Michael O Connor

One of the famed Kippagh O Connors of athletics and gaelic football
So many marvellous memories of Michael to recall
Like that sunny afternoon in early Spring in Pound Hill in Millstreet
That he won a six mile road race he was so quick on his feet

His foxy hair blowing in the breeze as he raced down Pound Hill
We cheered him on to victory the memory with me still
With plenty running left in him he hit the winning line
Behind him no less an athlete than Rising Sun's John O Brien

That night in the Millstreet pubs with him we did celebrate
In his prime he worked hard and he ran hard and he partied on till late
He was a marvellous character untainted by conceit
One who brought so much honour to the green strip of Millstreet

For to make such a statement i do not feel the least bit bold
Had he taken athletics seriously he may have competed for Olympic Gold
In his prime one of Ireland's best athletes a champion of the Millstreet Club
But in his running days he drunk stronger stuff than lemonade when he was in the pub

A nicer person than him one could not wish to know or meet
And sad to think he died in his sixties Kippagh's greatest athlete
A heart that was full of kindness is lifeless now and still
His remains at rest forever in view of Cashman's Hill.

Giovanni In His Late Seventies

So many have been born since he left and so many have died
In the coastal town far north of here where he first did reside
A place perhaps that he will see never more
Where he first saw light of day by the Adriatic Shore

On a Spring morning in April in nineteen fifty three
He said his last goodbyes to friends and family
To live in Victoria Australia his life's destiny
Never again for to return to Italy

Close to the four score years he looks frail and gray
And clearly he has known a far better day
Many times a grandfather his wife died last May
In the cemetery near where he lives her last remains lay

Giovanni in his late seventies is a very nice man
Though it has been many decades since he has enjoyed youthful elan
He walks with a cane his fastest pace slow
Time on everyone does eventually show.

I May Not Be Wealthy

I feel i am poor for my financial income is small
But compared to many very poor people i am not poor at all
I live in a warm house sleep in a warm bed
Whilst many sleep in a park in a barn or a shed
I am not a well off bloke of that i won't lie
But it will not be of malnutrition that i will die
I am never short of bread vegetables, cheese or meat
In fact i am one who at times over-eat
I may not be wealthy and i'm showing my years in gray
But many worse off than me in the Human World of today
And though i often do struggle for to make ends meet
I have never known of life on Poverty Street
I may not be wealthy in a financial way
But millions worse off than me in the Human World of today.

Die I must One Day

I hate the very thought of dying but die i must one day
Since death is one fact in our lives on which we do not have a say
I hope for to cling on to life for as long as i can
And without pain die in my sleep as a very old man
Some night or day we all must face our immortality
And whether i am buried or cremated seems all the same to me
Like the monarch and the president to the Reaper's scythe i will fall
We are mere mortals nothing more and death is for us all
I fear the very thought of dying in most a common fear
I hope to live to hear the blackbird sing in the Spring of next year
In the late Autumn of my life my best years are long gone
But i love life much as i fear death and i hope to live on
Until to the Reaper's scythe i'll fall whenever that will be
And the same for the president and the monarch as is for you and me.

High Above Tower Hill

High above Tower Hill in the calm morning sky
A pair of wedge tail eagles circle as they fly
A male and the larger female an amazing sight
Their dark brown wings gleaming in the morning sunlight
A wonder of Nature to live in memory
And a sight one is not often privileged to see
Australia's largest raptors soaring in the southern sky
The words noble, graceful and beautiful to them does apply
'Tis a fact of Nature and facts never lie
For them to live in Tower Hill smaller creatures must die
Survival of the fittest as some like to say
The prey for the predator this is Nature's way
The soaring eagles a beautiful memory till death that with me will remain
And that i will re-visit again and again.

I Used To Have Friends

I used to have friends when i lived in Millstreet
But nowadays mostly strangers there i'd only meet
Since i last lived there 'tis going on twenty five years
For my first homeplace in Duhallow i've shed all of my tears
Not many i'm sure nowadays there i would know
Where the waters of the Cails from Kippagh and the Finnow does flow
On to the Blackwater through old riverside fields where the rushes rank grow
On their sea going journey  by grove and by ditch and hedgerow
Yet in my flights of fancy i often does hear
The pink breasted chaffinch in the Spring of the year
On the highest branch of a sycamore tree
Proclaiming the borders of his territory
The past may be gone but the memories of it remain
And sometimes in fancy i walk in the old fields again.

Woodland Birds

How pleasant it is to listen to the woodland birds at daybreak
The ticking song of the yellow robin one never could mistake
The flute like notes of the white backed magpie the call of the currawong
The laughter of the kookaburra one never could get wrong
The grating calls to listen to of the sulphur crested cockatoo
And the unmistakeable call sounds of the dark brown weerloo
The long drawn out cawing of the forest raven a pale eyed breed of crow
The voices of Nature's minstrels not hard to get to know
The bubbling music of the butcherbird melodious and clear
And the pleasant whistling songs of the grey shrike thrush and blackbird to my thoughts ever near
The harsh coughing like calls of the wattlebirds as if their throats are dry
And the soft pipings of the beautiful crimson rosellas one of human kind not shy
Just a few of the woodlands birds familiar in the their calls or chirp or song
By their voices not hard to get to know one ought not to get them wrong.

How Boring We Would Be

Our different ideas make us seem more interesting a fact that is well known
In other words as some do say it is each to their own
If we all thought in the same way and on all things did agree
Few new ideas would come to light and how boring we would be
There would be no discussions and no debates if we all thought in the same way
We would have little for to talk about and to each other have little for to say
In some ways sameness can be boring we need variety
'Tis our different ways make us more interesting that's how it seems to me
Though 'tis to like minded people for friendship to we tend to gravitate
Our different ways and cultures much interest never fails to create
In a World of many races multiculturalism is a unifying thing
Difference it can prove a healing source and people together bring
If we all thought in the same way and on all things did agree
The Human World would not be an interesting World and how boring we would be.

