I Do Not Know

I do know where my life's journey began at
Though I do not have a clue where it will end
When the Reaper will come to claim the life's breath from me
Though that will occur on such one can depend.

So many believe on a life after death
And on the existence of a heaven and a hell
But the dead forever in their graves are silent
And of a life after death none have come back to tell.

Immortal is a word reserved for Nature
The only immortal of which we do truly know
About the God in his heavenly kingdom
The mystery of myth or not does seem to grow.

Some people for their God do kill and die for
To end the lives of others their own lives they do take
And in so doing break Moses Fifth Commandment
This is the choice in life they choose to make.

I do not know where my life's journey will end at
Though everyone does know where for them it began
I only wish to grow old without harming others
And die without pain as an aged man.

Another Humbled Bully

To win a few local bar room brawls his claim to local renown
Loud mouthed and unsophisticated the bully of the town
Till he finally met his match a smaller fellow punched him to the floor
With two swollen eyes a broken nose and missing teeth he does look sad and sore
We pay for our life's lessons those words ring ever true
And the beating that he did receive to him was overdue
When he has a few beers in his mouth does rule his brain
Though to him his hard life lessons involves physical pain
Another humbled bully but of his type he will not be the last
One can only hope for his sake he learns from his mistakes of the past
He is lucky that his pub brawling did not cost him his life
And lucky he did not meet one who did carry a knife
For some involved in bar room brawls die in the cruelest way
Compared to them 'twould seem his life lesson does seem quite small to pay.

Our Earth Mother Nature

The dinosaurs the ways of time since have long gone
They belonged to Nature and Nature lives on
The same Nature who provides for the family of man
The one true immortal on her no time span
Of Nature's ways little we do seem to know
Yet our wonder of her only does seem to grow
The one with the unrivalled creative powers
She creates the trees and the grass and the flowers
Her unrivalled beauty we see every day
And to view it money we do not have to pay
The songs of her birds and the hummings of her bees
And the soughing of the wind rustling through her leaf laden trees
Her beauty we see and her voices we hear
Our Earth Mother Nature to us ever near.

On Seeing Swans With Their Cygnets

A male and female black swan and their four gray cygnets I see them swimming on the lake today
A thing of beauty that I will remember since such beauty from the memory never fade away
They looked so fluffy no more than a week old quite safe from danger with mum and dad quite near
The sun between the showers shone for a brief spell typical for late August in late Winter of the year
The first young swans I have seen of this their breeding season the species survival on the young depend
From their parents they learn the lessons of survival they will give life to many cygnets before their lives will end
The cycles of Nature does keep on repeating from east to west and north to southern shore
The southern black swans are part of Nature's family and Nature will live on forever more
The shallow Lake of Pertobe swollen by flood waters of the Merri River from recent heavy rain
On the lake the sight of parent black swans with their cygnets a memory for to cherish and retain
Until the Reaper claims the life's breath from me such pleasant memories with me will remain
And in my mind the lovely mental pictures when I visit my memories again.

Old Bill From Dubbo

Old Bill says the decades went so quickly when looking back on time
It seems like only yesterday when I was in my prime
Near Dubbo in New South Wales in the brown countryside
Our cottage was surrounded by paddocks flat and wide
Where I was raised a suburb of Dubbo today
Time does bring change it has always been this way
Where paddocks were cars, buses and trucks buzz up and down
The busy streets of the Suburban Town
Last February old Bill turned seventy three
He says time ticks on it did not wait for me
I feel lucky a long healthy and happy life has been mine to enjoy
Though it has been awhile since I was a boy
In the countryside a mile from Dubbo of paddocks flat and brown
In a place of few houses that now is a town.

The Great Gift Of Love

The poets of it write the singers of it sing
The great gift of love is a marvellous thing
One of the greatest gifts of humanity or so it does seem
We would not have wars in the World if love reigned supreme
In a World of love parents and spouses and children would not mourn their murdered dead
And young people could look forward to a happier and peaceful future in the decades ahead
Of war and of rumors of war too often we do hear
Without love there is only mistrust and fear
Those with the great gift of love are blessed indeed
And of far more of their kind the Human World is in need
The great gift of love is a marvellous thing
And joy to so many it has been known to bring
We need far more love in the World of today
So for such a great gift let us hear the hooray.

My Great Life Ambitions

My great life ambitions have faded away
Like the leaves of late Fall they've withered to decay
Our daydreams of our young years for few do come true
Suppose we receive from life what is only our due.

I daydreamed of great things back in my life's prime
But those dreams have faded and lost out to time
My best years behind me and old age ahead
But I wish to live on I'll be forever dead.

Those who realize their daydreams are the lucky few
You might say to that tell us something that's new
'Tis true that the will to succeeed is born within
But many have to lose for one for to win.

My great life ambitions are dead as can be
And the biological clock it keeps ticking on me
In life many lose for one to win as the wise one did say
That says it all about life since life is this way.

Don't Care Much

Don't care much if my rhymes are seen as not good enough
If they are dismissed as quite ordinary and rough
I have never referred to myself as a poet
Nor am I one worthy of literary note
But what matter for years I have been a rhyme buff
And I am one who enjoys penning rhyming stuff
And why should I care one of three score years and three
What some have to say of the lack of talent in me
For as long as I can I will keep penning rhyme
Though some look on that as a waste of good time
And since I do find plenty of things for to write about
For me there has never been a writers drought
And I don't care much of what some of me do say
I will keep on penning rhymes till my life's final day.

