Monday, October 31, 2011

July By The Mountains

I can visualize the sweet scent of hay
Under a blue sunny sky with just a few clouds of gray
A gentle freshening breeze on a nice summer's day
In july by the mountains from here far away
The little brown troutlets their spotted skins agleam
Laze in the sunshine in the pool bed of the stream
And skylark a musical speck in the sky
The small brown dwelling ground bird to sing has to fly
White butterflies dancing in the freshening breeze
And young birds are chirping on the sunlit bushes and trees
A poet of such natural beauty would write
A poem for lovers of poetry to read and recite
'Tis not hard to visualize despite what some might say
July by the mountains from here far away.

Why Tell Me About It

Why tell me about it since i know all too well
That for millions of people life is an earthly hell
Amongst them laughter is something you never do hear
Since to their lives happiness does not live anywhere near

They have lived with hunger and oppression for many a year
Of the murder squads of their dictator they do live in fear
Most of them grieve for kin and family who have met with foul play
Those who dared to speak the words their minds told them say

By autocratic regimes their human rights transgressed
The have nots of their countries the homeless and oppressed
Where for a few to grow wealthy millions in poverty
It can be so dark the dark side of humanity

Why tell me about it when i already know
That where weeds are abundant the flowers cannot grow
So many poor people in the Human World of today
Whose rights are transgressed in the worst possible way.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

The Weather Is Breezy

The weather is breezy and windy and cool
Which is sometimes the case in windy Warrnambool
In the last week of october with summer ever near
The weather changes quickly at this time of year
A high for the day of just eighteen degrees
And a wintery chill in the freshening breeze
That blow through Park Pertrobe up from Lady Bay
It is not what one would call summer wear day
A familiar voice of town and city park
The often repeated pee wee of the magpie lark
Carrying in the breeze always pleasant to hear
He sings in the park every day of the year
The gray clouds of evening are pregnant with rain
And brown storm water flowing in dyke and drain.

A True Friend

A true friend is for life this well may be so
But to our lives many do come and do go
And always of the past memories stir up tears
For friends of our young days we have not seen for years
The bond of friendship is weakened when in life we move on
And the past just a memory of the forever gone
And only the memories with us do remain
Of our once were friends we may not meet again
Time does not wait for us as some like to say
And every day one nearer to our last night and day
And people to our lives do come and do go
And your friend of the past may be your present foe
But a true friend as your friend a lifetime will stay
That is how it does seem to me anyway.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

A Little Bit Of Self Interest

A little bit of self interest is a thing that one can condone
But a well lived life is never one lived for self alone
Yes there's more to life than self interest that can lead to greed
The good person is always quite willing to help the one of helping in need
The unwritten commandment is of your own self take care
And many of that does seem all too aware
Some seem far too willing to place self first of all
Such people in their ways are so very small
Those with kindness and compassion are blessed with gifts that are rare
Amongst those poorer than them some of their possessions they do share
Lucky indeed are they to possess such empathy
For the poor they offer far more than sympathy
Though they like to tell us of how marvellous they are
Some take their self interest one might say too far.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

From Pauper To Fame And To Despot

When the once herd boy became the president the masses they did celebrate
From poverty the man from the poor lands had surely achieved something great
He acknowledged the cheers of his supporters his praises they did loudly sing
But now to most who admired him no longer a hero the changes that five years does bring

He has abused his power in a bad way and tightened his reins of control
Most of those who once admired him now hate him and see him as one without a soul
From pauper to fame and to despot one can say power went to his head
Many who oppose him tortured in prison and thousands because of him dead

The very people that he came from the poor he does cruelly oppress
And even the most peaceful of protest his soldiers with violence suppress
He has abolished all democratic elections and anyone who speak against him he imprison or kill
From pauper to fame to a despot from the tent at the side of a hill

In public one bad word about their president from the scared people you will not hear
His soldiers the hardest of criminals have brought about silence by fear
But as is said and quite often repeated for our sins to karma we must pay
And the once herd boy from the mountains may well die in a violent way.

From The Warrnambool Public Toilets

'Tis true what is said about life some things never do change
In Warrnambool in the public toilets cubicles on Koroit St it does seem a bit strange
That the recorded music there 'What The World Needs Now Is Love' play again and again
What has love got to do with personal relief seems beyond me to explain
At the sound of a flushing toilet and the dribble of pee
The music of love seems out of place to me
But then suppose some do enjoy it whilst doing their private thing
And along with the music they even do sing
Or perhaps to drown out the noise of bodily emissions they burst into song
And with the soft music pretend to sing along
For to preserve their dignity an innovative thing
And along with the music they even do sing
Or perhaps to drown out the noise of bodily emissions they burst into song
And with the soft music pretend to sing along
For to preserve their dignity an innovative way
Pride is a strange creature as some like to say
From the Warrnambool Public toilets the memory with me remain
'What The World Needs Now Is Love' in my mind plays again and again.

Monday, October 24, 2011


Not the man he once was looking old bald and fat
But Jeremy will tell you i've been there and done that
In some of the World's great Cities London, New York and Rome
He has made a name for himself far distant from home
He will tell you he was a great boxer when in his life's prime
Though that is going back some three decades in time
But those who know him better says he believes his own lies
That he never has even seen a foreign sunrise
And  that his talk of being a famous boxer is just an idle brag
That he could not punch his way out of a paper bag
And that he never once fought in a boxing ring
His talk of being a famed boxer an attention seeking thing
He has never been a boxer or been to a foreign shore
It's his way of seeking attention that and nothing more.