Head Cases Indeed

They must be into drinking lunatic juice or smoking wizzy weed
The Millstreet Town Park vandals are head cases indeed
Perhaps venting their frustration on society
But their vandalizing of a beautiful timber fence does seem all wrong to me

The praises of such people none ever do sing
Any honour to their towns their type never do bring
For most cases of bad behaviour one can find some excuse
Their's is they are not men enough to drink lunatic juice

Suppose they could do worse things in life than wrecking a new timber fence
But their moment of madness does make little sense
Had they helped in building the fence they would not break it down
They will never become heroes in Millstreet Town

So few of us do go through life without taint
And so few ever born to grow into a saint
But the Millstreet Town Park vandals their responsibility to their community they should be made to face
By helping the people given the job the fence that they smashed to replace.

I Am One Who Should Know

I am one who should know anyone can pen rhyme
I have been penning doggerel for quite a long time
Since the early Autumn of seventy three
In time near four decades of rhyming for me
The best days of my life to the forever gone
But i must be addictive for to keep rhyming on
And though my worth as a rhytmer i always do doubt
I am never short of thing for to write about
And since i never feel worthy of literary note
I do never refer to myself as a poet
I write for enjoyment that and nothing more
That is something you may have heard me say before
The rhymes that come to me in notebook i pen down
Though without financial gain or renown.

Australia The Land Of

Australia the land of many races of people and of varied scenery
And home of pittosporums and wattles and many species of gum tree
And home to marsupials and ratites, megapode and monotreme
Such strange and marvellous creatures Down Under to be seen
There are as many bird species in Australia as one could wish to see
Such as parrots, flycatchers, honeyeaters, shrikes, babblers and the butcherbird family
Thornbills and treecreepers and kingfishers, chats, pittas and bowerbirds as well
Lyrebirds, pigeons, shrike thrushes and miners that include the bellbird with song like a tinkling bell
So many species of of waterbird in Australia so many too many to name
But it's amazing wildlife alone is not it's only claim to fame
The descendants of the Dreamtime People in Australia to this day reside
People who in their centuries old culture do feel a justifiable pride
It's Land and flora and fauna and people help to make Australia great
And one can say of Australians that they have much to celebrate.

A Wise Mother

A wise mother i know told her wayward son
If you cannot respect yourself you cannot respect anyone
Though that was decades ago and from here far away
Her words of wisdom i remember today
If you cannot respect self you cannot respect others that does seem so true
And in turn others will not respect you
In life we must give or we will not receive
On such a theory i am one who in does believe
We learn from life every day we do live
If you cannot love self then love you cannot give
To anyone else that's how it seems to be
At least anyhow that's how it seems to me
Like the words of the wise mother to her wayward son
If you cannot respect self you cannot respect anyone.

We Yearn For

We yearn for what has gone from us forever for youth that will not return to us again
But of the past we always have our memories for as long as the gift of memory we retain
The years of childhood were the best for many the age of innocence a marvellous thing
But the innocence we've lost has gone from us forever though to the memories of such to we do cling
Memories of the young friends that you used to play with you do not know where they might be today
Like you do some live in another Country and did many of them in the hometown stay?
And perhaps some of them are lost to life forever to the Reaper of lives eventually we fall
On that way we are no different to other life forms we are born to die and death is for us all
We live in the now and that is all that should matter to us though to the past our thoughts do often stray
The memories a lifetime with us do linger the what was does die hard it seems that way
Age creeps on us youth does not stay with us forever we soon grow old as victims of time's decay
Though some do try to hide age in cosmetics and in tints and hair dyes do cover their gray
We yearn for what has gone from us forever though the now is what matters since the past is in the past
The hours and days and weeks do go so quickly and our biological clocks on us keep ticking fast.

One Of The Most Abused Words

One of the most abused words in the World of today
Is the word poet or so it does seem that way
Where millions unworthy of literary note
Are not shy to proclaim themselves as a poet
In proclaiming themselves poets disrespect to poetry they do only pay
Their egos have outgrown them as some might say
Since true poets as was always in the World only few
One might say to that tell us something that is new
Suppose we have to differ for to agree
A poet to you may not be a poet to me
But that poets are few so happens to be true
And credit should be given to where it is only due
I am a poet are words so easy to say
And 'tis said by many in the World of today.

In China

In China there are many millionaires
Whilst many there live in dire poverty
Where the gap between the rich and poor is great
There also is huge inequality

In China free speech never the in thing
Those who seek change there their efforts come to no avail
Where to speak against the Government is deemed to be a crime
And where many decent people are in jail

Yet China is a World Super Power
And with Governments of Countries with so called good human rights they trade
When they condemn China but then say to trade with them is okay
A mockery of what they say they stand for they have made

In China the World's most populated Country there are more working poor
Than in any other Country and that is not hearsay
And yet China is a World Super Power
In this World that we live in of today

Pirianda Garden In The Fall

The weather cool a slight chill in the breeze
A high today of seventeen degrees
The laughter of the kookaburras loud and clear
They can be heard every day of the year
In the high woodland home to currawong
And magpie with the ever flute like song
Deciduous trees in Summer that wore a green shawl
Are slowly losing their brown leaves to the Fall
In the chilly Winter winds they will stand bare
Next Spring new cloaks of green leaves they will wear
The wind does blow fresh fallen leaves around
In the green Parkland on the higher ground
Where on the  tall gums the white cockies call
In Pirianda Garden in the Fall.

Poorer Than Me

The beauty of Nature is all around me
All mine without paying any money for to see
A beauty i've loved since i was a young boy
That still brings me moments of pleasure and joy
The man who owns the big house is a known billionaire
But he is not one who is unburdened by care
Nature's beauty to him does not mean anything
The wonders around him to him joy does not bring
White blossoms are blooming on the sunlit trees
And the songs of the birds carry in the warm breeze
But the billionaire not feeling happy today
Financially things are not going his way
And though financially i live close to poverty
In some ways i feel he is poorer than me.

Eastern Yellow Robin

Familiar and endearing little birds in their confiding way
Birds i know of but do not hear and see every day
Once heard and once seen again hard to mistake
A ticking sound like a musical clock they do make
With bright yellow unders and bluish grey back
In natural beauty they do not seem to lack
To be distinctive from others their claim to bird fame
Eastern yellow robin for them is an often used name
As most flycatchers they take their tiny prey ground insects and flies
By what comes natural to them the element of surprise
They are often seen where leaf litter abound
Clinging to tree trunks scanning for insect movement on the ground
Birds i see and hear often though not every day
About them they do have an endearing way.

