work and on the dole on the poor side of the town
But he feels happy just the same he does not let things get him down
He does not seem bitter with life in any sort of way
I'm better off than many are I have often heard him say
Although he struggles to survive under financial strain
He always shows the brighter side he never does complain
About the life he has to lead his lot of poverty
He is one that I do admire as a better man than me.

His Name Is Denis Long

In his youth fair haired, tall and athletic yet deceptively strong
One born and raised in Annagloor his name is Denis Long
A very well known sportsman a gaelic footballer supreme
Through the length and breadth of Ireland one held in high esteem.

He won minor, under twenty one and a senior All Ireland medal with Cork in seventy three
And two senior Kerry County Championships with Austin Stacks of Tralee
Playing for Cullen and for Millstreet he carved his own renown
One of the champion sportsmen born and raised by Millstreet Town.

Twice an All Star gaelic footballer a decorated player
When he was in his prime years few with him to compare
Millstreet are not the Club that they once were that does seem fair to say
With five or six or seven like him they well could do today.

A marvellous gaelic footballer when in his glorious prime
But Denis Long like all of us must now feel the wear of time
He raised his children far from Annagloor where into manhood he did grow
Where the old Cails from high Kippagh to the Finnow does flow.

On The Passing Of Rupert

With Genevieve his friend and mentor he travelled far and wide
Through many towns and villages of South east Australia's countryside
And Rupert did love travelling in the back seat of the car
No journey for him it did seem could ever be too far.

In Melbourne and Central Victoria many homes they did share
The special bond between people and their dogs is something that's not rare
And to Genevieve Rupert was a loyal dog he loved her till his end
And none more loyal and trusting than a four legged friend.

She and her partner Graeme buried him in their farm where in eternal rest he lay
And like 'tis said of every dog old Rupert had his day
Too old and feeble for to walk again after a car had knocked him down
Though in her memories she will walk with him in the parks in Castlemaine Town.

A black and white tall for a border collie of him 'twould be fair to say
That Rupert was a grand old dog gentle in every way
And Genevieve does grieve his passing he was worthy of tears
To her he was a faithful friend and they had been mates for years.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

On Leaving Of Penshurst

Though we did live there for a couple of years
On leaving of Penshurst I did not shed tears
And though of anyone living in Penshurst unkind things I cannot say
There Lady Luck she was not smiling our way.

For us our building project there went financially wrong
But the past is the past and though since then time has ticked along
Because of our poor judgement to the banks money we owe
We now pay for our mistakes of a few years ago.

Our failed project in Penshurst a sight for sore eyes
And in retrospect it is easy to feel wise
But the past as we know is in the forever gone
And despite financial losses life does go on.

A nice place to live in is quiet Penshurst Town
In view of Mt Kolor and it's face of brown
In a volcanic countryside miles inland from the sea
We planned to live there but it was not to be.

In Penshurst in the late Winter and the early Spring
At night in their breeding season the magpies do sing
How pleasant to hear them in the calm of the night
Warbling on the gum trees in the moon's faint light.

We moved out of Penshurst a few years ago
When the cool winds of April down Kolor did blow
The lust of the wander took us to elsewhere
There is lots to see in the big World out there.

Our failed project in Penshurst at a huge loss we will sell
And for us on leaving no tearful farewell
Millions like us of their financial losses have sad stories to tell
We live in the now and on the past we do dwell.

We All Make Mistakes

On our life's journey we all make mistakes but time ticks on fast
And why worry about what might have been since we cannot change the past
Though some of us our past mistakes known to repeat again
Some lessons of life we should have learned with us do not remain
We all are very different as some do like to say
And most of us do look at life in quite a different way
No point in regretting your past mistakes the past has been and gone
We can only live in the here and now and life it does go on
No use lamenting on what might have been regret seems such a waste of time
Some ageing people live with the unhappy memories of mistakes they made in their prime
The burden of regret they do carry with them until their last night and day
Regretting whilst the seconds on their lives do tick away
For such seems such a waste of time as it doesn't change a thing
You may as well be happy and laugh and dance and sing.

