Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Life Has Been Good To Me

Any of my past bad experiences are not worthy to tell
Since in war zones and drought stricken regions millions live in Earthly Hell
In the refugee camps of the big World out there
The dispossessed, hungry and homeless not made to feel welcome elsewhere
And sad to say from their bad experiences a minority stand to gain
Compared to them i have no cause to complain
I have never been homeless or Stateless or a refugee
You might say indeed life has been good to me
The tough days in my life i myself helped to create
But of any real hard times i cannot relate
Though my worth as a person i often do doubt
I really have nothing to complain about
When i think of the homeless and Stateless and those in dire poverty
I do feel that life has been quite kind to me.

Only The Memories

Have you ever thought of how time ticked on so fast
As in your mind you re-lived the memories of Seasons long past
Of the place of your younger years from where you now live far away
And of the boys and girls  you knew there where might they be today

Like you some of them went to see some of the big World out there
And from their first homeplace are ageing elsewhere
And some in or near the old hometown did stay
Life's journey different for all as some are known to say

As a teenager the girls you fancied in Seasons long gone
Fading memories of them in your mind living on
If you met them today them you may not even know
On the physical appearance the decades do show

Has nostalgia ever brought you quite cloes to tears
As you thought of the past in the now long gone years
And only the memories with you do remain
Of faces and places you will not see again.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

On Hearing Long Bill Corellas

To their roosting trees in the townpark they call out as they fly
A large flock of long bill corellas in the darkening evening sky
At least one hundred of them for to roost they congregate
A group of them together a lot of sound create
That they are not very plentiful to say the least seems strange
As they are birds not known to have an extensive range
Unlike the short bill corellas, galahs and sulphur crested cockatoos who do range far and wide
The long bill corellas restricted by their choice of countryside
Like all cockatoos they brood their eggs in an old tree cavity
And out of breeding season in large flocks one them often does see
They are not quite so plentiful as they do seem to be
As they only live in a small part of Australia's huge Country
I hear them in the twilight sky in the fading evening light
As they fly to the town park trees for to rest for the night.

In His Prime Years Jimmy Twohig

Slightly built and athletic to look at and so quick on his feet
In his prime years Jimmy Twohig he was a great athlete
In Irish Athletics his once was a well known face
In the colours of Balydaly he often raced into first place

An All Ireland eight hundred metres track champion when he was at his best
The toast of Annagloor then the pride of Millstreet West
But the one who did run fast then now showing his years in gray
Time leaves it's mark on everyone as some do like to say

A quietly spoken fellow unaffected by conceit
A humbler man than Jimmy one could not wish to meet
Though to himself and Annagloor and Ballydaly great honour he did bring
He did leave it to others his praises for to sing

All we have are the memories of Seasons of the past
In Ballydaly's glory days when Jimmy Twohig did run fast
One famed far from Duhallow, Annagloor and Millstreet Town
As Irish eight hundred metres champion he raced into renown.

Monday, February 27, 2012

What It Has Done To Me

It has been awhile since i was a young man
And i know that i have lived the most of my life span
I am only five years short of three score and ten
And physically on the decline like all ageing men

Going back a few years with three decades in time
And that is awhile since i was in my prime
And though at my best not what you'd call an athlete
The years have left me moving slow on my feet

It is true about time it takes care of us all
And for each one of us there is a final Fall
Like all other life forms the facts do not lie
We are born to live for awhile and to die

In sports i could never claim to be amongst the best
For i was always found to be wanting when put to the test
But nowadays I'm far slower than i once used to be
Time will do to you what it has done to me.


On how we treat others we do have a choice
Like we have control over our tone of voice
For rude and insulting behaviour to pay there's a price
And most do seem drawn to people who are nice
Unless you are a masochist why otherwise pretend
The one who insult you cannot be your friend
You do not need as a pal one who to you is rude
Such type from your inner sanctum you should exclude
You cannot expect any respect if such you do not pay
For it is a thing that does not go one way
Like in all things of life respect you must give to receive
On such a philosophy i do believe
On how you treat others that is up to you
And for the disrespectful similar is their due.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Your Eternal Utopia

You talk of your far paradise in the sky
Where above sunlit valleys winged angels do sing as they fly
And birds sing all year in the pleasant sunshine
Your eternal utopia seems truly divine

You worship the god of your choice every day
And for your eternal salvation do kneel for to pray
Respect to the unseen and unknown you feel happy to pay
I do sort of envy you for your devotional way

Still i'd swap your ideas of heaven for a lingering kiss
And a night of sexual passion with a middle aged miss
A memory to cherish and for to retain
To fantasize on and to visit again

In your life after bodily death with angels you will dwell
Whilst i will be lingering with satan in hell
Deprived of the one earthly joy that served me well
The pen and the paper to write doggerel

The dark clouds of cynicism prevents light from entering my mind
In a sort of a way i do envy your kind
The beauty you visualize i cannot see
With my way of thinking what hope is for me?

Gillard V Ruud

It will happen again as it has often happened before
It is a squabble for power between Gillard and Ruud that and nothing more
For themselves and not for their Country the very aspirational politicians only does care
Something of which i am sure many are aware
Their squabble for power one can well understand
As the Prime Minister of Australia great prestige and power does command
The Opposition Leader Tony Abbott is delighted with it all
What he is hoping for now is that the Government will fall
In a Federal Election the polls have him with a big win
And on his face he wears a self satisfied grin
Like Gillard and Ruud are he is much the same
He too only in politics for the power and the fame
Gillard is favourite Australia's top job to retain
Though Ruud in the near future may challenge her again.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Old Luke

Old Luke said to me back in my life's prime
I made the most of life i had a good time
Made love to many women and drunk lots of beer
I still am quite partial to the pot of cheer

Due to my womanizing ways i was divorced by my ex wife
With her faithful husband she has found some joy in her life
Our only offspring Linda is a grandmum today
Living and married in London from here far away

Time has robbed me of most of my sexual drive
I feel past it for women now at seventy five
Even single women my age seek younger men than me
Physically i'm not the fellow that i used to be

What hair he has left on his head is silver gray
And clearly he has known a far better day
But at the local he downs pots of beer as fast as you'd blink
And men quarter of his age he does easily out-drink.

Des Kelleher

Des Kelleher left Kilmeedy as a young man
And in Australia lived the most of his life span
On his life's fifty ninth year he lived his last night and day
From old Clara Mountain many miles away

Does he have descendants of such cannot say
Only know by Cashman's Hill in St Mary's his last remains lay
To  Kilmeedy a short jog from the Town of Millstreet
To one who is young and lively on his feet

I knew Desmond Kelleher going back in time
When he was a young man and close to his prime
One easy going and likeable and free of conceit
And always a very nice person to meet

From life for us all there's a final release
In St Mary's in Millstreet he now is at peace
One who in life was a pleasure to befriend
In Australia his life's journey came to an end.