In Olinda In Mid April

On the high ground at Olinda the pied currawong
On the taller trees in small flocks are on song
Birds that on the high woodlands live all through the year
And when you hear them singing you know rain is near
In Olinda in April in the Southern Fall
The deciduous trees to the wind and rain losing leaves from their shawl
In a few weeks from now they will be standing bare
In admiration at one of Nature's wonders one can only stare
In the breeze thousands of leaves together all wrinkled and brown
To Nature's green bosom slowly drifting down
For food and shelter for ground dwelling insects who live on leaf decay
All things in Nature do serve some purpose since that is their way
Where the voice of the pied currawong is a familiar thing
In mid April in Olinda few birds ever sing.

In Mary O's Bog

I only say here what i've heard others say
That Mary O's Bog is a woodland today
Where in Spring wood pigeons build their stick nests on the pine trees
That gently sway and sough in the freshening breeze
That blow from the hills before the onset of rain
When the shy breeding frog can be heard croak in the drain
In Mary O's Bog far north by sea or sky
In April when the barn swallows O'er their old home fields fly
Years ago above Mary O's Bog on a calm Spring night
I recall the drummings of the male snipe whilst in flight
But that is going back many Seasons in time
When i was much younger just past my life's prime
The pine trees that were planted in Mary O's Bog are tall trees today
The changes keep happening as some like to say.

The Painful Wild Cries

The painful wild cries  of a rabbit or hare
That is stuck and frightened in a trap or a snare
Or struggling to free itself from entanglement in a net
Something from once heard you may never forget
Trapped creatures of Nature who cry out in fear
Cries that are never what one would call pleasant to hear
Adult humans who treat animals in a cruel way
If not punished by law to Karma for their crimes will pay
Because cruelty to animals is a serious crime
And ought to carry with it a spell of prison time
Two to three years in jail at the very least
For torturing to death reptile, insect, fish, bird or beast
People who cause suffering to other life forms for their crimes should be made to pay
Their's is not an uncommon crime in the World of today.

Money Wins You False Friends

When he was was wealthy with lots of money to spend
He was one who was never short of a friend
But now he is poorer and his friends are quite few
Money wins more friends for you that's not saying anything new
From life like many he has learned the hard way
Yes we never stop learning as some like to say
Those he thought were his friends in hindsight he recall
Were not the least true to what friendship should be at all
His mistakes of the past he has learned to rue
Money wins you false friends happens for to be true
A few years ago a popular man of the town
But few wish to know of you when you are down
Many he thought were his friends were not his friends at all
They left him to his own devices when from the top rank he did fall

For Many Years

For many years i have been a rhyming buff
And one can say i have written a whole pile of stuff
And though my best days in life to the forever gone
I must be addictive for to keep penning on
I add to my doggerel count every day
Perhaps i should heed what some of my friends to me say
When they tell me that i ought to give rhyming away
Though to their well meaning words of advice heed i never do pay
For years addicted to penning of doggerel rhyme
Though that in itself is not seen as a crime
I have been penning stuff since in my life's prime
And that is going back near four decades in time
And though now in my mid sixties a gray haired balding ageing man
I will keep on penning stuff for as long as i can.

Like 'Tis Said Of Time

Like 'tis said of time it becomes everyone's foe
And we learn from life experiences it well may be so
But how i would love for to be young again
Of my better years only the memories remain
My hair once dark brown is now silvery gray
And clearly i have known a far better day
The passing of the Seasons has left me walking slow
Time on everyone does eventually show
In my youth not any good at athletics or football
Or at any kind of sports not much good at all
But i was much fitter and healthier then than i am today
Time leaves it's mark on us as some like to say
Many Seasons have passed since i was in my prime
Eventually we all become victims of time.

The Male Pheasant

He crows in the rushy fields through Summer from Spring
And mostly only when he feels threatened he takes to the wing
And only a short distance then he does fly
One not born to become a monarch of the sky
Nor will he ever become Nature's dad of the day
Since on raising the chicks he does father no part he does play
Still in the Fall of the year life for him not much fun
To survive he must outwit dog and it's owner with gun
To look at male pheasant is a pretty bird indeed
But to survive shooting Season luck on his side he does need
And that they need luck to live is not based on a lie
Since in the shooting Season many male pheasants do die
His former partner takes care of the chicks whilst he all the day
In the rank scrub is cucking from view hidden away

This Is How Life Can Be

The gift of life only comes to us by chance
And our life successes or lack of such can depend on Birth circumstance
For the children born of poor parents 'tis uphill all of the way
From the moment they are born till their lives final day
How we fare in our lives may be our destiny
At least anyhow that's how it seems to me
Yet success in life as such can be hard to be defined
My idea of success is happiness born of peace of mind
Though with that sort of thinking many may not agree
At least anyhow that's how it seems to me
The one who is born to be monarch one day
Is privileged by birthright as some like to say
What is born as a non flower cannot bloom as a rose
This is how life can be one would have to suppose.

In A Fair Human World

For the sins of the parents in the judgements of others the offsprings should not be made to pay
In a fair Human World it would not be this way
But the judgemental are many they have never been rare
And of how their judgements affect others they do not seem to care
The fair go for all we hear so much about to all does not apply
Since a fair go in their words to some they do deny
To judge one on their parents who from grace did fall
Is not giving to that person what one would call a fair go at all
In every part of the World every city village and town
There are those who find pleasure on verbally putting others down
In their judgemental words many of a fair go they have denied
Behind their false innuendos the reputation destroyers do hide
These people in their ways seem so very small
When compared to those who believe on a fair go for all

A Long Way From Here

A long way from here from the old Paps of Shrone
And from Gortavehy with the face of stone
From Mushera and Caherbarnagh and Clara Hill
And Inchaleigh and the ever babbling Glasheen rill
That to the Finnow ever flows on it's way
Along the Claraghatlea -Inchaleigh border by night and by day
And a long way from here from where the Cails and Finnow does meet
In the rushy fields near the Town of Millstreet
And a long way from here to Gneeves mountain  bog
That in Winter often wears a cloak of grey fog
And a long way from here this far Southern Shore
To the high woodland and fields of green Claramore
And a long way from here in miles far away
From the old house by the stream where i first saw light of day.

