Monday, August 31, 2015

Eventually Time

Eventually everyone runs out of time
And this is when the rhymer does run out of rhyme
The rhymer will write rhymes on this you can depend
Until her or his life's journey does come to an end

The rhymers with rhyming words do love to play
And they add to their numbers of rhymes every day
And like or dislike them of them one can say
That with rhyming words they surely do have a way

With the twenty first century literary critics rhyme is not the in thing
Of the praises of non rhyming poets they are only happy to sing
To them rhyme and rhymers belong to a long gone age
With the modern poets they do not share the stage

By the literary critics rhymers not considered to be worthy of literary note
To them a rhymer is just not a poet
And though eventually we all do run out of time
We will always have the men and women of rhyme.

Save Your Sympathy

Save your sympathy for the poor living instead
Of wasting your tears and pity on the dead
Since they are past suffering and any living care
But the poor living in need of help are no longer rare
People are dying of malnutrition every day
And fleeing for their lives from war zones far away
They live in places surrounded by fear
And why weep for the dead when the dead do not hear
The poor every day life's survival battle have to face
Many of them are Stateless and without a Home-place
They are in need of compassion, kindness and empathy
And they surely could do with some sympathy
That the dead are past suffering i can only believe
And they do not hear you sobbing when for them you do grieve.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

If I Did Tell You Different

For so long a rhyming buff
Perhaps i have written too much rhyming stuff
That some do dismiss as doggerel
And condemn me to the poetasters hell

Since for rhyming money i do not receive in pay
Some tell me for to give it away
But to them i only say
I will when i die in some future day

Every day more rhymes to write
And email to an internet literary site
Eventually we all become victims of time
But one never runs out of rhyme

Though my worth as a rhymer i do doubt
So much for to write rhymes about
Of Nature's beauty around me
In every flowering bush and tree

Years ago as a young man i often daydreamed of fame
That mine would become a great literary name
But daydreams for so few does ever come true
Suppose from life we receive what is only our due

Though my best days in life in the forever gone
I do enjoy rhyming so i will keep on rhyming on
And i hope to be doing it on the day i do die
For if i did tell you different this would be a lie.

It Is Not True

It is not true that wisdom always comes with age
In a World where so few seem worthy of the title of sage
But from life we do learn something new every day
We never stop learning it does seem this way
Of more Natural Environment friends Mother Nature is in need
The World is ruled by people of greed
For every millionaire so many in poverty
In life if all were fair this never would be
Those who say that everyone are equal must believe their own lies
Though that death brings with it equality is not a surprise
In a World of many a homeless person and many a refugee
That we live by our own choices does seem lies to me
The gap between the wealthy and poor is widening by the day
So much for equality it does seem true to say.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Years Ago The Young Rose

With eyes blue as ripened sloes and wavy shoulder length hair of chestnut brown
Years ago the young Rose of the old mountain town
A widowed grandmother in light brown hair dye she cloaks her gray
And clearly she has known a far better day
With anti aging creams she hides the wrinkles of time's decay
Growing old in inner suburbia from her first home far away
But despite creams and hair dyes age on faces and bodies does show
That time does rust iron everyone does know
In her mid seventies her best years long gone
But the will it is in her to keep on keeping on
Her beautiful dresses of her prime years her body has outgrown
In inner suburbia growing old on her own
She once was the young Rose of the old mountain town
With shoulder length wavy hair of chestnut brown.

He Now Is At Peace

The man who was often clock watching in life was buried yesterday
But time will not worry him where he now lay
Too busy worrying about making money for the financial security of self and family and wife
The doorway to happiness was closed in his life
Though he lived as he died a multi millionaire
He never seemed happy though his sort are not rare
It is true that money can speak every language and can buy most everything
But genuine happiness to anyone it does not bring
His sixty year old wife, children and grandchildren out of his money can have a good time
He was as unhappy as an aging man as he was when in his life's prime
It was not because of lack of money that he often felt down
As one of the sad faced sad sacks of the town
In his early seventies from life's cares and worries death gave him release
And of him one can say he now is at peace.

Friday, August 28, 2015

The Beauty In Nature

Pink blossoms are stirring in the freshening breeze
On the last days of Winter on the leaf budding fruit trees
On the last week of August a few sleeps from the calendar Spring
The beauty in Nature is such an amazing thing
At dawn the male blackbirds are singing as Spring days draw near
In Nature there is beauty at all times of year
In this their breeding Season the silver billed magpies do sing night and day
Territorial birds of them one can say
That they are among Australia's best known birds of song
Once seen and once heard them one cannot get wrong
In Nature at all times of year there is beauty to see
It is all around you and it is all around me
The sun it is shining on this nice August day
With the first of September a few sleeps away.

In The Great Sands Of Time

Our young years go quickly as does our life prime
And our footprints seem small in the great sands of time
In comparison to the achievements of our Earth Mother our greatest achievements seem small
To the scythe of Life's Reaper we are destined to fall
Such great natural beauty we choose to destroy
That Nature created for us to enjoy
With the Natural World around us in peace we cannot live
From the Earth we belong to we take and we take and in return to her little do give
As a whole we are not good for Nature why otherwise pretend
Our Earth Mother who feeds us is in need of every friend
Yet every day more trees to build money making projects are unnecessarily cut down
To the detriment of wildlife in every city and town
In the great sands of time our footprints seem small
And to the scythe of life's Reaper we must eventually must fall.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Out There On The Paddock

Out there on the paddock in the pale moonlight
A dog fox is barking in the calm of the night
There is no mistaking the wild and shrill cry
Of the cunning and opportunistic hunter under a Winter sky
Despite persecution from humans foxes as a species survive
And even in suburban and urban surroundings they are known to thrive
The creatures that are not often seen out by day
Adapt well to any surroundings it does seem this way
To foxes for their survival instincts great credit is due
That they are Nature's survivors happens to be true
Though shot at and poisoned their numbers on the increase
It does seem that human developers have given them a new life lease
Out there on the paddock barking in the moonlight
A creature that most people with a gun would shoot on sight.

Eimear O Mahony

With Eimear O Mahony's father Jerry and her uncle John i was in Millstreet Primary School
Far north of where i now live in Illowa near the City of Warrnambool
I remember well when their mother Mrs O Mahony from life passed away
Our teacher said to us for her soul kneel and pray

She had died as a young mother Denny O Mahony's wife
And for her husband and young children a huge cross in life
And though as children we knew the O Mahony family of fate had received a cruel blow
Of the depth of their loss we were too young to know

Their marvelous late aunt to young adults the seven O Mahony children did raise
And for her sacrifice for them she is well worthy of praise
More than fifty years in time have gone by since then
And the children at that time now aging women and men

Like her grandmother Eimear O Mahony at a young age has died
Suppose to live to a good age one needs luck on their side
For Jerry and Anne Marie and the O Mahony family and Eimear's soulmate the grief of loss must be hard to bear
Though time can be a healer of which we are aware

Such sad tidings does carry me way back in time
To when i was a young boy years before my life's prime
When Mrs O Mahony of Inchileigh at a young age breathed her last
The present in memory can be linked to the past.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

The Roads Of Duhallow

Around Cullen and Kiskeam and old Millstreet Town
The roads of Duhallow do wind up and down
By the Cork Kerry border near Rathmore to Ballydesmond and up to Knocknagree
In a green countryside known for it's great scenery

Kanturk, Banteer, Dromtarriffe, Rathcoole and Derrinagree
Rockchapel, Newmarket and Meelin and around Boherbue
Knockscovane and Glenlara places where time seems to stand still
Birthplaces of many a silver tongued rill

The narrow roads of Duhallow wind on for kilometers by the score
Through Castlemagner, Banteer, Nadd and Kilcorney in view of Musheramore
In Kilbrin and Tullylease undulating and winding around and around
Where the views can be quite breathtaking when on the higher ground

The old roads of Duhallow meander far and wide
Across the border Barony of the green countryside
They have inspired the makers of story, song and rhyme
And have not seemed to change that much through the passage of time.