Friday, February 24, 2012

For Many In It

For many in it never money or fame
And for some who take it seriously 'tis a 'hungry belly game'
And few writers ever seem to make the grade
Though everyone is needed in the wordsmith trade

When i say that World acclaimed writers as ever in the few
I am not telling you anything that is new
In a world of millions of aspiring writers few their goals do achieve
Only disappointment from life they receive

In literature so many failures for one to succeed
But of all of it's writers the wordsmith trade is in need
Like in everything in life successful writers are rare
Few achieve the status of literary millionaire

Though in literature many found to be wanting when put to the test
The best you can do is for to try your best
And if that is not good enough that too is okay
Since many lose for one to win in life it does seem this way.

Wherever Tears Are

Wherever tears are only sorrow abound
And laughter not anywhere near to be found
Few do wish to know you when you are feeling down
A sad one indeed the sad sack of the town
Since they do carry with them the warm inner glow
The happy one everyone wishes to know
But the sad one the one that few do wish to meet
Alone in their sadness they walk on the street
Since they are incompatible  as is obviously clear
Where laughter is sorrow is not anywhere near
The sad one his or her own worst enemy
This is how it is and it always will be
From wherever tears are laughter is far away
Tell us what is new to that you may say.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Mushera In February

Across the high country the chilly winds blow
And the foothills of Mushera are covered in snow
And in the cold winds of February drizzling rain and sleet
Falling on the high fields above the Town of Millstreet

One might say a typical February day
But Spring from the high country not far away
In six weeks from now grass will commence growing and the nesting wildbirds will sing
In the leafy groves of Aubane near the prime of the Spring

And under house eaves the sparrows will build their nests of feathers and hay
And the swallows will be home to breed from places far away
And the skylark high above the bracken will fly
For to welcome the dawn in the gray morning sky

The stream bank high in flood to the river does flow
And the cattle in farm shed for fodder bellow
And across Mushera's face creeps the gray fog of rain
And brown stormwaters flowing swiftly in every drain.

A February Day

A high of thirty one and scarcely any breeze
Today it is even warm in the shade of the trees
The sun shining bright in the blue February sky
And the dark welcome swallows twitter as they fly
In pursuit of flying insects above the park by the bay
How good to be living on such a nice day
On the clusters of fluffy pink blooms on the flowering gume trees
The buzzings of the nectar gathering bees
And the sweet scent of hay from the paddock nearby
For words to describe Nature's wonders without success i do try
Though every day she does have for me some new surprise
Of my ignorance of Nature's ways i have come to realize
Cabbage white butterflies dancing in the warm Summer breeze
On a pleasant temperature high of thirty one degrees.

That's How It Seems To Me

It often does happen when a friendship does end
That your bitterest enemy was your former friend
Where trust and love once were no longer good will
Of the one you admired and respected you can only speak ill
Human Beings cannot offer unconditional love
Of the flaws we possess we cannot rise above
Some do nurse a grudge for as long as they live
They find it impossible for to forgive
A true friendship may last a whole lifetime this well may be so
But your best friend today may become your worst foe
When good friends fall out there can be hell to pay
This is how it is it's been always this way
With what i say on this many may not agree
But at least anyhow that's how it seems to me.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

On A Life's Journey

I do not know where my life's journey will take me
Though i do know where for me it all began
In Claraghatlea a short walk to Clara Mountain
Where i was born and grew into a man

Today back there i well might be a stranger
As it has been a long time since i last lived there
The children there today would ask their parents
Who is that old bloke who came from elsewhere?

We all are born to go on our life's journey
A journey that can take us to places far
Though some in them do not have the need to travel
And feel content to live till death where their roots are

But even the stay at home types are on a life's journey
In familiar places they like to work and reside
They marry locally and raise their children
Whilst those with the bug of wander travel far and wide

On different ways we are on a life's journey
Though every life's journey does have an end
For when all is said and done we are mere mortals
This is how it is why otherwise pretend.

The Workers Will Pay

In Greece for their economic woes 'tis the Workers will pay
This is how it is and it has always been this way
The taxpaying workers blue and white collar will save Greece now seen as a failed State
From what could be for their Country's Economy even a worse fate
Than it is in at present and that is bad enough
A cash strapped State in Europe where times are quite tough
The Government of Greece have no cash left in the till
It will be left to the workers to pay the Country's bill
To the taxpayers of Greece it will come at a huge financial cost
But they will save their Country's economy since the battle not lost
What is happening in Greece has happened in other Countries before
But to some of it's former glory the workers their Country will restore
Where all else does fail the workers do succeed
They will come to Greece's rescue in it's time of most need.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

The Grumblies

The day sunny and pleasant last night it did rain
But Jim is not happy he still does complain
That his tomato plants are not going well at all
His worries are many though his problems seem small

Financially for himself he is doing okay
Last week his boss gave him a huge raise in pay
But with his extra good income he is not satisfied
And his sense of disappointment he does not try to hide

His wife Kate a secondary school teacher financially doing well
But to Jim she has a similar story to tell
Always talking with the poor mouth much always wants more
You may say to that we have heard it before

Their only offspring their twenty years old daughter Irene
In quite classy company one often seen
Not dependent on mum and dad in any way
She works in a good job and has bought her own home doing quite well one might say

They own their own home and they drive their own cars the Grumblies Kate and Jim
But when it comes to grumbling she holds her own with him
Their worries are many but their problems seem small
And they never seem to be happy at all.

At My Lack Of Success

Lack of Success it never does  faze me at all
Since compared to many my biggest dream seems rather small
I wish to be happy and little else more
Though to that you may say you've heard that one before
Though true happiness as such i never have known
The feelings i have i could never disown
I too have to battle my black dog of despair
Though by life i can say i have been treated fair
Though in my mind i may be feeling a bit down
I try to seem happy when walking in the town
To put on a smile does not cost one a thing
The praises of a sad sack one never does sing  
Since compared to many my biggest dreams are small
At my lack of success i do not feel bad at all.   

Monday, February 20, 2012

You Have Learned In The Hard Way

You have learned in the hard way on self alone you must depend
When in dire financial trouble you did not seem to have a friend
Of Moses unwritten commandment most people seem aware
Man as well as woman likewise of your own selves do take care
Advice from a wise old elder i often do recall
Everyone for him and for herself and god for us all
From life we never stop learning though our journeys take us far
It is when you are in trouble that you know who your friends are
When your friends you needed they were not there
It seemed they had more important commitments elsewhere
You were unlucky in your ex friends one has to say
Since not everyone behaves in such a way
A true friend in your times of trouble will not see you down
When all others avoid you as the plague of the town.