Far South Of

Far south of Mushera and Caherbarnagh and the Paps of Shrone
And Clara and Gortavehy with the face of stone
From Claraghatlea in Millstreet on the road to Rathmore
My life's journey has taken me to this far Southern Shore.

In post famine days back in time quite a span
The exodus of people out of Ireland began
In any town or village or on any city street
A person from Ireland one is likely to meet.

Remote from the suburbs or the nearest big town
Many highways of the big Country I've driven up and down
Where the emu and wombat and roo does reside
In flat paddocks grazed bare by sheep that for miles stretch far and wide.

Far south of the green countryside by Clara Hill
Though in my flights of fancy I can hear the rill
Babbling down the high fields by ditch and hedgerow
As to the big river it hurriedly does flow.

Though near to my thoughts in distance miles away
I am living far south of Duhallow today
An ageing gray haired balding fellow in my life's Fall
Where few talk of Hurling or Gaelic Football.

If You Are One Who is Ambitious

If you are one who is ambitious and yearn for widespread renown
Go to live in the big World out there do not stay in the small country town
Such places okay for aged and ageing people who want to enjoy a quiet life
But if you are young and aspirational in the big city opportunity for success is rife
If you wish to be a celebrity in your small country town do not stay
One can understand small town young people who move to big cities far away
Local renown is a thing they don't yearn for or so that is how it does seem
In the big city far better opportunities and far more chances for greater esteem
For to climb the social ladder and become wealthy and influential and respected and well known
Their young and Worldly ambitions their rural small towns have outgrown
And since those seen to be successful in the Human World respect and admiration command
Why young people in numbers leave their small Hometowns is a thing one can understand
In their lives recognition through success and wealth and fame are things they do see as a need
The human lust of power through glory drives the yearn in them to succeed..

One Of The Quiet Men Of The Town

He goes his own way and minds his own business the fellow who does his own thing
One looked on as a sort of a loner his praises few bother to sing
He drinks on his own at the Local he shows no interest in sports or football
But those who know him well say he is a good person and nothing wrong with him at all
His reputation as a good artist over the past few years has grown
And far from the suburb he lives in he is one who is quite well known
Yet he doesn't seek recognition and he doesn't yearn for renown
He lives in his own way does his own thing one of the quiet men of the town
His last art exhibition was a sell out his work though expensive does readily sell
He will never be short of money financially he is doing well
The whisper is out that he is gay though with a man he has never been seen
The judgemental like to reflect on others though their own lives may not be so clean
In his early thirties the artist does not wish for his own fan club
He is one who lives in his own way and he drinks on his own in the pub.

I Live Many Miles

I live many miles from my old homeplace and only the memories remain
Of people I knew some are deceased and some I may not see again
My better years are long behind me and old age of me not far ahead
And the thought to me is quite unpleasant that soon I will be with the dead.

The boys and girls I went to school with their life's journeys different to mine
They have formed new bonds and new friendships and with their new friends wine and dine
Though similar memories as such the most of us do have to recall
Our difference in our ways and in our life's ambitions does surely apply to us all.

The good memories of the fifties are the memories I like to retain
Though our teachers in school far from angels they sure did not spare us the cane
Thankfully nowadays in Ireland 'tis different school caning a thing of the past
The bad things like the good things in life as we do know are things that are not meant to last.

We all have our own ways and habits though some of us change over time
And most of us have our addictions mine happens to be penning of rhyme
A migrant in this great Southern Country is all that I can wish to be
Until the Reaper that I do fear comes to claim the life's breath from me.

Late Summer By Mushera

The swallows all day long in the cloudy sky
Above the high mountain fields to and fro fly
And wood pigeons birds that are timid and shy
In unison cooing in the woodland nearby
In late Summer by Mushera from here far away
The sun shines intermittently through clouds blue and gray
I worked in the wood there many years ago
Felling pine trees for a living in Winter's frost and snow
In weather far too cold and wet and windy for birds for to sing
But Nature brought beauty to Mushera in Spring
Wildflowers bloomed in the old fields and nesting birds were on song
And robin, blackbird, finch, thrush and wren sung all day long
late Summer today and in fields by Mushera Hill
In fancy I hear the babble of the rill.

The Need To Be Successful

The need to be successful in life to most people apply
Though many never achieve their ambition though hard they do try
For millions that life is a battle is only too true
Though some are all too willing to point out that success comes to where it is due
That life is a battle for many is surely not a lie
They do struggle through life till the day they do die
Some will tell you that this is their life's destiny
Though many with some are known to disagree
That inequality amongst people has never been more prevalent cannot be denied
The gap between the haves and the have nots keeps on growing ever wide
A small percentage of the World's human population has the majority of the wealth and the power
A poor neglected seed never blooms to a flower
The need to be successful to most does apply
Though circumstance ambition has been known to deny.