The Great Michelle Finn

Just like her mother Mary one of the best of Millstreet
Michelle Finn of Leevale A C is quite quick on her feet
In the World 3k steeplechase in Beijing against the World's best she did compete
One can say of her quite a marvelous athlete

Her mother Mary O Connor Finn a renowned veteran athlete in Ireland today
Breeding does beget breeding as the wise one does say
Her daughter Michelle competed against the World's best
And the 2016 Olympics in Rio for her is the next big test

To be selected to compete in the World Championships and the Olympics is quite an honor indeed
And to compete against the best in the World only the best do succeed
In Rio at the Olympics against the World's best Michelle will take her place
For Leevale, Cork and Ireland and for glory she will race

When competing against the best in the World it is so hard to win
Even for a top class athlete like the great Michelle Finn
She is one who performs where the cheering is loud
And of her great performance in Beijing she can feel justifiably proud.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Where I Live To Many

Where i live to many mine remains a stranger's face
To them i am one from a far away place
Our accents not similar though our language the same
Yet with them little in common i share of which i could name
I never do tell them that i do write rhyme
As most of them would dismiss such a hobby as a waste of time
I live in my own way and do my own thing
And i leave it to them their own praises to sing
I am not one who is community minded i have come to realize
Life can be lonely for those who do not socialize
Since from there i have been many Seasons away
In the place where i came from i may feel a stranger today
But suppose life is what we make out of it is true to say
With me anyhow it is surely this way.

The Creek

The creek from the high country flowing ever brown
Babbles in the scrubland by the mountain town
On it's way to the river to the far ocean bay
In a tongue never silent by night or by day

In a place too stony for root crops or silage or hay
The roos and the wallabies in the twilight gray
By day in the high scrub often hidden from sight
Drink before hopping downhill to greener pastures for the night

People like Nature's Seasons to life come and from life go
But it cannot be said of the creek that time becomes it's foe
For milleniums of centuries it has flowed with a will
To the far away river from the foot of the hill

Very old in the age of the dinosaurs and the dreaming time
It has inspired the makers of story and rhyme
To the river that flows to the far ocean shore
It has flowed forever and will forever more.

Monday, August 24, 2015

It Is Simple Enough Stuff

It is simple enough stuff that i do write
And email every day to an internet literary site
Anybody can write rhyme the literary experts do say
But what i so enjoy doing i could not give away

The rhymes keep on coming to me in notebook i write them down
Without hope of money or literary renown
It is something i love doing as i have often said before
And what i have said often i tell you once more

Not to be true to one's self would be living a lie
And i hope to be writing rhymes till the day i do die
And why should one live only thinking of making money every day
And for their work how much they receive in reward of pay

To write rhymes is easy as easy as can be
And most people can write far better than me
And though what i enjoy doing to many may seem a waste of time
I love playing with words and and enjoy writing rhyme.

The Merri

It crawls to the Pacific dark, deep and slow
The age of the Merri anyone does not know
Perhaps it has been flowing since the dawn of time
The river that has inspired song, story and rhyme
Where on long gone Summer evenings the local first Australians danced their corroborees
Close to the river in the shade of the trees
Long before the northern people to the south west came
For the river now known as the Merri they had their own name
Since then many Seasons have come and have gone
But the old Merri river to Warrnambool , Lake Pertobe and the ocean crawls on
The people like the Seasons do come and do go
And eventually time becomes everyone's foe
But the Merri to Warrnambool to the Pacific shore
Slowly flows onwards as it will forever more.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

I Call Them Successful

Every successful person i do know
Their assets and money in millions does not grow
I call them successful because every day
To help those in need of helping they go out of their way
The people who believe in live and let live
They may not be wealthy but are always willing to give
A help to the one who is financially or mentally down
Though more of their sort needed in every town
So many who only live for self alone
And hang on to their wealth like a hungry dog to a bone
Though this sort of person i cannot admire
These are the people that many look up to and inspire
My hero is not the multi millionaire
Who with those doing it tough does not see fit to share.

Denny Hickey

Denny Hickey from Gortnacreha he died far away
In Birmingham in England he lived his last night and day
But he is at home in Cullen to stay
In the cemetery in the Village his last remains lay
The Hickeys of Gortnacreha are well liked and well known
And Denny in Cullen is now among his own
The Cullen where he went to school as a boy
He would have remembered old memories with joy
In Cullen where he had lived his younger years
By friends and old neighbors and family he would have been farewelled in tears
His yearn for adventure took him to elsewhere
For to experience life in the big World out there
Death from suffering does bring a final release
The good man Denny Hickey may he rest in peace.

Saturday, August 22, 2015

On The Butter Road

From the heights of Mushera the gray mountain fog
Silently steals across the Butter Road and cloaks Togher Bog
In poor driving conditions frost, fog and snow
On the narrow high mountain roadways drivers must drive slow
From the Butter Road on a clear Summer's day on the higher ground
The scenery breath taking for kilometers around
But the Butter Road to drive on in bad weather is not a pleasant thing
In fog, frost and snow from mid Fall to early Spring
A narrow high road that winds up and down
The Butter Road to Cork City from Duhallow's Millstreet Town
A roadway i know that i often drove on
When i was a younger man in Seasons long gone
And only the memories with me does remain
Of what used to be and may not be again.

On Development In Koroit

In this part of Koroit once a beauty quite old
Of old houses and old trees in the backyards for people to behold
The trees are removed and the houses torn down
An environmental eye sore in old Koroit Town

This in the name of progress many might say
But due to this so called development Koroit is more ugly today
What many see as progress to me seems all wrong
Since the Earth is not ours to destroy to the Earth we belong

The birds and the possums from the backyards have gone
And for people life in Koroit Town as usual goes on
But the resident birds and possums if living must feel scared and distressed
There should be nothing in this for one to feel impressed

A few jobs in the short term this might create
But there should be nothing in this for to celebrate
For a few jobs the development of natural habitat seems a huge price to pay
Far too much destruction of the Natural Environment in the World of today

I too am one more silent voice in the crowd
And by people of power and money i too do feel cowed
of this sort of development is there any need
For our future extinction we may be planting the seed

Of uncalled for attacks on Mother Nature nothing for to feel proud
The noise of the bulldozing machines is loud
What we do to our Earth Mother to our own selves we do
And this applies to everyone and everyone includes me and you.

