Tuesday, May 31, 2011

On The Last Day Of Autumn

The pigeon sized white long-billed corellas calling on the sunlit trees
On the last day of the calendar Autumn with scarcely a puff of breeze
On a pleasant enough evening of around eighteen degrees
Not too cool or not too warm such weather most people would please
With every tick of the clock the Winter is drawing near
It is such pleasant weather for this time of the year
The daylight came in with a wintery chill
And the pipe of the magpie did sound a bit shrill
The black and white bird for to sing at his best
Does need the warm glow of the sun on his breast
At this time of year not much warmth in the sunshine
But this sort of weather it does suit me fine
On the last day of Autumn in the park by the sea
How pleasant to hear the song of the pee wee.

Old Balding Joe

The years beginning to tell on him old balding Joe with the false teeth
But he likes drinking stuff stronger than water one well known beyond his home street
He turned seventy eight on his birthday in April the years may have left him walking slow
But he still can drink a lot of liquor and anger towards others not show

Unmarried he never fathered children at least not as far as he does know
One might say that true love in his life it never did blossom and grow
In his prime years he had many women many of them the grandmothers of today
He says i did not meet my soulmate but then such is life anyway

For one on the doorstep of eighty one can say he looks fit and well
At the pub when he has a few drinks in he has some good stories to tell
Of his many travels in his younger years and the characters he did meet
He is one who is known beyond his hometown the character of his home street

At the pub on saturday evening he drinks till the barmaid calls time
Without ever showing any signs of aggression which cannot be said of some young men in their prime
When drunk he leads in the merry making he's a man of laughter and song
And he is one of many stories and he enjoys the pub sing along.

Monday, May 30, 2011

Time Does Not Wait For Anyone

One day nearer to the life's journey's end for the babe born yesterday
Since time does not wait for anyone as some do like to say
It does not wait for anyone it did not wait for me
In time the longest lived human life not long that's how 'twould seem to be
Like every other form of life us humans born to die
That is a fact and it is true that fact does never lie
The old fellow who lives next door has just turned eighty three
He says my best years are long gone time has caught up on me
It does not seem that long ago when i was young and fit and strong
When i could dance for hours on end and drink beer all night long
My son in his late fifties is showing his years in gray
Like me time did not wait for him he has known a better day
No matter what we achieve in life death does become our due
And that time does not wait for anyone so happens to be true.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

On Sooty Oystercatchers

Known to some as the blackbirds of the ocean shore
They live near where the big waves toss and roar
With long orange colored bills and orange colored feet
Crow sized birds of beaches where the land and ocean meet
Seldom sketched or written about strangers to fame
Sooty oystercatchers is their common name
With their long bills they take the flesh from shells washed in by the tide
And amongst the kelp on beaches where invertebrates and sea lice hide
With flocks of gulls one them does often see
Searching for tiny life forms washed in by the sea
In large flocks they are not known to abound
In small islands they lay their blotched eggs in a scrape on the ground
Dark birds with orange bills and orange feet and orange ring around either eye
They pipe softly as above the waves they do fly.

In Your Words

In your words pay every man and woman the respect they are due
You live life as a good person if to such you remain true
And not be harbouring grudges and those who sin against you do forgive
That's part of the living bible in to live and let live
'Tis easy very easy in words to put others down
But the one who belittles others not the most popular person in the town
Some people in their own small minds in their ways are so small
If you cannot say something nice about someone why say anything at all
Like every other life form we answer Nature's call
We were born as we will die helpless and before we walked we did crawl
The Reaper of lives does not differentiate between the lives of the pauper and one of wealth and fame
To him every life is equal and he treats them as the same
If you cannot say something nice of someone why say anything at all
Some people in their own small minds in their ways are so small.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Of Nature And Her Ways

Of Nature and her ways so little i know
And my wonder of her only does seem to grow
From her we do learn something new every day
We never stop learning as some like to say
Though her wonders are many her secrets not few
One might say to that tell us something that's new
I have loved her since i was a very young boy
And learning of her ways is always a joy
For survival all life forms on her do depend
Yet some humans do not treat her as they would a friend
For financial gain destroy land for wildlife cut old growth trees down
And less space for wild creatures in the ever growing industrial town
Her secrets from us she keeps hidden away
But of Nature we learn something new every day.

My Worth As A Rhymer

My worth as a rhymer i have reason to doubt
But were i a poet so much i could write about
I'd write of people love and life and in words Nature's praises i'd sing
And i'd not restrict my writings to any one thing
I'm an ordinary rhymer that and nothing more
That is something you may have heard me say before
For many years i have been a rhyming buff
And one might say i have written a whole heap of stuff
My best days in life to the forever gone
But as an addictive rhymer i keep penning on
I pay little heed to what to me they do say
Those who do advise me to give rhyming away
For i do enjoy writing of that why should i lie
And i hope to be penning till the day i do die.

Friday, May 27, 2011

The Woman With Chestnut Brown Eyes

Her shoulder length wavy hair dark as the wing of a raven one down to earth charming and wise
With a smile for to match her great beauty the woman with chestnut brown eyes
A tall young slim woman of striking beauty of her physical assets she does not seem aware
One can say nowadays her sort of person to say the least is very rare
A religious and spiritual person to her higher self she is true
She believes if she does lead a good life that good things will become her due
A nurse back home from a Third World Country where she helps the homeless and unwell
She knows of the suffering they do go through those who live in an Earthly Hell
One who does live a pure existence to helping the poorest she devotes her life
She is one who does not have a lover she may never be any man's wife
If everyone were only like her we may not have human poverty
We would not have homeless people and people dying of hunger and a much better World it would be
She is home from a Third World Country but only home for a brief stay
An unsung heroine and a great person her type rare in the World of today.

