From My Walks In Nature

To say i know a lot on Nature would be to tell a lie
But i will be learning from her until the day i die
And every day about her i learn something new
Her wonders in the many and her secrets are not few
So many endangered species of land and water dwelling life forms in Nature's World today
Due to our environmental practices does seem quite sad to say
Creatures like the siberian tiger and the polar bear face an uncertain fate
To save them from extinction it may even be too late
For the future generations the Nature loving girl and boy
There may be few wild birds and animals left to look at and enjoy
That habitat destruction leads to extinction so happens to be true
We never pay to Nature the respect that she is due
The years have not left me wiser they have only left me gray
But from my walks in Nature i learn every day.

Amhran na bhFiann

Though i have not lived in Ireland for some twenty four years
Everytime i hear someone singing Amhran na bhFiann i do feel close to tears
Though i am not patriotic have never been in any way
The latent love of homeland remains in me today
The Irish National Anthem written by Peadar Kearney going back decades in time
A song i often heard sung in Ireland as a boy and in my life's prime
At big social gatherings and sporting occasions the anthem often sung
When i hear it now it takes me back to the days when i was young
Perhaps i'll never again see the wildflowers of the May
Or watch the swallows flying above the old fields far away
And due to absence the bond of friendship forged in younger years in time does not seem to last
But the anthem of the homeland takes every migrant to the past
Amhran na bhFiann or The Soldiers Song stirs the nostalgia in me
To think it had died a natural death shows how silly i must be.

Aussie Pale Eyed Crows

Not the prettiest to look at and they have a few foes
But they are known to many Aussie pale eyed crows
Or Australian Little Ravens which is their common name
To be good at surviving one of their claims to fame
Of human kind they have lost most natural fear
They don't take to the wing till to them you come near
Their voices familiar every day of the year
Their long drawn out cawing quite monotonous to hear
Like all corvids hardy and intelligent they know how to survive
In the harshest of environments their kind are known to thrive
In rubbish bins they scavenge for potato chips and scraps of meat
And in the town park lake i've seen them soak hard bread to eat
Birds i do like and i see and hear every day
Though nice things of them you won't hear many say.

You Very Well May Be

You very well may be a stranger to fame
With little money or material possessions to your name
One in life doing it tough on a very poor street
Working hard for low wages struggling to make ends meet
But you are not alone people like you everywhere
There are at least a billion in the big World out there
To meet someone poorer you need not travel far
There are many so many worse off than you are
Do not tell me about it i know life can be unfair
In a Human World where many grow poorer for every new millionaire
Since you seek the answer to why this should be
You'd best go and ask one more enlightened than me
Why many grow worse off for one for to gain
Is something that's way beyond me to explain.

The River Of Pigeons

A place to my thoughts that remains ever near
The River of Pigeons so far north of here
In fancy i can hear the nesting birds sing
When the old fields are in their wildflowers of the Spring.

By ditches and hedgerows by night and by day
The river from the hills ever babbles it's way
To the bigger rivers to the saltwater shore
In a voice destined to live on forever-more.

Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways i still do enjoy
From Nature we learn something new every day
We never stop learning as some like to say.

The song of the robin in my thoughts i do hear
And the pipe of the song thrush melodious and clear
Does often come to me from fields far away
When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May.

Our links to the past beyond me to explain
And good memories of what was in us does remain
Till the Reaper claims the life from us whenever that will be
With what i say here many may well agree.

We live in the now and time ticking on fast
Though in our mind we retain our good times of the past
And with such happy memories how can i be poor
Of the River of Pigeons known as Annagloor.

Power It Can Corrupt

Power it can corrupt as some are known to say
And money can give rise to moral decay
Your word is your bond is practiced by too few
On saying this i am not saying anything new
Everyone for himself or herself and God for us all
A cynical truism that i sometimes recall
In the big business World of corporate crime and company fraud
The people of money society applaud
The materially rich scoundrels to say the least not rare
For those they leave financially poorer not one thought they do spare
Many of the people that many look up to are not squeaky clean
On saying in them room for improvement you know what i mean
To good people of all races credit is surely due
But that power can corrupt so happens to be true.

At The End Of Life's Journey

At the end of life's journey achievements mean nothing at all
To the scythe of the Reaper eventually we do fall
Our material and other successes to nothing amount
The Reaper does not take such things into account
Between human and non human he does not differentiate
The Reaper of lives never discriminate
He is not one who does respect success or fame
The life of the human and sheep he does treat as the same
At leading a good and moral life many do succeed
Though some in their need for material success become hijacked by greed
On what is a successful life everyone does not agree
What is success to you may not be so to me
We all look at life in a different way
And the Reaper on us does have the final say.

For Many Years

For many years i have been a rhyming buff
One who has written reams of forgettable stuff
But i write for enjoyment that and nothing more
That's something you may have heard me say before
I am not a poet an average rhymer maybe
I penned my first rhymes in nineteen seventy three
When in my late twenties my life's physical prime
Three decades and seven years going back in time
Some tell me i ought to give rhyming away
Though any heed to their advice i never do pay
What others think of me no business of mine
They have their opinions and that suits me fine
'Tis something i enjoy doing of that why should i lie
I will be penning stuff till the day that i die.

Bart Cummings

The hero of many a Melbourne Cup Day
An ailing Bart Cummings on a hospital bed lay
The Cups King his nickname which does say it all
His will be a name for historians to recall
As a trainer of thoroughbreds Australia's number one
So many group races the great man has won
His number of big winners an amazing feat
His record may never be equalled or beat
Humble in his achievements he does seem that way
And an amazing Australian of him one can say
On his eighty second year and not feeling well
The years on us all do eventually tell
His health in decline that is not a good thing
One can only hope that this will not be his last Spring.