Friday, August 21, 2015

A Wet August Day In Duhallow

The gray fog is stealing down the Boggeraghs again
And the tall trees are soughing in the wind and the rain
It is raincoat weather the sky looking gray
The sun may not shine in Duhallow today

Late August the best of the Summer has gone
And September and Autumn is nearing and time ticking on
The dark barn swallows close to the grass fly
In wet weather the flying insects they live on never high in the sky

The streams and rivers overflowing in flood waters of brown
And the main road under water quite close to the town
By the weather forecast tomorrow will be dry and clear
Though for the Duhallow farmers this is not a good year

Not a time of year for making silage or hay
In Duhallow in August the weather changes from day to day
The Freshening wind soughing in the tall trees
On a cool and wet day of just fifteen degrees.

Money May Speak Every Language

Money may speak every language but money will not save
You of the crematorium or the deep dark depths of the grave
The Reaper of lives will come reaping your way
If not in the dark of night then in the light of day
The one who claims the lives of those who are young and those in their prime and those who are old
Is the one you cannot buy time from with your money or gold
And the longest lived human life in time not a long span
On average a few years more for a woman than it is for a man
Of the praises of money the masses may sing
And though money as is known is an important thing
Like the poor and the homeless of Poverty Street
The billionaire and Life's Reaper will eventually meet
But money is quite important in the Human World of today
And that you are better off with it than without it only true for to say.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Sebastiao Salgado

His amazing and true to life images of malnourished people deceased, dying and ill
Has made a champion of the poor of Sebastiao Salgado the great photographer from Brazil
Perhaps one of the all time great photographers Worldwide famous and known
One well worthy of the title of in a class of his own
His graphic images of the Ethiopian famine and the massacres in Rwanda and Yugoslavia have been seen Worldwide
Of the World's poor and downtrodden he is on their side
For his work on behalf of the Natural Environment great credit he is due
To his higher self Sebastiao remains true
The wonderful man with a wonderful wife
Lelia his inspirational soul mate in life
Behind every great man a great woman on this instance true anyway
He does credit her for the man he is today
Sebastiao Salgado will die but his photographs will live on
Long after the breath of life from him has gone.

Haile Selassie The Christ God

To me it does seem for to say the least odd
That Rastafarians believe the late Haile Selassie is God
Though doubtless when living he had God on his side
When he was Emperor of Ethiopia at least a million of Ethiopians of malnutrition died

He owned ninety percent of the wealth of Ethiopia whilst millions of Ethiopians were in dire poverty
For one proclaimed by some as a God he seemed greedy to me
Eventually as many of his kind are he was overthrown
And of how he died remains as unknown

For the awful famine in Ethiopia some with him share the shame
But then as Emperor and a very wealthy man he must take most of the blame
For the plight of many of his Country's people who died in a horrible way
Yet to Rastafarians the Christ to whom they kneel to and pray

Haile Selassie the Christ God lived as a billionaire for most of his life span
And as Emperor of Ethiopia he has overthrown and died as a tainted man
But Jamaican Rastafarians look up to him as a supreme being of the sky
Why a deceased flawed mortal is adored as a God one must wonder why?

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

By The Road From Millstreet To Rathmore

The scream of a barn owl echoes in the moonlight
And in a field by the road from Millstreet to Rathmore in the dead of the night
The barking of a hungry fox a familiar shrill cry
Out hunting for hare or rabbit under the night sky
In the green countryside where the waterways meet
The Pride of Ballydaly often cycled to her home on the road from the Town of Millstreet
Till the bug of the wander did lure her away
From the place she first looked on the bright lamp of day
By the road from Millstreet to Rathmore her life's journey began
Where she left at nineteen full of youthful elan
She too would have heard the fox barking at night in a field by the roadway
And heard the blackbird singing at the dawn of a Spring day
But she grows old far south of Hibernia's shore
And the road from Millstreet Town that leads to Rathmore.

The Pride Of Koroit

With blue eyes and shoulder length wavy hair of brown
The beautiful lady of old Koroit Town
Near the prime of her life single and carefree
On next April the fourth she will turn twenty three
So down to earth with a lovely smile
Tall and slender and beautiful and untainted by guile
The type of young woman every young man wishes to know
The Pride of Koroit has the inner glow
In Koroit she was born and raised and went to primary school
And now she works as a high school teacher in nearby Warrnambool
When she is out walking in the park or on the street
She smiles and says hello to everyone she does meet
Wherever she is at joy is to be found
She carries it with her and spreads it around.

In Ireland Today

It is hardly the sort of weather for making of hay
A cloudy high of nineteen degrees in Ireland today
The first of the calendar Autumn just eleven sleeps away
And that the best of the Summer has gone only true to say
Above the old fields chirping as they fly
The dark swallows are chasing flying insects in the sky
In early October they fly south to Winter in the warmer clime
And they will return home to breed when Spring is in her prime
Though the sun is not always shining and the sky of cloud not always clear
In Ireland late August can be a nice time of year
Weather-wise the best of the Summer in the forever gone
And the year getting older and time ticking on
In less than a fortnight from now in time not long at all
It will be the first of September and the calendar Fall.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Monoculture And Honeybees

Going by people of science with scientific uni degrees
Monoculture is disastrous for honeybees
The growing of one form of flowering plant or of one form of flowering tree
Is not helpful to the survival of the nectar gathering bee
For the survival of many races of people one for has to fear
If honeybees from the World do disappear
For the honey making bee to humanity is a great friend
And on their survival our survival well may depend
Yes the honeybees to us are quite important indeed
For their pollinisation of flowering plants them we do need
To them there is more to their making of honey as many have come to realize
That they are friends of the Natural Environment is not a surprise
From monoculture and the spraying of insecticide
Honeybees are becoming endangered Worldwide.

Eventually Time

The old person nowadays a young person not that long ago
Eventually time becomes everyone's foe
The paupers, the homeless and those of money and fame
By the Reaper of lives are treated as the same
That we are only mere mortals is not a lie
And like all other life forms we are born to die
Our biological clocks ever ticking away
And for all of us there is a last night and day
The Reaper of lives any life does not spare
Money cannot save from death the known billionaire
Millions of people are born and die every year
And our date with the Reaper the most of us does fear
And how would we know of a heaven or hell
If any deceased person of their existence has not come back to tell?

The City Of Warrnambool

For it's scenic beauty it has won renown
The City of Warrnambool a big beautiful Town
For it's friendly people it is widely known
One can say of them in a class of their own
A livable City is old Warrnambool
Where in the warmest of Summer the sea breeze keeps the air cool
A favorite place of many for a holiday
And some even return to there for a longer stay
A beautiful coastal City not too big or too small
In Warrnambool no such a thing as urban sprawl
Near the shores of the Pacific in the green countryside
Warrnambool the capital of south west Victoria is known far and wide
As a place that has inspired song, story and rhyme
And has not changed that much with the passing of time.