He Has Taken A Few Beatings

Though Physically to look at he is one who does look small
With a couple of beers in he does feel strong and tall
He has taken a few beatings but to learn from that he does seem slow
It only takes a couple of ales for the aggression in him for to grow
And for his outbursts of anger in ache  the price he pay
But of late he is contemplating he may give drinking of alcohol away
Which on his behalf it would seem a wise thing to do
Since he has long since reached the use of reason he is now twenty two
Perhaps as of now he is lucky he does not have children, a partner or a wife
Before taking on such responsibilities he needs to get some order in his life
Without alcohol he is as nice a person as one could wish to meet
One generous and kind and without conceit
But alcohol doesn't suit him and he has been known for to say
That he is contemplating on giving drinking of it away.

He Mourns For Lucinda

He mourns for Lucinda the love of his life
For forty five years his devoted wife
She was in her late sixties and was ill for two years
And mention of her name still has him close to tears
Jim's children and grandchildren to him live nearby
But cancer of him his soulmate did deny
The kindest and dearest friend he ever knew
Those blessed with a soulmate have always been few
After long months of suffering she passed away
Last year in late Fall towards the end of the May
The memories with him of the happy years with her he had
To have to grow old without her for him is so sad
More than a devoted wife to him his greatest ever friend
But all things in life are destined for to end.

In Con Long's Grove Today

In Jerry Sheehan's Millstreet Country Park from here so far away
The pink breasted chaffinch is singing in Con Long's Grove today
And lost to view in the grey clouds of mid April in Spring
Above Bill Pad's mountain the airborne lark does sing
The low clouds of the mid Spring sky are pregnant with rain
And the shy woodcock are back to breed on Mushera again
The mountain shrubs wear their blossoms in the mild April showers
And Nature has beautified her greenery with her gift of wildflowers
The cooing of the wood pigeons is always so pleasant to hear
On the pines they build their stick nests at this time of the year
When Spring comes to old Mushera the nesting birds are on song
From dawn till evening's gloaming they do sing all day long
And the hawthorns sprouting their buds that will bloom white in May
Where the chaffinch he is singing in Con Long's Grove today.

By The Sea At Killarney

Mid April in Victoria the weather damp and cool
By the sea at killarney 15 k's from Warrnambool
The beach it is deserted not another human being in sight
And a pale looking sun is setting in the fading evening light
It has been said a pale sunset does give promise of rain
And like last night was tonight may be windy with heavy showers again
The pied oystercatchers piping as above the waves they fly
Unlike silver gulls these shore birds of humans do seem shy
Quite pretty birds to look at with a nice piping song
To the quiet coastal beaches their sort of bird belong
In the twilight of the evening the pacific black back gulls do call
In Killarney by the ocean on an April evening in the Fall
Out at sea the huge waves of the Pacific spouting a white foamy spray
In Killarney in Victoria in the twilight of the day.

So Many In Dire Poverty

Life is hard for those on the wrong side of the social divide
At a time when the gap between the haves and the have nots it is growing ever wide
On this matter with those who say such is life i'm not one to agree
The unequal distribution of wealth does seem all wrong to me
That for one to grow wealthier more go deeper into poverty
Only goes to show how poorly structured human society must be
In the Human World the most materialistically minded are most likely to succeed
The financial rewards it does seem are great indeed for greed
In a Human World where many are in poverty and the majority of the wealth owned by the few
On saying that humanity is based on inequality i'm not saying anything that's new
Millions living in dire poverty for every billionaire
For the have nots of the World life must seem so unfair
So few own the majority of the wealth in the Human World of today
and so many in dire poverty does seem so sad to say.

In Dreams

In dreams i stand on Clara's Hill in view of the Paps of Shrone
And ancient Caherbarnagh and Gortavehy's face of stone
Above me the lark is singing as upwards he does fly
One of Nature's airborne minstrels born to carol in the sky
Grey clouds above the mountain overlooking Millstreet Town
I gaze on the scenic beauty  where the roads wind up and down
By old fields through the valleys that always look so green
I do feel a very privileged one for the beauty i have seen
Since last i climbed on Clara many years have come and gone
But back there in Duhallow life as usual does go on
Us humans like Nature's seasons to life come and go but the fields and mountains stay
And time never waits for anyone it ticks and ticks away
But in my dreams i stand on Clara's Hill admiring the splendid view
In life i've been so lucky one of the lucky few.

In The Age Of Climate Change

The last few days have been quite wet it has made a lot of rain
And the migratory magpie geese back on Tower Hill lake again
Where water is abundant they always congregate
Birds known to be rare in Victoria though i've seen small flocks of them of late
For the past decade it does seem the weather has been strange
Long spells of drought followed by heavy flooding in the age of Climate Change
A huge earthquake in New Zealand and a huge earthquake followed by a tsunami in Japan
That have left thousands dead and homeless within a few weeks span
Fatal floods and cyclones in Queensland angry Nature spreading fear
For thousands Worldwide due to weather 2011 a tragic year
Thousands of acres of crops destroyed in storms and floodings Climate Change affects everyone
By Nature in her moods of anger so much damage has been done
The creek and river bank high as well as the roadside drain
And the magpie geese the rainbirds are back in Tower Hill again.

A Koroit Truckie

A bloke in his early forties a truckie formerly of Koroit Town
On many of the highways and freeways of Australia he has driven up and down
From Melbourne to Brisbane via Sydney for him not a long drive
Twenty years of accident free driving on travel he does seem to thrive
From Melbourne he has driven to Perth, Broome and Darwin and home again via Adelaide
On driving between major southern and northern cities thousands of kilometres of round trips he has made
He grew to love trucks as a youngster where between Geelong and Warrnambool many trucks pass up and down
He now lives in Footscray in Victoria a three hour drive from his old hometown
With a wife and three primary going school children and a huge home mortgage to pay
He is obliged to work for long hours and is driving his trucks every day
His parents still living in Koroit he sees them a few times a year
The cities that he drives his trucks to not anywhere to Footscray near
Originally from south west Victoria from Koroit close to Warrnambool
He now lives in Footscray Victoria where his children attend primary school.

Of Your Worth As A Writer

Of  your worth as a writer yourself you may doubt
But you'll never be short of things to write about
There is love, life and nature to mention just three
Thing you can write about with that would you agree
Still nowadays you claim you suffer of writers block
That inspiration the key to your mind cannot seem to unlock
But the stories, plays and poems to your mind will return
And the passion for writing in you it will burn
Some people are known for to write every day
Whilst with others the inspiration to write with them does not seem to stay
And few know fame as writers and make writing pay
We all can't be famous as some like to say
And though of your worth as a writer yourself you may doubt
You will never be short of things to write about.