My Worth As A Rhymer

My worth as a rhymer i have reason to doubt
But never shortage of things for me to write about
Who could not feel inspired on this beautiful day
In the blue sunny sky just a few clouds of gray

The nesting birds chirp and whistle on the bushes and trees
Their pleasant notes carrying in the freshening breeze
That blow in the park in the town by the bay
Memories of such beauty never fade to decay

Of such pleasant scenes rhymes are easy to write
Simple rhymes that are easy to read and to recite
The beauty of Nature a thing to inspire
And of singing her praises one never could tire

I do feel quite lucky as lucky can be
That another Spring i have survived for to see
The beauty of Nature is a wonderful thing
Such joy and such pleasure to all it does bring

Near where traffic from the highway does pass up and down
The birds chirp and sing in the park of the town
Though my worth as a rhymer i have reason to doubt
There is beauty around me for to write about.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Familiar Australians

They build cup shaped mud nest on fork of branch of tree
The birds known as mudlark or magpie lark or to some as pee wee
I know them by their song everyday them i do see
Birds familiar to many and familiar to me

Dainty black and white birds smaller than a magpie
If i said i knew a lot about them i'd be telling a lie
Of birds and their ways so much to learn and know
Though my wonder of them only does seem to grow

Of human kind the pee wees display litte fear
They only fly off when to them you come very near
Often seen in the parks or the sidewalks of the town
To be different from all others their claim to renown

Familiar Australians i do see every day
About them they do have a beautiful way
Magpie lark, mudlark or pee wee names they are known by
To far away places they never do fly

Not much variation in their brief song
Pee wee pee wee they do sing all day long
Black and white dainty beauties with a charm of their own
To every Australian they are quite well known.

Do Not Expect

Do not expect a cheap product to last until amen day
You get what you pay for as some like to say
Like what you put into life in return you receive
At least anyway that's what i do believe
There is truth in the old saying of live and let live
Do not expect to receive if you never do give
That greed breeds more greed applies to quite a few
Though to that you might say tell us something that's new
In the World of Humanity there are every kind
Though in the worst of people some good you will find
The one who enjoys verbally putting others down
Will never become the best liked in the town
In life if you don't give don't expect to receive
On such a philosophy i am one who believe.

Saturday, October 22, 2011


In his life he made less friends than foes
And he died as he lived  one suppose
To those who opposed him by him mercy not shown
Gaddafi was killed by his own

Libya's dictator for a four decade span
Gaddafi the horrible man
For his crimes with his life he did pay
But there are more like him sad to say

Because of him thousands in mass graves lay
He abused his power in the worst way
His death Libyans did celebrate
Perhaps he did warrant his fate

He is not the first or he will not be the last
For to be caught up on by his past
The fruits of the karma we sow we receive
I am one on that who believe

He died as he lived that is true
Perhaps this the end he was due
From his enemies he ran out of places to hide
And at the guns of his own people he died.

My Heroes And Heroines

Broadminded in thinking and in their ways nothing small
My heroes and heroines believe on a fair go for all
Though not amongst the celebrated on their side of the town
You never do hear them put anyone down
To help those in need of helping they go out of their way
And they perform their good deed or two every day
Yet few of them even know of local fame
Though to compassion and kindness they give a good name
My heroes and heroines are free of deceit
Helpful and unassuming and untainted by conceit
They side with the people who are battling the odds
The poor and forsaken of the lesser gods
With my opinions on heroes and heroines you do not agree
But you look at life every different to me.

It Is Always The Winners

It is always the winners who write the war history
The winning war leaders are never tried for crimes against humanity
It is always the losing leaders end up in jail and are killed by firing squad or hung
The praises of losing leaders of a war are never ever sung
Though war winning leaders far worse criminals since by them more people put to death
As old free and celebrated they will draw their life's final breath
'Tis their armies who won the war and winners are never wrong
And only to the winners the glory does belong
Though you may see it as different and with what i say disagree
'Tis the winners write the history and that's how 'twill always be
And the losers are forsaken even by their own
And history does repeat itself as history has shown
And the war winners write the war history since glory is their gain
That is how it is and it will be and always will remain

Friday, October 21, 2011

A Monarch Of The Sky

With eyes to the scrub for small creature to kill
A monarch of the sky soaring above Tower Hill
Australia's largest avian predator of feathers dark brown
One who likes to live far from the noisy big town
Slowly circling whilst hovering at such a great height
An airborne wedge tail eagle makes for an amazing sight
The fearless one who does have death in it's cry
The unrivalled monarch of the southern sky
'Tis a fact of Nature and facts never lie
For it for to live some small creature has to die
The evening calm and pleasant scarce a puff of breeze
And the weather temperature near perfect around twenty degrees
And the dark brown avian hunter with death in it's cry
Above old Tower Hill is circling in the sky.

Though Love

Though love sometimes on it has a use by date
With the feelings of true love few things in life rate
But the disappointment of lost love does give rise to tears
And the feeling of love ache can linger for years
The poets in their words love do celebrate
Though few in their life time do find their soul mate
And few loves do last until life journey's end
Love's ways can be fickle why otherwise pretend
Though true love as a feeling happiness does create
It often ends with one in a sorrowful state
That there are two sides to love would you not agree
And the ache of lost love does not die easily
More than one side to love and it does seem fair to say
That it has tears and laughter it does seem this way.