Such A Nice Day

Sixteen days left of Summer the Autumn is near
It is such a beautiful time of the year
The day sunny though not too warm with a gentle breeze
With the weather temperature just over twenty degrees
The dark welcome swallows in pursuit of flying insects do chirp as they fly
And white butterflies seemingly dance in the sky
The pee wees do sing in the park by the bay
One could not but feel happy on such a nice day
As a result of last weekend's thundery showers
The town park looking greener with lots of wildflowers
And wherever i turn to look i do see
The beauty of Nature everywhere around me
Utopia from here cannot be far away
It is so good to be living is all i can say.

In Ballarat In Victoria

In Ballarat in Victoria history was made
Brave men took up arms for their workers rights at the Eureka Stockade
Some of them were badly injured and some of them even died
The story of their bravery it traveled far and wide
With Government troopers firing on them from under cover all around
Beneath the flag of The Southern Cross they bravely stood their ground
They achieved for miners better working conditions and better pay but at a substantial cost
In Ballarat at The Eureka Stockade too many good lives were lost
For what should be basic human rights some of them with their lives had to pay
They were the men who made Ballarat the City it is today
Known as the place where Australian Unionism began it's historic course
Where noble young men took on the might of an Empire's force
Above them on a flag post in the wind the flag of The Southern Cross did wave
Australian workers owe them for their sacrifice the bravest of the brave

Sunday, February 19, 2012

The Aussie Magpie

A feathered Australian one should not get wrong
The magpie does have such a beautiful song
The bird who does sing every day of the year
His flute like notes are so melodious and clear
On his breeding season he does sing in the night
So pleasant for to hear him in the moonlight
He sings his borders to procalim and defend
When any male of his own kind to him not a friend
A crow sized black and white bird with a silvery dagger like bill
Of predatory instincts smaller birds he does kill
But in Nature it is known the strongest does rule
And what happens in Nature is natural not cruel
In all parts of Australia his kind to be found
The piping shrikes or Aussie magpies in huge numbers abound.

The Old Glasheen Rill

Through fields of Inchaleigh and Claraghatlea and by ditch and hedgerow
Towards the Finnow River with a babble in it's flow
It journeys with a tongue that is never still
The small waterway known as the Glasheen Rill
Long before the ticking of time became our foe
We hunted for elvers there decades ago
With jam jars attached to a nylon string
As is often said of youth it does have it's fling
Though good memories of what was slow to fade away
The boys of the fifties the ageing men of today
And long after the last memory of me has gone
The old Glasheen Rill will be babbling on
To the Finnow and Blackwater to the Atlantic Shore
The old waterways will flow forever more.

At A Dead End

Though to others things for you  are going well you pretend
In your mind you feel your life is at a dead end
You feel in despair that luck's not on your side
And in your black moods you've had thoughts of suicide

The good days for you are now in the long gone
And only your will to live keeps you living on
Though you have reached the ultimate brink of despair
In public you never say life is unfair

Your problems and worries in your mind have grown
But you keep them to yourself since they are of your own
You walk with a smile on the streets of the town
Though you feel dejected and mentally down

With little money to live on and struggling to cope
Still of better times you are not without hope
And since you feel a change of luck for you is due
To the battle of life you'll remain ever true.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Willie Neenan Is Still Racing

Willie Neenan is still racing despite what many think or say
Running up and down steep mountains from Duhallow far away
He lives far from Ballydaly in the Parish of Millstreet
He has other hills to conquer and new challenges to meet

It is just another fallacy that by Cashman's Hill he lay
Willie Neenan is too mobile in one place he could not stay
He is far from Ballydaly, Inchaleigh and Millstreet Town
Steeper hills than Clara Mountain he's now running up and down

Why waste your tears on Willie Neenan when he's alive and well today
In the Parish that he once loved he decided not to stay
Of running on Duhallow roadways he grew bored and had his fill
He now runs for further honours far away from Clara Hill

He knocked back the trip to heaven it is not his sort of place
He decided to live elsewhere Willie Neenan needs to race
With the angels of the greater god Willie Boy will never sing
That would not be his sort of lifestyle  running is his preferred thing

Willie Neenan is not deceased he has gone to live elsewhere
He is happy and contented in his other World up there
Far away from Ballydaly, Inchaleigh and Millstreet Town
Against the Olympians of the Universe he is racing to renown.

The Cocky Young Dude

Chewing gum as he talk he does seem a bit rude
Fresh out of suburbia the cocky young dude
Of the skinhead look his head is shaved bare
In the rural coastal town his type one might say rare

He arrived on his own on his motor-bike for a long weekend surfing holiday
And he hopes to make the most of his caravan park tenting stay
By putting his well practiced tongue to good use
At the pub one of the local young women he hopes to seduce

His gift of the gab most women fail to impress
Though sometimes he happens to meet with success
Either way to his mates in suburbia he will tell
How at surfing and with women at the weekend he did well

In the seaside town lasting friendships he will not win
He knows in such a place that he does not fit in
He only came for the surfing as he likes to do his own thing
And enjoy a few beers and hopefully have a sexual fling.

No Glory In Death

Since there is no sign of life in the cold of the grave
No glory in death for even those who died brave
Their brave deeds from the memory may take some time to fade
But they are sadly absent when in their honour a parade
How great is life so very great that is how it seems to me
I would rather live one of the unsung than die in bravery
Who would not rather walk in the park and hear the wild birds sing
When Nature is in full bloom on a nice day in Spring
With pink to white blooms on the fruit bearing tree
No greater gift than the gift of life would you not agree
On a sunny and pleasant evening of twenty degrees
With the sweet scent of peppercorn wafting in the breeze
I would rather be living as a stranger to fame
Than be a dead hero with a revered name.

Friday, February 17, 2012

My Neighbour's Dog

The only difference between him and i
Is he does not realize that he will die
The old black dog whose muzzle has turned gray
Like me he too has known a far better day
His master Jim says he is my greatest mate
He welcomes me each evening at the gate
A truer friend one could not wish to know
Though the years have left him frail and walking slow
Canines do have a brief physical prime
And than us are granted far less living time
But my neighbour's dog no less mortal than me
The Reaper of lives creates equality
Between all life forms and since we are born to die
My neighbour's dog no less mortal than i.

Summer Days In Lisnaboy

Good memories are always a source of great joy
I still recall Summer days in Lisnaboy
Above the old fields the barn swallows did fly
In pursuit of flying insects in balmy July
On changeable weather with rain on the way
Helping uncle Dan and aunt Mary with crowering of the hay
In weather temperatures pleasant around twenty degrees
White butterflies dancing in the freshening breeze
Fond memories of what was with me does remain
And often in fancy i visit again
The fields of Lisnaboy in Summer's glorious prime
In distant Duhallow at haymaking time
When the balmy air is full of the buzzings of flying insects and bees
And the young birds are chirping on the bushes and trees.