Love Of Place

Love of  Place stronger than Love of Country any day
At least that's how it is with me anyway
Love of Place has inspired many a story and song
We live in a Country to Place we belong
Where you once lived your's may be a forgotten face
But few loves as we know do transcend Love of Place
In our memory such a love a lifetime remain
And in fancy we often visit there again
He did not live on for to grow old and gray
But he fought and died for his Country the patriots say
And though few for Love of Place ever choose to die
'Tis a love that can transcend Love of Country and that's not a lie
The artists do sketch it the singers of it do sing
This Love of  Place is a remarkable thing.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Sometimes In My Dreams

Sometimes my dreams take me far inland from Hibernia's Shore
To old Clara Hill above high Claramore
Where the skylark a musical speck in the sky
Is carolling as up to the gray clouds he does fly
Where the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
The blackbird is piping in the morning gray
And male robin is proclaiming his territory
Singing on high branch of leafy alder tree
Far better to them than their Winter fodder of silage and hay
Cattle on nutritional grass gaining weight by the day
And of the young Spring heather enjoying their fill
Blackface horned ewes and their lambs are high on Clara Hill
Sometimess in my dreams i am far north of here
By the Boggeragh Hills in the Spring of the year.

She Will Wage War On Ageing

So full of self conceit and egotistical pride
Behind face lifts and hair dyes from ageing she does hide
But hair dyes and face lifts does not save one from time's decay
Her biological clock on her ticking away
For one in her early seventies she looks quite well
But that she is ageing is not hard to tell
Though not overweight and pretty to behold
Her bodily shape is of one getting old
A grandmother eight times and four times a wife
She is not one who does lead a boring life
The sexual drive in her is well and alive
She is on the look out for husband number five
Never too old to love in her case not a lie
She will wage war on ageing till the day she does die.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Why Some Good People

Why some good people suffer is beyond me to explain
Whilst some greedy and bad people from life stand to gain
I often do wonder why this ought to  be
It does seem like Karma gone all wrong to me
I believe that Karma to all people apply
But that does not stop me of questioning why
Some greedy and self centred people financially succeed
Whilst many good people are poor to me seems wrong indeed
Yet i do believe in Karma and i believe that one day
That for our sins against others to it we will pay
What goes around come around i believe to be true
Eventually we receive the Karma we are due
But that many good people live in dire poverty
Does not seem at all fair would you not agree?

Far Worse Off Than I Am

Life on me has never been tougher i am in need of every cent
Yet i feel lucky i am not homeless as i struggle for to pay my rent
You well may say it is my own fault that i have to live in this way
You pay the price for your life choices as some seem so happy to say
Yet millions far worse off than i am in the bigger World out there
The numbers of the homeless increasing and poverty can be found anywhere
Compared to many i am lucky i have a roof over my head
My fridge of food is never empty and i sleep in a comfortable bed
How the have nots do struggle to get by the wealthy could never realize
With mortgages and rents on the increase and the price of food on the rise
Compared to many i am very lucky though i struggle for to make ends meet
I well could be one of the homeless a pauper of Poverty Street
Life for me is an uphill battle my bills i do struggle to pay
But millions are far worse off than me and that does seem a sad thing to say.

Monday, May 23, 2011

He Jogs In The Park

The silver billed magpie is piping at the close of a wet Autumn day
Yet the weather not too cold and wintery quite typical enough for May
A week from the calendar Winter time does not wait as some do say
The middle aged man in his forties already showing his years in gray
Jogs in the park before his supper as he fights his battle against time
The father of two teenage daughters some fifteen years past his life's prime
One of the football club's finest footballers he now plays with the reserve team
The club's greatest premiership player in football he achieved his dream
His best football years are behind him though for to keep the kilos down
In the evening before work after supper he jogs in the park of the town
In all Seasons and in all sorts of weather in wind, rain or hail or sunshine
He jogs after work in the evening and after supper has one glass of wine
He jogs in the park in the twilight as the rain drizzles from the gray sky
The silver billed magpie is piping and the crows to their roosting trees fly.

He Said To Me

He said to me you pen your slipshod verses of a distant place far north and far away
And of old fields in view of bracken mountains where hawthorns wear their white blooms of the May
Your old rhymes like you do seem out of fashion you do seem stuck in a time warp somehow
You fail to realize the past has gone forever and what only matters is the here and now

You often write of the Cails and Finnow rivers that ever to the Blackwater does flow
Down from the high ground by the bracken mountains through low lying fields where rushes in clusters grow
Where in the Spring and in the early Summer nesting birds sing on tree, bush and hedgerow
And where hidden in the high grass and the rushes the shy and elusive male pheasant crow.

For many years you have been a rhymer one of the addictive and die hard rhyming buff
And in close to four decades of penning you have written a whole heap of rhyming stuff
Without reward or any recognition you add to your huge total every day
You must be one with a rhyming addiction at least that's how it does seem anyway

He said to me in the twenty first century the old fashioned rhyme and the ballad and song
One can truly say are now well out of Season back in the nineteen fifties they belong
I hope that my truth does not offend you when i say to you that you are not a poet
You are just one more old fashioned rhymer and not anyone that is worthy of note.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Give Me Something To Laugh At

Give me something to laugh at and i'll laugh along
Like a laughable joke or a humorous song
Life must be as boring for those without fun
As a cloudy rainy day that is bereft of sun
The longest lived human life in time is a brief span
So make the most of the now and live for as long as you can
The happy person most people wish to know
In numbers their friends every day seem to grow
That laughter is the best medicine with that i agree
Without it how boring the Human World to live in would be
I do pity those who are prisoners of woe
Gloom seems to be with them to where-ever to they do go
One worry leads to another as some like to say
Give me something to laugh at to brighten my day.