Whether my last remains are buried or to ash does burn
I am of Nature and to her i'll return
In some future day whenever that will be
My best days are gone time is running out on me
I am just a mortal like a mouse or a rat
The Reaper will claim my life's breath as i were a dog or a cat
The monarch and the president on some future day
Where the earth worm lives as dead as dead will lay
'Tis a fact of life and fact does never lie
That they are mortals and born to die
For everyone of us there is a final Fall
There is a last night and last day for us all
The one that most do fear  and none does celebrate
The Reaper of lives between all life forms does not differentiate.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Though My Wonder Of Her

Though my wonder of her only seems to grow
Of Nature's ways so little i do know
Her wonders many and her secrets not few
And from her every day i learn something new
And everywhere i turn to look i see
Her unrivalled beauty is surrounding me
The one to whom time never becomes a foe
Though her Seasons to her ever come and go
Her mighty river born as a rill
In lake in valley by a distant hill
The one who never sleeps by night or day
To her vast ocean babbles on it's way
Were i a poet a poem for her i'd write
For her admirers to read and recite.

Many Seasons Ago

Many Seasons ago when in my life's prime
I became addicted to the penning of rhyme
For some thirty eight years i've been a rhyming buff
And one might say i've written a whole heap of stuff
Suppose everyone is addictive in some sort of a way
Penning of rhyme my addiction i write every day
Though i am not seen as one worthy of literary note
Without even the status of a minor poet
I write for the love of it little else more
This is something you may have heard me say before
The sort of rhymes i pen are not hard to write
And simple to read and easy to recite
But i enjoy rhyming of that why should i lie
And i hope to keep writing till the day i do die.

It Has Been Awhile

It has been awhile since i have lived near Millstreet Town
Where Finnow from the high country journey on down
Through old fields by ditches and many a hedgerow
With a babble towards the Blackwater it ever does flow

Yet where-ever my life's journey to carries me
A bloke from Duhallow is all i can be
The Duhallow accent is with me today
And with me till i die is likely to stay

In dreams i often walk in the old fields again
And hear the birds sing in the drizzling rain
The swallows home to breed from lands far away
Chase flying insects above their home fields all the day

Cattle out of wintering sheds on nutritous grass weight does gain
And Nature's flowers in full bloom in the sun after rain
And the hawthorns cloaked in their blossoms of pale white to gray
They are at their finest in the prime of the May

It has been awhile since i have heard the silver tongued rill
Babbling to the river down the field by the hill
And though the old fields i loved i may never more see
A bloke from Duhallow is all i can be.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Where I Grew To Love Nature

The reed bunting sang where the bog cotton grow
When the warm winds of May in the old fields did blow
And the dark brown water bird dipper with breast white as snow
Did sing in the stream where babbling waters did flow

On down to the big river by dyke and hedgerow
In places quite quickly and where pools are quite slow
From the foot of the hill to the river to the saltwater shore
Through old fields to babble on forever more

The hawthorns were in their white blooms of the May
And in the leafy groves nesting birds sang all the day
And in sunny blue sky just a few clouds of gray
When i grew to love Nature in fields far away

In far away fields towards the west of the town
I grew to love Nature when my hair was dark brown
But going back in time that does seem long ago
And time has left me gray time is everyone's foe

And only the memories with me do remain
Of old fields i never may walk on again
Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways i still do enjoy.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

I've Been To The Saltbush Country

I've been to that coastal countryside where the coastal saltbush grow
Where huge saltpans glisten in the sun white as new fallen snow
The brown dry sand and dust does take to flight when the freshening winds do blow
In remote South Australia where the Murray waters flow

Dark deep and wide at a snail's pace near it's final destiny
Crawling onwards ever slowly to the great Pacific sea
Through old paddocks dry and dusty once the lands of the Dreamtime
That has inspired the Nature artists and writers of story and rhyme

Had i the gift of rhyming words i would surely pen a song
Of the dry and arid countryside known to most as the Coorong
Of saltpans, scrub and saltbush and in need of far more trees
Where the first Australians lived, fished and hunted and had their corroborees

I've been in the saltbush country by the thirsty coastal winds left bare
Where there is scarce enough of edible grass for to keep life in a hare
Where the waters of the Murray near the sea crawls deep and slow
Through the old lands of the Dreamtime where the hardy saltbush grow.

The Town By The Bay

In my flights of fancy i visit the town by the bay
And hear the birds sing at the dawn of the day
In the town parkland on the bushes and trees
Their pleasant notes carrying in the freshening breeze
And on the mudflats with the ocean tide out
The tiny crabs in their thousands are feeding and crawling about
But sensitive to danger when footsteps they do hear
Into their holes in the mudflats they quickly disappear
High amongst the places of beauty i've known
The town by the bay has a charm of it's own
The pipings of the pied oystercatchers are pleasant to hear
They frequent the beach at all times of the year
Though from where i now live 'tis a long drive away
In fancy i do visit the town by the bay.

Crooked Minded People

Crooked minded people think to cheat others is okay
That is if with their deception they can get away
To steal people's life savings from them something to them for to laugh about
The Human World with such people could well do without
That many they steal from are not wealthy they do not seem to care
But sad to think that such people in the Human World are not rare
Amongst them you may well not find one Robin Hood
They steal from the not so wealthy to serve their own good
Between stealing from the rich and the poor they do not differentiate
From the misery of others money they accumulate
Their lack of compassion for others has been born in greed
For their own bad karma they do plant the bad seed
And sad to say their type are not a mere few
You might say to that tell us something that's new.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Have You Ever Battled

Have you ever battled your dark dog of despair
And thought to yourself life on me is unfair
You are not the first or will not be the last for to feel this way
There are millions like you in the Human World of today
For you of late nothing does seem to go right
And for you life has become an uphill fight
You wake at five thirty for work monday to friday
To work hard for small wages with huge bills to pay
With three primary school going children and your wife not feeling well
Of your life you do not have good stories to tell
Things are not going your way but you battle the odds
Not one who has been blessed by the greater gods
But you live in hope of a far better day
When the lady of luck will come smiling your way.