'Tis Hard In Your Fifties

On his life's journey he has never harmed anyone
And his late mother loves him as a proud mother loves her son
But Lady Luck never seems to smile his way
Life's not meant to be easy as some like to say
He lost his job when the factory he worked in by management was closed down
And few opportunities for those in their mid fifties out of work in the town
In his one bedroom flat he now lives on his own
Estranged from his wife the hard life he has known
His son and daughter in their early twenties working elsewhere
Trying out their luck in the big World out there
Though people like him in the World are not rare
'Tis hard in your fifties trying to survive on welfare
He is a good person though of opportunity denied
For it is clear Lady Luck is not on his side.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

From The Finnow Bridge To The Feirm Bridge

Between Millstreet Town Bridge and Feirm where my life's journey began
Where I went to school from and I grew into a man
The changes keep on happening there or so I have been told
But everything it changes and we grow frail and old.

In the early thirties when my dad returned from the U S he hailed from Lisnaboy
He bought the farm at Claraghatlea off of Cashmans it was his pride and joy
Before marrying Mary Agnes Dinneen she was from Rathmore
I am going back in time now fifteen years with the three score.

The second youngest of six boys and four girls eight of us living today
Far from my old home in Claraghatlea the years have left me gray
And though most of them by now have lived their final Fall
The mentors of my childhood years I often do recall.

The 'Masters' Sullivans Con and Dotie and Denis and Pad
None of that family left in Claragahatlea that does seem a bit sad
Though the youngest of Con and Dotie's children Theresa Kelleher still lives in Millstreet
It does feel sad to think that her I may never more meet.

Jack the Master and his son Jackie and his daughter Mary O
And Mary's daughter Peggy O Deere who died a few years ago
All are now with the departed in eternal rest they lay
And the biological clock on the living it keeps on ticking away.

Denis Corcoran and his wife Maud, Denis as a young man carved his own renown
Honoured for an act of bravery many miles from Millstreet Town
And the clever woman Hanora Moynihan she lived on her own
For her talents she did not crave recognition the reason she was not better known.

Johnny Hickey and his wife Lizzie and John Joe Daly and his wife
They were kind and helpful people and they did know about life
Mary Creedon, the Callaghans, Mrs Donoghue and the painter Johnny Mac
I recall them from my young years when I go down memory track.

Neily Joe Murphy and his good wife kind as one could wish to meet
They raised their children at Inchaleigh near the old Town of Millstreet
And Mrs Neenan mother of Willie and Jenny and John D
In my flights of fancy walking up the Town Hill she is one I often see.

Bina and Tom Taylor and the Donovans though them I never more will see
I recall them as they once were they live in my memory
And the late Finbar O's wife Peggy hale and hearty and still living with the family
She has borne life's heavy crosses with the outmost bravery.

Willie and Betsy Murphy and Dan and Mrs Breen
And Jack, Dan and Nora Sullivan in my memory evergreen
And the late Denis and Margaret Kelleher do readily come to mind
I feel privileged to have known them they were generous and kind.

Peg and Den Looney though long deceased in my memory do remain
And in my visualizations they come to life again
Their daughter Eileen and Denis Healy raised their children in Claraghatlea my old home-place
Where I grew into manhood and mine was a known face.

Dan Joe Duggan and his Mrs to the Reaper have long gone
But thanks to their daughter and her husband Dan Connors their seed in Claraghatlea lives on
And Mary Annie and Matty Owen and his wife Hanna with the departed lay
But for each and everyone of us a final night and day.

Mrs Cashman and her sons Stephen and Jimmy and her youngest the ageing Father Dan
A humanitarian and a missionary and a very saintly man
They lived in Inchaleigh by the Hospital the furthest from the Killarney Road I wish to stray
In my Millstreet to Ballydaly memories at least in this rhyme anyway.

Frankie Reen and his wife Marie I believe are well and strong
And though Denis Murphy is now deceased in human years he did live long
And Barry Walsh and Madeline I believe are fit and well
They live in the house by the gate to Tubrid where angels are said to dwell.