The Girl From Millstreet Town

Where the babbling Finnow waters from high Gneeves winds on down
By hedgerows and by old fields that border Millstreet Town
Born and raised in that green countryside miles inland from Hibernia's shore
In view of Clara mountain overlooking Claramore

In this sunlit Southern Country more than half of a World away
From her Hometown in Duhallow where she first saw the lamp of day
With eyes blue as a blubell flower and shoulder length wavy hair of brown
In Warrnambool she is known as the Girl from Millstreet Town

Far from the Town by Clara where she attended school
She is a favourite of the young men of South West Victoria's Warrnambool
In her prime and beautiful and radiant she has got the inner glow
She feels happy where the Hopkins and the Merri into the Pacific flow

In the City by the Pacific she is destined for to stay
Where she may find love and her soulmate in a not too distant day
So charming and quite attractive and untainted by conceit
She lives far south of Duhallow and the old Town of Millstreet.

The Former Rose Of Cullen

Her shoulder length wavy  hair was chestnut brown her eyes blue as the sky
On a clear and sunny day in Summer in the warmth of July
From her Duhallow Village she traveled far away
The former Rose of Cullen where might she be today?

Did she marry bear and raise children or as childless and single did she stay
And does she use anti ageing creams and hair dyes for to cover time's decay?
As many ageing women do in their battle against time
For beauty it is quick to fade in women past their prime

The former Rose of Cullen in her prime was lovely to behold
She would now be in her early seventies one could say getting old
In my memory she remains young and i picture her again
Walking hatless in the Village her brown hair blowing in the wind and rain

She left her Duhallow Village to live in the U S A
When the hawthorns of the hedgerows wore their white blooms of the May
The former Rose of Cullen free of conceit and guile
A beautiful young woman she did have a lovely smile.

On How You Do Treat Others

On how you do treat others on that you have a choice
In the fight against injustice feel proud to add your voice
Though to stand up for the sinned against may come to you at a cost
Still it does seem the fight for human rights in silence is always lost
Those who use their power to treat others in an abusive way
Are sowing the seeds of their bad Karma for which they have to pay
Sometime in the future whenever that may be
That is what the wise does tell us with them i do agree
Those who stand up for human rights to their higher selves are true
And for their acts of bravery respect and admiration they are due
To speak out for the sinned against should never be a crime
Though sad to say some who do serving wrongful prison time
At a time in human history when despots like dominos do fall
Those who bring about change for the better are those who believe on a fair go for all.

Those Who Find Their Soulmates

Few in life are lucky enough to meet their soulmate
And remain in love till death them does separate
And though of the praises of love many do write of and sing
For many the pangs of lost love can prove a hurtful thing
Their marriage vows few have been known for to keep
'Tis not with his once wife that he nowadays does sleep
And she too has got a new man in her life
Their's is the story of many a man and his wife
Love and marriage is not always what it's made out to be
Many human relationships end in acrimony
They once were in love now they have become foes
Such are the ways of life one would have to suppose
Few marriages and relationships are known to succeed
Those who find their soulmates are lucky indeed.

The Town By The Bay

His thoughts often go to the town by the bay
To where he first looked on the bright lamp of day
And the boys and girls he grew up with none of them he has seen for years
The memories of what once was has him close to tears
She may well have become the great love of his life
The woman who never did become his wife
When she left him for another it caused him great woe
But for him all of that now seems a long time ago
A grand-dad in his early seventies the years have left him gray
Thousands of kilometres  from his first hometown far away
From this sunny southern town by the bay
Where he plans to live his life's last night and day
And he will see his last sunset in a southern sky
Far from his first homeplace in decades gone by.

In The Old Rushy Fields

Back there where the Cails and the Finnow does meet
In the old rushy fields by the Town of Millstreet
In the heavy cover from view hidden away
The shy male pheasant is crowing today
The airborne brown feathered minstrel of the Duhallow Spring
The lark lost to view in the gray clouds does sing
One born on the ground to sing he has to fly
A familiar songster of the cloudy April sky
The pleasant fluting of the blackbird the soft lowing of a cow
And the dipper does sing in the babbling Finnow
On what is a typical mid April day
A freshening wind from the mountains warns of rain on the way
In mid Spring in Duhallow by the Town of Millstreet
In the old rushy fields where Cails and Finnow meet.

By The Merri

How lovely to sit on a nice sunny day
On the white sands of Stingray Beach of Old Lady Bay
In Warrnambool where the Merri waters flow into the sea
An Earthly Utopia it does seem to me
In a beautiful place in beautiful Warrnambool
Children and adults lay in the shallows of the river to keep cool
Where in the Summer holiday time in the warmth of January
People of many Nations enjoying the sunshine one does see
Many races in their shades of white, black and brown
One does see near the ocean by Warrnambool Town
A nice place to live in and grow old and gray
And a nice place to visit for a holiday
Where the Merri waters move silent and slow
As into the great Pacific it does flow.

Quite Another Thing

A Christian in name but not what a Christian ought to be
He says 'tis their own fault people who are in poverty
He does not understand the thing known as life circumstance
People born on the poor side of the town of success stand litle chance
The very ordinary man thinks in a very ordinary way
You can tell how a person thinks by what he has to say
He says he has a God to whom he often does pray
There are millions of his kind in the World of today
Many think that one who claims to be religious as a person is quite good
But what it takes to be a good human being by many misunderstood
The praises of the god fearing you may well choose to sing
But for to live as a good person is quite another thing
Some by their own admissions in their ways are quite small
But the broad minded and the fair one believes on a fair go for all.

The Kindest And Best

One true to her beliefs she was always that way
She called to her church every day for to pray
She led by example in her many good deed
By helping out people of help much in need

Pre-deceased by her husband with him she now lay
In the town cemetery she was buried today
Her death slow and painful though to the end she was brave
Her friends, children and grandchildren wept by her grave

For a beautiful person a last sad farewell
Of stories of her kindness so many to tell
She died with the brown leaves of the southern Fall
Death is a thing that does come to us all

In her seventy first year she was not that old
'Tis sad to think her kind and warm heart is now still and cold
The cancer of her once good health did take toll
The time span of our existence is beyond our control

To be a great person was her claim to renown
The kindest and best on her side of the town
Her departure from life a slow painful release
The beautiful person may she now rest in peace.