A Real Man To You

What defines a real man to you is not so to me
On this one it does seem we do not agree
A real man to you is muscular broad shouldered and rough
One who never shows fear and knows how to act tough
One who is quite partial to his pot of cheer
And drinks liquor far stronger than low alcohol volume beer
A man in a brawl who of himself can take care
You would have me believe that his type are quite rare
But your sort of real men in the World are not few
And on saying that i am not saying anything new
My sort of real man is honest, gentle and kind
And to any sort of violence is never inclined
It is true indeed what the wise one did say
That most of us do see things in a different way.

Leave It To Others

No need to tell me of how marvellous you are
Or of the importance of your job or the size of your car
Your successful existence does seem to suit you fine
Though what is your business is no business of mine
Without asking of you me you seem so willing to tell
Of how financially you are doing extremely well
Your teenage son and daughter the best private school does attend
And you do not have one poor person as a friend
Your wife drives the new B M W you bought her for her thirty fifth birthday
And you say bigger things for you not that far away
Though you told me without asking of your latest success
I do wish you more of the same nonetheless
But words of advice to you leave it to others your praises to sing
Though humility nowadays does seem a rare thing.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

A Long Way From Here

A long way from here to the fields near Millstreet
Where the Cails from Kippagh and the Finnow does meet
Where the hawthorns now wear their white blooms of the May
And the nesting birds whistle and sing every day
The song of the blackbird melodious and clear
In Duhallow a beautiful time of the year
The dark brown river bird dipper with breast white as snow
Does sing in the rapids where Finnow does flow
On towards the Blackwater by ditch and hedgerow
And through old rushy fields where the male pheasant crow,
The swallows are flying in the clouds blue and gray
Above the old fields in their flowers of the May.

Your Great Grand-dad

I know your great grand-dad was a brave man as a hero he lived and he died
In battle under the flag of the Nation his fame it is known far and wide
But i beg to differ when you tell me that in cause of peace he traveled far
And under gunfire died in battle fighting in another man's war
Most young men go to war for adventure and a sense of excitement with peace the last thing they have in mind
In a war zone in the heat of battle men of peace you will not find
Men of peace do not shoot at others for to harm maim and kill
Your great grand- dad went to war to kill others and went there of his own will
He may have died as a war hero as heroes die under fire
But it doesn't mean your hero is one that i should admire
The majority of people would agree with what you say
But i am one who begs to differ i don't see things in your way
Your great grand-dad was a brave man of him that cannot be denied
And that he died in a gun battle to you is a sense of pride.

You Do Not Agree With Me

You do not agree with me when i do say
That to karma for my sins i will have to pay
I believe that the Universal Karma to everybody does apply
And on what i believe in why should i deny
The karma we warrant does become our due
We reap what we sow i believe to be true
Your thoughts on the matter are different to mine
But you have your own truths and that suits me fine
You do look at most things quite different to me
But each to their own ways would you not agree?
And though your way of thinking me does not impress
Your opinions you do have the right to express
Most of us look at life one might say differently
If we all thought in the same way how boring we would be.

Friday, May 20, 2011

In Looneys Home

In Den and Peg Looney's cottage in Claraghatlea years before i grew into a man
And that is going back more than fifty years in time a lengthy span
On Winter nights around the fire grate there by local old timers stories told
Of Duhallow of their youthful years back in the days of old

Of the road bowling achievements of Denny Penny and Johnny Jack two legendary men
And Sean Moylan and his rebels heroes of Tooreengarriffe Glen
And of Derrygallon's Pat O Callaghan poems and stories by them told
In the late twenties and the early thirties he won two Olympic Gold

The memories often come to me of when i was quite young
In Looneys home stories were told and old songs and ballads sung
By gray haired men in advancing years many Seasons beyond their prime
Who were becoming victims of the relentless ticking of time

Since the mid fifties one can say many days and nights have come and gone
And i am now as they were then and time keeps ticking on
Time it did not wait for them like it does not wait for me
And all i have are the memories of the what used to be.

You May Have

You may have been found to be wanting when put to the test
But why feel any shame since you did try your best
The winners take all as some do like to say
But for one to win others must lose life is this way
It takes one of courage for to smile in defeat
And say by one better than me i have been beat
There has to be losers for one for to win
And to lose with grace after trying hard is never a sin
To be a bad loser friends you will not gain
But the one in defeat whose composure he or she does retain
Is one who has honour and humility
Such a person is special would you not agree
You smile though to win you did fail to succeed
And that in itself does take courage indeed.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Bob Sullivan

As human years go he did have a good span
Bob Sullivan always the true gentleman
Though from Gortavehy in the flesh he is gone
Good memories of him are destined to live on
In the minds of family and friends and those of him who knew
The Bob Sullivans of this World sad to say are too few
To help others in life he went out of his way
His remains with the dead of Millstreet Parish lay
A good father to his children and devoted to Kathleen his good wife
Bob Sullivan a man who did lead a good life
He worked hard and he never did harm anyone
His mum and dad in him did raise a good son
Of years he must have been into his fourth score
And may he now rest in peace forever more.

Leave It To Nature

Eventually death it does become our due
But where there is life there is hope happens for to be true
Your best days in life to the forever gone
But the lust for life in you wills you to live on
Financially bankrupt and luck not on your side
And you even have weakened to thoughts of suicide
But a tiny voice within urges you to live on
Why dwell on the past since the past it has gone
In saturday's lotto a huge jackpot to win
Buy yourself a ticket your luck may be in
Forget about suicide you'll be forever dead
The now is what matter and for you better days may be ahead
'Tis a fact we are born as mortals and facts never lie
But leave it to Nature to decide how you'll die.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Young Lenny

I will be a great footballer young Lenny does say
The best on ground at the M C G on Grand Final Day
For the Collingwood Magpies in the black and white
Others will sing my praises and of me will write
Young Lenny is seven years going on eight
He daydreams that he will be a football great
He does have ambition in life to pursue
Yet too young to realize daydreams seldom come true
In his visualizations the fans chant his name
The greatest footballer of Australia's National Game
The Collingwood barrackers his praises do sing
The imaginings of a child is a marvellous thing
The best on ground in Australian Rules biggest game of the year
The cheering of the fans in his mind he can hear.