I Know That I Might Feel A Stranger Today

I know that I might feel a stranger today
Where I grew into manhood from here far away
And a stranger where I often walked up and down
The undulating sidewalks of old Millstreet Town
Where mine many years ago was a known face
A stranger in Claraghatlea my old homeplace
But old fields I worked in and walked in would still look the same
Many of them I recall by their given name
The children of some of those I went to school with are grandparents today
And our biological clocks ever ticking away
But fond memories of what was till death with us stay
Absence makes the heart grow fonder as some like to say
And I still miss the homeplace of badger and gray crow
Where the Cails from Kippagh to the Finnow does flow.

If You Cannot Love Self

If you cannot love self you cannot love others
And see all of humanity as your sisters and brothers
The love of humanity comes from within
In the mind of the individual such a love can only begin
Loathing of self born of low self esteem
Grows to loathing of others or so it does seem
For darkness of the mind there can be an excuse
So many in their childhood do suffer abuse
Some do not have happy memories to enjoy
Of their younger years as a girl or a boy
Their hatred of self to hatred of others does spread
This what does seem to happen when self love is dead
Self love grows to love of others when all is said and done
If you cannot love self you cannot love anyone.

Magpie Lark Or Mudlark Or Peewee

They build their cup shaped nest of mud on branch of tree
The birds known as magpie lark or mudlark or peewee
About them they have an endearing way
You hear them sing peewee all through the day
In Australia birds that everybody know
Larger than a thrush but smaller than a crow
Dainty black and white birds in rural paddocks or town or city park
You hear the peewee of the magpie lark
Of people they show very little fear
They only fly off if to them you come very near
Like sparrows them you are likely to meet
Searching for food along the city street
Since every day them I do hear and see
Familiar birds to many and to me.

The Teenage Rebel Boy

He was just a fourteen year old boy a long way from a man
And because he did discharge his gun wounding a Black and Tan
He was fired on wounded and arrested and by a military judge tried
And sentenced to death by firing squad this was the way he died.

A story from ninety years ago told to him by his dad old Jimmy told to me
Of a miscarriage of justice that's how 'twould seem to be
To condemn to death one who was so young did seem a mortal sin
In every war that ever was for none there was a win.

Just a boy in his early teen years ten years short of his prime
And to condemn him to death by firing squad nothing less than a war crime
Another sad story of injustice of the troubles in Ireland
Why war leads to mistrust and hatred not hard to understand.

A story from old Jimmy that was told to him by his dad
Of the Black and Tan war in Ireland most war stories are sad
Of one treated in the most callous way a long life he did not enjoy
He was put to death by firing squad The Teenage Rebel Boy.

In The Far Away Town

Have you ever felt like bursting into tears
As you thought of old friends you had not seen for years
And the familiar streets you often walked up and down
When you were a young man in the far away town?
You wonder where they now might be people you used to know
In the place where into a young man you did grow
Perhaps they are ageing and showing time's decay
In the town you were raised in from here far away
Where is she nowadays your first love of eighteen?
Many years have gone by since her you have last seen
Her hair brown as a ripe chestnut her eyes blue as a sloe
Memories of her beauty with you from decades ago
And the years have left you looking weary and gray
Many miles from the streets of the town far away.

Where The Moyne Waters Flow

Swollen by recent heavy rain in flood waters of brown
To the sea near Griffith Island near Port Fairy Town
Through flat coastal paddocks the river crawls it's way
The Moyne ever babbles on by night and by day
The waterway that has inspired story and rhyme
It was very old even in the Dreamtime
In the Summer by the river in the shade of the trees
Australia's first people danced their Corroborees
Long before their way of life was to change forever more
At the arrival of the people from a distant shore
To the flat coastal lands where the Moyne waters flow
The home of the magpie and the pale eyed crow
The coots and little grebes dive in a river pool
Near Port Fairy Town twelve K's from Warrnambool.

Timmy Duggan

Like his brother Andy, Timmy Duggan was a barber in Millstreet Town a good and decent man
He lived for eighty nine years in time a lengthy span
From Lisnaboy near Cullen at West End Millstreet he spent most of his life
Where he lived with Bina Creedon his soulmate and his wife
In his barber shop to his customers he had great stories to tell
A character in his own quiet way he could spin a yarn well
He may have been born in Cullen where he was well liked and well known
But in Millstreet where he lived for years people there claimed him as one of their own
In Millstreet memories of Timmy The Barber remain as evergreen
on Summer evenings in the Town Park walking his greyhounds one often seen
An astute greyhound handler one of the best in Millstreet
At the Cork Track greyhounds he trained in big races did compete
Timmy Duggan was a Millstreet barber born and raised in Lisnaboy
Spinning yarns as he clipped hair was a thing he did enjoy.

Why Should I Much Care

Since good and honest politicians are known to be rare
Which Party forms the next Government why should I much care
It may be quite negative of me for to say
But who wins or who loses don't care either way
Except for a few exceptions politicians much the same
'Tis all about the influence of power and of fame
With most politicians 'tis all about self or so it does seem
And 'tis all about ego and lust for esteem
In public by verbally running their opponents down
They do try to trash talk their way to renown
With most politicians their word not their bond since promises they seldom do keep
And about the Election I for one won't lose sleep
My life will go on and the sky won't fall in
And to me it will not matter who lose or who win.

