Sam Magoo

He is not happy Sam Magoo
With his one and only tattoo
A love heart with the name of Ann his ex wife
A memory of her that he will not keep for life

On his right arm a reminder to him of her every day
He swears when he has enough of money for to pay
For it's removal he will finally be free
Of something he no longer wishes for to see

To another man she now is wed
For two years he shared with her a bed
But only bitterness when love did end
More to love than bliss why otherwise pretend

On his upper right arm  a reminder to him of her every day
And to his friends he does often say
This is my first and last tattoo
A public vow from Sam Magoo.

The Bocce Players

In the all weather crushed rock surfaced shade covered bocce playing square they meet every day
To play bocce for a few hours the men from far away
A sort of bowls game that some Italians like to play
It is each to their own as some are known to say
Between games they sit at the park picnic table for to drink and dine
Nothing better with a nice pizza than a glass of red or white wine
And recall with nostalgia in their native tongue
Their first homeplaces in Italy when they were young
Amongst many Italians the bond of community and culture is strong
Their music is of Italy as well as their song
At the friends and family gathering they know how to celebrate
When they drink, dance and make merry such joy they do create
There is laughter and joy when the bocce players come to play
Their favorite game in the bocce playing square every day.

A Gentle Man

A gentle-man in some ways rather shy
One might say of him that he would not harm a fly
Even in his neighborhood not that well known
One  never referred to as one of our own
He led a sedentary sort of a life
He never had children or never had a wife
His partner she died some seven years ago
In our years of life there are some  times of woe
See him in the park last week he did look fit and fine
And quite healthy for one of sixty nine
But he died suddenly of a heart attack which does seem sad to say
And with the town's deceased his last remains forever lay
A gentle-man in him nothing false or vain
And for as long as i live fond memories of him i will retain.

A Wonderful Person

Wherever she is at joy is in the place
She has such a beautiful smile on her face
A beautiful person in every way
She brings happiness to the  gloomiest day
She always seems happy she never complain
You meet her once good memories of her with you remain
A woman of beauty and quite charming indeed
Of far more of her kind the Human World is in need
The warmth of beauty in her wonderful smile
One who is a stranger to conceit and guile
Of anyone she never has an unkind word for to say
And to help one in need of helping she will go out of her way
Not many with her one could hope to compare
A wonderful person her type are so rare.

A Gold Coast Christmas Day

No alcohol by law to be consumed in public places on Christmas Day
But indoors people do eat and drink their cares away
In the coolness of their verandahs out of the sunshine
The families and friends eat and get merry on beer, whiskey and wine
On the Gold Coast of Queensland at Christmas this is their way
It is  each to their own as some do like to say
The weather quite warm close to thirty degrees
And little relief from the humid heat in the warm breeze
That blow up the  streets and  the  parks by the bay
On weatherwise a typical Gold Coast Christmas Day
The rainbow and scaly breasted lorikeets on the flowering trees parrots of the sunshine
Chirping with delight as on nectar they do dine
On Christmas day on the Gold Coast in a warm and humid time of year
With the warmest of the Summer to Southern Queensland quite near.

I have Not Seen Johnny

Not that i do miss him in any sort of a way
I have not seen Johnny for many a day
Stories of his successes with others he seems all too wiling to share
He even tells strangers he's a multi millionaire
That he is a  multi millionaire to look at one could not tell
For Johnny is one who never dresses well
I have been told that his stories of Great wealth are not false that's to give him his due
That he is financially very well off happens for to be true
One known to many but by anyone not looked on as a friend
Since money he is one who does not readily spend
With a wife and children and grand-children he is well past his  prime
A scrooge with his  money his grandchildren of it may yet enjoy a good time
The stories he tells of  his great weath not a lie
But as a miser he lives and as a miser he will die.