Joe Will Tell You

Joe will tell you all is well in his life
Kate to me a loving and devoted wife
Our beautiful daughters of twenty and nineteen
Are working in good jobs Jo Ann and Irene
He works hard for a livelihood a bricklayer by trade
Easy money in such a job not to be made
Perhaps twenty years past his physical prime
He does not seem one who is wearied by time
Every morning before work he goes for a jog
Ten times around the park with Jack his black kelpie dog
On saturday he goes to the football to support the local club
And after the game a few beers with his mates in the pub
But Joe will tell you there's more to life than beer and football
And he is content with his lot over-all.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

On Winter Nights

On Winter nights in the old Country the wind did howl in the trees
In chilly and unpredictable weather of zero or under degrees
In the living room by the open fire grate the burning peat kept out the cold
We sat listening to the ageing story tellers relating their stories of old

In us they had a captive audience as they related their memories of the past
Just listening to their reminiscing the time seemed to tick on so fast
They told us stories of the Tan War the ambushes at Headford and Tureengarriffe Glen
The rebel fighters of Duhallow and Sliabh Luachra amongst the bravest of fighting men

Their stories of old deserted haunted houses in our young minds did instil fear
Of night and dilapidated former homes of such places we would not venture near
I recall i often had nightmares of hearing glass breaking and of ghosts scream
And i would awake in a cold sweat quite relieved to realize it was only a dream

The chilly winds howled in the tall trees in weather cold enough to snow
But by the fire grate it was cosy the burning peat had a warm glow
We sat listening to the old fellows relating their stories of long ago
That they had heard from their childhood elders before time did become their foe.

We only Can Live In The Now

All i do retain of the past is a fading memory
Of what was in times long gone and never more can be
Time does not wait for anyone it did not wait for me
The brown Autumn leaves of the big flood eventually reach the sea
To travel far south of my home fields has been my life's destiny
And where my life's journey began i  never more may see
The longest lived life in time is brief one is forever dead
The past forever in the past and the future is ahead
And we only can live in the now though the memories good or bad we retain
Of the past that is forever gone and can never be again
Of people and places of my past i occasionally do dream
And the dipper's song does come to me from the silver tongued stream
That flows in a constant babble every night and every day
Through the old fields of my boyhood to the river far away.

What Living Life Is About

From life we do learn something new every day
We never stop learning as some like to say
And for our every mistake there is some price to pay
We do learn as we live it does seem this way
The more we know the less we know we come to realize
Though that in itself is not any surprise
The ordinary many the wise are so few
I am not saying here anything that is new
We all look at things one might say differently
The one who is successful to you may not be so to me
To like minded people we tend to gravitate
The one who does not share your values will not be your mate
The most successful and confident of people can have their moments of self doubt
Survival is what living life is about.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

It Is So Good To Be Living

A cool freshening wind blowing through the park by the bay
Who could not but feel happy on a day like today
The weather nice and sunny around twenty degrees
And white butterflies flit around the bushes and trees
The flute of the magpie melodious and clear
And the call of the pee wee so pleasant to hear
And everywhere i turn to look i do see
The beauty of Nature everywhere around me
Youth does have it's fling as some do like to say
In the park children's playground children laugh at their play
The laughter of children such a joyful thing
Fond memories of childhood to me it does bring
It is so good to be living is all i can say
On such a breezy and sunny and mild summer's day.

Cromwell And Ireton

Their Lord Protector in Britain they did celebrate
And they lauded him as if he was a true great
But the grief he caused to the poor of Ireland did linger for years
Where his army caused death and dispossession and tears
In cities in Britain and British Commonwealth cities streets honour his name
Though he is one who does not warrant such fame
He and his accomplice Henry Ireton ruined millions of lives
In Ireland only bad memories of them survives
One of the World's worst war criminals millions of dreams by him destroyed
yet it was as a hero in England he died
That the winners write the war history none ought to deny
To Cromwell and Ireton that does surely apply
Yes Cromwell and Ireton were similar and were of criminal mind
And in the Human World of today we too do have that kind.

So Many Voices Of Australia

So many voices of Australia the drone of the didgeridoo
The soft whistles of the shy wombat the cough of the gray kangaroo
The cries of the long bill corella the harsh squawks of the white cockatoo
The mimicking songs of the lyrebird the calls of the dark brown weerloo
The grunting of the male koala on high branch of manna gum tree
The cackling calls of kookaburra familiar to many and to me
The soft piping notes of rosella  the magpie with the flute like song
And once heard not to be mistaken the call of the pied currawong
The wattlebirds known by their chackling the familiar call of the pee wee
The shrike thrush you know by his whistles though he is not hard for to see
The unmistakeable howling of the dingoes out hunting in the moonlight
And the barn owls and possums and boobooks lend their voices to the Australian night
Familiar to so many Aussies the voices one cannot get wrong
The voices of the fair dinkum Australians and to Australia they belong.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

You May Be The Most Caring One

You may be the most caring one of the town
Always willing to help anyone who is down
Yet some of you negative things only say
Such as you are far from good despite your caring way
That you are willing for to reach out your helping hand
To the one who is down they do not understand
But suppose they cannot help how they are since they lack in empathy
To them a poor person does not deserve any sympathy
Such people belong to the self centred breed
They never would help one of helping in need
You just keep on at doing your good deeds of the day
And ignore what those negative of you do say
You are one of a rare breed compassionate and kind
And the light of goodness is glowing in your mind.

Those Who Have Love In Them To Give

Of far more of their sort of people the Human World is in need
Those who have love in them for to give have a great gift indeed
If there were more of them in the World there would be less wars to fight
And towns reduced to rubble by bombings would become a rare sight
Than that war leads to peace there is no greater lie
Where mistrust and hatred that leads to conflict is the flower of peace die
People who live in war zones live in Earthly Hell
There are never winners in war as we all know too well
They have a wonderful gift with others for to share
But those with love in them for to give sad to say are quite rare
The sort of people we ought to celebrate
Since love and joy and harmony they do strive to create
The unsung heroes and heroines of every State
To those who have love in them to give this rhyme i dedicate.

To Be Flawed Is To Be Human

'Tis a human flaw to be cocky or to know of self doubt
Survival of self is what life is mostly about
And to survive one has to be selfish in some sort of a way
And selfishness is a human flaw as some do like to say
So in the Human World it looks like you have to be flawed in order to survive
And it does seem the more flawed you are the better you will thrive
The best are flawed in some way would you not agree
At least anyhow that is how it seems to me
It is said we receive from life what is our due
And that some are far more flawed than others happens to be true
Still that many with many flaws know of great financial gain
Is something that is way beyond me to explain
To be flawed is to be human as some do like to say
That seems right to me i too see it that way.