I Do Not Pine

I do not pine for the wet and frosty Northern Winter
When the cold gale down the bracken hill does roar
But I miss the greenery and the flowers of Springtime
When the birds sing in the high woods of Claramore

And I miss the bluebells blooming by the hedgerows
When the hawthorns wear their white blooms of the May
And I retain the ever pleasant memories
Of Springtime in the old fields far away

When the small brown lark above old Clara Mountain
Is ever singing upwards as he fly
His distinctive notes could never be mistaken
A musical speck in the gray evening sky.

In distant places I grew to love Nature
And from Nature we learn new things every day
In fancy I can hear the migrant cuckoo
And scent the sweetness of the new mown hay.

The past has gone but the mental pictures with me
Of primroses on the ditch of the bohreen
And Nature's wildflowers in the old fields blooming
When the countryside is looking lush and green.

I do not pine for frosty Winter mornings
When the old hills are in their white hats of snow
But often on my pleasant flights of fancy
In the rank rushes I hear the pheasant crow.

On Pied Currawong

There are birds known as the pied currawong
You hear and see them once you never more get them wrong
With white tips on wings and tail and otherwise black as a crow
In South East Australia birds that everybody know
In Winter in huge flocks they congregate
And singing together a lot of sound they do create
On the tall trees that in the cool winds sway
They call out karra currawong all through the day
A bad reputation around them has grown
As nest robbers and for eating the young of smaller songbirds they are known
But on their defence it would seem fair to say
That Nature created them for to live in this way
With others birds for territory they do fight
And a huge flock of them is quite a common sight.

We Need Something To Believe In

I said I don't believe in God in his Heaven or in Satan in his Hell
Or in a Limbo or in a Purgatory or on an Afterlife as well
Then what do you believe in the old bloke said to me?
His question had me perplexed as perplexed as can be

I searched my mind for a quick answer though I may as well not try
And to him I said to your honest question I feel stuck for a reply
Life seems pointless without something to believe in with a smile he did say
His parting message to me as he bid me a good day.

I question the existence of God and an Afterlife and I am not one who pray
But those who believe on such things I do envy in some way
That old bloke set me thinking with words he has a way
We need something to believe in his insights with me stay.

We need something to believe in his words ring ever true
And since I believe in nothing will nothing be my due?
A wise old octogenarian the years have left him gray
We need something to believe in is all he had to say.

Age Can Be Quite A Relative Thing

Age can be quite a relative thing as we are often told
When a man stops looking at the opposite sex 'tis then he's feeling old
For a male to look in admiration at an attractive looking female should never be a crime
Not even for an old bloke well past his physical prime.

That age can be quite a relative thing so happens to be true
You should not be too old at seventy your life's dreams to pursue
Without a dream to live for you age before your time
You can feel old at thirty in your physical prime.

Old Joe who drinks at the local has turned eighty one
Lately his eldest great grand daughter has given birth to a son
A big gap in his front teeth his balding head is gray
But in his mind he feels young and feeling young till he die he'll stay.

Age can be quite a relative thing it is all a state of mind
Sometimes in a young body an old person you will find
Some feel young in their eighties whilst some young in years feel the other way
Suppose we are what we think we are as some do like to say.

There Is Far More To Millstreet

There is far more to Millstreet and to Millstreet Town
Than show jumping or elite sportspeople who brought to the place renown
In Duhallow near Sliabh Luachra it is known far and wide
For it's hospitable people in a scenic countryside.

When people ask me what part of Ireland I come from to them I always say
From Claraghatlea near Millstreet Town far north and far away
In view of Clara Mountain overlooking Claramore
Though I've not seen the old homeplace for three years with a score.

Were I a poet of Millstreet a poem I would write
That would make others happy to read and to recite
Of Springtime in Duhallow in the gray April sky
When meadow pipit o'er the rushy field does sing as he does fly.

And dark brown dipper with the snow white breast is singing in the rill
That babbles to the river down the high fields by the hill
And male robin breast of orange puffed out sings on a leafy tree
And everywhere one turns to look great beauty one does see.

When some talk of Millstreet in Duhallow sporting greats they do recall
Of car racing and athletics as well as gaelic football
Distinguished artists, dancers, writers and musicians nowadays live in Millstreet
In the Town by Clara Mountain such people one does meet.

Though I am one who always finds plenty for to write about
My worth as a simple rhymer I have reason for to doubt
But to my old homeplace of Millstreet In Duhallow far north of this southern shore
There is more than elite sportspeople oh yes indeed far more.

On Tony Blair

The royalties of his book to British Iraq war victims he donate
Though some do say for Tony Blair too little and too late
That his guilt will not return to life Iraq's war dead
Or save the lives of victims of terrorism in Iraq in the years ahead
But in professing his remorse Tony Blair does have a conscience it does seem
Unlike George W Bush or John Howard who show no guilt or loss of self esteem
At the sadness and death and suffering they caused to Iraq
A life once taken cannot be given back
At least Tony Blair remorse for his errors does show
He has feelings that much of him we do know
It takes courage and humility to feel you may be wrong
The likes of Bush and Howard could never be that strong
And due to terrorism that has it's source in war Iraqis dying every day
For every war the price as such is always huge to pay.