Monday, August 17, 2015

That There Are None Of Us Perfect

That there are none of us perfect happens to be true
The imperfections in me i can see in you
To be flawed it is human does seem true to say
So few living saints in the Human World of today
The flaws we dislike in others are the flaws in ourselves we do see
This is what a wise old woman once said to me
With her way of thinking how can one disagree
To be flawed in some ways part of our humanity
The main flaws in most people are arrogance and conceit
In my lifetime a person without any flaw i may never meet
But the people who in them have the power to forgive
And try to follow in the wisdom in the saying of live and let live
And live by the philosophy of in give to receive
Some success in their lifetime they will achieve.

If You Perform Good Deeds

If you perform good deeds good will be your due
For what goes around comes around happens for to be true
The criminal may profit from his or her crime
But if the law does not catch up with them Karma will in time
If good things you do good in return you receive
On such a life philosophy i for one in do believe
If the law does not catch up with you Karma will one day
This is how life works and it will always work in this way
If you do wrong to others you will have some price to pay
If not to human law then to Karma does only seem true to say
You are helping to make the World better to live in by the good that you do
But how you choose for to live your life it is all up to you
And if you are always willing for to help one of helping in need
For your future good Karma you are planting the seed.

The Aging Migrants

The aging migrants think of their first home-place every day
Though from there in distance they live far away
Yet old memories bring to them moments of joy
Of their happy times as a girl or a boy
Some of them grandparents and some of them single and childless did stay
But they share one thing in common from where they now live they were born and raised far away
And in a nearby cemetery their last remains may lay
Since death for all is inevitable only true to say
Old memories of the past are all we have to recall
And for each one of us there is a final Fall
But on their flights of fancy the migrants often go home again
Though of the what used to be only memories remain
The biological clocks ever tick on and on
And the past like all yesterdays in the forever gone.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

An August Night In The Moyne Shire

A bright full moon shines in the starlit sky
And the hunting fox on the high paddock does cry
And mopoke mopoke the voice of the boobook owl in the still air echoes clear
In mid August on late Winter near the Spring of the year
On this beautiful night in the coastal Moyne Shire
Of singing the praises of Nature could one ever tire
For the time of year the weather quite mild a pleasant six degrees
With only the slightest of a coastal breeze
On the moonlit trees the male magpies do sing
Just seventeen sleeps from the first of the calendar Spring
Though the weather forecast for tomorrow dry and mild again
The tiny frogs singing for to warn us of rain
The fox barking on the high paddock in the moonlight
And Nature's nocturnal creatures out and about on a mild August night.

We Are Told

We are told that we can be anything that we wish to be
Though this does seem quite a bit far fetched to me
I can never imagine that humans unassisted will fly
And as eagles do soar near the clouds of the sky
In science and technology in a few decades humans have come a long way
But even the most intelligent human beings do have their limits it is true to say
Though to be the most intelligent of Earthly life forms some humans may boast
Without oxygen tanks we would live under water for only minutes at most
True enough people have walked on the Moon and may yet go to Mars
And travel to other planets way beyond the stars
But the World's fastest human the great Usain Bolt
Does seem rather slow to a thoroughbred colt
We are told we can be anything that we wish to be
But i for one with this could never agree.

In Birdsland Today

The gray butcherbirds are singing in Birdsland today
In fancy i hear them in the dawning gray
As the white cockatoos do scream as they fly
From their tall roosting trees to the paddocks nearby
Birdsland in the Yarra Ranges where Nature in peace does reside
Known to lovers of wildlife in places from there far and wide
It's very equal one does not often see
A safe haven from hunters and shooters for the wild and the free
A place that has inspired the writers of story and rhyme
I have not been to there for quite a long time
Though in fancy i often walk the pathway around the lake
With Jedder my black and white bitch just for old time sake
In Wonthaggi her last remains forever lay
And in kilometers from Birdsland i live far away.

Saturday, August 15, 2015

For Him In Life

For him in life nothing seems to go to plan
His wife took the children to live with another man
He never did harm her in any way
On leaving she told him i love him better than you this is all she did say

Not happy in work though he works hard enough
His boss on the workers is one who is tough
His hard work is not matched by his take home pay
Though in a town of high unemployment in his job he must stay

Forsaken for the love of another by his unfaithful wife
For him nothing seems for to go right in life
One of the working poor and mentally down
There are so many like him in every town

Life for him does seem to be an uphill fight
And anything for him never seems to go right
Of personal success stories he does not have any to tell
And of life on the hard side he knows all too well.

Pudsy Our Dog

As a boy i often hunted with her in Matty Owens bog
She was my devoted friend Pudsy the dog
A big dark brown hairy female as tough as barbed wire
With energy for to spare she never seemed to tire

A gift to us from John Pat Riordan when she was twelve weeks old
The story of Pudsy deserves to be told
As a hunting dog and a farm dog though on some of her ways rough
One can say of her that she was good enough

In her prime years she never lost in a dog fight
Most other dogs slunk off when of her they caught sight
Too hairy for other dogs to bite into from a challenge she never backed down
A champion fighting dog west of Millstreet Town

Her hairy coat gave her protection from the rain, frost and cold
And she raised many puppies and lived to be old
To us our dog Pudsy was a source of pride
And there were tears in our household on the day that she died

Of the what used to be the good memories remain
And as a boy i am hunting with Pudsy again
She is chasing a hare in Matty Owens Bog
Our four legged warrior Pudsy the dog.

Gillian Gilbourne

Blond, tall slim and elegant beauty in her does glow
As a woman of fashion her reputation does grow
In Ireland she has won first prize at many a race meeting and show
In Irish fashion circles the woman everyone does seem to know

Gillian Gilbourne a young mother in fashion to none second best
On so many gala occasions in Ireland voted the best dressed
With a great sense of dress to go with her beautiful figure and face
Among Ireland's fashion elite she commands pride of place

In the high countryside above Millstreet Town at Tooreenbawn
On view of Mushera mountain she lived many a dawn
As a glamorous lady of fashion she is now widely known
The Fashion World now may claim her but she remains Millstreet's own

To the fashion fans of Ireland it comes as a surprise
If at a show or race meeting she attends she does not win first prize
At the recent Charleville show another best dressed lady win to her name
In Tooreenbawn on view of Mushera she took her first steps to fame.

Friday, August 14, 2015

A Good Day For Me

Though of cares i am one who is not always free
Everyday i do live is a good day for me
Of the praises of life i feel happy to sing
As a gift to humanity there is no greater thing
Money is of no use to the billionaire dead
Though much about them is written and much about them is said
Only earthworms live in the dark depths of the grave
From the Reaper of lives money them did not save
Life is the greatest thing that a human being can own
Of a greater gift than it there is not one known
It is a fact we are all born as mortals and fact does not lie
So why be in any great hurry to die
I just want to live on for as long as i can
And in my sleep die without pain as a very old man.

The Silent One

The day was not sunny though the weather was fine
He sat on his mobile chair on the pier fishing with rod and line
When i said hello to him he did not reply
That he choose to ignore me i did wonder why

His serious countenance did not hide any guile
The type whose face might crack if he did smile
Just one quick glance at me then he looked away
To me he did not have anything for to say

In his mid forties his short brown hair showing traces of gray
Perhaps he was having a bad fishing day
The fish were not biting his luck did seem out
At times in life nothing for to smile about

He will never be my friend and he is not my foe
The rod and line fisherman who ignored my hello
His serious looking face it was bordering on sad
Suppose in life there are the good days and bad

A smile never does cost anyone anything
In fact it can be quite a beautiful thing
To my greeting he choose not to reply
His mood matched the gray clouds of the sunless sky.