Neily Duggan and Charles and Eileen Cooper I believe are doing okay
Though Breda Hickey nee Burke Tom's wife did not live to grow old and gray
And Connie and Ann Hickey have been together for some time
Their children now young people in their life's physical prime.

Liz McAuliffe wife of the late Johnny, Fitzpatrick was her maiden name
The grand-daughter of Matty Fitz of the Irish Land League fame
Jimmy Twohig and his wife Kathy nee Creedon to the Reaper are long gone
But through their son James and his wife their seed in Annagloor is living on.

Jack and Tim and Nonie and Molly Dennehy all lived to a great age
And Ned Twohig lived a long life he was a wise old sage
His wife Elly and her brother Connie Dennehy never distant from my mind
They were honest and hard working and down to earth and kind.

Padraig Cronin I remember was a good hard working man
In the family home in Annagloor he lived most of his life span
And Jer Long and Mary in their cottage by the river raised their family
But the past as always is the case only lives in memory.

Tom and Kathleen Mulcahy raised three daughters and four sons Kathleen in eternal rest now lay
And in Annagloor the Mulcahy name is living on today
Thade Sullivan and his lovely wife people worthy of recall
For each and everyone of us there is a final Fall.

The Hickeys, Taylors and Finbar O's for years I have not seen
Or James Sullivan, Maureen, Breda or Jerry Kelleher and the school teacher Pat Breen
Or the Murphys or the Mulcahys or Longs only the memories remain
Of people in the place where I was raised that I may never see again.

The Coopers and the Twohigs, the McAuliffes Mary and John P
Or Jimmy Looney Jack Andy, Jimmy and D J Sullivan I may never again see
Jack Looney, Johnny and Julia Sullivan, Johnny Connell and his wife
Them I always will remember till the last day of my life.

Breda Tarrant raised her children in the house where the Moores and Dennehys before them lived, Jamie, John, Michael and Collette
I recall them as they once were them I never did forget
But only few things stay the same one the babble of the rill
That flows down to the river from the high field by the hill.

Many people from west of Millstreet in the World have travelled far and wide
But perhaps Matt John Murphy and his Mrs in Claraghatlea do still reside
To the Towlands of my boyhood the Seasons come and go
Where old Clara in the Winter often wears his hat of snow.

In some parts from the Finnow Bridge to the Cails Bridge It undulates up and down
The roadway that goes to Kerry from Duhallow's Millstreet Town
From Inchaleigh, Claraghatlea, Annagloor and Feirm many faces I recall
And many of them sad to say have lived their final Fall.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Nora Bredhaeur

A daughter of Denis and Elly Murphy of green and high Claramore
Many years have passed since Nora sailed for Australia's southern shore
For Victoria's biggest City Melbourne where she became John Bredhaeur's wife
Where she gave birth to and raised their children and lived out her long life.

It must have been at least a decade since by phone to them I spoke
A warm and lovely lady married to a friendly bloke
With her I shared things in common as we both hailed from Millstreet
Though sad am I to have to say her I never got to meet.

As I lived in Wonthaggi then from Melbourne in miles far
At least a two hours drive and tough at that even for those travelling by car
But we recalled happy memories of people we did know
In the countryside west of Millstreet Town where the Finnow waters flow

On it's journey to the great Blackwater on it's ever sea going way
Far from old Claramore by Clara hill her last remains now lay
Just like the flowers of Summer we are quick to meet decay
And for each and everyone of us a final night and day.

The Immortal One Nature

For the best things in life money we need not pay
The beauty we see in Nature every day
To look at and to admire is completely free
And it does not have an equal would you not agree
Her wonders are many her secrets not few
But of Nature every day we do learn something new
Her mysteries as mysteries forever will remain
Such things are beyond human kind to explain
Our wonder of her ways only seem to grow
Yet so little about her we do seem to know
The one who outlives her four Seasons Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring
Her praises one ought to feel happy to sing
When the last human being to her Reaper has gone
The immortal one Nature will be living on.