His Fond Memories Of Warrnambool

At the pub he talks of the days when his hair was light brown
When he was a young man in Warrnambool Town
With his young mates he surfed and played Aussie Rules Football
Such good memories of what was he has to recall.
From Warrnambool he now does live far away
Where the years have left him looking weary and gray
He tells his grandchildren attending primary school
Of his happy younger years in Warrnambool
It would seem that happier times he has known
Divorced from his wife he is now on his own
In his one bedroom flat in his life's twilight years
His fond memories of Warrnambool still has him close to tears
In his sixty eight year and time ticking on
He often recall his prime years his prime years long gone.

The True Egalatarian

The fact of the matter and fact never lie
Is that we eat for to live and we live for to die
Like all other life forms that swim, fly, walk or crawl
Us humans are mortals death is for us all.

The Monarch of fairness or so it does seem
Is the one known as the Grim Reaper the egalatarian supreme
Between the billionaire and the pauper he does not differentiate
He makes us all equal since death is our fate.

Our biological clocks ever ticking away
And for all of us there is a last night and day
The great gift of life is a wonderful thing
And I do hope that this will not be my last Spring.

For each one of us there is a final Fall
The Reaper eventually will pay us a call
He does not respect money or greatness or fame
The true egalatarian treats all as the same.

That I Do Believe In

What I receive from life is only my due
That I do believe in and hold to be true
Of my low social standing why should I complain
I take what life gives me as my deserved gain
I did have my chances of self betterment that I will not deny
For personal success mine was a feeble try
Many who by circumstance far more disadvantaged than me
Of the shackles of poverty have broken free
Yet I do feel lucky as the word can be
In my life I have never known poverty
I have never been homeless millions are sleeping rough
Life to me one might say has been kind enough
But since I'm not seen as successful I have to believe
That from life I warrant what I do receive.

Not Much Point

Not much point in waving your hands in the air
And complaining that life to you is quite unfair
Since others far tougher times than you have known
And most people do have problems of their own.

Life's not meant to be easy as some like to say
And that to many this does apply 'twould seem that way
For every up in life there is always a down
And most only can dream of wealth and renown.

I know that some hard times you've been through and known
But like Many I too do have cares of my own
And though with you I am one who can sympathize
That I feel powerless to help you I do realize.

Not much point in saying by life you're hard done by
That you cannot succeed though quite hard you do try
And when you complain success is for the lucky few
My answer to that is tell us something that's new.

For My Years Of Life

For my years of life success I cannot show
Though from living a few things I can claim to know
And one is from life we earn what we receive
On such an assumption I am one who believe
Though of luck in living there is such a thing
We need it to live to see another Spring
Young people dying in wars and of disease and in accidents every day
I am lucky to be living though ageing and gray
We never stop learning as some like to say
And from Life and from Nature we do learn every day
We never stop learning till the day we do die
That applies to everyone as well as you and I
Truly knowledgeable people like the wise are few
But every day we live we do learn something new.

The Eastern Curlews Are Piping Today

Above the mudflats of McLoughlins Beach from here far away
The eastern curlews are piping today
Their flute like notes so melodious and clear
The pleasant memory of such to my thoughts ever near
At McLoughlins Beach in South Gippsland in Spring
The music of the flute of the curlew is a beautiful thing
On cool blustery weather around twenty degrees
Their music is carrying in the coastal breeze
A memory to cherish and for to retain
And for to memorize again and again
The flute of the curlew a beautiful sound
They journey far south of their north eastern breeding ground
To McLoughlins Beach in South Gippsland in the Spring of the year
Where their flute like notes are so pleasant to hear.

In The Damp Rushy Fields

In the damp rushy fields near the Town of Millstreet
Where the Cails from Kippagh and the Finnow does meet
I grew to love Nature when I was a boy
And learning about her I still do enjoy
My thoughts often go to a far away Spring
When the nesting songbirds do whistle and sing
And hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
Such beautiful scenes in the memory to stay
Of dark swallows chasing flying insects in the gray sky
And brown meadow pipit singing as he fly
Above the rank rushes and cock pheasant crow
Hidden in the high grass near where the Cails flow
Into the Finnow and journey on down
To join the Blackwater close to Millstreet Town.

One Might Say I've Travelled Far

One might say I've travelled far from my old home
But I've not been to Paris or Berlin or Rome
And though I live far from where I first saw light of day
I've not been to Capetown, Baghdad or Bombay,
I've heard the magpie flute with his silvery bill
And I've seen the gray roos bound up a bracken hill
And I've seen the koala on a manna gum tree
And father emu with his young dappled family
Still I've not heard the lions roaring or the jackals bark
Or seen the wildebeest and zebra in Serengeti Park
So many cities and places that to I have not been
And many of Nature's Wonders I cannot claim to have seen
And though from my old home I have ventured far south
Of any great World adventures I cannot tell you about.

No Less Mortal Than I

I believe in equality that none is born a fool
Though I was dunce of the classroom in Millstreet Primary School
But dunce is a put down word used by ignoramus kind
And in every town and village such people you will find
For some of the boys I went to school with the funeral bell has tolled
And some of them grandparents and all like me are getting old
The past has gone forever though the memories remain
And often in my flights of fancy I'm in the schoolyard again
Playing football in the lunch break the memories linger on
Of when I was a schoolboy in days that are long gone
The dunce of the school classroom as I can well recall
Not to me that it does matter one little bit at all
The bright boys of my classroom no less mortal than I
Since it is one known fact of life that we all are born to die.