There Is Always One Better

You may be quite marvellous at what you do
But remember there is always one better than you
With your achievements you ought not get carried away
As self praise it is no praise the wise one did say

You may be best at what you do in the town
And well on your way to far greater renown
But more than likely you may not have to travel too far
To find one at what you are good at better than you are

At what you are good at the highest point you may attain
But for a long spell of time as number one you will not remain
The very best have a use by date on them would you not agree
At least anyway that's how it seems to be

You may not be found to be wanting when put to the test
And what you are good at considered as best
And though the best as is said may be the hardest to beat
Eventually they too meet up with defeat.

I Hope To Go On Living

I hope to go on living for as long as i can
And i would like to die without pain in my sleep as an old man
And though more than likely i will not live for a century
What will happen to my last remains is of no worry to me
I do not believe on an afterlife or a paradise in the sky
What i truly feel about anything i never do deny
Humans have never discovered a paradise or life in a world beyond the stars
Though they have walked upon the moon and may one day walk on mars
If i told you on the one known as god i am one who does believe
Then my true feelings i would betray and myself i would deceive
We are born as mortals that is a fact and fact does never lie
I just hope to live for as long as i can and without pain die
This is the only life i know of  so i just want to live and let live
And help people in need of help and practice take and give.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Still A Colony

The Head of State in her home palace on a distant shore
Australia is still a colony that and nothing more
For as long as Aussie voters a foreign monarchy choose to embrace
Amongst the Nations of the World Australia cannot take it's place
Though with what i say millions of Australians do disagree
Australia's Head of State living in a distant Country seems all wrong to me
For as long as Australia has one living elesewhere as it's Head of State
The status of Nationhood Aussies cannot celebrate
Buckingham Palace from Canberra seems a World away
At least twenty four hours of air travel a night and a day
For as long as Australia's Head of State lives in England a Country in the Atlantic sea
Australia will be looked on as a British Colony
Though with my opinions on this many Aussies would disagree
At least anyhow that's how it seems to me.

There Is more To A Man

Though to most women money to a great deal amount
There is more to a man than a large bank account
And the power of influence that come from wealth and fame
There is more to a man than a widely known name
There is more to a man than broad shoulders and deep chest
With muscles that does seem to bulge through his vest
Though this sort of bloke to some women appeal
As the real macho type but then what is real?
The real man to some women is wealthy handsome and tall
For an out of work small sized man they would never fall
But in looks, fame and money the real man you may not find
He is not the real man if he is not caring and kind
For the real man has compassion and love of humanity
And for the have nots of the world he does feel empathy.

As Most Politicians

As most politicians do lie with a straight face
In politics trust never takes pride of place
And amongst political parties the main enemies in the ranks of their own
For loyalty to party colleagues most politicians have never been known
Many politicians give their profession a very bad name
With them lying and mistrust are one of the same
They lie to each other and to the voters as well
To many politicians a blatant lie is not hard to tell
Obsessed with their own egos for power they do compete
With some politicians 'tis a way of life the practice of deceit
The newest weapon they use to stay in power is the verbal tool of fear
Of terrorism and the threat of it from them we often hear
To their advantage they spread xenophobia by creating us against they
Most of these shifty characters who have political power in the world of today.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Only A Scribbler Of Doggerel

I am only a scribbler of doggerel not even a very minor poet
But it does not bother me in the least that i'll never be one of literary note
I will die as i live just a rhymer though that does not bother me at all
I feel happy with my gifts and blessings though my gifts and blessings are small
I must be an addictive rhymer though i am always happy penning rhyme
Though i never get paid for my effort  and many see that as a waste of time
Those who telll me that i should quit rhyming their advice i always ignore
I am happy when rhymes i am penning something you have heard me say before
The rhymes to me seem to keep coming and on notepaper i jot them down
But not for money or recognition or any sort of literary renown
I do it for my self enjoyment though my better days in the long gone
And till the reaper claims the life from me as a rhymer i'll keep penning on
I will die as i live a mere rhymer  as you may have heard me say before
And those who tell me to give away rhyming their advice i always ignore.

Jimmy From Duhallow

I'd be a stranger today in Duhallow that is what old Jimmy says to me
A stranger in Millstreet and Ballydaly in Cullen and in Knocknagree
A stranger in Kiskeam and Newmarket in Meelin and in Boherbue
I used to be well known in Dromtarriffe in Rathcoole and in Derrinagree

I did have many friends in Banteer and in Kanturk where the Allow does flow
Through old fields to join the Blackwater so many there i used to know
I did have friends in Ballydesmond in Nadd and Kilcorney as well
Old Jimmy of his younger years in Duhallow has many great yarns to tell

I had friends in Glenlara and Rockchapel and Knockscovane from here far away
Old Jimmy feels he'd be a stranger in all of those places today
He says 'tis fifty years since i left Duhallow going back some five decades in time
When i was a month short of twenty and very close to my life's prime

A happy man Jimmy from Duhallow though the years have left him looking gray
His Aussie wife June died two years back she was my soul mate he does say
He turned seventy one in September he is seven times a grand-dad
He says i am living and healthy and for life's small blessings i do feel glad.