Monday, February 13, 2012

An Addictive Rhymer

A balding gray haired sixty five year old male
My rhyming like me it has grown a bit stale
And some even advise me to give it away
But to such advice heed i never do pay
I penned my first verses back in my life's prime
And that is going back near four decades in time
I used to daydream then i might be a poet
Though i know now i will never become one of literary note
A rhymer back then and a rhymer today
I penned my first rhymes of old fields far away
I rhyme of people and Nature and things i read of hear and see
An addictive rhymer you find one in me
And though my worth as a rhymer i have reason to doubt
Still no shortage of things for me to write about.


To be South West Victoria's biggest rural  coastal City it's great claim to renown
For refugees Warrnambool is a welcoming Town
So many different races and creeds do live there
In the Bool you could meet a person from anywhere
A gem in the crown of Victoria's South West
As a livable City surely one of the best
Most people born and raised in Warrnambool there choose to stay
And there raise their children and grow old and gray
So proud of their City in their down to earth way
'Tis an Eartly Utopia some Boolites of it do say
They will not have an argument on that from me
As on such sentiments i can only agree
No matter what your color your creed or your race
You will find Warrnambool quite a welcoming place.

On The passing Of Willie Neenan

Sad the news of the passing of the legendary athlete
Surely the greatest ever in the green of Millstreet
Against the best in Ireland and the World with success he did compete
Yet despite his fame and success he was one without conceit

The marvellous Willie Neenan he was a mighty man
In more than sixty years of running in thousands of races he ran
So humble in his many victories and gracious in defeat
Every time he lined up at the starting line he was the one to beat

A tragic loss to his siblings Jenny and John D, his daughters and to Marie his good wife
His family and running were the great loves of his life
With a World Championship medal from San Juan where he raced to renown
One who was known to many thousands of miles from Millstreet Town

He deserves more than this simple rhyme for to honour his great name
He let his performances do the talking the one who scaled the heights of fame
He won Cork, Munster and Irish Championships and competed against the World's best
The one never found for to be wanting when he was put to the test

He competed in thousands of races on roadway, cross country and track
He trained on the steep Bealac road and ran to Clara's Cross and back
Home to Ballydaly on the Millstreet - Rathmore road
Without any sign of running stress like a fleet gazelle he strode

Sad to learn of Willie Neenan that his gift of life from him has gone
A renowned Duhallow athlete his legend will live on
By Cashman's Hill in St Mary's his last remains do lay
For each and everyone of us a final night and day.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Memories Of Matty Owens Bog

In Matty Owens bog i fancy i hear
The flute of the curlew in the Spring of the year
As above his borders he is flying around
Proclaiming what to him is his breeding ground

Where i often hunted with brown Pudsy the dog
She often chased hares and foxes in Matty Owens bog
And though Pudsy was gallant in her every chase
The pursued for her too quick and her did outpace

In the quiet of the morning the lowing of a cow
And the dipper did sing in the River Finnow
Where Nature to me was a wonder of joy
In Matty Owens bog when i was a boy

Old Pudsy she died near fifty years ago
The passing of time becomes everyone's foe
The grand-daughter of Jack her praises i have sung
Our family dog when i was quite young

The memories are all with us that does remain
And though in fancy i visit old places again
Matty Owens bog is now just a memory to me
Of a long gone time and of what used to be.

Long After I Am Forgotten

When all memories of me have faded away
In Summer on a warm and sunny day
White butterflies will fly around the bushes and trees
And seemingly dance in the sky in the mild coastal breeze
And the bird that does sing every day of the year
The flute of the magpie will be pleasant to hear
And the familiar pee wee of the pied magpie lark
In the quiet of the dawn will be heard in the park
And her Seasons to Nature they will come and go
And of all life forms time as usual the foe
This is how it is and it always will be
The same for the celebrity as for you and me
And long after i am forgotten and to nothingness gone
Life in the World as usual will go on.

That Dear Little Town

Wherever i go to the memories go with me
Of that dear little town by the southern sea
A paradise with a quaint charm of it's own
And of natural beauty as fine as i have ever known

In the park by the sea the dainty magpie lark
Everyday can be heard sing pee wee from dawn until dark
And on the tall gums every day of the year
The flute of the magpie sounds melodious and clear

Such down to earth and friendly people live there
As hospitable as i have met anywhere
Such wonderful memories in my mind does stay
Of where everyone greets you with a cheerful good day

Were i a songwriter i would write a song
For others to join with me and sing along
And that listeners would applaud and call out for more
Of that dear little town by the southern shore

In the quiet of the dawn just before sunrise
The rumblings of the surf waves and the silver gulls cries
With me the memories of such natural beauty remain
And in fancy that dear little town i do visit again.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

The Pride Of Southern Cross

For words to describe her i feel at a loss
Tall graceful and beautiful The Pride of Southern Cross
Of shoulder length wavy brown hair and immaculately dressed
Surely one of the finest in Victoria's South West
With a wonderful smile and beautiful eyes of brown
She is the pin up girl of Warrnambool Town
Many local unmarried young men would like to have her as a wife
But she is determined to travel and see more of life
In the big World out there where there is so much to see
For one of nineteen unattached and carefree
Unaffected by conceit she is one without guile
And charming in her ways with a wonderful smile
Of singing her praises could one ever tire
The Pride of Southern Cross and the Rose of Moyne Shire.

Such A Beautiful Day

The pee wees are calling in the park by the bay
So good to be living on such a nice day
White butterflies flit around the bushes and trees
They seem to be dancing in the summer breeze
That blow with a cooling freshness in the sunny sky
Where chasing flying insects the dark swallows fly
Though gardeners say they would welcome some rain
Of such beautiful weather it seems hard to complain
Despite a few gray clouds the sky blue, sunny and clear
To this beautiful place Utopia has to be near
The red fluffy blooms on the flowering gums such a beautiful sight
And the magpie is warbling in the warm sunlight
And in a nearby paddock the sweet scent of hay
On this February the third such a beautiful day.

The Man Who Was Born To Travel

If somebody does write his life's story in book sales it would do quite well
For it would make for interesting reading and thousands of copies would sell
He has been in so many Countries and he has worked in many a town
And the wanderlust it is still in him perhaps he'll never settle down
One who has been with many women though he never did take a wife
He is not the type of a fellow who could stay with a woman for life
He does not know if he has fathered children as he is one who likes to move on
And to him the past is just a memory of something that has been and gone
A man who has drunk lots of alcohol of beer and whiskey and wine
His physical prime  is behind him next year he will be forty nine
But he still has the yearn for travel two months for him in one place a long stay
Tomorrow he will be driving in his red ute to another town up the highway
The bug of the wander still in him though his once brown hair now silver gray
The man who was born to travel will travel till his life's final day.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Easy To Me

If it were not easy to do it then it would not be for me
I find penning rhyme easy as easy can be
I've been rhyming for close to four decades and that is going back in time
And just like i told you anybody can rhyme

And though my worth as a rhymer i have reason to doubt
No shortage of things for me to write about
This thing known as writers block is a stranger to me
To rhyme to me does seem to come easily

In the blue sunny sky just a few clouds of gray
So easy to pen rhymes of such a nice day
White butterflies dancing in the timid breeze
Above the wildflowers and the bushes and trees

My doggerels in numbers with each passing day does grow
Anybody can pen rhymes that i ought to know
I've penned thousands of them since nineteen seventy three
It is something that seems to come easy to me.