We Do Never Stop Learning

My wonder of Nature only seems to grow
Yet so little of her ways i can claim to know
Of her i do learn new things every day
We never stop learning as some like to say
The voice of the tiny brown wren i recall
He had a loud song for one who was so small
From him i learned of devotion in life
To raise their large family he helped his tiny wife
His short life came to an end in the Winter frost and snow
When he died of the cold in the windswept hedgerow
But some of the children he helped to raise did survive till the Spring
And the song of the father the sons they did sing
From Nature we learn something new every day
We do never stop learning as some like to say.

Congratulations Though

You tell me without asking of your uni degrees
And though i know such things do not grow on the bushes and trees
It does not make me respect you anymore
Than the poor homeless one with ill fitting shoes and feet blistered and sore
That has left him with corns that cause him much pain
All day he walks the street in the wind and the rain
And at night has to sleep in a cold draughty shed
With a blanket on the damp floor that serves him as a bed
Yet he is as good as you and he is as good as me
Since death does make us all equal would you not agree?
And since we are mere mortals in that we are born to die
The source of inequality is based on a lie
Without i asking you tell me of your latest success
Congratulations though me you have failed to impress.

The One Without Ruth

I may not be popular for speaking the truth
When i say that a poor enough person is the one without ruth
Though the one in question may be a billionaire
One who for self and family and close friends only seem to care
One who for to help one in need of helping has never been known
They only do care about self and their own
And any compassion to strangers never show
Though their sort of person most do wish to know
Since money wins one admirers this well may be true
Though i believe that to self centred people credit ought not be due
With only those very close to them some of their gains they do share
And sad to think nowadays such people are not rare
Compassionate people are those i admire
And of singing their praises i could never tire.

Those I Went To School With

Those i went to school with showing their years in gray
Like me in life they have known a far better day
Some of them from Millstreet Town live far away
Whilst some in the old Parish did choose to stay
And some of them amongst the departed lay
On how long we live we do not have a say
Some are grandparents whilst some never wed
Or never had children and a single life have led
For all of their lives quite content on their own
But we all share one thing in common better days we have known
I am one of those who live distant from the old home place
Where mine today to many would be a stranger's face
But the now is all that matters as the wise one did say
For we live in the now and the now is today.

Leave It To The One Without Sin

Perhaps one of those from birth who was destined to fail
For murdering his young daughter he is now in jail
For decades of his life he will spend prison time
For what by human standards is the worst sort of crime

Condemned by the public judges as one completely bad
But to do what he did he would have to be mad
He may have suffered a temporary snap in the brain
The guilt of his crime until death is with him to remain

So much remorse, guilt and sorrow of him lay ahead
In one sense perhaps he'd be better off dead
For years he must live like a wild animal locked in a cage
For murdering his beautiful and innocent young daughter in a fit of rage

The dying cries of his daughter from him will not go away
Till he draws his last breath of life with him destined to stay
He will live in shame until his life's final day
Not alone to human law but to Karma his price for to pay

He cannot undo what he has done since his daughter is dead
And for his crime a long prison sentence of him lay ahead
His heinous crime is a crime none could ever condone
But leave it to the one without sin for to cast the first stone.

Poets Are Born And Not made

Poets are born and not made
And never into oblivion to fade
Long after the breath of life from them has gone
The poems they have written are destined to live on
I am not saying anything here that is new
When i say that poets as ever are few
Though self professed poets as we know are not rare
Of that much i too am very much aware
A good poem to many joy always does bring
Their own praises true poets do not need to sing
Their poems do speak for their greatness 'twould seem
By so many they are held in high esteem
Poets to their craft do remain ever true
Give to the him or the her the credit that they are due.

Mt Eccles In April

In the mostly blue and sunny sky a few woolly looking clouds of gray
In sunny Mt Eccles a beautiful April day
Around the flowering trees many brown butterflies
Seem to be dancing on the wooded cliffs above old Lake Surprise
Chirping in small flocks flying from tree to tree
The beautiful crimson rosellas so lovely to see
And a grunting male koala proclaims his territory
The strongest and fittest father the young that's how it seems to be
Where the Budj Bim tribes lived and hunted and had their corroborees
On warm Summer evenings in the shadows of the trees
To be amongst Australia's first people their eternal claim to fame
They lived in Mt Eccles for many centuries before the first Europeans came
To live in Australia from a far northern shore
And something that was beautiful was lost forever more.

I Do Feel So Grateful

I do feel so grateful to the powers that be for the good people i do know
Because of them my respect for the good in humanity does grow
Kind and honest people i do meet every day
Life's true unsung heroes in their own quiet way
The people who would help you out if they could
For selves and for others they do live for the good
On my side of the town in the park and the street
Such kind and beautiful people everyday i do meet
Though the serious crimes of some people may make us feel sad
In the Human World there are far more good people than bad
To the town's unsung heroes and heroines respect i do pay
To help others out they go out of their way
For knowing them i feel grateful to the powers that be
They are blessed with the gifts of kindness and compassion and for others they have empathy.

For My Wrongs Against Others

For my wrongs against others to Karma i will pay
At least that's how it seems to me anyway
In life we do create our friends and our foes
And we all have our own beliefs one must suppose
Of the workings of Karma few can claim of they do know
But i believe in life we do reap what we sow
What goes around comes around as some like to say
But life it does seem tends to work in this way
What we do to others to our own selves we do
That does apply to me as well as to you
The sense of guilt of the conscience one cannot deny
I believe what goes around comes around to all does apply
For my sins against others on some future day
To Karma i will be destined for to pay.

Eventually Time

He knows  he is not the man that he used to be
He has dwindled mentally and physically
Nowadays he has lapses in his memory
His lot may be the lot of you and of me
When he was fit and healthy and his hair was light brown
Fifty years ago he was the hero of the town
Amongst football fans the talk of the town pub
The leading goal scorer for their favourite club
As grey as a badger the years on him show
The passing of time has left him walking slow
His lot will be my lot and your lot one day
On the wear of ageing we do not have a say
A shadow of the man he was years ago
Eventually time becomes everyone's foe.