Though The Difference Is Vast

Though the difference is vast between people's take home pay
Everyone is good at something it does seem this way
One's annual salary does make some a multi millionaire
'Tis true about life it is not always fair
And many homeless and hungry on Poverty Street
Living and sleeping rough in winter rain and sleet
Compared to the have nots the haves seem so few
But in the Human World this is not anything new
Millions dying of malnutrition and related disease
In the refugee camps of the world twenty six million refugees
And a minority with far too much this seems all wrong to me
But this is how it is and it always will be
And to the reaper of lives who makes everyone equal one day
Though you are to be feared i admire you and good on you i say.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Where Mine To So Many

Though mine to most here is a stranger's face
I feel sad to be leaving this beautiful place
Where one wakes at daybreak to the shy whip bird's call
Like sound of whip cracking against concrete wall
Once seen and once heard one cannot get them wrong
The beautiful crimson rosellas with the bell like song
And a wild sound of nature anyone could not mistake
The kookaburras calling in the wood at daybreak
And the unmistakeable call of the king parrots on a blackwood tree
In the bright sunshine a beautiful sight for to see
So sad to be leaving but here i can't stay
Where i live from these wooded hills is far away
But i will remember this beautiful place
Where mine to so many is a stranger's face.

The Far Away Town

Despite many years of absence the memories remain
Of a place i have known that i may not see again
Where in fancy i can hear the silver tongued rill
Babbling to the river down the field by the hill

And in the ocean bound river by the far away town
The dipper does sing as the sun is going down
The white breasted water bird with uppers of dark brown
To be different from others his claim to renown

The far away town i have not seen for years
Though for my memories of it i am drained of all tears
Many that i knew there are now living elsewhere
They followed the lure of the big world out there

And others i knew in eternal rest lay
In the cemetery by the hill in the town far away
And time does tick on it becomes everyone's foe
And to the far away place the seasons come and go.

Leaders Like Nelson Mandela

Leaders like Nelson Mandela have always been few
On saying that i am not saying anything that is new
Those who sinned against him he choose to forgive
He is a role model for live and let live
Though now in the twilight of his life span
Nelson Mandela South Africa's ex President is quite a great man
A credit to his family his tribe and his race
In South Africa the one who does take pride of place
As a political prisoner he spent years in jail
The one who became South Africa's uniting force when apartheid did fail
If every World leader were like him there would be World harmony
Of war and it's sorrows the World would be free
He was born a mortal just like you and i
But as a legend he lives and as a legend he will die.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Floyd Mayweather

One not found to be wanting when he is put to the test
Many times a World Champion he has only fought the best
Fighters in the World in forty plus fights he has never known defeat
In his weight division for a decade of years he is the one to beat
To match his marvellous boxing skills Floyd Mayweather has a big mouth
That he is a boxing super star he does leave none in doubt
With Manny Pacquao one of the World's best pound for pound and if they ever fight
It could be fight of the century on boxing's greatest night
For World's Boxing pound for pound title Manny and Floyd may never meet
Two with quick hand speed and big punches and both fast on their feet
Between Floyd and Manny if they fight a winner would be hard to choose
But that may never happen as the loser would have too much to lose
Floyd 'Money' Mayweather as he is known is one of the World's best
One who has yet found to be wanting when he has been put to the test.

Kelly Symons

She was the Rose of Penshurst shy in her ways though kind
A slender dark haired beauty to self promotion uninclined
The likes of her in Penshurst may not be seen for some time
So sad to hear she has died suddenly though still in her life's prime

The sad news on Kelly Symons so very sad to hear
She seemed so young to be deceased not much past her prime year
In life there are no guarantees one would have to suppose
In old Penshurst's saddest news for years the Town has lost it's Rose

Life it does have it's ups and downs it has always been this way
And sorrow and regret at her passing in Penshurst for some time will stay
So tall and lean and graceful she looked like an athlete
As fair a Rose as ever walked on the sidewalks of Bell Street

In the flesh never more to be seen in Penshurst that does seem sad to say
For each and every one of us a final night and day
From all of the cares in life she had in death she found release
The beautiful Kelly Symons may she now rest in peace.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Most Species Of Birds

Most species of birds by chirp, whistle or song
From once familiarized with you cannot get wrong
From Nature their voices in their d n a
This is how it does seem to me anyway
By the sound of their voices birds one get to know
The common brown house sparrows of the hedgerow
Though songless they chirp to nightfall from daybreak
Their voices are voices one never mistake
The flutes of the Aussie magpies melodious and clear
Music that can be heard every day of the year
From once heard is easy for to recognize
Though there is more to Nature than we realize
Most birds one get to know by their chirp or whistle or song
And not unlike us to Nature they belong.


He would like to quit drinking grog but his will is too weak
And his speech it is often quite slurred when he speak
With grog blossoms on his face on either cheek
His breath far too often of alcohol does reek
His wife Kate to her friends confides her husband Ted
Is not of much use nowadays to her and useless in bed
She has found herself a lover of which Ted is aware
But that does not bother him if her favours she share
His doctor advised him if you do not give alcohol away
In your forties amongst the departed you'll lay
But Ted loves the grog far more than he loves life
For it he has even sacrificed the love of his wife
Every-day he drinks whiskey and beer by the can
Perhaps he will not live to die as an old man.

The War Winners Write The War History

The German masses lauded Hitler and chanted his name
But due to his autocratic rule millions of crimes of shame
Had he won the war he'd be a Worldwide hero today
The war winners write the war history it does seem this way

The British masses lauded Cromwell though in his war in Ireland  millions suffered and died
His soldiers murdered and made homeless innocent people and their homes destroyed
But nowadays streets in big cities do honor his name
The winners write the war history and their's is the fame

'Tis true that history repeats itself again and again
And the winners write the war stories that's how 'twill remain
And in every war crimes against humanity
But 'tis the winners who always write the war history

War winning leaders for war crimes have never been tried
Even though many innocent civilians because of them have died
Though 'tis only the winners write the war history seems all wrong to me
This is how it is and how it always will be.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

The Honorable Man

He has never socialized with the upper class of the town
And perhaps he will die as he live a stranger to renown
But he enjoys a beer and a joke with his mates at the pub on a saturday night
And if he has any worries of them he makes light

A man who does live quite an honorable life
He loves his young son and daughter and he loves his wife
He always does work hard for his take home pay
One witty kind and caring in his own unassuming way

If he has any worries he does not complain
And with his good attitude many new friends he does gain
Any unkind things of any he never does say
A helpful man who performs some good deed every day

His name or photo in any magazine or newspaper never appear
And he will never be voted the town's man of the year
But he makes friends easily and he loves his children and his wife
And the honorable man lives an honorable life.