My Rhymes Are Old Fashioned

My rhymes are old fashioned and a little rough
And to be seen as a good writer not quite good enough
This is something you may have heard me say before
Though i am one of those whose has penned rhymes by the score
But i do enjoy rhyming in truth i can say
And i add to my numbers of rhymes every day
You may call me an addictive rhymer if so you wish to choose
Perhaps i am one who was born to lose
But i hope to be rhyming on my life's final day
For what i so enjoy doing why should i give away
I have been penning rhymes since nineteen seventy three
But i am just one of many there are many like me
Whose physical best years are in the forever gone
And like me they are happy for to keep on rhyming on.

Thursday, August 13, 2015


Whenever of far away places i dream
The wild cry of the moorhen i hear in the stream
With a babbling tongue that is never still
That flows to the river down the fields by the hill

A voice of the river one should never get wrong
The dark brown white breasted dipper of the high pitched song
In my dreams often sing in the Spring of the year
Though in waking time him i may never more hear

Nostalgia for me is a thing of the past
Though of what used to be the good memories do last
And often i dream of the what used to be
And of the beautiful sounds and sights i did hear and see

The past it has gone like Autumn's last rose
And the now is all that does matter one has to suppose
But in my dreams above the brown mountain a tiny musical speck in the sky
The lark is singing as up to the gray clouds he does fly

Whenever i dream of the past i hear a male chaffinch sing
on a leafy birch tree in the prime of the Spring
When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
And the wildflowers adorn the old fields far away.

Some People In Their Opinions

Some people in their opinions feel they are never wrong
That to a higher form of thinkers they do belong
But those who think they know it all have nothing to learn is how it seems to be
The wise known to differ and fools disagree
Arrogance can be a block to knowledge from the mind
The egotistical towards learning are never inclined
Their tunnel to enlightenment for them is too small
They have nothing to learn since they know it all
Ignorance is bliss as the wise one does say
With some people anyhow it is this way
But those who have accumulated much knowledge have come to realize
That they have so much to learn is this a surprise
Some people in their opinions feel they are never wrong
That to a higher form of thinkers they do belong.

We Live In An Age

We live in an age when wars and rumors of war are rife
But one fight worth fighting for is the fight for life
The fight for to live for as long as you can
Should apply to every girl and boy and every woman and man

Leave it to patriots and nationalists the praises of dead war heroes to sing
But of all of humanity's gifts the great gift of life is the most important thing
The will is in most people for to live on
Even though their best physical years are in the long forever gone

The gift of life is worth fighting for as the one true just fight
To live till you die by Nature's law should be everyone's right
As a gift the gift of life does not have an equal to say otherwise would be telling a lie
A gift we do lose on the moment we die

We live in an age when so called successful people are admired
And impressionable people to be like them do feel inspired
And though they may be quite gifted in some ways as most would agree
We all share the greatest gift is how it seems to be.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

In Politics The Truth

Of the sincerity of most politicians one has to cast some doubt
One must ask when they talk of love of Country what are they on about
Since most politicians enter politics only for self gain and little else more
Forgive me for quoting something that has been said many times before
Any politician honest with their feelings of him or herself would say
We are in it for the power and the influence and of course the great pay
But for them to tell the truth on such a matter their political career they would bring to an end
In politics the truth it cannot be your friend
There is some truth in the saying that most politicians in their ways are the same
They are only in it for the money the power and the fame
So few politicians to their words remain true
In the politicians we elect to parliament we are receiving in life what is only our due
On the word of a politician you cannot depend
For in politics the truth it cannot be your friend.

Friends Of The Farmers

Perhaps it is their idea of a Winter holiday
In Illowa in Winter for a few months for to stay
Around the herds of cattle they spend their days
Eating insects disturbed by the big beasts as they graze

From their breeding grounds further north the migratory cattle egrets travel far
And you always will see them near where cattle are
To their Wintering grounds in the south they travel quite a long way
Birds that are friends of the farmers of them one can say

Since insects harmful to the land that flee big trampling feet
To the taste buds of the snow white egrets are sweet
The wonders of Nature never cease to amaze
The one who is worthy of admiration and praise

To reach the paddocks of Illowa of their home place they do fly far south
It can be said of them that they do get about
The migratory white cattle egrets of human kind shy
To the big grazing animals always walking nearby.

The Female Voice Of Millstreet

The female voice of Millstreet Eily Buckley of late has not been feeling well
Sean Radley deputizing for her on her online Regional Report from which she is having a spell
That Eily has many friends in Millstreet of her only true to say
And doubtless she will be back again to a rousing hooray

Eily Buckley is quite popular in the Town by Clara Hill
She is as much a Millstreet celebrity as Carmen Miranda was in Brazil
In Millstreet it would not be a wise person who in words would put her down
She or he would lose a lot of friends in the old Duhallow Town

Wherever Eily Buckley is joy is to be found
She always takes it with her and shares it around
A great mentor to her family and to the late Dan Buckley a good wife
It can be said of Eily she is larger far than life

Eily Buckley she is famous and she is known far and wide
Beyond the Barony borders of Duhallow's green old countryside
Recovering from her operation and feeling better now it does seem
In Millstreet Town and Millstreet Parish she is held in high esteem.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015


Fear in itself happiness to anyone never does bring
It can indeed be a mentally crippling thing
Governments stay in power through the medium of fear
Through believing everything from them that they do hear
Their fear of terrorism and terrorists by their Government magnified
Exploitation of their fears by their Government a good way of keeping the voters on side
A fear of some sort many people face every day
At the sight of a spider some scream and run away
And some have a phobia of mice and rats
And some good swimmers too scared to swim in deep water and some live in fear of bats
And though the praises of fear you will not hear many sing
A little bit of fear can be a life saving thing
And despite the old saying of fortune favors the brave
Too much courage can buy one a ticket to an early grave.

The Woman Of Song

In the local pub she is always the leader in the sing along
The one who is known as The Woman Of Song
A grandmother four times she is fifty three
Of any care or worry she does seem quite free

Her brown shoulder length wavy hair is showing traces of gray
One might say physically she has known a far better day
At least two decades beyond her life's prime
Though she has retained most of her beauty despite the passing of time

Her husband at home watching sport on t v
The sing along not for men such as he
Drinking from his can of beer in the lounge room whilst on t v watching football
Doubtless each to their own does apply to all

On Friday evenings with her friends at the local pub
And on Saturdays in the bar room of The Bowling Club
She leads in the singing her voice a joy for to hear
So pleasant to listen to melodious and clear

So happy and cheerful and lovely to behold
A grandmother on her fifty third year she does not look that old
At the local pub and the Bowling Club bar she leads in the sing along
This talented person The Woman Of Song.