We Are Part Of Nature

The bond to our Earth Mother in most of us is strong
As is in the blind earthworm or as is in the bird of song
But what I am about to say most would dismiss as wrong
That we are part of Nature and to her we do belong.

So many people believe in on their great God in the sky
In the land that's known as Heaven where winged angels fly
Above the ever flowering fields to greet the dawn of day
If this what they believe in with me that is okay.

My God resides in Nature and my God is a she
I marvel at her beauty everywhere around me
I never cease to feel amazed at her creative powers
The one who supports all life and gives birth to the flowers.

Were I born a lyrical poet to Nature I would write
A poem that would make others happy for to read and to recite
That will never be my privilege though her I do admire
And of gazing at her beauty I never seem to tire.

The one who creates a lovely rose on a thorny rose tree
But that with we belong to Nature many would not agree
They are entitled to their beliefs since to each their own
But on gazing at her beauty such pleasure I have known.

In The Land Of The Saltpans

In the land of the saltpans that look white as snow
Of very few creatures where saltbush does grow
The bones of the Dreamtime people in their hidden graves lay
In the deserted Coorong from here far away
Where few people live in a land old as time
That has inspired writers to story and rhyme
But the true history of the Coorong's first people will never be told
Or of where they lived, raised their children, hunted, danced and grew old
In my flights of fancy I hear and I see
A pale eyed crow cawing on a dead wattle tree
And the cormorants and pelicans hunt for marine prey
In Coorong saltwater from here far away
The memory to mental pictures does give rise
And things come to life when we do visualize.

For My Sins Against Others

For my sins against others to Karma I must pay
If not in the immediate future then in some future day
What goes around does come around applies to everyone
To Karma we will have to pay for wrongs to others done
Life's goals I had in my younger years I no longer do pursue
We earn what we receive from life I believe to be true
I'm in the Autumn of my life and time ticks on and on
And I only can live in the now the past forever gone
Why I believe in the Universal Karma don't know the reason why
But what goes around does come around to everyone does apply
The thing that's known as conciousness must be an extension of the soul
And the way that we treat others is not beyond our control
My sins against others will return to haunt me
And that such too does apply to you with that would you agree?

To Be As Good A Person

To be as good a person as I can be
And treat others as I would want them to treat me
To know how to receive and to know how to give
And to respect self and others and live and let live
To not be the judgemental one of the town
And never in words ever put others down
I'd like those who know me when me they recall
To say he follows the truth of a fair go for all
To pay everybody respect and fair due
You cannot be true to others if to self you are not true
For to live as a decent person I only wish to be known
Treat everyone as an equal and to each their own
To live as a good person that and nothing more
This is something you may have heard me say before.

By The Road To Macroom

From mid to late Summer the dandelions bloom
By dykes and by ditches by the road to Macroom
The old fields are looking so lush and so green
And Nature's beauty is everywhere for to be seen
In fancy from the rank rushes I watch the lark rise
How sweetly he carols as upwards he flies
Till in the gray clouds from view he disappear
Yet the tinkling notes of the bird I do hear
In small fields of Cloghoula by ditch and hedgerow
The Finnow from the high country downland does flow
Onwards towards Inchaleigh and further on down
Under the river bridges close to Millstreet Town
In the groves of Cloghoula I hear the birds sing
Such joy visualization to me does bring.

Seamus Maxwell

A banker in Millstreet Town many years ago
Where into young adults his children did grow
And though he is remembered in Millstreet today
Distant from Duhallow his last remains lay.

The words of a wise one for us to recall
There is a last day and last night for us all
Seamus Maxwell one devoted to his family and wife
But sad to learn he has lost his gift of life.

A down to earth fellow and free of conceit
Fond memories of him do live on in Millstreet
On his life's journey he did make many a friend
But for all of us such a journey has an end.

In Millstreet where he was well liked and well known
They did look upon him as one of their own
Respect was his due since respect to others he did pay
He was a good person of him one can say.

I Hope For To Live

I hope for to live for as long as I can
And to die without pain as a very old man
Who would wish to die slowly and feeling quite sick
I hope the Reaper claims the life from me quick
Many I went to school with now with the dead lay
I feel happy to be living and healthy today
Though to the scythe of the Reaper I'll eventually fall
Since we are born to die and death is for us all
Success is an often used word in the Human World of today
But one has to ask what does it mean anyway
Since many through ruthlessness known to succeed
They were born into life with the bad gene of greed
To die in my nineties of any pain free
That would be enough for to satisfy me.

In Birdsland Today

The magpies are fluting in Birdsland today
And galahs in their cloaks of light pink and gray
Call on the high branches of the gray gum trees
That gently does sway in the freshening breeze
Blowing down from South Belgrave on the higher ground
Through Birdsland the Nature Reserve with steep paddocks all around
The waterbirds dabbling and diving in the shallows of the lake
The loud quacks of the black duck the softer tones of the drake
Where swamphen, moorhen, cormorant, little grebe and wood duck reside
By Nature lovers Birdsland is known far and wide
Where ibis, lories, cockatoos and rosellas are to be seen
And black and white magpie larks and bell miners of green
And no mistaking ravens and pied currawong
In Birdsland the birds chirp and sing all day long.