Ron Barassi

Ron Barassi a legend of Australian Rules Football
A renowned Premiership player and coach some claim the best of all
The players and coaches of Australia's indigenous game
In his chosen sport one in the Hall of Fame.

In his young years he played for the Melbourne Club
And in Richmond Victoria he once owned a pub
Of his place in sporting glory he cannot be denied
Through Australian Rules Football he is known Worldwide.

In Australian Rules Football doubtless an all time great
A man that the fans of the game celebrate
He coached teams to greatness he played against the best
One never found to be wanting when put to the test.

A proud man Barassi of him 'twould be fair to say
That from a challenge he never backed away
Now into his seventies his best days long gone
And time tames the best of them it has tamed Ron.

In years from now the historians of Australian Rules Football
The name of Ron Barassi will surely recall
With Melbourne, Carlton, North Melbourne and Sydney he made his name
As a great player and coach of Australia's indigenous game.

Good Memories Of What Was

The memories are all we have left of the past
And the clock on our lives does keep ticking on fast
The now is all that matters as some like to say
Though some i am one who does not see it that way
Often in my flights of fancy i hear the lark sing
Above the brown bog in the prime of the Spring
And the chaffinch who once was familiar to me
In the quiet of the evening sings on a birch tree
Where i had my first lessons in Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways i still do enjoy
For as long as the breath of life in our lungs stay
From Nature we learn something new every day
We must live in the now for the past it has gone
But good memories of what was in us linger on.

By Time I've Been Fettered

By time i've been fettered of that i won't lie
I'm too old to daydream and too young to die
With nothing to aspire to and my best days long gone
And only the fear of death wills me to live on

Until the Reaper claims the life's breath from me in his chosen way
I will keep living on to my last last night and day
And hopefully live out my natural time span
And die without pain as a very old man.

Each time i look in a mirror looking back at me
A gray haired balding old wrinkled bloke is all i do see
I never was dashing or handsome even in my life's prime
We all grow frailer and uglier with the passing of time.

Time has left me lacking in sexual desire
And i do not exercise much since i easily tire
But to life like a leech to it's host i do cling
Though suppose in itself that's a natural thing.

An advert for failure or so it does seem
An ageing man without power and low in self esteem
My forgettable past i just wish to forget
Though there is plenty life in this old bugger yet.

The Brittany Man

Seven decades in years in time he does span
Far north of this Country he grew into a man
He left his home-town when he had turned nineteen
The bigger World out there waiting to be seen
His wife their children and grandchildren Aussies he may never more
See the Atlantic waves lapping on Brittany's shore
Or watch the dark swallows o'er the coastal fields fly
When the Summer sun shines in the northern sky
The clock on his life it keeps ticking away
And the years have left him looking older and gray
But the distinctive accent of Brittany he does retain
That is something till death that with him will remain
Far south of the town where his life's journey began
Time is catching up on the Brittany man.

In Every Race Of Human Being

In every race of human being good people you will find
Good people who have love to give who are compassionate and kind
Though what i am about to say to you may not be new
Some of us condemn an entire race for the sins of the few
That is the way with some of us we are not very wise
We condemn an entire race for the crimes of one and in so doing generalize
Having that said one has to say that it comes as no surprise
That our own race is not squeaky clean we somehow fail to realize
The spirit in the fair go for all the broad-minded do embrace
But when some speak of the fair go they mean for their own race
For to meet a racist amongst your kind you need not travel far
Your attitude towards others tells you of the person that you are
In every race of human being the good are in majority
And that our different ways make us seem more interesting is how 'twould seem to be.

A Good Man Though

He's a good man he works hard for his pay
And with his wife and kids he attends church on sunday
Though his next door neighbours who to him worship a different God
He does not speak to looks on them as odd.

He's a good man one who leads a good life
Though he has been known for to beat his wife
When with him she chooses to disagree
He is the ruler of his family.

He's a good man but when his kids him disobey
A good caning helps for to make them see things in his way
His nearest and dearest must live by his rule
He believes for to be kind at times one must be cruel.

He's a good man who rules by his own law
But to be human is not to be without some flaw
Though his wife to her best friend she did confide
That in public he does show his better side.

He's a good man though his wife with their two young children him has left
And of any happiness he feels totally bereft
And at the pub he moans to everyone
About the awful wrong to him that has been done.

'Tis True That In Life

'Tis true that in life we receive what we sow
That is something that everyone does seem to know
The Karma we receive good or bad is our due
That is something that i do believe to be true
You do wrong to one in any sort of way
For your sin to Karma the price you will pay
But if you perform good deeds good in return you receive
You well may fool others but Karma you cannot deceive
Those who live by the sword die by the sword as some do say
They receive their Karma that is Karma's way
In the future you will pay to Karma for your sins of today
Believe that if you so wish or believe what you may
I only say here how it appears to me
Though with my way of thinking many may disagree.

It Matters None To Me

It matters none to me not one bit at all
If i'll never again hear the curlew's flute like call
Above the brown bogland from here far away
When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May

Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
The memory remain of my great sense of joy
On hearing the song of the lark as upwards he did fly
Fading to a musical speck in the gray morning sky

And only the memories with me do remain
Of male robin singing in the wind and rain
And the harsh distinctive caw of the silver back crow
When cool April winds from the mountains did blow.

The people of my first homeplace though them i may never more see
I retain pictures of them in my memory
Some of them with the departed their remains do lay
For me too there will be a last night and day.

We must live in the now for the past is the past
And few things in life ever do seem to last
What has been remains as a memory of the forever gone
And the clock on our lives ever keeps ticking on.

I am growing old far south of Hibernia's shore
And further from Clara above Claramore
Yet in my flights of fancy the silver tongued rill
Is babbling downland from the field by the hill

The old rill that outlived the Seasons of time
Flowing in the fields that first inspired me to rhyme
That joins with the Cails near where Cails and Finnow do meet
In the old rushy fields near the Town of Millstreet.