You Talk Of This Paradise

You talk of this paradise beyond the moon and the stars
And the Planets of Jupiter, Venus and Mars
Where your soul will go to when your body has died
There with god and his angels in peace you'll abide
You've got something great to look forward to is all i can say
I wish i could see death in your sort of a way
If i told you in an afterlife in i did believe
Then myself amongst others i would only deceive
Yet none of the billions of deceased has yet come back to tell
Of the existence of an afterlife of a heaven or a hell
I can only believe in facts and facts never lie
That we are born as mortals to eventually die
But you look at life and death very different to me
If we all thought in the same way how boring we would be.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Lionel Rose

Lionel Rose Australia's indigenous boxing great
He won the World Bantam-weight title from Fighting Harada in sixty eight
Far from his Hometown of Drouin in Victoria in Japan
The legend lives of this amazing man

On this the year of 2011 the sixteenth of May
The great Lionel Rose was farewelled today
By friends and family and dignitaries of the Nation and his home State
The end of a life of an amazing human being to celebrate

One never found to be wanting when put to the test
The great Lionel Rose fought all of the best
Bantam-weight boxers in the World in his glorious prime
Till he too did lose out to time

In his State funeral today for Lionel Rose the final bell
He received a hero's last farewell
The life from him may well be gone
But the legend of the man lives on.


Jandamara an indigenous warrior and freedom fighter of Australia's North West
The might of the Crown's cruel law enforcers he put to the test
He became a hero of his people the aboriginal dispossessed
In their beloved Country the poor and oppressed
A heroic figure even to Australia's indigenous people of today
Any respect to his people's oppressors he did not wish to pay
Though as a teenagers he was on their side
Due to their mistreatment of his people his trust in them they destroyed
Jandamara fought his own war against the law enforcers of the Crown
Till eventually one of his own kind did track him down
And in a fierce gun battle Jandamara died
By indigenous Australians his death it was mourned far and wide
Indigenous Australians have their own war hero Jandamara by name
His legend still living as testament to his fame.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

It Seems Sad To Say

Due to climate change and destruction of their natural habitat by humans it seems sad to say
That extinction for many species of wildlife does not seem far away
Every day more land is mapped for development and more trees are cut down
And wildlife losing out to every developing town
Less animals in their wild state to be seen and less songbirds to sing
Does rob us of some of the enjoyment of Spring
That many species of wildlife are facing extinction in part due to human greed
On us does reflect rather poorly indeed
A World where many species of animals and birds are becoming rare
The very thought of it even does seem hard to bear
No cry of the boobook owl in the calm moonlight
And fewer creatures of the day and fewer creatures of the night
And sad to think that in the World we live in from north to southern shore
That more species are facing extinction than ever before.

The Fitzy Chicks Of Brosna

Little Brosna in County Kerry hardly the ideal launching pad to entertainment fame
But the beautiful young Fitzy Chicks from there for themselves are making a name
As a duo of fine singers and musicians of them more we will hear
They play their musical instruments beautifully and they sing melodiously and clear

Their music and singing voices intertwined in harmony
The Fitzy Chicks of Brosna rise above the ordinary
Quite talented they compliment each other in their originality
In entertainment  they do have a great future that is how 'twould seem to me

That truly talented people can hail from anywhere is a fact that cannot be denied
The Fitzy Chicks of Brosna are class personified
With their charm and looks and talents a great impression they do make
To be renowned entertainers they do have what it does take

For the Fitzy Chicks of Brosna there is many an encore
At their last song of the evening their fans plead of them for more
They are talented entertainers and of them 'twould be fair to say
That they will be very famous in the not too distant day.

In Millstreet's High Country

A musical speck in the gray morning sky
The skylark is carolling as upwards he does fly
Above Bill Pad's mountain known as Millstreet Country Park today
In a beautiful place in old Mushera in May
The wood pigeoons build their stick nests high on the pine trees
Their familiar cooings carrying in the freshening breeze
In Mushera it is such a nice time of year
The song of the robin so pleasant to hear
With his nesting borders for to defend
In Spring any male of his kind not a friend
In the leafy woodlets of old Tooreenbawn
The blackbird is singing to greet the grey dawn
Where the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
In Millstreet's high country from here far away.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

David Hume

Behind his truth he was not one to hide
As an atheist he lived and as an atheist he died
The eighteenth century Scottish philosopher David Hume
In his mind the existence of a god he never did assume
To his end to his beliefs he remained true
For challenging the thinking of the majority great credit he is due
On miracles as such he never did believe
His thinking on that is the imagination is known to deceive
To most human beings he looked at human life in quite a different way
Yet as a philosopher his thought on paper and online read today
As one of the pioneers of the minority atheist thinking kind
He was a man who had a brilliant mind
In philosophy his became a World known name
And his writings live to his enduring fame.

Happy Fred

The Fred's of this World to say the least rare
Despite the hard life he does seem free of care
Laughter to him comes easy he often does say
One does need to laugh a few times every day
With a wife and two primary school going daughters and a home mortgage to pay
He works as a pipe layer monday to friday
A few beers after work with his mates he goes home to his children and wife
A good man who works hard and knows how to enjoy life
A nicer man than he is would be hard to meet
A carefree fellow one untainted by conceit
In his thirty fourth year just beyond his physical prime
One who lives in the now makes the most of his time
A kind and carefree man about him he has a nice way
His nickname Happy Fred he works hard for his pay.