From Ireland They Do Travel Far

They are well known travellers of the big World out there
A person from Ireland one could meet anywhere
From the North to the South Pole from Timbuctoo to Rome
They travel to places a long way from home.

Far away from their home towns and villages and their home countryside
In the bigger World they travel far and wide
The lust of the wander does lure them away
From where they first looked on the bright lamp of day.

The travels of the Irish the centuries do span
In post famine times their journeys out of Ireland began
Nowadays their leaving of Ireland out of a sense of adventure little more
Though many of them return to Hibernia's shore.

From Siberia to Australia from Paris to Baghdad
You will meet an Irish man or woman or lassie or lad
In any big city in any club or bar
You will meet one from Ireland they do travel far.

If I Said I'm A Poet

If I said I'm a poet I'd be telling a lie
A rhymer I'll be till the day that I die
I commenced writing rhymes in my physical prime
And I am one who has penned many a rhyme
That so many refer to themselves as poets with me is okay
Since each to their own as some do like to say
We are what we think we are that's how it does seem
To promote the self can be good for self esteem
But the truth of the matter and I'm not saying anything that's new
When I say that poets as ever are few
Not many true poets in the big World out there
And their kind are not to be found everywhere
I never refer to myself as a poet
Nor am I one worthy of literary note.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Trusting Friends Are Rare

Though many will tell you that it isn't so
'Tis far harder to make a good friend than a foe
In your down times a person on whom you can depend
To offer you the support of a kind and caring friend.

In a World of so much self centredness trusting friends are rare
People who for you as a person do genuinely care
They will not turn their backs on you in your times of need
A good friend to you in your hard times is a friend indeed.

Feel lucky to have one good friend in the town
One who offers you friendship when life has you down
When you feel despondent and in spirits quite low
Understanding and compassion for you he or she does show.

With your drinking friends in the pub you talk of football
But bar room mates are not good friends overall
When you are financially embarrassed them you never see
Your true friends to you precious with that most would agree.

On What It Takes To Be A Man

Long before humans built boats for to sail on the seas
And that is going back in time many centuries
Hundreds of centuries longer than written human history does span
The question asked what it takes to be a man
For Flag, God and Country and for National pride
Just to prove their manhood young men in battles have died
For to prove themselves men with their lives they did pay
Our egos seem bigger than us one must say
I do see manliness in a different sort of a way
In the respect for self and to other races we do pay
The man who treats women with respect and is compassionate and kind
Is surely a true man in body and mind
On what it takes to be a man most have their own idea
At least anyway that's how it seems to me.

Since Success And failure

What matters if you've never known success
If others you cannot seem to impress
Since success and failure eventually lost in the sands of time
To try and fail can never be a crime
The word loser a word that is abused
As a put down word it is far too often used
When applied to others in a disrespectful way
The ignorance of rudeness knows no bounds as some do like to say
Like in a garden many a weed for every rose
What goes for the garden goes for humanity one must suppose
So seldom heard of the nicer word of equality
It can seem a less judgemental word than success it does seem to me
Some people use some words in a judgemental way
And that such people are not rare does seem quite sad to say.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Where The Cails Does Flow

Through old low lying fields by night and by day
The Cails from Kippagh's high lake ever winds it's way
For to join the Finnow at a spot called the Lyre
The old waterways Duhallow writers do inspire
To write of the rivers in story and rhyme
The old waterways that are so old in time
Through high and rugged places where rank bracken grow
Down through green and fertile Ballydaly the river does flow
Through Feirm, Annagloor, Shannaknock, Liscreagh and Claraghatlea and on down
To join the Finnow a mile from Millstreet Town
On to Drishane to the Blackwater en route to the sea
Cork's largest waterway of an old history
In my flights of fancy I do visualize
Where the Cails waters flow the lark sings as upwards he flies.