On House Sparrows

On the shed rafter in her feathery nest in a straggly ball of hay
The brown house sparrow her pea sized speckled eggs does lay
When born her young do cheep for food all through the day
To chirp and chirp that is the sparrow's way
All year in all weather rain, wind , snow and sunshine
They chirp all the day these favourite birds of mine
In most parts of the World to many quite well known
The house sparrows have a charm all of their own
I have known and loved them since I was a boy
And hearing them chirp a thing I still enjoy
Familiar birds to many in their feathers of gray and mottled brown
Of hedgerows and parks and backyards of the countryside and town
Introduced by humans to many Countries house sparrows are known Worldwide
And in backyards and parks and gardens they are happy to reside.

Kate From Camperdown

With dark shoulder length hair and eyes of lightish brown
She does look so lovely Kate from Camperdown
A twenty year old computer tutor two years out of school
Living in the coastal City of Warrnambool.

Slender of average height with a beautiful smile
Attractive and charming and unaffected by guile
To everyone she meets she does say good day
About her she does have such a friendly way.

Beautiful in every way her type seems so rare
Yet of her striking looks she does not seem aware
The term a woman apart to her has to apply
She does not have a foe and her friends multiply.

Most beautiful looking women are full of conceit
But Kate is so down to earth and nice to meet
You meet her once and fond memories of her you retain
And in her Camperdown's loss is surely Warrnambool's gain.

On Hatred

I cannot hate anybody hatred seems such a waste of time
It is such a negative energy that can lead to serious crime
Within the confines of the mind compassion it eats away
The very thing called hatred gives rise to soul decay
Though sinned against some people are quite willing to forgive
They refuse to harbour a grudge for as long as they do live
Whilst some any trespass against them never forgave
And they carried their grudges with them to the grave
Hatred as negative a feeling as self loathing and narcissism and greed
'Tis something in the mind that one does not need
I pity those who to their old grudges do cling
To harbour such for one is not a good thing
I do admire those who let bygones be gone
And despite sins against them in their lives move on.

The Years Have Left Me Slower

The years have left me slower and looking old and gray
And from my first home in Claraghatlea i am living far away
My better years behind me that would seem fair to say
And perhaps i'd feel a stranger in Millstreet Town today.

In Millstreet the changes keep on happening as so i have been told
The boys and girls i went to school with like me are getting old
Whilst some of them migrated others in the old homeplace stay
And some of them are deceased their remains with Nature lay.

Those who claim to know better tell me i waste my time
In penning stuff on Millstreet where i lived in my prime
That without me in the old fields the grass and rushes grow
And the rivers Cails and Finnow to the Blackwater do flow.

Some claim that migrant nostalgia can come from drinking too much beer
And those who claim to love their home country are not compelled to stay here
Yet unadventurous stay at home types could never understand
The love that many migrants feel for their homeplace and homeland.

An ageing bloke from Claraghatlea is all that i can be
And everywhere i travel to my past does go with me
I live far south of Clara Hill and the fields by Millstreet Town
Where i penned my first verses and daydreamed of literary renown.

'Tis The Fear Of Fear

'Tis the fear of fear that's how 'twould seem to be
The thought of death is worrying to me
The clock of time keeps on ticking away
Today for many is their life's final day
Many laud the high achievers but why bother to pretend
That such things do matter at life's journey's end
The Reaper treats the billionaires and those in poverty
As he does all other sorts of life forms equally
The praises of the Reaper few do ever sing
The fear of death it is a fearful thing
But for everyone and everyone means all
There is a first Spring and a final Fall
I fear death most since the deceased have not returned to tell
Of the existence of a Heaven or a Hell.

The Number One Predator

In the Human World people dying tragically every day
In accidents, famines, wars and terrorists attacks or in some other way
Humans kill far more humans it would seem fair to say
Than any of the leading predators of prey
Yes humans with the superior presence of mind
In mass numbers every year murder their own kind
The supposed war to end all wars ended decades ago
But always to fight there is another foe
And on hindsight it does seem quite sad to recall
That from wars of the past we have not learned at all
War and it's dead heroes the patriots celebrate
But every war it does seem a new war does create
The most violent and dangerous when all is said and done
Of the World's great predators humans are number one.

An Autumn Dawn

The leaves on the deciduous street trees drying and turning brown
And in small groups leave their parents and silently drift down
To the deserted sidewalks of the old country town
As the sky to daylight does remove it's night gown
Before the freshening wind the leaves do retreat
Down along the pavements and on to the street
To their last resting spot they are blown on their way
In the quiet country town at the dawn of an Autumn day
On life and death Nature has the final say
And in some instances life can be born in the stench of decay
The leaves of the Fall they have lost out to time
Than most things in Nature their's is a shorter prime
But it remains as a fact and facts never lie
That all things of life must eventually die.

A Poor Family Man

A poor family man on the poor side of town
Of late the factory he worked in by the liquidators closed down
He and his wife and two young children must live on welfare
In the poorer suburb his type are not rare
Out searching for work without any success
And stuggling to cope due to financial stress
Living in a rented flat on a very poor street
Even whilst working he found it hard to make ends meet
With food and clothes to buy for his family and rent and bills for to pay
He does not look to the future just lives for today
In a suburb of few jobs where unemployment is rife
One person a week does take his or her own life
Since the day he was born he has been battling the odds
One of the poor people of the lesser gods.

The Ageing Migrant From Duhallow

He said of Millstreet people and sports people and cultural icons you write
The sort of stuff few bother to read and fewer wish to recite
But when memories of your young years in print you recall
Of greater Duhallow and it's people you write little at all
Remember Duhallow's most famous person was not from Millstreet
Derrygallon's Pat O Callaghan the hammer thrower the dual Olympic Gold Medal Winning athlete
A long deceased sporting legend renowned Worldwide
The best of Duhallow and all of Ireland's pride,
The ageing migrant from Duhallow his hair silver gray
did not speak of my rhymes in a complimentary way
And of his perception of my bias towards Millstreet he did not leave me in doubt
As he spoke his truth to me without having to shout
We are both from Duhallow he spoke his truth to me
But we all look at life one might say differently.