Have You Ever Thought

Have you ever thought of good times that used to be
Of when you were younger happy and fancy free
Till worries of married life and raising children of your happiness did take toll
There are some things in life way beyond our control
In your early fifties your children now parents yet not all well in your life
Alone in your one bedroom flat and divorced from your wife
Your only friends pub mates your only joy football
And little else happening in your life at all
At least twenty years past your physical prime
And clearly you do look far the worst for time
Age lines on your face and your balding head gray
Time never does wait for anyone as some do say
You are not unusual people like you everywhere
In cities and towns in the big World out there.

From The Fields Of My Younger Years

From the fields of my younger years I live far away
But in fancy I do visit them every day
And I see the hawthorns in their blooms of white to gray
And hear the nesting birds sing in the sunshine of May
The praises of Nature I feel happy to sing
And of the beauty I knew in a far away Spring
Were I born a poet of such I would write
For others to read and enjoy and recite
Though where mine was once quite a well known face
I may now be seen as a stranger and feel out of place
But the fields I did love would look much the same
I knew many of them by their given name
And the birds of the wood or the grove or hedgerow
By their chirpings or songs I am sure I would know.

The Great Humphrey Kelleher

The Humphrey Kelleher Cup for juvenile gaelic footballers is to honour the name
Of the legendary gaelic footballer who scaled the heights of fame
The Iron Man of Millstreet as Michael O Hehir used to say
One who was quite fearless on the field of play.

A likeable character in every way
And as strong as a horse till the years left him slower and gray
For a big man quick on his feet and a marvellous full back
One who often turned defence into attack.

Amongst the departed his last remains do lay
But the legend lives on of the great man today
In gaelic playing parks around Ireland he earned his Renown
And he became famous far from Millstreet Town.

The great Humphrey Kelleher his type are quite rare
In his prime years few with him could hope to compare
The Cork and Millstreet jersey with pride he did wear
But there was far more to the man than being a great football player.

If Not To Human Law Then To Karma

If not to human law then to karma since this is life's way
For our sins against others the price we must pay
If not sooner then later just a matter of time
Your punishment will come to you for your crime
No such a thing as the perfect crime depite what some do say
If the law does not catch up with you karma will one day
From life we receive what is only our due
This I believe in and hold to be true
That in life we pay for our sins to us all does apply
The truth in what goes around comes around I for one don't deny
Though many may not agree when I do say
That our sins will return to haunt us one day
Your price huge to pay if you do someone ill
And if the law does not catch up with you Karma surely will.

On Birdsong

It is not out of love or the joy of the Spring
On bush or on tree or high on the wing
Or to serenade his partner the songbird does sing
With birds song it is a territorial thing
The lives of birds are complex as the word can be
But they only do sing to proclaim territory
To warn males of their own kind from their borders stay clear
'Tis not songs of love their neighbours from them do hear
At nesting time with a territory to defend
To the male song-bird a male of his own kind not a friend
At breeding Season some species do sing by day and by night
And any intruder they will put to flight
Those who think birds sing for pleasure or for joy of song
Have been misinformed and have got it wrong.

Freedom From Fear

'Tis not about your Country's Government or your National flag
Though these things you may feel are well worthy of a brag
Though patriotism and true freedom in distance far apart
As reality is from an affair of the heart
When you talk of freedom are you telling me
That you as a person are totally free
To walk where you want to without the slightest fear
That danger to you might be lurking quite near
On a moonless night in the semi dark
Do you feel quite safe as you walk in the park
Without fear of being knocked to the ground from a physical attack
Or even far worse than that a knife in your back
Of love of freedom and Country and your Country's flag you may sing
But of freedom from fear there is no such a thing.

The Pen And The Sword

The pen is mightier than the sword as some like to say
Though I'm one of those who doesn't see it that way
'Tis true that harsh written words drive some to suicide
But surely by the sword far more would have died
With the dreaded Grim Reaper we all have a date
But to die by the sword is there any worse fate?
You'd have to be rather callous it does seem to me
To wish such a death even on your worst enemy
Written words can be cruel when meant to offend
And the one who hurts you in such a way is surely not your friend
With the pen is mightier than the sword many would disagree
And one of the many would surely be me
Offensive written words some to suicide do drive
But the wound of the sword few are known to survive.

Though Many The Road

Though many the road I've driven up and down
And I am one who has lived in many a town
I do feel like a stranger on every street
A stranger to everyone that I do meet
And every town I've lived in does seem much the same
Few know me or call me by my given name
I could be better known if I so choose to be
We are what we are that's how it seems to me
Even in the Townland that is my old Homeplace
Today I feel mine would be a stranger's face
I have not been back there for twenty three years
Though for what once was I don't have any tears
But I hope to live on for as long as I can
And to die without pain as a very old man.

I Was Baptized A Christian

I was baptized a Christian though it may seem a bit odd
That I no longer believe on a Heavenly God
My God's name is Nature and Nature is a she
The only immortal and she will do me
Your right to your religious beliefs none ought to deny
But I do not believe in your God in the sky
To an unseen and unknown God I'm not one who could pray
The Goddess I believe in I see every day
Her amazing beauty one does not pay to see
Like the clusters of flowers blooming on the wattle tree
In the depths of Winter the colour of gold
A thing of great beauty for all to behold
Such beauty that Nature can only create
For writers and artists for to celebrate.