The Call Of The Whip Bird

In the steep wooded gullies in the spring of the year
The whip like cracking call of the male whip bird a sound one often does hear
In such places a bird one does hear often though seldom ever see
Their's is a familiar voice to many and many includes me
One of the voices of the woodland the local lyrebird imitate
That he incorporates into his song of mimicry when serenading for a mate
in the steep wooded gully till darkness from daybreak
The voice of the male whip bird one  could never mistake
Nature's secrets are in the many though her wonders are not few
And every day from her we do learn something new
In the steep wooded gully in undergrowth to the knees
The male whip is calling in the shadow of the trees
In the dense undergrowth cover he and his mate from eyes hidden away
Where his whip like cracking call does echo intermittently through the day.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Make The Most Of Life

Make the most of life time on you ticks away
And do enjoy a few good laughs every day
Though times could be better for you financially
Laughter a great tool to combat poverty
For many their dreams in life never come true
Perhaps what we sow we do reap and what we reap is our due
Disappointment may give rise to low self esteem
But sadness breeds sadness or so it does seem
The happy sound of laughter is a beautiful sound
It echoes of joy and does spread mirth around
'Tis not an honor for to be sad sack of the town
Few wish to know of the one always feeling down
Though things at the present are not going your way
You may as well try to be happy and make the most of your day.

Though The Weather Not Even Chilly

Though the weather not even chilly i am feeling cold
It must be that time has left me feeling old
Though there is a slight chill in the freshening mountain breeze
One can hardly say 'tis cold at fourteen degrees
A typical enough sort of day for mid Spring
On the trees and the bushes the birds chirp and sing
A girl in a flowery summer dress smiles as she passes my way
To her it does hardly seem a chilly day
What is pleasant to her seems chilly to me
Suppose weather like most things is relevant that's how it seems to be
Clusters of pink blossoms adorn the fruit bearing cherry tree
And a crimson rosella flies with food to her nestlings in a tree cavity
And i feel the chill on my hands and my face
Though 'tis not a cold day in this beautiful place.

Olinda In October

Yesterday it was sunny around twenty degrees
With a pleasant warmth in the freshening breeze
Rustling in the leaves of the tall mountain ash trees
Where the wild birds of nature pipe their melodies

But in Olinda on the high ground 'tis different today
Behind the gray clouds the sun hidden away
On a wet windy day in October in Spring
Weatherwise such changes twenty four hours does bring

Though weatherwise change occurs quickly in mid spring of the year
To Olinda on the high ground earthly utopia seems near
Where beautiful crimson rosellas and king parrots in great numbers abound
In a place of natural beauty on the higher ground

In Olinda in October in the home of the wattle and great mountain ash tree
There is so much natural beauty for to see
The rhododendrons in bloom are lovely to behold
Though the day it is windy and rainy and cold.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

The Man From Who Knows Where

He too must have a homeplace in the big world out there
But he seems like lost ship in vast ocean the man from who knows where
In this big city of many cultures a multicultural place
He does not seem to blend well one of a minority race
A migrant of a minority race where his nationality are few
Looked on by the majority races as one amongst them strange and new
To be treated with suspicion as not one of their own
Although they tolerate him to him they wish to remain unknown
He came to this great country as a boat refugee
Spent three years in detention confined to abject misery
Without friends or a community he does not speak the country's language well
A young man who knows about fear and life in earthly hell
Yes when one talks of earthly hell he is one who has lived there
And a stranger amongst strangers is the man from who knows where.

Were You Ever

Were you ever at a gathering where you felt out of place
Where your inhibitions you were forced to face
Where inferior feelings surfaced in your mind
And that more comfortable surroundings for you would not be hard to find
The great artists whose works adorn the art gallery wall
Perhaps in such surroundings would not feel happy at all
Amongst many of the admirers of their work it would seem to me
That they might feel out of place in such snobbish company
A different world now that the world that they lived in then
Perhaps many of those artists were down to earth women and men
Who in life received little recognition and died almost strangers to fame
With little if any money or worldly possesions to name
I must be feeling insecure and inhibited for feeling this way
But we are what we are as some do like to say.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Why Tell Me About It

Why tell me about it i know life can be unfair
There are millions of people nowadays living of hope in despair
In refugee camps and homeless shelters and condemned to sleeping rough
Compared to them i am one who has never known it tough
In a human world of many have nots poverty is rife
And millions are condemned for to live a miserable life
Millions become victims of circumstance of birth that's how it seems to be
'Tis like the luck of the draw that's how it seems to me
In a human world where money speaks every language there is so much poverty
And millions do know of a life of extreme misery
For a minority of very wealthy people many have nots it does seem this way
We all cannot be winners as some do like to say
But then poverty is a relative thing with that would you agree
Suppose such is life as some do say and this is how 'twill always be.

A Compulsive Rhymer

A compulsive rhymer that surely is me
I have been penning doggerel since nineteen seventy three
For close to forty years i've been a rhyming buff
And i am one who has written a whole heap of stuff
If i told you i'd quit rhyming that would be a lie
Perhaps i'll be penning stuff till the day i do die
It is just an obsession that with me does stay
That i do find too hard for to give away
For so long addicted to penning of rhyme
Thirty eight years does seem such a long stretch of time
You might say to that tell us something that's new
Since as one with compulsive obsession i'm not one of a few
There are millions like me in the big world out there
People like me nowadays are to be found everywhere.