Saint Mary McKillop

To saint Mary McKillop of the cross many Australian Catholics pray
If there is a heaven she is up there today
She lived a saintly existence it does seem fair to say
To help those in need of helping she went out of her way.

In helping Australia's homeless the outcasts and downtrod
She was one who devoted her life to her God
In Melbourne, Portland, Penola, Sydney and Adelaide
Where ever she lived in her mark of goodness she made.

I may live as an atheist but i give credit to where it is due
To her higher self Mary Mckillop was one who was true
She devoted her life to the poor down and out
She lived as a great person of that there is no doubt.

On behalf of Australia's poor people no effort she did spare
The Mary McKillops of this World are rare
The story of her amazing life is now known everywhere
And if there is a heaven she is one who is there.

Of My Own Shortcomings

Of my own shortcomings i am all too aware
And what others say of me i am too old to care
My best days in life to the forever gone
But till the moment i cark it i will keep battling on
And here i go penning one more doggerel
To add to the more than nine thousand i've written though not written well
As a very poor doggerelist i've become locally known
But one thing i can say is all of my rhymes are my own
The stuff with my name to it has all come from me
That is how it is and how it ought to be
My flaws may be many but in that i am not alone
And i'll leave it to the one without sin for to cast the first stone
For me to call myself a poet would be living a lie
Though i will go on rhyming hopefully till i die.

At The Fall Of The Despot

The people who have been oppressed for decades may cheer at the dictator's downfall
But if their new leader is just another despot their sense of joy seems wasted overall
When the fall of one despot gives rise to one similar there is no reason to celebrate
No free speech or freedom of association in any non democratic State
Without full human rights there's no freedom if the government at your peril you criticize
That far too many such Nations seems a sad thing to realize
Even so called democratic Countries with the death penalty in place do not seem free to me
Though many with my way of thinking I know would never agree
A life for a life is barbaric and it does seem quite morally wrong
To the long gone and unenlightened ages such a practice ought to belong
Worldwide the governments who offer full freedom to their citizens to say the least few
On saying this you may well remind me that I am not saying anything that is new
The masses celebrate at the overthrow of the dictator but they seem to fail to realize
That the fall of one despot quite often to one just as bad does give rise.

Human Life In Many Ways

You will not meet a boy or a girl in the town
Who do not have their daydreams of wealth and renown
And bask in the glory that success does bring
To want recognition is a natural thing
But for many young people daydreams never come true
From life we do not always receive what we feel is our due
Though some may tell you that you can be what you choose
Still for one for to win someone else has to lose
In a Human World where millions live in poverty
The thing known as money creates inequality
And so many grow poorer for the wealthy few
Though to that you may say tell us something that is new
Human life in many ways is like a game of football
Of the fame and the plaudits the winner takes all.

A Chance Meeting

Her short clipped wavy hair a natural gray
And though obviously she had known a better day
She remains quite attractive despite the passage of time
She must have been beautiful in her life's prime.

She said your accent bring back memories of my granddad to me
At twenty four he came to live in Australia in ninteen twenty three
From Ballydaly between the Towns of Millstreet and Rathmore
By all accounts a place far inland from Hibernia's shore.

Though I've never been to Ireland I hope to go there one day
And visit my late granddad's homeplace by the hills far away
I may even have blood relatives still living there
Or like granddad did maybe they went to live elsewhere.

He used to talk of Clara, Kippagh and Gortavehy with the face of stone
And old Caherbarnagh and Mushera and the Paps of Shrone
And the people who lived in his townland when he was a young man
When he was near his prime years and full of elan.

Her grandfather lived for to be an old man
In Ballydaly in Duhallow his life's journey began
Though she was surprised to learn that I came from Millstreet
It seems likely that her I will never more meet.

A Young Shearer

From exposure to sunlight his skin is bronzed brown
The sturdy young man from the tropical town
Many highways and freeways he has driven up and down
And to be a great shearer is his claim to renown.

His hair almost dark as the wing of a crow
The man from the land where the pineapple grow
For him no such a thing as an easy pay
He often shears two hundred wethers a day.

Happily unmarried he has just turned twenty three
One who enjoys his beer of any cares he is free
He has made love to many women but with none he does stay
Next week he will be shearing in sheds from here far away.

With the lust of the wander of the nomadic race
The young shearer does not stay long in any one place
A ruggedly handsome young character full of life's elan
The nomadic shearer nowadays seems a rare breed of man

Heartache and tears the price some young women pay
For falling in love with him in a big way
In any one place he does never stay long
The lure of the wander in him it is strong.

An Amateur Artist

He is not well known not even on his home street
Yet a kinder or nicer person than he is one could not wish to meet
It's just that he doesn't play sports or drink at the pub
And he is not a member of any social club
And the main reason that others his praises don't sing
Is that he lives in his own way and he does his own thing
An amateur artist since he was a boy
In his work free time sketching he does enjoy
But amateur artists never know of renown
And never do become the toast of the town
He does not drink grog but he can tell and laugh at a joke
A down to earth, honest and a helpful sort of a bloke
Single in his early twenties without plans to take a wife
To sketch on his leisure hours is his greatest enjoyment in life.

The Great Earth

She provides us with our every survival need
The Great Earth is truly a Great Earth indeed
For our very existence on her we depend
Yet we do not treat her as our greatest friend.

We create carbon in the environment for our financial gain
But in so doing we deprive The Great Earth of rain
Without rain she cannot grow crops which to famine gives rise
As the World's most evolved life form we are not very wise.