I Live Far South

I live far south of my first home in Duhallow
In Claraghatlea just west of Millstreet Town
Of personal successes i do not have any stories
I am one without any claim to renown

I've not been there for close to twenty five years
In time one might say quite a lengthy span
The babes born then one can say in their prime days
Imbued with the energy that does come with youthful elan

Perhaps i'd be a stranger to many now in my first homeplace
Though in fancy i can hear the babble of the rill
Flowing down through Claraghatlea to the Cails River
From high old Claramore by Clara Hill

'Tis true enough the now is all that matters
Though we do cling to our good memories of the past
And the days, weeks, months and seasons pass so quickly
And time as ever does keep on ticking fast.

Friday, May 13, 2011

A Good Person

Her shoulder length hair silver gray she is ageing with grace
And despite the age wrinkles she has a beautiful face
She never had children to any man never was a wife
She worked as a State Registered Nurse in her working life
In her seventy second years she walks at least four kilometres with her black labrador every day
Through the suburban streets and home via the park by the bay
Of her working life she has happy and sad stories for to tell
Of her services to humanity to the frail and unwell
On working on behalf of the poor and unwell in a selfless way
Her reward for such to say the least was not good pay
Kindhearted and charming and untainted by conceit
A nicer person than she is one could not wish to meet
She takes her dog for a long walk every day
Through the streets of the suburbs and home through the park by the bay.

Shelton Lea

Death of his life of mental pain did set him free
The Melbourne street poet Shelton Lea
He did not live to be frail and old and gray
He lived his poems of him 'twould be fair to say
He lived life rough as rough as rough can be
And he mixed with millionaires and those in poverty
A true poet with a poet's insight
And one who could dance and drink and sing all night
One who was a credit to the Wordsmith Trade
Poets like he was are born and cannot be made
One of a painless death who was denied
In his late fifties of painful lung cancer he slowly died
Six years ago in the year of two thousand and five
Shelton breathed his last though his poems are very much alive.

It Is Said In Tower Hill

It is said in Tower Hill strange things happen at midnight
The ghosts of the black tribes dance in the moonlight
In the home of echidna, koala, emu, wallaby and roo
In the dead of the night one can hear the didgeridoo
Echo in the stillness under the night sky
When the hunting boobook utters it's mopoke cry
Where Tower Hill's first people hunted and had their corroborees
In the prime of the Summer in the cool evening breeze
Their ghosts in the valley of Tower Hill remain
And at midnight they dance in the wind and the rain
When the scream of the barn owl familiar and shrill
Echoes in the starlit sky above old Tower Hill
Where 'tis said the didgeridoo can be heard in the dim moonlight
In the Budj Bim's old home in the dead of the night.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

What In Life You Sow

What goes around comes around life is this way
For your sins against others to Karma you must pay
That is if a conviction due to lack of evidence the law does fail
For to sentence you to serve your deserved term in jail
Yes if the law does not catch up with you Karma will one day
What in life you sow you will reap as some do like to say
That is how it is and it always will be
We must reap what we sow with that would you agree?
It would seem that the Universal Karma has it's own memory of  deeds good or bad to recall
And the Universal Karma does apply to us all
To the wealthy and privileged and the celebrity
And to those who are living in dire poverty
What goes around comes around does seem so true
And the Karma you will receive will be your due.

In The Place

In the place i was born in and raised in i did not choose to stay
From there the lure of the wander did lure me away
Back there now the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
And in the leafy groves nesting birds sing for to greet the new day

Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways i still do enjoy
Her wonders are many and her secrets not few
Though of her every day we do learn something new

In places where the Cails and the Finnow do flow
Through old fields and by many a ditch and hedgerow
The finches and thrushes are singing on bushes and trees
In weather pleasant though showery of close to twenty degrees

The cattle out from their wintering sheds of eating silage and hay
On nutriotional grass in the old fields gaining weight by the day
The countryside full of wildflowers and on the ditch of the bohreen
Primroses and snowdrops and bluebells to be seen

Far from the place i was raised in i may breathe my last
And all i have left are memories of the past
But in my flights of fancy i hear the soft lowing of a cow
On a calm twilight in Spring in a field by the Finnow.

They Believe Their Own Lies

On the statements most politicians do make i can only feel doubt
I can only ask myself what are they on about
The truth from the voters they are good to disguise
They do literally pull the wool over our eyes
One lie with them to more of the same does give rise
They have me convinced they believe their own lies
Quite callous in their words to their political opponents and sadly lacking in ruth
And they simply do not know how to tell the truth
'Tis said in life we warrant what is only our due
And that our parliamentarians are our refelective mirrors may well be true
They surely do suffer of spiritual poverty
To lie to most politicians is easy as easy as can be
They lie to cling to power their statements one cannot believe
Most politicians do surely know how to deceive.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

The Former Pride Of Kanturk

Does she use hair dyes as many women do for to cover her gray
The former Pride of Kanturk where does she live today
Or does she rest in peace forever more
Far distant of Duhallow and Hibernia's shore?

The Pride of the Town where river Allow flow
In the late fifties  her hair was as dark as the wing of a crow
In her early twenties approaching her prime
Eventually we all become victims of time

When the hawthorns were in their white blooms of the May
She left Kanturk Town on a sunny Spring day
She traveled by ship destined for Hudson Bay
In greater New York in the U S of A.

Of the former Pride of Kanturk the memories with me remain
In my visualizing i see her again
A beautiful young woman free of conceit and guile
With an abundance of charm and a wonderful smile

Though on how long we live we do not have a say
If she is living she is in her early seventies today
Is she now a grandmother or single and childless did she stay?
Years ago she left Kanturk Town for the U S of A.

And What Is This Feeling

And what is this feeling referred to as pride
A feeling where arrogance sometimes does hide
As feelings they are not that different it does seem to me
Though with such thinking i'm sure many would disagree
A saying about pride i do readily recall
Is that it does always come before a fall
You make out of that saying whatever you may
Since we all look at things in our own sort of way
Pride and arrogance are siblings and to me it does seem
That pride in the ego is dented by loss of esteem
To me anyway that's how it does appear
Since often the truth spoken of us we do not wish to hear
Perhaps here i'm not saying anything that is new
I am only expressing on pride my own point of view.