The Cabbage White

In Summer and Fall on every sunny day
They fly in their undulating zig zagging way
The butterflies known to many as the cabbage white
Along with their brown cousins a familiar sight
In parks, gardens and fields and across roadways they do fly
They are Nature's dancers of the Summer sky
They have a huge range since they live far and wide
In towns and in villages and in the countryside
They are known as cabbage white since on cabbage leaves their eggs they prefer to lay
In Nature too it is each to their own as some do like to say
For to be quite distinctive is their claim to flying insect fame
Even most of those not interested in Nature do know them by name
In their brief lives they dance above the bushes and flowers
And hide under leaves from the thundery showers.

The Working Poor

The working poor Worldwide are in majority
So many of them are in dire poverty
The gap between the haves and the have nots keeps on growing ever wide
Far too many of a fair go in life are denied
And far too many who are financially down
The poor getting poorer on the poor side of the town
And where poverty is rife there is social decay
That does seem a sad thing for to have to say
For survival of self and family from day to day
So many must work hard for poor take home pay
In the Human World so much inequality
In this so called enlightened twenty first century
Hundreds have to grow poorer for every new millionaire
One cannot say in that there is anything fair.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

All I Have Left With Me

Though in distance from them i do live far away
The friends of my past i remember today
The bond of friendship weakened due to absence but good memories of them with me remain
And sometimes in my thoughts i meet them again

They have formed new friendships and in life moved on
Though like me perhaps they recall memories of days long gone
Perhaps if we met we would talk of the past
And on looking back the years say how time went so fast

Like is said in life every day a new challenge to face
Some of them like me live far from the homeplace
Some of them grandparents some of them are dead
Our best years behind us old age is ahead

All i have left with me is the memory
Of my friends of the past and of what used to be
And i never may more hear the lowing of a cow
In the quiet of the dawn by the River Finnow.

Big Brother

So many to become invisible without success have tried
From Big Brother's eyes there is nowhere to hide
His disciples tell him where you are night and day
From them you can never hope to hide away
Big Brother is watching you like he is watching me
He knows if you keep good or bad company
He knows more about you than you realize
How much he  knows about you to you may come as a surprise
A secret from him it is so hard to keep
He knows where you live and you work and you sleep
He knows about you like he knows about everyone
Of the good and the bad things in life you have done
He is kept informed about you by his spies
By him they have been recruited as his ears and eyes.

The Lovely Old Dear

With shoulder length hair of silvery gray
One i do see often though not every day
She must be quite close to her ninetieth year
The one who is known as the lovely old dear

A woman who has made many friends and does not have a foe
Her husband died of a heart attack fifteen years ago
A great grandmother five times yet young of heart and mind
It would only be fair to say not many of her kind

In her one bedroom basement flat she resides on her own
On her side of the parish she is well loved and well known
She is likeable and helpful and is everybody's friend
And every community fund raiser is sure to attend

In the park or shopping centre or sometimes on the street
She is one i do see often and a pleasure for to meet
Who would believe she is nearly ninety younger by far she appear
She is no ordinary woman the charming lovely old dear.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Pat Buckley

Perhaps one in his early sixties it was not of old age he died
Only know he lived in Caherbarnagh in the mountainy countryside
Had he married and fathered children were things of him i did not know
This true son of old Caherbarnagh where into manhood he did grow
In his young years i watched him play gaelic football a powerful young man in his prime
When he was in his mid to late twenties though that is going back far in time
A dashing fellow then Pat Buckley he mixed it with Duhallow's best
One never found for to be wanting he proved himself in every test
His passing from life in his sixties sad news to read of from far away
By Cashman's old hill in St Mary's his last remains forever lay
I remember him back in his prime years when he used to play gaelic football
The one who claimed the life of Pat Buckley is the one who will claim the life of us all
He surely did love Caherbarnagh one blessed with a strong sense of place
And he is one who will be remembered for his was a well known and loved face.

I Am Not Unlike Millions Of Others

I am not unlike millions of others in my own ways i can be quite small
To be flawed it is said only human does seem to be true after all
Though kind and compassionate people i do meet almost every day
So many can be quite judgemental or racist in some sort of way
The right to a fair go for everyone on such the broadminded believe
The seeds of the karma we do sow grow to the fruits in life we do receive
It must be hard for those near to perfect in the Human World of today
They become fair game for the ruthless who disrespect to the honorable like to pay
To the more negative compassion and kindness is looked on as a human flaw
Though against negativity and cynicism there is not any human made law
And for negativity and cynicism you need not look no further than me
When i look for the flaws in others their flaws i never fail to see
I find it too much of a stuggle to my higher self to be true
Then i ought not to be complaining if life serves me what i am due.

Destiny Has The Say

The clock of time on our lives ticking on fast
And to reach the present we have come from the past
We must die like the sheep or the dog or the cow
And the future ahead and we live in the now
Our judgemental judges we try to impress
As we compete with each other for this thing called success
But to all other life forms we share a similar fate
And like the food we eat on us there is a use by date
You may be chauffeur driven in your expensive car
But you are not as important as you think you are
For you too there will be a last night and day
Of re-generation this is Nature's way
On how long we live destiny has the say
You can make out of this whatever you may.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

A Blustery Summer's Day

The long billed corellas at the end of a blustery summer's day
Are calling on the high trees in the twilight gray
On an evening quite cool for the time of the year
The soughing of the freshening wind in the tall trees i hear
The flute of the magpie melodious and clear
The bird that does sing every day of the year
The one who does have an unmistakeable song
His music by the freshening winds carried along
The windy cool weather from the warm days seems a pleasant thing
A certain freshness to the air it does seem to bring
This evening not one white or brown butterfly
For to be seen dancing in the windy sky
Under leaves from the wind they have hidden away
In the twilight of a blustery summer's day.

Only Memories Of What Was

Perhaps from the place i've been too long away
In the Claraghatlea i was raised in i'd be a stranger today
Though many of the people i knew there to the forever gone
Life in the old Townland as usual goes on
But i bet the old fields i loved would look much the same
Many of them i recall did have their given name
The sparrows under house eaves make their nests of hay
When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
And the swallows are back from warm climes far away
Chasing flying insects above the old fields all the day
And in memory i can hear the babbling rill
On it's way to the river down the field by the hill
And though sometimes in fancy i walk in the old fields again
Only memories of what was with me now remain.