When The Great Earth that feeds us for our financial gain we abuse
For our own extinction we may have lit the fuse
But for us to change our environmental practices it is not too late
Otherwise for future generations huge problems we will create.

Every life form of the World that run, walk, fly, swim or crawl
The great one known as Earth she does feed them all
Us humans who abuse her in our own extinction may succeed
Future generations may become the victims of our foolish greed.

The Gray Shrike Thrush

As the sky starts to brighten just before daybreak
The whistling of the gray shrike thrush one ought not to mistake
So flute like and familiar and melodious and clear
A beautiful voice in the Spring of the year
In parks and woods of South East Australia his kind one often does see
Birds familiar to many and familiar to me
Lightish brown on back and unders of gray
Birds I do see often though not every day
He sings in the wood on the bushes and trees
And his beautiful music carrying in the breeze
So pleasant to listen to in the prime of the Spring
His wonderful voice to it does have a distinctive ring
Surely one of Australia's leading birds of song
His voice from once heard you will never get wrong.

Your God Within

In India they worship their sacred cow
And in many parts of the World to statues they bow
And billions do pray to their God in the sky
But why many deny their God within one must wonder why?
The God born within is a great God indeed
The one who inspires you in your moment of need
When you feel all hope from your life has gone
Giving you the inner strength to keep on keeping on
In fields, woods or towns the God within you won't find
The inspiring one lives in the confines of the mind
As an ally and inspiration in your times of mental strife
As you struggle to cope with your troubles in life
When to your thoughts of suicide you feel like giving in
The one who inspires you to live on is your God within.

There Is More To A Man

There is more to a man than his social rank
Due to his material assets and legal tender in a bank
Or the clothes he does wear or the size of his home or his car
Though up the social ranking such things helps one to rise far
The true worth of a man is not his money or gold
But the values that he as a person uphold
The respect of an equal to all others show
By his treatment of others the man you will know
There is far more to a man than material success
Though such achievements many does seem to impress
The one worth admiring to selfishness is not inclined
One sensitive to the feelings of others compassionate and kind
I only say here what has been said before
There is more to a man than money and social rank yes indeed far more.

One Can Only Hope

One can only hope that a Universal Paradise for good people is not based on a lie
That we are not born to a terminal life and then to forever die
Otherwise what point in living a good life if we die and are no more
If there is no such a thing as a Universal Paradise beyond this Earthly shore
The average human life three score and ten years in time not a lengthy span
'Tis said that woman on average by a few years outlive the man
On looking back the decades we recall how time did fly
From our twenties to our sixties the years went quickly by
At the end the wealthy one and the pauper become equal and the same
So there must be more to life than material things such as money and fame
For their faith religious people one can only admire
And if to live as good people such does them inspire
And in helping others due to love of their God brings to them happiness
Then of their lives they are making a success.

In Claraghatlea Millstreet

In Claraghatlea Millstreet my life's journey began
And there from a boy I grew into a man
And there my love for Nature began to grow
Though little of her ways I can claim to know
I have not walked on them for many a day
The old fields in view of Clara from here far away
In Spring the bluebells bloomed on the ditch of the bohreen
And wildflowers in abundance in the fields to be seen
The chaffinch and robin I fancy I hear
And for a tiny bird the song of the wren sounds melodious and clear
And by sight or by sound one could never get wrong
The dark brown white breasted river bird dipper with the scratchy song
And though I may never walk in the old fields again
Fond memories of what was in me does remain.

Two Decades Ago

Two decades ago the hero of the town
And he had big dreams of far greater renown
But an unfortunate motoring accident put him in a wheelchair
Yet you never hear him say that life is unfair
With a broken neck he was lucky to survive
His widowed mother his carer she is sixty five
By cruel luck robbed of greatness he has gone through years of physical pain
But he keeps on smiling he never complain
Two decades ago the town's best young athlete
The best in the nation he raced against and beat
After his accident forsaken by the woman who was to be his wife
He is one who knows of the hard knocks of life
One who accepts his misfortunes with dignity and grace
He always does have a big smile on his face.

To Be Good As You Can

You can only live to be good as you can
To be a good woman or be a good man
And respect to all people of all races pay
And try to achieve one good deed every day
That all humans have flaws would seem fair for to say
Though some from perfection than others seem further away
A good person to the higher self does try to remain true
And always pay credit to where it is due
Those with the gifts of kindness and compassion are blessed indeed
The people who can look beyond their own need
Though human perfection does not seem possible to achieve
What we give to life in turn we do receive
'Tis human to have some flaw would you not agree?
That is how it is and it will always be.

One Too Many

Of Wine I had drunk at least two litres for one of my age that's not wise
Alcohol in the mind of the migrant to feelings of nostalgia gives rise
Nostalgia for friends and for family that I had not seen for many years
The only migrant amongst many Aussies my sense of manly pride helped me to hold back the tears

That yearned to flow for Millstreet in Duhallow and my old home Parish from here far away
Nostalgia remains in every migrant despite the wear of time's decay
For friends and family and relations and Claraghatlea my old home-place
Perhaps now I would be a stranger where mine once was a well known face.

I thought I was over nostalgia but thought again had proved me wrong
The alcohol helped to resurface something that had been dormant for so long
In fancy I could see old Clara his summit shrouded in the fogs of rain
The past it may be gone forever but the good memories with us remain.

Of wine I had drunk one too many it stirred up the nostalgia in me
For faces and places of the past that in memory I only now see
The past is behind us forever to the father of time we must bow
And we all hope for a better future but we can only live in the now.