In April In Duhallow

Back there where the Cails and the Finnow does meet
By the railway track near the Town of Millstreet
Where the rushes grow rank the shy male pheasant crow
And the tiny brown wren singing on the hedgerow
In April in Duhallow on a cloudy Spring day
A freshening wind from the hills tell of rain on the way
Lost to view in the clouds Nature's aerial minstrel of the Spring
The song of the lark is such a beautiful thing
Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways i still do enjoy
The cattle out on grass from their wintering shed
They will gain some weight in the warmer days ahead
And the song of the robin so pleasant to hear
In April in Duhallow in the Spring of the year.

Grey Headed Jackdaws

From other corvids distinctive in appearance and their softer caw
The birds known to many as grey headed jackdaw
In April when the wildflowers nod in the soft Spring breeze
They build their nest of sticks on chimney tops and trees
Of humankind they are not known to be shy
Birds i do remember from Seasons gone by
Where i once used to live a familiar type of crow
They are birds that everyone does seem to know
Them i used to see and to hear every day
When i used to live in a place far away
A soft cackling caw is their only song
Though once seen and once heard one should not get them wrong
In my flights of fancy them i hear and i see
Birds that once were very familiar to me.

The Man From The Hill

The man from the hill of the dark brown weerloo
The bird known to many as the yellow tail black cockatoo
The roads of the big country he has driven up and down
One who has lived and worked in many a town
In his early thirties he reckons he has not fathered children and he has never had a wife
But he has never been short of women in his life
He hopes to see more of the World one day
Of cities in Countries far north and places far away
The lust for the wander in him does remain strong
One who to the nomadic lifestyle belong
On an average in any one town no more than a three months stay
In various hard jobs for him never an easy pay
One restless for travel as a mountain rill
In many a public bar of grog he has drunk his fill.

Giovanni

He may be in his eighties but he still does enjoy
Observing the beauty born of Nature as he did as a boy
From her one never does stop learning of Nature he does say
Though to that he adds her secrets from us hidden away

He has been a Nature lover for seventy years or more
Ever since he was a boy in a northern Country far inland from the ocean shore
And though the years have left him walking slower and the hair on his balding head is gray
He will be a Nature lover until his life's final day

He has many happy memories of his childhood years in Italy
Where he first fell in love with Nature in his old home far inland from the sea
He recalls the brown wren of the hedgerow with the huge family
For a tiny little fellow none could sing so loud as he

Giovanni a widowed grand-dad in his eighties stands by the town park lake
Listening to the pleasant piping of the mottled brown chestnut teal drake
In the twilight of his existence time it has become his foe
But he is still as much a fan of Nature as he was decades ago.

'Tis Sad To Hear

'Tis sad to hear of so many despotic regimes obsessed by people control
On their dissatisfied civilian populations taking a heavy toll
Their so called soldiers shooting indiscriminately into protesting crowds
Or dropping bombs from their war planes in the cover of the clouds
For their crimes against humanity such people will be made to pay
If human made laws does not catch up with them Karma will one day
What goes around does come around as some do like to say
We always reap what we do sow since life it is this way
So many despotic regimes far too many it does seem
Led by despotic leaders with a warped sense of self esteem
Their Karma will catch up with them though to avoid it they will try
Since what goes around does come around to them too does apply
The victims of their muderer soldiers in unmarked mass graves lay
But for their crimes against humanity they will be made to pay.

It Has Been Awhile

Far north of here and far inland from old Hibernia's shore
It has been awhile since i have walked on the Millstreet roadway to Rathmore
Or heard the male pink breasted bullfinch sing or the lowing of a cow
In the calm of a Spring evening in a field by the Finnow
Yet in my flights of fancy i hear the cock pheasant crow
The shy bird hidden from view where the rank rushes grow
Such things live in my memory and with me bound to stay
Until the Reaper on my life does have the final say
It does not seem that hard at all for one to visualize
And fond memories of what once was to pleasant thoughts give rise
Almost twenty five years since i have seen Finnow in flood waters of brown
Bank high flowing in the old fields just west of Millstreet Town
The past has gone forever but the memories remain
Of happy times in days gone by that will never be again.

Tony Is Your Man

For every Aussie woman, man and child he has his own great plan
If you want to re-create the past vote for Tony Abbott he's your man
He will force all welfare recipients to work create equality
And increase taxes on the working poor to create more poverty

No increase on taxes on the wealthy and the multi billionaire
In his mind they are already paying too much tax Gillard to them is not fair
No taxes on the wealthy developers and the mining tycoons as well
And increase the tax on the have nots though the unions may rebel

Some on the Labor left may think Julia Gillard on welfare recipients too tough
But that so many Aussies are on the dole is simply not good enough
To tax the have nots instead of the rich for the economy is good
Tony Abbott Australia's Opposition Leader is no twenty first century Robin Hood

On anyone seeking asylum in Australia Tony has gone on the attack
In a Government led by him any boats at sea carrying illegals will be turned back
Tony is a devout Christian of which he feels so proud to say
Though he is not true to his beliefs since his is not the true Christian way

Julia Gillard not a fragile flower is far to the Labor right
And for a woman to become Australia's first female Prime Minister she must not lack in fight
To the have nots of Australia she affords little sympathy
The renown that she commands in life is not for generosity

But Tony Abbot is far more to the right than her believe that if you may
And his great dream is he will be Australia's next  P M one day
For a twenty first century Australia he has his eighteen fifties plan
If you are of the n e o conservative nationalistic kind vote for Tony he's your man.

The Plain Looking Bird

The plain looking bird with the beautiful song
Once seen and once heard you never again get him wrong
A plain gray to brown bird grey shrike thrush is his name
Near to humam dwellings his kind seem almost tame
His song is so flute like and pleasant to hear
And so very recognizable and melodiously clear
His kind amongst Nature's leading minstrels such pleasure they do give
By the borders of woodlands they seem to prefer to live
Birds that i see and hear often though not every day
From where they are born they never venture far away
Their beauty not physical but in their song
Amongst Australia's best feathered minstrels they surely belong
They sing on the lower branches of the trees
And their beautiful music seems to float in the breeze.