Ballarat In Victoria

Ballarat in Victoria where history was made
Where working men died for their rights at the Eureka Stockade
Though outnumbered by the forces of Britain's Empire's might
The miners of Ballarat put up a brave fight
The miners of Ballarat where the Australian Trade Union was born
On the side of the Crown Government they proved a huge thorn
True stories of their bravery we read of and hear
They were rather fearless in the gap of fear
Above Bakery Hill the flag of the Southern Cross wave
For to honor the memory of the long deceased brave
Though outnumbered and outgunned they refused to lay down
The legendary miners of Ballarat Town
The story of their fight for miners rights is known Worldwide
And to the people of Ballarat they remain as a source of pride.

Monday, August 10, 2015


Why stress yourself with worrying of the years ahead
Many who worried like you do are now with the dead
Their lives ended prematurely worrying made them feel ill
The silent bug of worry has been known for to kill
It does not solve anyone's problems why otherwise pretend
Worry to anyone is never a friend
Worry it only does give rise to stress
In the mind of the one who does worry never any room for happiness
About the problems you have you may as well whistle and sing
Since worrying it never does solve anything
One small worry into a big one can grow
This is common knowledge as most seem to know
It causes heart attacks and ulcers as well as cancer too
Worry is a thing that without you can do.

August In Illowa

The sun it is hidden behind clouds of gray
But the magpies are singing in Illowa today
And the magpie larks calling in their familiar pee wee
Familiar Australians one often hear and see
August in Illowa a cool and wet time of year
At the back end of Winter with the birth of Spring near
The migratory white cattle egrets eating insects disturbed by the cattle as they graze
The workings of Nature never cease to amaze
The first of the calendar Spring the first of September less than four weeks away
And the grass it is growing in a few months from now the farmers will be baling hay
In Illowa the blackbirds will soon be heard sing
In the warmer weather of September in the early Spring
The weather is often windy, wet and cool
In August in Illowa near the City of Warrnambool.

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Old Age Can Be A Punishment

From your head you lose a few more strands of hair every day
That old age can be a punishment it does seem this way
The passing of time does leave you walking slow
This is something no doubt that you already know
People good at sports seem to fade fast just beyond their physical prime
The physical self quickly succumbs to time
Three score and ten years the average human life span
A few years more for a woman than it is for a man
It is true enough what has been said of the sage
That she or he even grows wiser with age
And though wisdom is a thing that cannot be bought or sold
Some never grow wiser they only grow old
You lose a few gray strands of hair from your head every day
Does that old age can be a punishment seem a fair thing to say?

Everything In Life

For every woman and for every man
Everything in life does not go to plan
One has to take the good days with the bad
And the happy times as well as the sad
The praises of the wealthy and famous the masses may sing
And though money is quite important it is not everything
That the majority of the wealthy are not always happy happens to be true
In life as is said all good things are not our due
The happiest person of that i do know
Is one who is blessed with the bright inner glow
Wherever she is at joy is to be found
She carries it with her and spreads it around
And for every woman and every man
Everything in life it does not go to plan.

The Town's Wealthiest Person

The town's wealthiest person was buried yesterday
But money no use to him where he now lay
His recently deceased wife gave birth to his two daughters and a son
A grandfather ten times he died at eighty one

Those who knew him say with his money he was tight
He never wined and dined in expensive restaurants at night
He was one of those good at making money but reluctant to spend
His often used saying was i am my own best friend

He did not grow old as generous he just grew old and gray
He never took his wife and children on a holiday
The accumulation of money was something he did enjoy
Something that gave him pleasure even as a schoolboy.

Those who knew him say he was quite stingy indeed
But the town's wealthiest man money now does not need
He was buried yesterday and yesterday has gone
And today in the town business as usual and life goes on.

Saturday, August 8, 2015

This Penning Of Rhyme

This penning of rhyme can be a hungry belly game
For most in it no money as well as no fame
At penning of rhyme most rhymers for themselves never make a name
Though it is something they do enjoy doing just the same
Not a career parents would choose for their child writing of rhyme
As most people do see it as a waste of time
Though to do it you do not need a uni degree
And it even does come easy to one like me
And though of the praises of rhymers you will not hear many sing
For the rhymers the penning of rhyme can be an enjoyable thing
The writing of rhyme is not a good launching pad to wealth and renown
Though there are many rhymers in every village and city and town
And as is said rhymers are many and poets are few
Though to this one might say do tell us what is new.

So Many Wars

So many wars have been fought and lost and won
And many a mother has grieved for her dead soldier son
And to borders and nationalism and religion peace always seems to lose out
Death and suffering, destruction and grief is what war is all about

Negotiations that would lead to peace seems too easy for some leaders to choose
They would rather have war where even winners do lose
For any victory in war does come at a huge cost
Where so many are badly injured and so many lives are lost

That war does lead to peace in most cases a lie
And those who cause wars in wars seldom known to die
And since more people are injured and die in war zones every day
From past wars nothing learned it does seem this way

The praises of dead war heroes the patriots may sing
But war in itself is a terrible thing
The mother she weeps at her soldier's son grave
And no consolation to her that in war he died brave.

The Outsider By Choice

He goes his own way and he does his own thing
And the praises of anyone he does not sing
And in his words he never puts anyone down
The true individual of the tribal town
Sports never seems to interest him at all
He never plays tennis or cricket or football
To community discussions he never lends his voice
One might say of him an outsider by choice
He does not have a girlfriend nor neither is he gay
For sex in the brothel he is willing to pay
A young man near his prime he has just turned twenty three
Of cares and responsibilities he is one who is free
One who never does dream of success and renown
The outsider by choice in the tribal town.

Friday, August 7, 2015

July In Lisnaboy

Good old memories do live on as a source of joy
Often in fancy i go back to old Lisnaboy
On the farm with my Aunt Mary and my Uncle Dan
Many Seasons before i grew into a man

On a bright and pleasant afternoon in July
In pursuit of flying insects in the blue and gray sky
Above the old fields the dark barn swallows did fly
Whilst with pikes from the rows we shook out the hay for sun and wind to dry

In almost perfect weather temperatures of around twenty degrees
With a nice sort of freshness in the freshening breeze
The balmy air full of the buzzing of flies and of bees
How nice to rekindle such good memories

Such nice memories a lifetime destined for to stay
The sweet scent of the grass freshly mown for hay
For as long as we live good memories remain
For us for to visit again and again

In Cullen church ground Dan and Mary's bones lay
And Lisnaboy in distance far from where i live today
And the past as is ever in the forever gone
But the good memories of the what used to be do live on.

For A Bully Is Always A Coward

A bully with the support of subordinate bullies is one who feels greatly empowered
But bullies on their own as we all know when stood up to often reduced to the status of coward
Just like the story of the school yard bully beaten by a smaller boy in a fight
He never again was a bully and of trouble he kept out of sight
It is true there are many sort of bullies and every bully lacks in empathy
And when bullies do get their comeuppance they never receive any sympathy
The general consensus is they got what they deserved what goes around comes around as they say
It is true enough that the bully will surely be humbled one day
All bullies are not of the male kind there are some female bullies as well
And all bullies they do derive pleasure on making life for the vulnerable hell
To be a bully not something to be proud of since bullies use their power in a wrong way
But what goes around always comes around as the one of wisdom did say
A bully with the support of subordinate bullies is one who does feel greatly empowered
But on their own bullies can be easily humbled for a bully is always a coward.