He Is As Restless

He is as restless as the ever babbling rill
That flows to the river from the field by the hill
On it's way to the ocean many miles away
A journey that ends at the saltwater bay
But between him and the rill the comparison ends there
For his journey through life it could end anywhere
Since he left his homeplace when his hair was dark brown
He has driven through many a village and town
Six months in the one place for him a long stay
And though the years have left him looking older and gray
He does not know himself where his last remains will lay
And he will travel on till his last night and day
The bug of the wander in him till he die
Since that is a fact and fact does never lie.

Monday, February 6, 2012

The Diamond Sisters

Do not know how their name of The Diamond Sisters came about
Though of their great talent there is not a doubt
Despite this two attractive women untainted by conceit
Peter Moynihan's daughters The Pride of Millstreet

The famed Diamond Sisters are known far and wide
Beyond the border of Duhallow's green old countryside
Wherever they perform joy with them they bring
And no shortage of fans where The Diamonds do sing

Amongst Duhallow entertainers well famed and well known
One can say of them in a class of their own
From Aubane's high country above Millstreet Town
Their's has become far more than local renown

Some two decades back maybe closer to three
As youngsters with their siblings and parents them i often did see
I little thought then such fame they would know
It is out of little things great things do grow

Go ahead Diamond Sisters and sing one more song
And with you from afar i will sing along
The decades of memory for me you do span
And in me you do have a far away fan.

The Meenkeel Gipsies

As beautiful belly dancers they carve their own renown
In South West Victoria they have danced in every village and town
The famed Meenkeel Gipsies well loved and well known
In Koroit they feel proud to claim them for their own

Led by Tracy, Sharon and Alish the marvellous three
To watch them perform is rare beauty to see
So graceful and classy and light on their feet
Just beautiful dancers and free of conceit

In South West Victoria their fans in numbers do grow
Wherever they do dance they put on a great show
At the end of their performance for them a huge encore
Of loud clapping and whistling and pleads of dance one more

The Pride of Koroit in Victoria's South West
The Meenkeel Gipsies do always perfom at their best
Not surprising at all they are held in high esteem
As they are indeed bellydancers supreme.

A Very Warm Day

In the blue January sky not a cloud of gray
On this very warm and bright summer's day
In temperatures well over thirty degrees
The white and the brown butterflies dance around the bushes and trees
The bird who does sing every day of the year
The flute of the magpie quite pleasant to hear
And birds active till late twilight from first rays of daybreak
The songs of the starlings one cannot mistake,
Though some say their gardens are in need of rain
Of this dry sunny weather one ought not to complain
When in Southern Queensland and Northern New South Wales the rain is bucketing down
And the overflowing rivers flood many a town
I think i would prefer it here where it is warm and dry
And not a rain cloud in the blue and sunny sky.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

When Sheila Does Speak

When i say my children and grandchildren have known it far easier that i have i only say what is true
But for their achievements in life credit must be their due
Though of opportunities in their young years they were never denied
Their achievements bring to me and my husband great satisfaction and pride

My son in law a successful fellow he owns his own plane
In the U S the land of opportunity in hard work there is gain
And my husband from a talented musical family of a Worldly fame
He has made his own fortune and his is widely known name

As for me one can say i came up the hard way
In my younger years for me never an easy pay
By far northern hills i first saw light of day
And that i had to work hard for my life achievements would seem fair to say

Far north of this great Country the U S of A
In my childhood place i did not wish to stay
I migrated to England when i was a teen
The tougher sides of life i have known of and seen

Yes nothing in life did come easy to me
I worked as a maid towards my nursing degree
In the U S i worked and studied for my Doctorate in Psychology
I had to do it the hard way would you not agree

A good mother and grandmother and to a good man a good wife
And one who has been hugely successful despite her hard life
In life she would not have succeeded if in will she were weak
And one has to listen when Sheila does speak.

He Will Not Be Going Back

He will not be going back to the far away town
Where few new businesses open and many close down
Where job opportunities as ever are few
He has moved to better things from the life he once knew

With the responsibility of raising three children to share with his young wife
In suburbia more job opportunities and a better way of life
The nostalgia that he once felt in him has died
For his western first hometown in the brown countryside

Yet the songs of the birds he once knew to his thoughts remain dear
And in fancy the voice of the currawong he does hear
When the sun it is hidden behind rain clouds of gray
Above his hometown by the hills far away

It does look for him his future in suburbia does lay
He will not be going back to live in the town where he first saw light of day
To him the past just a memory of what has been and gone
And from the town by the hills in life he has moved on

Poverty Of Mind

You may be materially successful and doing well financially
But if you are narrow in your thinking you suffer of mind poverty
Not generous in your ways it does seem by your own narrow guidelines you do live
You find it so easy to receive but you find it so hard for to give
On your way to your fifth million in money yet you are quite poor in your mind
I do feel a bit sorry for you and for everyone of your kind
The pleasure one does find in giving on such you could never believe
You are a poor person in some ways since you are only happy to receive
The World not much better for you living in it though with that you would not agree
In your ways you are very ordinary that is how it does seem to me
Though you lack in kindness and compassion and these are two great gifts indeed
Those who judge success in ways material would see you as one who succeed
But it is not a good reflection on humanity that your type are not hard to find
And sad to say so many like you who are very poor in the mind.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

It Is Out Of Love Of It

It is out of love of it that some people have a market stall
Since on town market day competition is great and profit margins are small
Where to show a small profit is seen as a good day
Than having a market stall there must be an easier way
Where for effort hard work is not matched financially
To earn one's livelihood can be tough would you not agree?
To have market stalls is in their blood to most of them must apply
Their mums and dads market stall holders in Seasons gone by
An age old  tradition they do carry on
The legacy of parents to the forever gone
To set up market stalls at the weekend to distant towns they do drive
Some of their children the tradition may keep alive
It is in the blood as some do like to say
And such applies to market stall holders on town market day.

Little Else More

Who wins the most grand slams in tennis no doubt the best player
And to tell you the truth i can't say i much care
Who comes out on top when big egos collide
For the top players as well as prestige and prize money at stake there is ego and pride
Though i will not be watching for to shout hip hooray
May the best player win is all i can say
Those who play for big money are playing for more than love of the game
It is all about winning and it is all about fame
When huge sums of money is involved it no longer is sport
The needless grunting  and adult temper tantrums displayed on the tennis court
About it one must say leaves much to desire
Most elite sports people not the type i do admire
It is something that has been said often times before
It is all about ego and money and little else more.