A Beautiful Lady

Her hair may be gray but she has charm and grace
The woman with the kind and the beautiful face
Slightly built of medium height not short or not tall
But a memorable person one worthy of recall
She has never forsaken anyone in their time of need
In her work for the Salvos she has performed many a good deed
An octogenarian widow she is eighty one
With three great grand-daughters and a great grand-son
A wonderful lady compassionate and kind
One who has been blessed with a beautiful mind
One I do see often though not every day
About her she does have such a saint like way
So caring and down to earth and free of guile
She greets everyone with a beautiful smile.

Familiar Voices In Nature

Familiar voices in Nature that everyone know
The flute of the magpie the caw of the crow
The pipe of the blackbird melodious and clear
And the whistle of the shrike thrush so pleasant to hear
The World's greatest mimic the lyrebird one could never mistake
From the songs of his neighbours his own music he make
The pee wee of the magpie lark the voice of the pied currawong
These are sounds of Nature one ought not to get wrong
The laughter of the kookaburra familiar to all
And the yellow tail black cockatoo has a familiar call
The song of the bell miner tinkling like a bell
Most birds by their voices are not hard to tell
The voices of the corellas, white cocky, galah and crimson rosella known to quite a few
And the chatter of the wattlebirds to most nothing new..

The Claramore Swallows

The swallows that flew above high Claramore
Are flying south to Winter on a warmer shore
They will not be back home to breed till mid April in Spring
When in the woods and groves nesting songbirds whistle and sing
Above sunlit lands from their birthplace far away
When Claramore fields with frost are looking gray
The Claramore swallows will chirp as they fly
Whilst chasing flying insects in the blue and sunny sky
In cup shaped nest on shed rafter bound together by clay
When the sparrows are building their straggly nests of hay
And the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
They first open their eyes to the bright light of day
In the cool winds of Autumn they leave their home-ground
And for the warm Southern Country the swallows are bound.

I Will Keep Penning On

We all have our hobbies and addictions as well
Some play sports, some like fishing I pen doggerel
For many years I have been a rhyming buff
And I am still addicted to penning of stuff.

Since I commenced penning back in my life's prime
I have written a whole heap of doggerel rhyme
Though I never do fancy myself as a poet
Nor am I one worthy of literary note

And though my worth as a rhymer I have reason to doubt
No shortage of things for me to write about
Of Nature and people I meet on life's way
The rhymes do keep coming to me every day

Though everyone needed in the Wordsmith Trade
Out of millions of writers so few make the grade
In literature as in life for every winner the losers are many would you not agree?
That is how it is and it always will be

Though few seem to bother to read what I write
I post stuff to many an internet literary site
My best days in life to the forever gone
But for as long as I can I will keep penning on.

Known And loved As Muhammad Ali Today

To many he remains as the boxer supreme
But more to him than being a former World Heavyweight Champion or so it would seem
The man who used to call himself the greatest is a great man indeed
And of many more like him the Human World is in need.

In his early years he was known as Cassius Clay
But known and loved Worldwide as Muhammad Ali today
An ambassador for humanity in his witty and charming way
But now showing the wear of time which does seem sad to say.

Known on all corners of the Globe north, east, west and south
The World's best known parkinsons sufferer of that little doubt
An idol to so many people Worldwide
The man who has transcended the racial divide.

Far more that a great World Champion boxer oh yes indeed far more
What can be said of him that has not been said before
His is a much loved and a recognizable face
This marvellous ambassador for the human race.

What It Takes To Be Human

Have you ever felt as useless as teats on a bull
And of your humdrum existence did have a gut full
I know how it feels of your woes I must say
You are not alone on feeling this way
The human moods are known for to fluctuate
At times you feel happy life with you is great
But at other times you are afflicted by woe
Feeling quite despondent and in self esteem low
We have our mood swings from the happy to the sad
Though our best memories are of the good times we have had
The past it is gone and should be beyond regret
But there are days in our life we would rather forget
The feelings of arrogance and of low self esteem
Are what it takes to be human or so it does seem.

By The Sea

Young children splash, laugh and have fun
In the rock pool in the warm Spring sun
Their parents sunning on the beach nearby
And sea birds do call as they fly
Above where the waves gently lap to the shore
Scenes such as this I've not seen often before
In what is a beautiful October day
Utopia from here cannot be far away
The sooty oystercatchers pleasant flute like song
Once heard one could never get wrong
In near perfect temperatures around twenty degrees
The sea spray in a gentle coastal breeze
Where else would anyone wish to be
On a day like this but by the sea.

So Many Poor People In The Human World Of Today

So many poor people in the Human World of today
Condemned for to live life in the hardest way
The victims of famines caused by droughts and crop disease
The homeless and hungry and the refugees
So many grow poorer for the wealthy few
To that one might say tell us something that's new
Poverty by birthright or by circumstance
The gift of life as we know only by chance
Some ignorant people to their feeelings give voice
When they tell us for self betterment everyone does have a choice
Without taking circumstance into account
Their unsolicited opinions to nothing does amount
In a Human World where the gap between the haves and the have nots grow wide
Far too many at a young age of hunger have died.

Those Born With The Lust Of Wander

You will find them in big cities and in where few people are
Those born with the lust of wander from their birthplace travel far
To all corners of the Planet from Dunedin to Rome
The World is their oyster and nowhere is their home
Not Parochial or Nationalistic in any sort of way
To most people very different that would seem fair to say
They travel miles in distance in the bigger World out there
True citizens of the World their home not anywhere
In any place they do not stay they cannot settle down
The wanderlust is in them they move from town to town
They do not feel nostalgia for any village, city town or place
The spirit of adventure in them of the true nomadic race
The wanderlust is in them since they first saw light of day
And they feel happy on their journey to the next town far away.

Millstreet's Sports People

In sports perhaps Derrygallon's Pat O Callaghan was Duhallow and Ireland's best
The champion of champions when he was put to the test
The dual Olympic Gold Medallist and World Record Holder his legend lives on
Though for many Seasons the life from him has gone.