Of Nature

Of the ways of animals and birds my wonder only does grow
Yet so little about them i can claim to know
Though i see and i hear them in their wild state every day
Their secrets from me they keep hidden away
Her wonders are many her secrets not few
But of Nature's creatures every day we learn something new
The struggle for survival in Nature takes place night and day
The predators always out hunting for prey
Survival of the fittest in Nature it is not a lie
For the strong to live the weak have to die
The predators of land and water and sky
Prey on smaller creatures that swim, crawl, run or fly
We never stop learning as some like to say
And of Nature we learn something new every day.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Age Does Not Bring Wisdom

Age does not bring wisdom i have come to realize
Everyone does grow older but few do grow wise
No fool like an old fool as some like to say
Seniority does not guarantee wisdom it does seem this way
It has not been yesterday since i've become aware
That the wise of the World have always been rare
It does seem that wisdom is a gift to the mind
In words and in deeds the wise are always kind
Feel lucky if you have one wise person as a friend
Your feelings he or she will never offend
The wise one the quietest in the noisy crowd
He or she you will never hear talking loud
And since wisdom on bushes and trees does not grow
Feel lucky if one wise person you do know.

For My Own Enjoyment

I do not write for financial gain or for literary renown
The rhymes come to me on paper i pen them down
And then email them to be published on a literary site
The simple sort of rhymes i pen anybody could write
In literary circles not one to the fore
I write for enjoyment and little else more
I never refer to myself as a poet
Nor am i one worthy of literary note
And though my worth as a rhymer i have reason to doubt
No shortage of things for one to write about
Such as things every day we do hear of and see
To write rhymes is easy as easy as can be
A rhymer for years i write rhymes every day
For my own enjoyment and not for fame or pay.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

To Be A Man From Duhallow

Any success in life i do not have to my name
To be a man from Duhallow my one claim to fame
Duhallow where the mighty Blackwater flow
Through North Cork towards the Atlantic in Youghal by ditch and hedgerow
Duhallow that does have a history that's old
Birth-place of Pat O Callaghan two times winner of Olympic hammer throwing gold
As well as renowned athletes, greyhound trainers, rally drivers and greats of gaelic football
A Barony with a proud history compared to most overall
Duhallow of the noble freedom fighting men
Like the legendary heroes of Tooreengarriffe Glen
Who humbled the murderous Tans in a shoot-out
And of their courage they left no one in doubt
To be a man from Duhallow is enough fame for me
Duhallow that has such a proud history.

In So Many Different Ways

In so many different ways so many have died
In accidents, wars and some do commit suicide
Some of terminal illness or of disease or heart attack
Though the dead in the flesh to life never come back
In drought and war ravaged Countries some of malnutrition do die
Which to the theory of human equality does give the lie
The Reaper of lives takes the old and the young
The hero the coward and the humble unsung
The renowned and notorious and the billionaire
Along with the pauper a common fate share
The Reaper does not respect money or fame
He treats everyone as equal and the same
For all of us there is a last night and day
Though few seem to die in a similar way.


Her children and grandchildren send her cards on Mother's Day
Though from her in miles they do live far away
By cancer her soulmate of her was denied
In April last year her beloved husband Joe died
In her sixty eight year she lives on her own
One might say of Sue happier days she has known
For forty three years they lived happily as man and wife
She grieves for the only true love of her life
To her until death he remained ever true
And life without Joe is so lonely for Sue
In his sixty seventh year cancer cut short his life span
A good husband to her and a good father to their two daughters Joe was a good man
Time eventually does become everyone's foe
And Sue must grow old without her husband Joe.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

On Superb Lyrebirds

An amazing bird 'twould seem fair of him to say
I have seen the male superb lyrebird on his mound in his courtship display
With his lyre shaped tail above his back a thing of beauty to see
For as long as i live the memory will be with me
A leading mimic of the bird World his own music he create
The musical sounds in his own tunes of his neighbour birds he does imitate
The song of the grey shrike thrush, the magpie and the pied currawong
Just some of the birds he imitates in his song
A bird of the high eucalypt woodlands in his range his kind are rare
Superb lyrebirds are amazing,  mimics beyond compare
In south eastern Australia  in New South Wales, Queensland and Victoria in a few woodlands they reside
That they are rare and quite remarkable of them cannot be denied
Pheasant sized birds that one does not see often at least not every day
In the undergrowth of the high woodland from eyes hidden away.

On The British Royal Wedding

For any poor person what's to celebrate
Of the British Royal wedding of William and Kate
Just royal propaganda that and nothing more
Such stuff  i've heard of and seen far too often before.

In a Human World where millions do live in extreme poverty
This all seems a bit of a beat up to me
Though of William and Kate i have no ill to say
Since there is nothing to dislike about them in any way.

Royalists Worldwide the praises of this wedding does sing
As if royalty is humanity's most wonderful thing
On celebrating privilege by birth they are celebrating human inequality
Though with what i write of here many may not agree

I am not into over the top pomp and ceremony
So i did not watch the Royal Wedding in England on t v
To me a poor reflection on humanity sad am i to say
In a World where thousands of people are dying of hunger every day.