The Rhymes Do Keep Coming

I must be as lucky as lucky can be
Since the rhymes every day do keep coming to me
Though many years now past my physical prime
I must be one blessed by the Goddess of Rhyme
For thirty six of my sixty three years I've been a rhyming buff
And I'm one who has written a whole heap of stuff
To rhyme to me seems to come so easily
I am not afflicted by soul poverty
I write of people and the beauty in Nature I hear and I see
Like the wild birds of song who sing on bush and tree
I never refer to myself as a poet
Nor am I one worthy of literary note
And though the passing of time has left me looking gray
The rhymes do keep coming to me every day.

You Beautiful Lady

You do remind me of a beautiful flower
That blooms in the sunshine after a Spring shower
That glistens with raindrops lovely to behold
People as you are do never grow old
Were I a poet for you a poem I would write
That others would read and enjoy and recite
You make others happy with your beautiful way
And for yourself make more new friends every day
So down to earth likeable and free of guile
You beautiful lady with a wonderful smile
So lovely to know and a pleasure to meet
Joy radiates from you as you walk on the street
With beauty you have the wisdom of a sage
And like good wine you seem to grow better with age.

That They Are Courageous People

That they are courageous people of them one can say
For the Human World's true battlers lets hear the hooray
The struggle of survival they live every day
In a fair Human World life would not be this way.

The people who do know of dire poverty
The Stateless the homeless and the refugee
Compassion for them by too few has been shown
Of life's survival struggle far too much they have known.

You who talk of life's choices you tend to generalize
You do seem judgemental as opposed to wise
You may be well to do but in your minds you are small
Since you could never believe on a fair go for all.

The Human World's true battlers one can only admire
And of singing their praises I for one never tire
The poor and the homeless to be found everywhere
There are millions of them in the big World out there.

The One Known As Mother Nature

The wild birds chirp and sing on the bushes and trees
And the sweet scent of peppercorn blowing in the breeze
I scent and I hear her and her I can see
The beauty in Nature is all around me
Were I a poet of her I surely would write
Poems for others to read and enjoy and recite
Of the one who has brought me such pleasure and joy
I have loved her since I was a very young boy
So little about her I can claim to know
Yet my wonder of her only does seem to grow
For her billions of life forms food she does provide
The one known as Mother Nature Worldwide
With her four Seasons Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring
Her praises I always feel happy to sing.

The Ordinary Man

He cannot even lay clain to local renown
The ordinary man in an ordinary town
Though on his knowledge of local history he takes great pride
For such he will never be known far and wide
As a teenager he used to often daydream
Of being a number one ruckman with an A F L team
But daydreams as we know do seldom come true
Since life only seems to give us what's our due
With a primary school going son and daughter and a devoted wife
And a good job one seen as a success in life
In his mid to late thirties his brown hair turning gray
A decade one might say beyond his prime day
He no longer daydreams of National renown
The ordinary man in the ordinary town.

Serious Face

To those who know or know of him known as Serious Face
Where laughter is one who does feel out of place
So honestly serious and one free of guile
A pity he finds it hard even to smile
Yes honest as honest as the word can be
But sadly for him he takes life far too seriously
The great gift of laughter he does not possess
He will never be ambassador for happiness
In his early to mid twenties in his life's physical prime
Yet one who does not know how to have a good time
As honest as they come but for him sad to say
The lady of charm never does smile his way
Without friends or a partner and always on his own
By the nickname of Serious Face he is known.

Of My Own Shortcomings

Of my own shortcomings I am all too aware
And what others say of me can't say I much care
As long as in speaking of me to the truth they stay true
How can I take offense at what is my due
A sort of a lowbrow of the rural town
Yet amongst others in words one who doesn't put others down
A flawless person is one I have not known
But the flaws that are ours we should never disown
On speaking of others never allow negativity to get in the way
From what is true never allow yourself to stray
And though some may look on you as one lacking in ruth
At least you are one who does stick to the truth
The truth I can live with as I have said before
That's all one can expect of anyone and little else more.

Though What I Have Written

Though what I have written few read or recite
I keep on penning rhymes since I do love to write
For many years now I've been a rhyming buff
And I am one of those who has penned reams of stuff
I never refer to myself as a poet
As one who is worthy of literary note
I write for enjoyment and little else more
Perhaps I have said that a few times before
And though everyone welcome in the Wordsmith Trade
'Tis true about poets they are born not made
Perhaps we receive from life what is our due
I only say here what I hold to be true
That poetasters are many and poets are few
And to that you may add tell us something that's new.

The Three Words

The three words I love you for some hard to say
Though by millions those words are repeated each day
But those who have not known love in childhood love unable to give
They struggle with the tender human feelings for as long as they live
To say words like I love you themselves they cannot bring
For people who are scarred by life this seems too hard a thing
To bring themselves to say in childhood love they did not know
In a garden where weeds are plentiful flowers cannot bloom or grow
Those who have been loved as children to them love comes naturally
And words such as I love you they do say easily
Many unloved and abused children into sad adults have grown
Love is a thing that is hard to give if of it you have not known
Simple words such as I love you for them too hard to say
Without knowing the joys of love they age, grow old and gray.