Like The Passing Of Nature's Seasons

Like the passing of nature's seasons to life we come to and from go
And the days and weeks go quickly and time becomes our foe
It does not seem that long ago when i was in my prime
But nowadays i am walking slower and showing the wear of time
In my prime days i moved faster though i was never an athlete
With the best in the parish i could not hope to compete
But even compared to what it used to be my fastest pace now slow
The wear of time eventually on everyone does show
Yes time does not wait for anyone like it did not wait for me
Though it has been awhile and many hours since i was twenty three
The desire for recognition in most of us as well as the lust for wealth and fame
And time ticks on we all grow old and few things stay the same
The fact is we are terminal life forms and fact does never lie
And the desire for life in most of us though some do choose to die.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Between Terang And Warrnambool

The tiny frogs are singing in the watery paddock drain
How green this countryside looks after October rain
Between Terang and Warrnambool the paddocks flat and green
With dairy cows and beef steers and heifers in plenty to be seen
And Spring in South West Victoria a lovely time of year
The sweet voice of the blackbird melodious and clear
And the flute like notes of the magpie none ever could mistake
In late Winter and early Spring  he even sings at night in the dark before daybreak
And in the parks and paddocks the mudlarks sing pee wee
The birds who build a cup shaped nest of mud on fork of branch of tree
October in South West Victoria in a grand old countryside
Stands of pine, gums and cypress in lush green paddocks for miles stretching far and wide
On an evening in October by drizzling rain made cool
In the quietness of the evening between Terang and Warrnambool.

Pomp And Ceremony

To me pomp and ceremony is boring and dull
And of rank and class distinction i've had a gut full
The facts are we are born as mortals and facts never lie
The monarch and president must eventually die
No matter what your status it all comes to nought in the end
As we all have to die why otherwise pretend
Since death makes us all equal then death i salute
The life's reaper is the champion egalatarian and that is the truth
You may be the one the masses celebrate
A renowned billionaire and looked up to as great
But the reaper on your life has the final say
And for you like all others a last night and day
Pomp and ceremony is boring to cynical me
Though each to their own that's how it seems to be.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

The Town's Number 1 Beauty

The town's number 1 beauty in her physical prime
But she is losing out to the passing of time
With brown hair dye nowadays she covers her gray
But the obvious wear of time on her ageing body even clothed she cannot hide away
Cosmetics have helped her to smooth the wrinkles from her legs, hands, neck and face
Though her sagging body of ageing does show every trace
The town's number 1 beauty fifty years ago
Though time eventually does become everyone's foe
A divorced grandmother in her mid seventies her better days gone
But the lust for life in her wills her to live on
As the town's number 1 beauty her praises were sung
And though attractive she was far more so when she was young
A brown haired brown eyed beauty back in her prime day
But now in brown hair dye she covers her gray.

John Twomey Was Famous

John Twomey was famous when i was a boy
To many in Duhallow his poems brought great joy
But the lust of the wander lured him to elsewhere
To a life of adventure in the big world out there

John Twomey in his day a marvellous poet
One worthy of far greater literary note
Some of his poems are remembered and often recited today
By Duhallow migrants from home far away

Duhallow's Poet Laureate in his glorious prime
Though that is going back some five decades in time
The proof of his greatness his poems live today
One can say of him with words he had a way

The Bard of Duhallow when i was quite young
Many of his poems were written to be sung
'Tis true about poets they are born not made
And he was a credit to the wordsmith trade.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

It Will Not matter

It will not matter to me when i've lived my last night and day
If my remains are cremated or buried under earth and clay
Since like every other life form to the life reaper's scythe i'll fall
And worries about post death of no help to me at all
I just want to stay living for as long as i can
And die without pain in my sleep as a very old man
What value to you though wealth and success is your gain
If you are slowly dying your body racked of pain
Of the praises of money and fame many may sing
But your health to you in life is the most important thing
When i am dead i hope none for me does grieve
And since on an afterlife i am one who does not believe
I want to live on for as long as i can
And die without pain in my sleep as an old man.

Slavoj Zizek

Slavoj Zizek of Slovenia enjoys Worldwide fame
In the world of the great minds his is a great name
Though not a world leader he ought to be
His amazing energy amazes me
That the man is a genius is not hard to tell
So well informed and clever and humorous as well
A professor of life with a marvellous brain
One can say of Slavoj born to entertain
The other night i watched him on a t v debate
Such passion and humor and energy he did create
That many professors though clever are boring it does seem fair to say
But not Slavoj Zizek he is not that way
As well as a great mind in him nothing small
He is one who believes on a fair go for all.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

In This Beautiful Place

When i'm long dead one more forgotten face
The birds will sing in this beautiful place
And the river will flow to the ocean shore
With a babbling voice that is forever more

I could live here until my dying day
Utopia from this place not far away
Here in years from now magpie will pipe upon the wattle tree
And it will not have changed the song of the pee wee

Just a few clouds of gray in the blue and sunny sky
And welcome swallows chirping as they fly
I marvel at the beauty i do see
The beauty today that does surround me

Nature's beauty is for all to admire
And of singing her praises one could never tire
How pleasant to hear the wild birds chirp and sing
In this lovely place on this warm day in spring.