Of All Forms Of Love

Of all forms of love the love that is second to none
The love of a mother for her daughter and son
Though in some rare instances this isn't so
Still blood is thicker than water a saying from long ago
Most human relationships when put under strain
Unravel and the bond of trust does not remain
But in most cases between mother and child this does not apply
Such a bond hard to break no need to wonder why
That such a form of love through a lifetime remain strong
To the truest of friendships the mother and child friendship does belong
Though stories of love between adult human beings storytellers love to recall
The love of the mother for her child the greatest love of them all
A far stronger love than that between man and wife
The love of a mother for her child it does last for life.

Amazing Stories Of Survival

Amazing stories of human survival we read of and hear
Of people who have beaten the odds and conquered their fear
Of dying lost in a desert without water or food
The great will for survival transcends every human mood
Their great lust for life kept them living on
When all hope that they were alive from their family and friends had gone
But their amazing escape from the Reaper they lived to recall
The great lust for life the greatest lust of all
Some amazing stories of survival on land and on sea
Such stories almost unbelievable to many and almost unbelievable to me
Of people who did survive against all of the odds
They must be the children of the greater Gods
From places nearer to home and from lands far away
Amazing stories of human survival we hear of and read every day.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Coolikerane On A Night In June

In the nearby farmyard I hear a barking dog
And a male snipe is drumming o'er Coolikerane bog
And the cry of the hunting fox in the rushes near
To the moonlit bog road a night voice one often does hear
The harsh scream of the barn owl in the small creatures instill fear
On a mild night in June in the Summer of the year
The bog and surrounding fields lit by moonlight
When Coolikerane belong to the creatures of the night
Of Nature's natural beauty so much to admire
Such a tranquil scene a poet would inspire
In an hour of quiet reflection to write
A poem for others to read and enjoy and recite
Away from the big town and the traffic noise
Such beauty is not hard for to visualize.

You May Be Poor

You may be poor in the poor side of the town
One financially embarrassed and in spirits down
But for to find one worse off than you are you do not even need a car
Just a short walk from where you live and that is not far
'Tis said we receive from life what is our due
But that life can be hard does remain ever true
So many through life have to battle their way
And millions of poor people in the World of today
You cannot even afford a beer in your local public bar
Yet many so many far worse off than you are
A truly happy person would be hard to find
Such people one might say are of the rare kind
You may be a poor battler your kind are not few
But on saying there are worse off I'm not saying anything new.

On The Meaning Of Human Life

So many conversations on the meaning of life
And so many have to struggle with what's known as inner strife
And yet your biggest worry to another's may seem small
Life's experiences are different to everyone and everyone means all
To the human existence there is a darker side
Suicide amongst the young and not so young nowadays is not rare Worldwide
In human life as well as joy and laughter there are tears and heartbreak
And the pressures of twenty first century living for some too much to take
It is survival of the fittest as some do like to say
But in a fairer Human World things would not be this way
Those who can empathize with the sufferings of others are blessed with a gift that's rare
To live as a truly good human being one would need to be more than self aware
Only for good luck and circumstance I may have been born to be a refugee
And the true meaning of human life seems too big a thing for me.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

The Pride Of Millstreet Town

I do recall the long gone years when I was naive and young
In the place where Finnow flowed to meet the Cails with ever babbling tongue
She was in her early twenties then with shoulder length hair of brown
And she surely was a beauty queen the Pride of Millstreet Town,
I recall the local young men of the time fell for her in a big way
But the bug of wander was in her in Millstreet she did not stay
In the mid fifties on an April Morning in the Spring when she was in her prime
She left the Town by Clara Hill for her first and final time
In the old Town by the Finnow she was not seen again
But despite more than fifty years of time the memories remain
Of one so down to earth and beautiful in the prime of her life
Perhaps to some lucky foreign man she became a lovely wife
And that she raised her children distant from Millstreet Town
Duhallow's uncrowned beauty queen with sholulder length hair of brown.