Catching The Pig

No story for to be published too small or too big
Sean Radley online has published the story of Catching The Pig
At the Priest's Cross in Millstreet in Duhallow a piglet running free
Disrupting the traffic this is something nowadays one often does not see

The famed photographer Fr James McSweeney happened for to be passing by
For a few good images for to go with a story one who has an eye
For to catch the piglet a few did give chase
But he dodged them left and right and he picked up the pace

By a piglet on the loose at Priest's Cross traffic brought to a standstill
Till a young passing tourist with good pig catching skill
Gave chase and successfully ran the runaway down
On the busy roadway near old Millstreet Town

It is on the Millstreet Website for all to be seen
An Garda Siochana were even present at the scene
Where a freedom loving piglet was on the run about
Though of this being a newsworthy story some may even doubt

But in Millstreet a Town of Hurling and Gaelic Football
To be published no story too big or no story too small
And from the Town in Duhallow's old green countryside
The story of Catching The Pig it has gone Worldwide.

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Of Winners And Losers

We all have our ambitions and goals to pursue
But for many their dreams in life never come true
For every winner there has to be losers life works in this way
But those who keep on trying will know of success one day
Life is all about winning or so it does seem
And failure does nothing for one's self esteem
The successful are those of which most wish to know
Their admirers in numbers every day seem to grow
The most popular person in all of the town
Is never the one who is financially down
This is how it is and it always will be
Though we all cannot be winners would you not agree?
Of winners and losers we read of and hear every day
This is how life works it does seem this way.

They Are Not Responsible

They are not responsible for Global Warming the homeless poor and unemployed
It is by the affluent minority that the Natural Environment is being destroyed
The people who have grown wealthy from mining and property development the few responsible for a huge percentage of the carbon emissions it does seem
The poor cause little environmental damage compared to those held in high esteem
Human greed is the main cause of Global Warming and the majority of the culprits are of the greedy few
But this is a very well known fact and in a known fact there is nothing that is new
The property developer, mining magnate and oil tycoon for the Natural Environment do not care
The bleak future due to Global Warming for the Earth we live on no worry for the money billionaire
Their workers work on oil rigs in the deep ocean and with large machines dig holes to extract wealth from the ground
The majority of the culprits responsible for Global Warming amongst the wealthy minority are to be found
With the increase in the human population and less arable land for to grow food on
Due to the ravages of Global Warming the better years for many are in the long gone
And this is due to a few greedy and very wealthy people those who feel that enough is never enough
And in Climate Change the poor are growing poorer those who already have known it too tough.

If Ever I Go Back To Millstreet

If ever i go back to Millstreet any stories of personal success i do not have to tell
Since on my journeys south of Claraghatlea i have not done financially well
And those with heaps of money are admired and looked up to in Millstreet as well as everywhere
One of the main reasons many young people do migrate to try their luck in the big World out there

I may be quite low in finances but i am quite wealthy in another way
I feel privileged by the natural beauty that is all around me every day
It may be Winter in the Moyne Shire but clusters of yellow blossoms on every wattle tree
In coastal south west Victoria in every Season there is natural beauty for to see

But here i will always be a migrant where time has left me looking older and gray
Though here i feel inwardly contented and here i feel happy to stay
For as long as the urge is not in me for to move on to another place
Though here i am a stranger to many and mine is not a recognized face

Here i often see emu and koala, echidna, wallaby and gray kangaroo
And long billed corella and crimson rosella and the big dark brown parrot yellow tailed black cockatoo
And the migratory cattle egrets as white as the new fallen snow
In July and August amongst the herds eating insects disturbed by them grazing my wonder of Nature only does grow

If ever i go back to Millstreet i can only tell of the natural beauty i have seen
In my travels in south eastern Australia where the landscape is not always green
Though i could not tell them of any financial successes with my words why should i deceive
But wealth it does have many faces at least this is what i believe.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

The More I Learn From Life

To learn i am one who has always been slow
But the more i learn from life i realize so little of life i do know
But we never stop learning as the wise one does say
And new lessons in life for us every day
Those who think they know everything the point do miss
That their minds are closed to learning suppose ignorance is bliss
That from the book of life we never stop learning is only so true
And to those not open to learning ignorance is their due
Good listeners far more so than good talkers in knowledge do gain
Why this be so seems beyond me to explain
Suppose when talking you cannot be learning since the mind is not open to receive
On such a life philosophy i am one who believe
The more i learn from life the more i realize so little i do know
About life and my value of knowledge only does seem to grow.

The Brave Do Not Heckle

The one who joins the heckling and booing mob may somehow feel empowered
But as an individual in him runs the coward
The brave do not heckle or boo they stand on their own
For such cowardly behavior their sort are not known
In the face of derision the brave one speaks out
Booing and heckling of an individual is not what bravery is about
One individual against a harassing mob is powerless to fight back
And those who join in the heckling and booing In courage and compassion and empathy lack
Such people in their thinking and behavior in their ways are so small
Their idea of a fair go does not encompass a fair go for all
About such people there is nothing on which to admire
Any sort of fairness or justice their sort never inspire
Above the very ordinary they never do rise
And any of them never short listed for any peace prize.

You Are Not To Blame

For the crimes of your fellow Country people you are not to blame
Their sins against others should not be your shame
You live as a good person and have never harmed anyone
And why should you feel any guilt for any harm that some of your race to others have done
You are not responsible for the crimes of some of your race
If the law does not catch up with them from Karma for them there is no hiding place
As individuals we are all responsible for our own lives it does seem
And the crimes of some of the members of your race should not cause you for to lose any self esteem
Wearing guilt for the sins of others seems rather pointless to me
Leave them to feel their own guilt is how it ought to be
Of a good and a bad race of people there is no such a thing
The praises of a good individual one only can sing
For the crimes of some of the members of your own race why should you feel any shame
Since for the wrongs that they do to others you are not to blame.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Were I Born A Poet

Were i born a poet i would write poems about
A soft breeze at morning blowing with a freshening mouth
And the pleasant flute like warbling in the magpie's song
A voice from once heard one will never again get wrong

Were i born a poet i would write poems of the homeless of the street
Who every day life's toughest challenge are obliged for to meet
The test of survival they face every day
My homage to them in a poem i would pay

Were i born a poet i would write poems of the rill
That babbles downland from it's source by the hill
To the big river that journeys to the ocean shore
In a distinctive voice of Nature that is forever more

Were i born a poet poems to Nature i would write
That lovers of poetry would feel happy to read and recite
But poets are not many as most would agree
And an ordinary rhymer is the best i can be.

Of My Time In Mushera

The memories with me are all that does remain
I will never fell pine trees by Mushera again
In all sorts of weather wind, sun, frost and rain
With brown rain water flowing in every drain

Across the high country the cold winds did blow
And old Mushera was often in his hat of snow
Late Winter in Mushera can be a cold and wet time of year
The wind soughing in the pine trees in fancy i hear

But Mushera is a beautiful place in the Spring
When the wood pigeons coo and the nesting birds sing
And the weather temperatures close to a pleasant twenty degrees
And the warmth of Spring in the freshening mountain breeze

When the hawthorns are cloaked in their white blooms of May
Dark faced young lambs in the high fields by Mushera around their mothers play
And the dark barn swallows in the blue and gray sky
In pursuit of flying insects chirping as they fly.