The Silver Tongued Rill From The Mountain

The silver tongued rill from the mountain in my flights of fancy i hear
A voice that i have not forgotten to my thoughts remain ever near
On down to the flatter green country by many a ditch and hedgerow
To join with the ocean bound river with a babble it ever does flow

From it's source in the lake by the mountain it flows through the bracken clad glen
A home to the silver finned minnow and dipper and dark water hen
It babbles on downhill forever through the fields of the rook and gray crow
On and on through the very old country through damp fields where the hardy rush grow

I see and hear it in my visualizations to the big river babbling along
By old groves by rural bungalow and cottage a home for the wild birds of song
In a voice that has never been silent to the river to the ocean shore
The rill from the lake by the mountain will babble on forever more

It roars aloud after the big rains and races down the higher ground
And backed up by the flood in the river in water submerge the fields nearby around
But when the brown flood has passed onwards in the damp fields by the old town
The silver tongued rill from the mountain to the big river babbles on down.

Monday, October 3, 2011

What We Sow

What we sow we do receive in life 'tis this way
And for my sins to karma i too have to pay
For karma is real that's how it seems to me
Though with such an opinion many may disagree
On the workings of karma i am one who believe
The fruits of the seeds i have sown i expect to receive
Karma i believe to everyone does apply
And what i believe in why should i ever deny
I can only believe in what i know to be true
That sooner or later we receive the karma we are due
What we do unto others to our own selves we do
This does apply to everyone as well as me and you
From poor quality seed a good crop does not grow
The same as in life we must reap what we sow.

By The Hopkins

Near to the pacific it flows deep and wide
As it silently crawls through the green countryside
The old Hopkins River that is old as time
That has inspired to write of it the writers of story and rhyme
Where the flute of the magpie is pleasant to hear
And the pee wee does call every day of the year
On the banks of the river on the gum and wattle trees
The music of Nature's minstrels is carrying in the breeze
Where the Hopkins is slowed to a crawl by the Pacific tide
The coot, moorhen and black duck and musk duck reside
From Warrnambool C B D two or three miles or more
Dark and silent it flows on to the ocean shore
In fancy i can hear the dark pale eyed crow
Cawing in the gray dawn where the old Hopkins flow.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

That Everyone Has Got Talent

That everyone has got talent i do hold for to be true
Though some never receive the recognition that does seem their due
Some for the gifts they are blessed with never become recognized
Succes does never come to them and their dreams are never realized
Some people's gifts are valued more than others that's how it seems to be
In the Human World as we do know are all forms of inequality
Though some for their gifts and talents recognition never receive
On that everyone is born with some gift i am one who does believe
And many end their days without ever knowing of any success or fame
And become one of the millions of those with the forgotten name
Everyone is good at something with that would you not agree
At least anyway that is how that it does appear to me
Whilst the lucky minority with the advantage of privileged postal address
Do enjoy the perks of affluence that goes with fame and success.

You Keep Battling On

You work hard for very poor wages your employers do not treat their employees unfair
For years you've been financially struggling and of better times you often despair
With a wife and three young children to support and food to buy and bills to pay
The struggle just for to make ends meet is the challenge you face every day
You are one of many poor people in a downtrodden working class street
Yet you never complain as some do what life serves you like a man you cop sweet
You work hard to support your family and of hard times you are one who does know
But you sow the seeds of good karma and in life we do reap what we sow
You keep battling on through the hard times for you perserverance will pay
And your patience it will be rewarded and good things will be your's one day
Why some people who work hard do financially struggle is way beyond me to explain
For you life is one mighty battle though of your lot you never complain
Tough times will not last your whole lifetime fortune favours the brave as some say
And change will come to you for the better when lady luck will smile your way.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Dan Mulcahy

I did know Dan Mulcahy since he was a young boy
Annagloor, friends and family his life's sense of joy
One who was not granted a long span of life
Now grieved by friends and family and Ana Victoria his wife

Seems a pity he was not granted a longer life span
As he did grow into a likeable young man
In Annagloor in the flesh never more to be seen
Though fond memories of him will remain evergreen

With those lucky enough to have known him but the saddest thing of all
Is to know that in Annagloor he has lived his final Fall
But in the old fields he loved his spirit will remain
And he'll  walk by the river from Kippagh Lake again

I last saw Dan Mulcahy twenty five years ago
On a day in november cold enough to snow
The river bank high through Annagloor did flow
And the wind from the mountains with a cold chill did blow

Then tall young lean and handsome and in his life's prime
Though change does occur in such a span of time
Sad to think gone from Annagloor his loved familiar face
He was one who did have a strong sense of place.

Music To Some

Of their choice of entertainment they seem far from discreet
Their car stereos blaring as they drive on the street
What is music to them does not seem so to me
But then most of us look at things in ways quite differently
Their turbo charged car engines roaring drown out all other noise
Suppose girls will be girls and boys will be boys
Of the praises of wisdom comes with ageing you may hear some sing
But then one may add to that youth must have it's fling
Of what to them is music they must feel quite proud
Since in public places they turn their car stereos volumes up loud
Before they have reached the prime of their lives their ears they have not spared
Some of them in their thirties will be hearing impaired
Their music blaring loudly noise does become
But then what to me is noise is music to some.

At McLoughlins Beach

O'er McLoughlins Beach from here many miles away
The eastern curlews are piping at the dawn of the day
They return to their southern wintering ground in the spring of the year
And their distinctive soft pipings are always pleasant to hear
With tiny holes in the mudflats where from danger they hide
Thousands of tiny crabs at McLoughlins Beach reside
When they feel they are safe for food they scurry around
And at the first sign of danger they quickly go to ground
I've not been to South Gippsland to McLoughlins Beach by the Pacific shore
For quite a few springs perhaps a dozen or more
But in fancy i can hear the curlews piping as they fly
On a calm morning in spring in the southern sky
And the tiny crabs in their thousands on the mudflats crawling around
At the first sign of danger they quickly go to ground.