But so many great sports people in and near Millstreet Town
Who on their own right can lay claim to renown
In Gaelic Football alone so many one could name
Who in their chosen sport did scale the heights of fame.

Denis Mac, Jimmy Cooper and Dick Kiely I never see them play
Though I heard about them they were great on their day
But time renders the great and the not so great feeble and gray
And amongst life's departed they now forever lay.

The nineteen forty eight Senior Cork County Gaelic Football Champions arguably Millstreet's greatest team
It was the year in Cork Gaelic Football that the Sraid reigned supreme
In the County Final they beat St Vincents in a great game of football
That old time Cork Gaelic Football enthuasists with fondness recall.

A goal from the mighty Toots Kelleher he was a minor then
Inspired to a memorable victory the brave Millstreet men
Of greatness the great man could not be denied
In Gaelic Football circles he became known far and wide.

Johnny Keeffe Millstreet's Captain a skipper's game played
For Millstreet and for Cork a name for himself he made
In Gaelic Football against the best he did compete
Still a living legend today in Millstreet.

Cormac Dineen and Den and Con Connors were mighty in their life's prime
Stories of their greatness live on despite the passage of time
Seamie Kelleher, Tank Driscoll and Munty Singleton at their best were great
They often gave Millstreet fans cause to celebrate.

Con Corcoran, Dick Barrett and James Manley names worthy of recall
Con and Ted Kelleher and John Joe Tagney great names of Millstreet Gaelic Football
J O Connor, Weir, and Michael Byrne, Paddy Cronin and Jeremiah O Keeffe
They were known as players who played with self belief.

Paddy Kelleher, Neilly Dennehy and Denis Twomey heroes of Millstreet
And Manning their great net minder in those days often kept a clean sheet
For thirty years Millstreet in the Cork Senior Championship a hard team to beat
Always joyous in victory and gracious in defeat.

Millstreet in Gaelic Football have many great names to celebrate
Their five All Ireland Senior winning medallists in their time were great
Den Connors, Denis Long and Humphrey Kelleher amongst Ireland's best
And John Coleman and Con Hartnett never found to be wanting when put to the test.

The Burke brothers Tommy and Brendan and their cousin Thomas Kelleher great players on their day
For Millstreet so many fine games they did play
The Kenneallys Jim and Ted and goal sneak Dermy Shea
Though time wearies the best as the wise one did say.

Doc Cribben, Doney Mahony, the mighty O Learys Willie and Dan
And the late John Sing O Sullivan the talented man
Michael Cashman of Tullig, John Francis Daly and Mister O
Were all heroes of Millstreet many decades ago.

For Cork in the red and Millstreet in the green
Con Connors of Kippagh at his best was seen
Vincent Coakley, Matt Gilsenan and J J Hinchion of Canovee
Star players who live on in the memory.

Matthew Twomey, John Keeffe and the Curtins and Cronins of Minor Row,
Frankie Reen and the Aubane trio Niall Kelleher, Doney Twomey and Sean Barrett though time has left them slow
They did Millstreet proud and are known far and wide
And of them their value as sportsmen cannot be denied.

Jer Dennehy of Murphy's Terrace was a renowned football player
And his sons Tim Joe, Liam and Anthony for Millstreet no effort did spare
The Thorntons, Andrew Kiely and Denis and Derry Hare
And Pat and Joe Buckley, Pat Flynn and Diarmuid Driscoll perhaps now showing time's wear.

Goalkeepers John and Denis Twomey and John Cronin of the Priests Cross
His death at a young age to Millstreet G A A a huge loss
Denny Taylor, Brendan Moynihan and Noel and Joe Buckley in the Millstreet jersey played
And of Matty Riordan and John Kelleher the memories don't fade.

Paul Ryan and Christy Dunne for Millstreet played many a game
And the late John Francis Hickey and Connie Kelleher have trophies in their name
Classy forward Jimmy Sullivan left football as a minor with greatness in store
And John Sullivan and Robert Murphy with their best years ahead left for a distant shore.

Dual players Brian Mc Sweeney and Matt McAuliffe wore the Millstreet colours with pride
As did Dathi Dowling one liked and respected in places far and wide
The Barretts, Sheehans and Kielys and the Fordes the green of Millstreet wore
When their Club as a Cork Football force was very much to the fore.

Patsy Barry has been a mentor to many a young Millstreet player
One who continues on his mentoring role despite the erosion of time wear
Bill Keeffe and Jimmy Cronin former Millstreet G A A mentors in eternal rest now lay
Time does not wait for anyone it just ticks and ticks away.

Anthony Barry, Denis Hickey, Connie Cotter and the Coopers were good in their prime
But they too have bowed to the father of time
So many I did not include here who donned the Millstreet green and gold
My memory is slipping I am getting old

On looking back the years it seems like only yesterday
When Connie Tarrant, John Buckley and Johnny Sheehan for Millstreet did play
And the Linehans, Niall Buckley and the Crowleys the Millstreet colours did don
But the years left them slower and time does tick on.

Clement Kelleher for Millstreet was a very fine player
And the Dineens of Knocknapogue and the Clearys the green and gold did wear
And though for Millstreet G A A the best days seem to have gone
The good memories remain and they do linger on.

Leo McSweeney of Flintfield a classy half back
Often sent Millstreet from defence deep into attack
In Macroom we often cheered Millstreet on in the wind and the rain
Something that I amongst others will not do again.

But Millstreet people apart from Gaelic Football have great names in sport to recall
One was the Cockhill high jumper Pat O Shea athletic and tall
Many times Irish high jump champion he leaped to renown
In track and field meetings far from Millstreet Town.

The flying Neenan brothers of Inchaleigh Willie and John D
Led the Millstreet Athletic Team to many a victory
Willie has Cork County, Munster and Irish titles as well as a World Silver medal to his name
Perhaps Millstreet's greatest athlete his is an enduring fame.