Just One Of Those Amateur Rhymers

For years as an amateur rhymer i have penned a whole heap of rhyme
Since back in the early nineteen seventies when i was in my life's prime
I have been addicted to rhyming long before time left me feeling and looking older and gray
An addiction that will surely be with me right up till my last night and day

I too did daydream in my prime years that i might be famed as a poet
And become a professional writer a person of literary note
But daydreams for most only daydreams and seldom do ever come true
And life as is said has a habit of giving us what is our due

Still i do enjoy penning verses and the rhymes do keep coming to me
And always so much for to write on at least that's how it seems to be
I write rhymes on people and Nature the stuff that is easy to write
I am one amongst millions of bloggers who post to an internet site

Just one of those amateur rhymers for years i have been a rhyming buff
And it is a fact i dare not boast of that i have penned a whole heap of stuff
Not known as a successful writer and my better years to the long gone
But i do enjoy being a rhymer and i will go on rhyming on.

Friday, February 3, 2012

True Patriots

Patriotism is a word that is often abused
Since some so called patriots stand as accused
Of xenophobia and racism and things that divide
Some people in their Country's flag carry their pride

True patriots love their Country as well as it's people of every race
And cultural difference feel happy to embrace
Xenophobic patriots to love of Country not true
The ways of division they only pursue

True patriots do not carry their love of Country in a flag
Or of superiority of race or culture they never do brag
True patriots love people of every creed, gender and race
And for divisive negativity in their thinking there is not any space

It does seem a sad thing for to have to say
That the word patriotism is abused every day
By  xenophobics and racists of the extreme kind
Amongst their sort a true patriot one could not find.

To Some

To some it is Melbourne, Tokyo or Rome
For all of us there is some place we call home
To some it is London, Paris or New York
Home for me is near Millstreet Town County Cork

To some it is Montreal, Baghdad or Timbuctoo
Or Sydney or Rio or Kalamazoo,
Beijing or Dublin, Brussels or Tralee
Claraghatlea in Millstreet is homeplace to me

From my first homeplace in Duhallow i may live far away
And to many i would be a stranger there today
But there i was born and spent my younger years
And there i shed all of my fledgeling tears

To some it is Capetown to some it is Tehran
And to some it is Kabul in Afghanistan
Wherever you go to on every street
A person from some other place you will meet

Our journey through life has an ending one day
And home is where the heart is as some like to say
And home to many is where they saw their first sunrise
But that in itself is not any surprise.

Despite What Some Say

It is true everyone has a story to tell
Even the one some does dismiss as a never do well
Has his or her own story in life to relate
The potential is in everyone to be great

For many in life their dreams are unrealized
And for what they are good at they never become recognized
Their journey in book form may never appear
And few of their story do wish for to hear

The babe from life learning before she or he learn to crawl
And to one what is a huge problem to another seems small
Like the leaves of late Autumn that turn brown and then fall
Eventually time does take care of us all

It is said we receive from life what is our due
And that everyone has a story to tell does seem true
But despite what some say we cannot be what we choose
In a World where for one to win someone else has to lose.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Stating The Obvious

Though everyone needed in the wordsmith trade
It is true about poets they are born not made
And though the great poets of literary history long with the dead lay
Their poems are read and recited today

Worldwide in every country in the big world out there
By lovers of poetry who do reside most everywhere
By male and by female the old and the young
Of different races and in every tongue

Though in literary works few literary critics do seldom agree
Poetry nowadays not as popular as it used to be
With the emergence of the internet the Human World is changing fast
And literature's glory days now seems in the past

Though it is stating the obvious of which most are aware
It is a truism that great poets are rare
And though most writers from memory quickly do fade
Everybody is needed in the wordsmith trade.

The Power Of Money

That the super wealthy than others can live longer
Since they have the money for private health care to pay
Just goes to prove of the power of money
And that does seem a sad thing to say

And though money cannot buy eternal life
It can help one to a longer life span
The old wealthy bloke in his mid seventies
Can feel as healthy and virile as a young man

His fifth wife than his oldest grandchild is younger
A blond of twenty five lovely to behold
With his child quite heavily pregnant
He divorced his fourth wife who is forty he felt for him she was too old

Money cannot buy one life eternal
And true happiness to you it may not bring
But money it is most important
And the good things in life to you does bring.

One Of The Unsung Of The Town

A widowed grandmother in her sixties her shoulder length hair silver gray
She devotes many hours every week to good causes without ever asking for pay
A caring one full of compassion she does her good deeds every day
To help people in need of helping she often goes out of her way
One who helps others out of her gift of kindness even a stranger to local renown
She does not desire recognition one of the unsung of the town
The kindness of love in her brown eyes she has such a beautiful face
And she always seems happy and smiling the woman who ages with grace
The Human World for her living in it is surely a much better place
Her kind sad to say are not many such good causes she does embrace
She sows the seeds of her good karma one selfless and free of conceit
A woman i do not see often but i always feel happy to meet
The World is better for her in it and she is a pleasure to know
And it truly can be said of her that she does have the inner glow.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

The Love Of A Mother

He is not a very good person and bad things to others he has done
But his mum she will always stand by him she says i am proud of my son
He may be a bit on the wild side and imbued with youthful elan
But my son he is a good person at heart he is a nice young man

She plays the part of the good mother she will not run her offspring down
She raised him on her own when his dad left her on the rougher side of the town
A hard place for any mother for to raise her children where stealing is a common crime
Her twenty year old son is in prison for burglary serving his time

All others see fit to bad mouth him he only does have one loyal friend
Despite his many criminal convictions his good mum her son does defend
She only has good to say of him whilst others condemn him to fail
She says my son is a nice person though presently he is in jail

She plays the part of the good mother and loyal to her wayward son remain
She stands by the young man she gave birth to though he causes her mental pain
So great is the love of a mother a greater love than it not known
Though her son is behind bars in prison him she will never disown.

Down With Rank And Class Distinction

In a Human World where rank and class distinction by many is taken too far
The people we see as important are not as important as we think they are
Like all other life forms they are born to die
Which makes them no different than to you or to i
Thanks be to for the Reaper of lives the one who promotes equality
The one who claims the lives of the monarch and president as those in poverty
The one who does not respect rank, money or fame
The Reaper who treats every life as the same
In a Human World where millions daydream of renown
And where millions live as homeless and financially down
The not so nice side of humanity seems very much alive
Rank and class distinction despite all of this does seem to thrive
Down with rank and class distinction is all i can say
And for the Egalatarian Reaper let us hear the hooray.

Hard To Admire

He is one who does not lack in self esteem
And his ego is over-inflated it does seem
You'd swear listening to him he was not born to die
And his conversation revolves around me, myself and i
Of the needs of the self he seems over aware
And five minutes talking to him seems enough for me to bear
Though he seems well informed on i, myself and me
A fountain of knowledge he does not seem to be
Self love as is known can be a healthy thing
But when of your own praises you only can sing
Then you are taking self love that bit too far
Which goes to prove how self conceited you are
Of talking of self he never seems to tire
Though that is a trait in him that is hard to admire.