The Truth Of The Matter

The truth of the matter though I wish it were a lie
Is that we eat for to live and we live for to die
The clock on our lives ever ticking away
For everyone there is a last night and day
Nature's Reaper does not spare the lives of the mighty and great
We all in the end share a similar fate
Some die very young long before their life's prime
Whilst others of life in years granted more time
We may think we are important but death is for us all
And we return to Nature like the leaves of the Fall
No man or no woman lives forever more
That is something you would have heard often before
As we age we grow frailer with each passing year
And 'tis not death but the fear of it we seem to fear.

We Do Never Stop Learning

We do never stop learning as some like to say
And from Nature we learn something new every day
Her wonders are many her secrets not few
And every day from her we learn something new
The wonders of Nature an amazing thing
There is more to the bird than the song it does sing
The creative mystery of magic she has in her power
The one who can create a beautiful flower
Of life's creator Nature so little I know
The food we need to live on without her could not grow
The life she gives breath to in death she receives
Yet for her dead she is one who never grieves
'Tis a fact of life and facts never lie
We never stop learning till the day that we die.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Selfish People Like You

The praises of others you never do sing
To live for self only is such a selfish thing
Your selfish gene will stay in you till the moment you do die
There is far more to human life than me, myself and I
If you do not know how to give then you cannot receive
On such a saying I for one does surely believe
Those born with compassion are lucky indeed
For their future good karma they do plant the good seed
The kind and compassionate they know how to share
Of the feelings of others they are always aware
But self centred people are stuck in the me
Beyond their own needs in life they cannot see
And sad to think selfish people like you to be found everywhere
There are millions if not billions in the big World out there.

A Poet Is Something

A poet is something I could not wish to be
But the rhymes they just seem to keep coming to me
And I add a few more to my numbers each day
But without recognition or without any pay
That anyone can pen rhyme so happens to be true
And for writing so many credit I am not due
Rat rhymes with cat and bee rhymes with tree
It really is simple would you not agree
Many refer to themselves as poet but you may say tell us something new
When I say poetasters are many and poets are few
Of novelists, poets and playwrights few do make the grade
But every writer needed in the Wordsmith Trade
I am just a rhymer that and nothing more
That is something you've often heard me say before.

Charles Barry

In the family home in Murphy's Terrace he lived his last night and day
And his last remains rest in St Mary's from there about a mile away
He was a good man Charles Barry of life he had a lengthy span
He will be missed by his family and many friends this well liked and honourable man.

One of the senior citizens of old Millstreet the famous Town by Clara Hill
The Seasons and years do pass quickly and for anyone time doesn't stand still
One might say he had a good innings but he had the will to live on
When most of those he went to school with were to the forever long gone.

One who did not crave recognition he never did yearn for renown
Just one of the nicest of people in Duhallow and Millstreet Town
The longest human life journey not a long one for all of us there's a last Fall
The grief of the mourners is profound but death it does come to us all.

The true gentleman Charles Barry his last remains in St Mary's lay
But with his family and friends in Millstreet in Duhallow fond memories of the good man will stay
A person well worth knowing and remembering in life he made many a friend
Upon his successful life's journey a journey that for us all comes to an end.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Though Many May Not Agree

Though many may not agree with me when I say
That for my sins against others to Karma I must pay
And that I believe to everyone does apply
Why this seems to be I do wonder why?
What goes around comes around life does seem this way
We pay in the future for our sins of today
In life it does seem what we do sow we receive
On such an assumption I am one who believe
One suppose we all do look at things differently
And what is true to you may not be so to me
But if we all thought in the same way and on all things did agree
How boring and uninteresting we would be
On what goes around comes around I believe to be true
And from life we do receive what we are due.

Hooded Dotterels And Red Capped Plovers

Small Varieties of waders on beaches they like to reside
Searching for tiny marine life washed in by the tide
Never seen them flock together though territory they do share
Though often seen they are uncommon to rare
To most coastal people one might say well known
Hooded dotterels and red capped plovers have a charm of their own
They run along the tide line picking up insects as they go
Yet little of their ways few do seem to know
When they take to the wing close to the beach they do fly
Like gulls they don't circle in the coastal sky
Not of the same species though similar in a way
Birds one does see often though not every day
On coastal mudflats and beaches by the sea
Birds familiar to many and familiar to me.