An Outsider By Choice

He does not have a religion he does not go to the pub
And he is not a member of any social club
In the local community meetings his is a missing voice
He is what you would call an outsider by choice
Yet he is a kind fellow free of conceit
And a more helpful person one could not wish to meet
To help those in need of helping he goes out of his way
And he performs at least one good deed every day
Not even well known on his side of the town
Yet he is one who would never see you down
A kind hearted fellow to his higher self true
Good Karma in life for his good deeds will become his due
On his side of the town one not even well known
But as a person he is in a class of his own.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Far North Of This Country

Perhaps i will never see Clara again
Or hear the birds sing in the wind and the rain
Or see the old fields in their wildflowers of May
Far north of this Country in sky miles far away
But i'm back in Claraghatlea when i visualize
And i watch the skylark from the rushes rise
A musical speck in the gray morning sky
He carols so sweetly as upwards he does fly
The now is all that does matter as some rightfully say
But fond memories of what was with us tend to stay
'Tis a beautiful time of year in Duhallow in Spring
In the leafy groves the nesting birds do sing
And the dark winged barn swallows with throat feathers of brown
Are chasing flying insects above the fields near Millstreet Town.

'Tis A Fact

'Tis a fact and facts don't lie
That we are mortals born to die
No different to the dog or cat
Or the sheep, goat, cow or rat
Like the brown leaves of the Fall
The life's journey does end for us all
The Earth that sustains us our remains receive
Though Nature for her dead does never grieve
Nature's dreaded Reaper none does spare
He claims the life of the billionaire
The monarch and president who know of wealth and fame
As the pauper's life to him the same
And since we are mere mortals why otherwise pretend
The life's journey for us all does end.

How Utterly Boring

Us humans would live in perfect harmony
If we all thought in the same way and on all things did agree
I would like everyone and everyone would like me
But how utterly boring as people we would be
If we all enjoyed sports and we all loved football
And no difference to distinguish us as individuals at all
Nothing to argue about or discuss and peace would reign supreme
A perfect World to live in such a World may seem
But without difference which distinguish us as individuals we would seem quite ordinary indeed
As the stimulation of difference in our lives we do need
If we all thought in the same way we may live in peace
And we may not have reason for anger release
And i would like everyone and everyone would like me
But 'tis our individual ways makes us seem interesting would you not agree?

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Where The Dark Hopkins Flow

The silver bill magpie pipes on a gum tree
A bird quite familiar to many and me
And the magpie lark sings his distinctive pee wee
Near where the dark Hopkins waters crawl down to the sea
Milleniums before the first people to Australia came
When the now Hopkins River did not have a name
The old river known to so many today
Flowed to the sea at Warrnambool from brown hills far away
The old river that has inspired story and song
To geographic antiquity the Hopkins belong
Through the land of the long bill corella and the pale eyed crow
It widens and deepens and loses it's babble as near to the ocean it does flow
Where the coot and the moorhen and rare musk duck reside
It silently flows to the Pacific tide.

Not For Any Self Glory

Not for any self glory on such they do not believe
Good people they only do give to receive
The good Karma that one day does become their due
To the higher self the good always are true
To those who do give in hope of financial gain
The doubt on the genuineness in their generosity remain
Such people do not seem good people to me
Though with my thinking on that many may disagree
Money pre paid for return of huge favour is prevalent in the World of today
Though some they do look upon that as okay
Amongst the so called higher echelons of society such practice abound
And amongst the wealthy minority many crooks to be found
And whilst they grow more wealthy more are in poverty
Suppose that's how it is and it always will be.

The Night Is Calm And Moonless

The night is calm and moonless few stars in the dark sky
And out there in the parkland i hear the boobook cry
Mopoke mopoke the brown owl does call out in the night
The shy nocturnal hunter who hides from the daylight
His voice is unmistakeable from nightfall to daybreak
He calls out intermittently on the trees by the town lake
Is he proclaiming territory or trying to woo a mate?
The mopoke call of the boobook owl is not hard to imitate
Not popular with other birds owls and diurnal birds of prey
I have seen them to mob his kind as they tried to sleep by day
For the boobook owls to prey on smaller birds is their natural way
In Nature too each to their own as some do like to say
The sky is dark the moon not out and few stars for to sight
And mopoke mopoke re-echo in the stillness of the night.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

I Write More Every Day

I have written so many rhymes far too many some do say
And to rhyming i'm addicted i write more every day
But i will go on rhyming until the day i die
If  i did tell you otherwise then that would be a lie
The kind of stuff that i write anybody could write
So easy to remember and easy to recite
I have been penning verses since seventy three
To rhyme it is so easy it comes easy to me
My worth as a rhymer i have never ceased to doubt
But never short of subject matter for me to write about
For thirty seven of my sixty four years i have been a rhyming buff
The rhymes to me keep coming i have written reams of stuff
I've been writing rhymes for thirty seven years a lengthy span of time
And despite what some do tell me i will keep on penning rhyme.

I Am One Not Seen As

I am one not seen as successful in the Human World of today
Though to me that does not matter one bit anyway
My financial income has always been small
But the judgements of others doesn't phase me at all
Why should i care what the judgemental of me think or say
Since my bills for me these people never do pay
Far too many judgemental people i know and have known
I feel that they do not have lives of their own
I live in my own way and i do my own thing
And i do not need others my praises to sing
I wish to live as a better person that and nothing more
That is something you may have heard me say before
These people who promote social rank know how to marginalize
But the higher spiritual ground does belong to the wise.

On The Death Of Osama Bin Laden

Osama Bin Laden did seal his own fate
But in his assasination what is to celebrate
Since terrorism as we know it in the World will live on
And as a terrorist mastermind his time had gone

Those who celebrate on the streets that Osama is dead
Might serve their Country far better instead
Of their public show of triumphalism if their silence they did keep
It cannot be applied to their kind that quiet waters run deep

Sad to think that the name of Osama Bin Laden from history will not fade
'Tis from death under gunfire that martyrs are made
The celebrating mobs of the streets seem to fail to realize
That their public show of triumphalism to more acts of terrorism may well to give rise

It is not good against evil it is us against they
That is shaping the Human World that we live in today
In wars and retaliatory acts of terrorism far too many have died
And the excuse used for extreme violence is we have God on our side

In his life to humanity Osama Bin Laden was never a friend
But at his death war and terrorism in the World will not come to an end
Two wrongs never make a right as the wise one did say
With those words i agree since i think in this way.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Where I Grew To Love Nature

The old fields are in their wildflowers of the May
And the dipper does sing in the Finnow today
And skylark a musical speck in the sky
Is carolling as up to the grey clouds he fly
The moorhen on her young keeps a watchful eye
She calls to them if she sense danger nearby
With her they hide in the reeds till danger has passed the way
And for to come out of hiding she gives them the okay
The old fields i knew perhaps would look the same
I recall many of them by their given name
Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways i still do enjoy
And today the curlew is piping above the old bog
Where i often hunted with Pudsy the dog.