The memories are all i have left to retain
Of what used to be but will not be again
Of my time in Mushera felling spruce and pine trees
On weather temperatures of varying degrees.

Those Who Like To Talk

Those who like to talk and are not good at listening for to learn are slow
And the one who is good at listening is always learning is something everyone does know
This is common knowledge it is true to say
A good listener is learning something new every day
Those over fond of talking of their own voices like the sound
Though with knowledge such people are not known to abound
That empty vessels make the most noise remain ever true
And this applies to everyone as well as me and you
The wisest people of the town are amongst the most knowledgeable as well
And why this is so is not hard to tell
Since they are good at listening they learn every day
They do learn most those with little to say.

Monday, August 3, 2015

Pride Is A Thing

The words of a wise person are ours to recall
Pride is a thing that comes before a fall
The proudest of people have known of wounded pride
And the mental hurt they did feel they struggled for to hide
It is a known fact the proudest of the town
Have had their humbling moments and felt mentally down
A wound to the ego is mentally a painful thing
But some temporary humbling to the proud one does bring
Yes indeed it is true that pride comes before a fall
And the most arrogant of people can be made to feel small
A prick to the ego can cause mental pain
But a loss to arrogance can be humility's gain
And the words of the wise person are ours to recall
Pride is a thing that comes before a fall.

Not An Excuse

The man who ill treats his children and beats his wife
Is one who has not learned from the book of life
And though he himself as a child may have been abused
From his bad behavior he cannot be excused

For such an excuse it is not good enough
Since many men as children who have known it quite tough
To their wives and children are loving and kind
Aggression and violence are born of darkness of mind

For violence of all sorts excuses are often made
But it only does show the darker side of the offender when violence is displayed
And domestic violence is on the increase as a statistic this is quite bad
And to read of this to say the least sad

Of domestic violence we so often hear of and read
A good man by good example always does lead
And though the man who beats his wife and children himself a victim of abuse
For his bad behavior this is not an excuse.

Denis Healy

He was a good person in him nothing small
Years ago he played for the Slanan Rovers Club in Gaelic Football
When he was a younger man in his life's prime
Though this is going back many Seasons in time

So sad to learn Denis Healy from life has passed away
That he lived as a very good person of him would be true to say
In his late sixties or early seventies he was far from an old man
So many have lived a far longer life span

Dark haired and handsome in his younger years
His passing in Millstreet would not have gone without tears
But for everyone a last Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall
We are born as mortals and death is for us all

But he used in a good way his great gift of life
And he is a huge loss to his family and his wife
And he will be sadly missed by many in Millstreet
Who will mourn for a friend they will never more meet

For all of us there is a last night and day
By Cashman's Hill in St Mary's his last remains lay
One can only hope his parting from life was a painless release
That good man Denis Healy may he now rest in peace.

Sunday, August 2, 2015

The Old Powlett River

From the hills above Kilcunda in it's babbling tongue of brown
The old Powlett river it winds it's way down
Through the flat coastal scrub land to the Pacific shore
Where it has flowed forever and will flow forever more
The river that has inspired song, story and rhyme
That was very old even in the Dreamtime
In long gone Summer days by the river in the shade of the trees
South Gippsland's first people The Bunurong danced their corroborees
But no corroboree dancing by Powlett river today
Time always brings with it changes it does seem this way
On towards the Pacific where the coastal scrub grow
The old Powlett river to the Pacific does flow
The waterway that has inspired song, story and rhyme
That was very old even in the Dreamtime.

St Mary's Cemetery By Cashman's Hill

St Mary's Cemetery by Cashman's Hill
So quiet in the gray of the dawn in the slight morning chill
Where many of the deceased of Millstreet Town and Parish in their final rest lay
The mentors and parents as well as family members of the Millstreet people of today

They lived as an integral part of their community and in Duhallow were well liked and well known
And they like us all did have ways of their own
Some of their descendants live in Millstreet today
Whilst others from there are living far away

Many of them their life stories in book form will never be told
In Millstreet they were born and in Millstreet they grew old
In St Mary by Cashman's Hill their remains are at peace
For all of us eventually from life a final release

Above St Mary's by Cashman's Hill the dawn is breaking gray
A similar spot awaits all of us and time does tick away
In the calm of a Summer dawn the silence is profound
In the quietness of St Mary's where gravestones in numbers do abound.

A Winter's Night In Koroit

A dark, cold and wet night in Winter in old Koroit Town
And on the sidewalks of Commercial Road few do walk up and down
But in Mickey Bourke's pub there is laughter and cheer
Amongst the patrons who enjoy their pub banter and beer
Where the main topic of the night is Australian Rules Football
The local Koroit Saints the reigning Premiers this year doing well over-all
Who known The Saints may again be Hampden League Premiers on Grand Final Day
In football as a Club with a proud history as ever they have a winning way
But out on the street all is so very quiet
Where in a lane-way two male cats scream as they fight
In Koroit on a Winter's night Mickey Bourke's and the Caledonian Pub are the places to be
For an hour or two of socializing or may be even three
Whilst out on the street so few people in sight
In Koroit Town on a chilly and a bleak Winter's night.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Our Memories Stay With Us

The same for everyone as for you and i
Good memories stay with us till the day we do die
And our bad memories too much to our regret
Till death too with us will stay though them we would like to forget
Good memories a source of joy when we think of the past
Of when we were younger but youth does not last
But from our bad memories we learn more about life or it does seem this way
This is what the long deceased sages did say
Of our happy and sad times as most would agree
We all have our memories it does seem to me
We all have our memories of the long gone years
Of joy and of sorrow and of laughter and tears
The same for everyone as for you and i
Our memories stay with us till the day we do die.

We Are Told

We are told that we should not speak wrong of the dead
That they are past self defense and we should save our negative criticisms for the living instead
For those who have wronged us in some sort of a way
This is what wiser counsel than me have to say

But with such thinking i for one struggle for to agree
Since the dead are past harming anyone only the living can harm me
If a living person any woman or man
Does wish for to harm you in some way they most certainly can

It is not the dead but the living i do fear
That the dead cannot harm you is obviously clear
It is only the living use a bomb, gun or knife
To deprive somebody of her or his gift of life

Do not speak ill of the dead many are known to say
But to such called words of wisdom little heed i do pay
Of a dead person why should i not feel free to speak ill
If she or he whilst living somebody did deliberately harm or kill

That the dead cannot harm me i know to be true
And in life the deceased who have done wrong negative criticism in death is only their due
But some of the dangerous living in public i dare not criticize
For they well may harm me i have come to realize.

Old Joe

The Town's greatest footballer fifty years ago
But time as they say becomes everyone's foe
With the aid of a cane he is now walking slow
The years on us all does eventually show
In his prime the best footballer for many kilometers around
Three times on Grand Final Day voted the best player on the ground
With a mighty leap and quick on his feet
Nowadays with his cane he shuffles down the street
He was quite a man going back half of a century
And he is just a mere shadow of what he used to be
Fading memories of the past with him does remain
And often in fancy he is playing football again
Fifty years ago he was in his physical prime
Old Joe he has become a victim of time.