Only A Game Of Football

The 2010 World Cup Finals in South Africa of the World's most popular field game
But only to the outright winner will go all of the fame
Out of thirty two finalists only one Country will be champions on World Cup final day
To the winner all of the glory as some do like to say
With so much National pride at stake and with so much for on which to play
Some may say 'tis only a game but it does not seem that way
It can hardly be called sport or a game with so much pride at stake
For the losing teams and their fans there is only heartache
Football is like human life in that many must lose for one to celebrate
And only the winners are lauded as great
With egos and pride at stake as well as esteem
'Tis sport in name only or so it does seem
In the World Cup finals of the glory the outright winner takes all
Yet some will tell you it is only a game of football.

Monday, July 5, 2010

For Success In The Human World

For success in the Human World most people do compete
The unbridled joy in victory the sorrow in defeat
Many yearn for recognition for honour, wealth and fame
But life's so called winners and losers will one day be the same
Since between the lives of the haves and the have nots the Reaper does not differentiate
On each and everyone of us there is a use by date
You are not seen as a winner and your praises none do sing
But you live as a good person and that is the most important thing
Not seen as a successful person but you work hard for your pay
And to help other people you go out of your way
You are not a champion sportsperson or you will never be a money billionaire
But you are kind and caring and of others feelings you are aware
You work hard for your livelihood do your good deeds every day
And you live as a good person what more of you can one say.

When All Else Has Gone

When all else has gone the nostalgia remain
And only the good memories of what was we retain
Though I may never walk in the old fields again
And hear the birds sing in the wind and the rain
With memory the decades of time we do span
The boy of the fifties is now an ageing man
With gray hair on balding head of one three years with three score
Far south of the high fields of old Claramore
Far south of the place where the Cails waters flow
In the land of the badger and silver back crow
Yet I can imagine the beauty of May
When wildflowers are blooming in fields far away
We remember the good times of days now long gone
But the clock on our lives it does tick on and on.

Their Names Should Be Inscribed

Their names should be inscribed on a memorial wall
Those who genuinely believe on a fair go for all
On racism they never leave others in doubt
Against racists they never hesitate to speak out
Their message is racism ought to be outlawed
For their pro human rights stand them we should applaud
They speak out for the rights of asylum seekers those fleeing the warlords of fear
Yet they are never short listed as people of the year
For a fairer Human World for all to live in their part they do play
Though for that they are never honoured which seems sad to say
That they stand for the good in humanity them one cannot deny
Against racism and injustice the flag they do fly
They speak out for the underdog that's a great thing
And their praises I am always happy to sing.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

On The Last Day Of June

It is a cold day lots of wintery rain
But suppose about that one ought not to complain
Since the water dams and reserviors only half full and many creek beds are dry
One can only hope for more rain in July
The cattle for shelter under the cypress boughs stand
On the last day of June in this Southern Land
The first month of Winter is drawing to a close
And the rose tree will soon give birth to her first rose
Just sixty two days from the calendar Spring
And in the wind and rain the magpies do sing
The start of their breeding Season is drawing near
When day and night their flute like notes one does hear
On the last day of June in the old country town
From the gloomy gray sky the rain drizzling down.

So I Will Live On

My better years to the forever have gone
But the fear of death and the love of life wills me to live on
The longest lived human life in time not a long span
So I will live on for as long as I can
For each one of us there's a last night and day
But it won't matter to me where my last remains will lay
And whether my dead body is buried or to ash me they do burn
To Mother Earth I am destined to return
Mother Earth who feeds us our remains do receive
But for her dead children she never does grieve
It has been many years since I was a young boy
But the great gift of life something I still enjoy
So I hope to live on for as long as I can
And to die without pain as a very old man.