If You Live By Violence

If you live by violence more than likely by violence you'll die
Since violence creates violence and that's not a lie
A life for a life some see life in this way
But two wrongs never make a right as the wise are known to say
For love of God, Flag or Country there is some price for to pay
And for these people are dying in conflicts every day
Divided by religion and culture and divided by land
That respect for others is born out of empathy few seem to understand
Old enmities survive through Seasons long gone
And revenge creates more revenge and old hatreds live on
In life we make friends and in life we make foes
'Tis part of being human one would have to suppose
If you live by violence more than likely by violence you will die
Since violence creates more violence and that is not a lie.

In Killarney

Rain clouds like dark woolly fleeces are in the southern sky
Where the pied oystercatchers are piping as they fly
Above the beach at Killarney on sunday the first of May
In the greyness before sunset in the fading light of day
Autumn in south western Victoria is a pleasant time of year
The weather not too chilly though the Winter days are near
The humidity of Summer died in the Autumn rain
From a personal point of view 'tis nice to have the cooler weather back with us again
A calm Autumn evening by the ocean the weather nice and cool
In Killarney between Port Fairy and the City of Warrnambool
On the beach a woman walking her golden labrador the only person apart from me
'Tis usually a quiet old place Killarney by the Pacific Sea
The silver gulls are mewing and the pied oystercatchers call
On Mayday in south west Victoria in Killarney in the Fall.

Monday, May 2, 2011

John Kelleher

It has been some fifty years ago in time a lengthy span
Since John Kelleher played gaelic football for Millstreet when he was a young man
One of the famed footballing 'Brokers' they were known far and wide
Far beyond the Town of Millstreet and Duhallow's countryside
A brother of the renowned Denis Toots Kelleher 'Big Tom ' was John's nickname
Though i have never come to know of how his alias to him came
In his prime a handsome fellow athletic and tall
And for his Club Millstreet a stalwart defender in gaelic football
He owned and drove his own cattle transporting truck one of the self employed
And with his wife and family in Minor Row a long life he enjoyed
One well liked and respected with him he had a nice way
His kind a dying breed in the World of today
With himself and others one who lived in peace
And hope his parting from life was a painless release.

I Am From The Place

I am from the place of the silver back crow
Where the Cails and Finnow to the Blackwater flow
Thousands of sky miles north of where i live today
In anyone's language that is a long way
Back there now 'tis Spring beneath clouds blue and gray
The wildflowers in bloom in the green fields of May
In fancy the song of the tiny brown wren i do hear
For one of his size quite melodious and clear
A familiar voice of the northern Spring
The dark brown white breasted dipper in the river does sing
And cattle out of wintering sheds on months of eating silage and hay
On nutritional Spring grass gaining weight by the day
And skylark a musical speck in the sky
Is carolling sweetly as upwards he does fly.

It Is All Thanks To Nature

It is all thanks to Nature for the sexual drive
Without it life on Earth could not hope to survive
The inborn ego desires our genes to live on
In the life we create when the life from us has gone
The praises of courage in death many do like to sing
But the great gift of life is a marvellous thing
Us humans are no different to the cow or the sheep
With the the Reaper of lives our appointment we must keep
The joy in the pleasure when we do copulate
Herein is the secret of life to create
The love born in the union of man and wife
Does create their own image in their gift to life
And it's all thanks to Nature for the sexual drive
Without it her life forms could not hope to survive.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

The Higher Self

The higher self is in us all by sages we are told
Yet some do never find such though time has left them old
For those who find the higher self to say the least are few
You well may even say to that go tell us what is new
It is said that we receive from life what happens to be our due
And we cannot be true to others if to self we are not true
That is a simple fact of life and fact does never lie
Without getting to know my higher self i very well may die
Those in touch with the higher self how lucky they must be
With others one can't live in peace without self harmony
The higher self is in us all 'tis hidden in the mind
But sad am i to have to say that it i may never find
That the higher self is in us all no need to try to convince me
With such thinking i am one who does happen to agree.

The True Worth Of Any Human Being

The true worth of any human being should not be defined by race
In a multicultural society for racism there's no place
Racism and ethnicity are siblings it does seem
Those racist to those different are low in self esteem
Yes racism is one thing that we would be better off without
Though a Human World that will be totally free of it is something i do doubt
Racism does come in three colours in black as well as white and brown
And there are racists in every race and they live in every town
The true worth of a human being cannot be defined by race or creed
A good person will never turn his or her back on one of help in need
A good person is not racist or judgemental and to the higher self is true
They sow the seeds of good Karma and good Karma will be their due
The racists and judgemental in their small ways are small
Since they cannot embrace the beauty in a fair go for all.

So Lucky Indeed

So lucky indeed the one without a foe
Our past follows us to wherever we go
Our sins of the past does follow us around
By the judgemental guilt is exploited when it they have found
Our sins of the past on the scale of sins may be small
But to the judgemental and negative that does not seem to matter at all
For your smallest sin they make sure you do pay
The taint of your sins of the past thanks to them with you stay
What should be our business it does seem is seldom our own
Your sins of the past by some will be made known
By those who find pleasure on putting you down
They make sure your past will follow you to the next town
That you move to for to live in as in life you move on
Your past may be behind you but due to them from you 'tis not gone.