Of Egotistical People

Why most of us humans are ego driven is way beyond me to explain
Success has even been known for to make the humble vain
If you would wish to know more of why this should be
You'd best ask a psychologist one who knows far more than me
About human behaviour and the workings of the human mind
Since i am unenlightened on such matters one of the ordinary kind
Though i do know of two of the egos children arrogance and self conceit
The minds they do belong to do live on every street
It is said we all do need some ego in order to survive
And that those with little of it are lacking in the drive
That one needs to be successful in the Human World of today
The successful not lacking in ego or it does seem that way
Of egotistical people there are far more than a few
On saying that they are plentiful i'm not saying anything that's new.

My Enemies Within

For years i have searched for my enemies only to find
That they are hiding from me in the confines of my mind
And they will remain with me until the day i die
If i did tell you otherwise then that would be a lie

My enemies i cannot destroy though they are destroying me
By preventing me of becoming the person that i would like to be
The years may have left me looking older and what hair i have left is gray
But my enemies are with me until my life's final day

We all do have our enemies our enemies within
For some they are soul destroying though some against them their fight do win
They cause me mental discomfort compassion to me never show
And they have robbed me of the happiness that comes from the inner glow

It would seem my enemies within are with me for to stay
And such enemies can be soul destroying despite what some do say
With every passing day more powerful they do seem to grow
And any sort of compassion they never do seem for to show.

From Warrnambool To Camperdown

From the City of Warrnambool to Camperdown
An undulating countryside of green to brown
Mostly a farming country grazed by cattle and sheep
With few root or grain crops for the harvester to reap
Between the City and the Town goats, alpacas and horses you see
Compared to sheep and cattle these animals are in minority
A pleasant drive even on weather on the side of cool
To Camperdown from the sea at Warrnambool
Through a countryside old in the dinosaur time
That has inspired story and ballad and rhyme
Through the land of corella and white cockatoo
Where the black tribes often hunted the grey kangaroo
And had their social gatherings and danced their corroborees
On warm evenings in Summer in the shade of the trees.

So Much

So much i have written and so many things i've written about
Yet my worth as a rhymer i always do doubt
A poet i have never pretended to be
Though to rhyme never comes as an effort to me
I have been a rhymer since seventy three
In time quite a long span would you not agree
Even as a young boy many years from my life's prime
I did find pleasure in the music in rhyme
With old ballad singers on the radio i used to sing along
I still do believe rhyme is married to song
And fond memories of what was i recall with joy
Like those old songs and ballads i loved as a boy
And though for me in rhyme there's no financial gain
A rhymer i am and as such i'll remain.

The Fishermen Are Merry

The fishermen are merry and are in the mood for song
 In the old pub of the harbour in the City of Geelong
Monday morning it would have them from the harbour far away
Fishing in the deep saltwater many miles from Corio Bay
For the weather bronzed deep sea fishers there is never an easy pay
It is hard work fraught with danger where the huge waves spume up white spray
In coffin boats on the sea bed some of their kind do lay
So when on land the fisher will make merry he may not grow old and gray
In the harbour pub at Geelong there is music, dance and cheer
And the fishermen are singing feeling merry on the beer
Strong and fit and healthy young sea farers at the peak of their life prime
They will drink their fill of liquor till the publican calls time
Monday morning it will see them many miles out of the shore
Casting their nets in deep water where the huge waves toss and roar.

It Has Always Been This way

John Howard  a long term Liberal Prime Minister of Australia by the voters disempowered
And Labor Party Leader Kevin Ruud who did succeed him as P M suffered a slightly different fate to Howard
Since his own party him demoted life in politics can be cruel
It does seem only a Monarch is the person born to rule

Howard and Ruud had one thing in common inflated egos it does seem
Both of them are quite conceited not lacking in self esteem
One can leave it to the people such big egos to create
And leave it to the politicians their own downfall to instigate

Now we have Australia's first female Prime Minister Julia Gillard is her name
As her two male predecessors will her political demise be much the same
Julia too not short of ego that much of her can be said
Great power can become addictive it can go straight to one's head

Kevin Ruud is now Australia's Foreign Minister for himself still doing okay
And John Howard is on a huge pension one who has never known of a poor day
In politics big egos can become deflated when the voters have their say
And in Australia life goes on as usual it has always been this way.

If Tomorrow I Do Die

The grieving of the living the dead do never hear
When the breath of life from me has gone for me do not waste a tear
And if you feel like weeping do not weep for the dead
Weep for the living poor and for yourself instead
Of one who is without life all feeling from him gone
The dead forever dead and the living do live on
I've loved you since we first met long before you became my wife
I would not wish you to weep for me only get on with your life
Make the most of every day live for as long as you can
You may fall in love again with a handsome wealthy man
With me you know poverty though faithful to me you remain
If tomorrow i do die love will come to you again
Life it does go on why waste your tears on the dead
Weep for the living poor or weep for yourself instead.

I Am A Rhyming Man

I am a rhyming man just that and nothing more
A migrant in this land one from a distant shore
Learning of  Nature's ways is something i enjoy
I have loved and admired her ever since i was a boy
To old fields far north of here i do go back in time
To when i was a lad more than a decade from my prime
When Spring came to the north and spread around her green
And bluebells were in bloom on the ditch of the bohreen
The fields full of wildflowers and nesting birds sang all the day
And the hawthorn trees were cloaked in their white blossoms of the May
And where the river rapids go babbling along
The dark brown white breasted water bird the dipper is on song
I've been penning rhymes for close to forty years in time a lengthy span
And i will die as i live a migrant rhyming man.

Summer In July

The things once near and dear to me now seems so far away
Yet in my flights of fancy i can scent the new mown hay
Where the dark winged migrant swallows are chirping as they fly
Above the sunlit meadows of Summer in July

The boys and girls i went to school with in the Town by the Finnow
Perhaps of years now showing the wear to time we all must bow
Some of them in distant cities live as grandparents of today
Time does not wait for anyone as the wise one did say

The Seasons come and go too fast and old age comes to us too soon
Yet in my visualizing i can hear the ringing of the angelus bell at noon
Floating in the freshening breezes across the clear blue sky
Above the evergreen old fields of Summer in July.

Time does not wait for anyone why should it wait for me
All i have left are the memories of the what used to be
Like the song of the migratory cuckoo of Summer days gone by
And the harsh croaks of the grey heron as if his throat were dry

The years have me walking slower and leave me looking old and gray
And my memory not what it once was suffer of time's decay
Yet in my flights of fancy i can hear the corncrake cry
When darkness cloaks the meadows of Summer in July.