There Are Millions Like You

You go to the house of your God for to worship and pray
And that you live by God's Laws you are proud for to say
But to those who are different respect you don't pay
And about you it seems you have a judgemental way
Compassion and empathy you do not have for to show
Yet many too many like you I do know
You may claim to love God but you are not free of sin
And you lack the sense of the fair go of those who have God Within
It is said everyone is equal in God's eyes
Though that is something you don't seem to realize
Though some do become better people through prayer
In the Human World hypocrites like you are not rare
Yes your type of person one can meet anywhere
There are millions like you in the big World out there.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

In The 2010 World Cup Finals

'Tis like all things in human life this World game of football
Of the praise and the glory the winners take all
And with National pride as well as ego at stake
For the losing teams and their fans disappointment and heartache
A football carnival of flag waving and of Nationalistic pride
Of the only field game that is played Worldwide
To be known as a gallant loser none would wish to choose
But for one to win outright many have to lose
In football as in human life losing big egos do deflate
You never hear anyone saying that the losers were great
The winners they create their own history
In sports as in human life that's how it seems to be
In the 2010 World Cup Finals the outright winners will take all
Of the praise and the glory in this game of football.

Suppose They Cannot Help It

Suppose they cannot help it if they are born this way
If of others they never have kind things to say
The judgemental and negative have never been few
On saying that I'm not saying anything that is new
No doubt they do suffer of low self esteem
One reason for their negativity 'twould seem
It does seem natural for them in their ways to be small
They could never believe on a fair go for all
To pass judgement on others to them comes naturally
Our human flaws many that's how it seems to be
They live in every city and village and town
The people who in their words find pleasure on putting others down
But suppose it takes all kinds to make up humanity as some like to say
And negativity is alive and well in the Human World of today.

A Good Person To Know

Of anyone ill you will not hear him say
And if you ask him for help he won't turn you away
A nice person to meet and a good person to know
The seeds of good Karma for himself he does sow
Not a member of any sporting or social club
And he always drinks on his own when he is in the pub
A stranger to many he will never know local renown
And he is not even well known on his side of the town
But to his elderly neighbours he is helpful and kind
Poor widow Mrs skene on a pension she is almost blind
Says of him that he is in a class of his own
A kinder person than him she has not known
He helps out poor people who of help are in need
And for his future good Karma he plants the good seed.

Friday, July 2, 2010

Mother Nature Or Earth Mother

Her green of Spring and Summer her brown leaves of the Fall
Her white hills of Winter her coldest Season of all
Amazing Mother Nature lives all around me
And everywhere I look her beauty I see
To sketch and write of her the artists and writers she inspire
There is so much about her for to love and admire
The one who creates new life forms out of death and decay
Her birds chirp and sing at the dawn of the day
Her Reaper on all of her life forms has the final say
Mother Nature or Earth Mother call her what you may
Great men and great women to the ways of time gone
But she the only immortal destined to live on
For as long as the ocean waves lap on the shore
And that will be always and forever more.

In The Park By The Bay

How lovely to walk in the park by the bay
And hear the birds chirp and sing on a nice sunny day
The weather near perfect just a gentle breeze
Of a forecast high of twenty three degrees
A magpie is fluting on a wattle tree
And the magpie larks sing their familiar pee wee
In the sunny sky mostly blue just a few clouds of gray
Utopia from this place cannot be far away
The chestnut teal dabbling in the park lake
The distinctive quacking of the female the soft piping of the drake
The litle grebes and the coots for their food are diving the harsh cries of the swamphen
On a nice sunday morning just a tad after ten
The rumblings of the surf waves in the distance I hear
To Utopia 'twould seem such a place is near.

As long As You Can Live With

As long as you can live with honour of pride
Doesn't matter your place in the social divide
To live as a good person you try the best you can
That is all one can ask of any woman or man.

You may be almost anonymous in your side of the town
But if in your words you never put anyone down
Or at the expense of others never try to seek self gain
Your pride and your dignity you can retain.

If you believe it is proper to treat people well
And never wish for anyone an Earthly Hell
And that others too have feelings you do realize
So blessed are those with the gift to empathize.

As long as to your higher self you are true
And pay to others the respect they are due
Though you may be living close to poverty
You surely are an asset to humanity.