John Kelleher the pole vaulter one who did know of success
The big wins of Millstreet Sports People brought their fans happiness
The memories of what was bring to me a sense of joy
Of the sports heroes I looked up to when I was a young boy.

Joe Buckley of Ballinatona miles of roads and fields ran
In his prime a renowned cross country runner a strong and fit hard running man
And the Ballydaly quartet Don and Michael Connors, Willie Regan and Francis Dineen
They brought honour to their Parish in the Millstreet strip of green.

Discus champion Tadgh Justice he was broad shouldered and strong
And the mighty Michael Murphys one from the Terrace and the other from Shannaknock could throw the weights long
And the famed runner Jer Murphy one of Cork's best in his prime
Though eventually the best lose out to the non stop tick of time.

More recently Donal Coffey at mountain running has earned for himself a name
To be one of Ireland's best hill runners is his great claim to fame
The latest to carry the torch of fame lit by Paddy Keeffe of Mushera a century ago Ireland's best athlete
In his many two mile hurdle races the great man was never beat.

Stella Cashman a Millstreet woman now living in the U S A
As a medallist in the World Athletic Championships for walking she is better known today
Far from the heights of Tullig overlooking Millstreet Town
She surely proved her greatness walking her way to renown.

The Claraghatlea trio Mick and Jerry Kelleher and Mick Healy jumped high and ran fast
But time seems to catch up with the best at last
Paddy Byrne for many years a Priest in the U S of A
Was a champion sprinter when in his prime day.

In the World of Showjumping Noel C Duggan and his son Thomas have done great things for Millstreet
That they have made Green Glens a World events venue for them an amazing feat
Amongst show jumping people around the World Noel C Duggan's name is known
And yet despite his Worldwide fame happy to be one of Millstreet's own.

In Motor Rallying the name of Billy Coleman is one known Worldwide
That he was born and raised in Millstreet Town to Millstreet people a sense of pride
Yet despite his sporting successes one unaffected by conceit
Twice British Rallying Champion the rally driver complete.

The former Millstreet native Todd Falvey a well known rally driver of today
And in rallying Charley Drake and Eoin Moynihan have won big races in Australia from Millstreet far away
And recently in road bowling the now deceased Jim Coleman and old timers do go further back
To two champions of the road game Denny Penny and Johnny Jack.

In Irish greyhound circles Morty Cronin, Pat Cashman, Paddy Casey and Tommy and Kitty Hennessy were well known
And Maurice Connors, Doney and Geraldine Mahony and Con and Sheila Kelleher fast greyhounds did own
And Doney Donoghue of the Tanyard was a well known coursing man
In the days when he was younger and full of life's elan.

The long deceased Denis Dennehy of the West End famous greyhounds did breed and own
In and near the Town of Millstreet many sporting legends grown
The Duggans, Finnegans, Singletons, Murphys, Corkerys, Kellys and Learys and McCarthys between them won many a race
It can be said of Millstreet that it was a greyhound place.

The O Keeffes Dan, Paddy and David of Dooneen were greyhound handlers supreme
And the Sheas and Collins of Cockhil in greyhound circles knew esteem
Duhallow's Sporting Capital was Millstreet though that now in the past
But time brings with it changes and few things seem to last.

Ever since the great Harry Coher ran his way to glory through the distant mists of time
Millstreet sports people have been honoured in story and in rhyme
Mark Ellis the dual G A A player a rising Millstreet sports star of today
The past does fade to the future as some have been known to say.

For One To Win

To be second best one never to does aspire
But in the one gracious in defeat so much to admire
'Tis easy for winners to laugh since their joy is complete
But only the bravest can smile in defeat
When everybody wants for to be your mate
The winner can laugh and drink and celebrate
But the loser who smiles and says the better one won on the day
Is surely one worthy of a loud hooray
It is shattering to lose when you've trained hard to win
But it takes courage to smile when you are hurting within
That winners can afford to be grinners happens to be true
But to those gracious in defeat credit has to be due
The deflating feeling of defeat is something anyone would not choose
But for one for to win someone else has to lose.

In Nature's World

In Nature's World 'twould seem each creature has it's own role to fulfil
Most bird species as their survival tool born with a different shape of bill
The bird of prey has a hooked beak as it's weapon for to kill
For to stalk and seize their prey that to them is a natural skill

Whilst big cats and small cats have sharp teeth and claws
As their weapons for to kill in Nature's World no outlaws
Yes in Nature no such a thing as a right or a wrong
Survival of the fittest the only law that to her belong.

In Nature alone life is born in decay
On the carcass of the unburied the blow fly her eggs do lay
Her maggots eat the flesh of the dead carcass the blow fly's survival way
There is life in death in Nature every day.

The vegetarians the fruit eaters the predators and the prey
In Nature's world all creatures have their own roles to play
But the weak and the frail cannot hope to survive
In a World where only the strongest and the fittest do thrive.

In The Town Far Away

The songs of the birds carrying in the wind driven rain
In fancy he is back in the past again
With his young friends on the sidewalks cycling up and down
Where he was born and raised in the far away town.

The years have left him looking older and gray
His eldest grandchild a young parent today
His wife left him for a younger man two decades ago
He says I'm better off without her or it would seem so.

He still speaks with the accent he came here with today
From his hometown far north of here and far away
Yet despite more than fifty years in this southern city of a Southern Land
His way of speaking some do find hard to understand.

Nostalgia for what was often brings him close to tears
Any of the friends of his youth he has not seen for years
Fond thoughts of good times of the past we do like to retain
In his memories of them young they do remain.

Quite healthy and fit for one aged seventy three
And happy with his lot he does seem carefree
Still in fancy with his young friends he cycles in the town far away
Good memories die hard as some are known to say.