Not A Well Traveled Man

I never may walk in the old fields again
And hear the birds sing in the wind and the rain
When in late April in field by Finnow  where the rank rushes grow
The wildborn cock pheasant does cuck and crow

I am not what one would call a well traveled man
Though i've been in crowded trains in Tokyo in Japan
And i've lived in New York for awhile more than four decades ago
Many Seasons before time did become my foe

I have been in london seen bits of England by train
And only the memories with me does remain
Of potato picking in Wales by the Atlantic shore
In a past that is now in the forever more

I've seen bits of the outback of Australia the great land of the south
Where the brown and bare paddocks in Summer are ravaged by drought
Where the sheep and cattle from the hot afternoon sun shelter in the shade of the trees
And there is a dry warmth in the breath of the breeze

On some of the steep roads of New Zealand i have traveled up and down
And i have been in Auckland and in old Christchurch Town
In Rotorua see the terminal springs bubbling up steam
Of such beauty nowadays i only can dream

Far from Claraghatlea near Millstreet Town where i first saw light of day
The passing of time has left me looking gray
And my memories of what was the decades do span
But compared to most i'm not a well traveled man.

To The Summit Of Mushera

For raising money for charity on Christmas Day
The young and not so young from Aubane to the summit of Mushera climb their way
When the gray fogs of rain envelope the old hill
They climb upwards through the wet bracken success comes with a will

On Christmas Day morning no matter what the weather rain, frost, snow windy or fine
They climb to Mushera's summit in small groups after nine
For the benefit of a worthy cause their courage on display
Fair dues to them for that is all that one can say

To a hardy race of people they surely do belong
In Mushera valley the bond of community spirit is strong
In the depths of Winter to climb to Mushera's summit of anyone a big ask
Though some courageous people have proved up to the task

From the valleys above Mushera and the mountain countryside
The fame of the Mushera Hill climbers is known far and wide
For to raise money for a worthy cause and no personal financial gain
They climb to Mushera's summit in fog and cold rain

Their climb for a worthy cause is well worthy of a boast
To the Mushera Hill climbers we should drink a toast
They climb up through the wet bracken in the fog cold and gray
To the Summit of Mushera on Christmas Day.

She Asked Her

She asked her has he put the hard word on you, her answer i am not ready or he's not ready yet
Remember it has been just a few weeks since he and i first met
And before we start dating seriously we got to get to know each other well
If he is to be my potential soul-mate time alone will only tell
I have been disappointed by men too often the burned one does fear the fire
Before falling in love with him first him i must admire
And before falling in love with him he must prove to me he is one i can trust
In any loving relationship trust is a must
They were walking in my direction on the pathway that leads to the bay
And i could not help but overhear their chat of the day
Two women in their early forties a decade past their prime
Though for true love in their lives they did have plenty of time
On the question of her potential suitor her answer seemingly wait and see
At least anyhow that's how it seemed to me.

Where People Of All Nations

Where people of all Nations and Races from almost everywhere
Congregate in the big City in the big World out there
For to compete for success and renown
In miles distant from their first hometown
Some come to the big city for self betterment in life
And to find a partner hopefully for life in a husband or wife
And raise their children where people of all Races do meet
Where they in turn with people of all Races for success must compete
Where some of life's pie do take more than their share
And many grow poorer for every new millionaire
And where many due to lack of money are condemned to live rough
Where the minority are wealthy the majority doing it tough
In the big busy city of the big World out there
You well might meet a person from anywhere.

She Is From The Place

Her hair is as dark as the wing of a crow
The one from the place where the dark Hopkins flow
Towards Warrnambool  to the sea at the Blue Hole
Where the white waves of the Pacific rumble and roll

With eyes as brown as ripe chestnut of the Fall
A natural beauty so graceful and tall
On her twenty third year quite close to her physical prime
Her ancestors were the people of the Dreamtime

A young dusky beauty lovely to behold
Her people as a Race in time very old
It is said that they have lived on the far southern shore
In time sixty thousand years if not even more

She is from the place where the wild moorhen cry
And the dark welcome swallows do chirp as they fly
In pursuit of flying insects all day in the sky
A young woman of charm and beauty though a little shy.

I Long For A Place

I long for a place far from the noisy street
Where the creek from the mountains the river does meet
In the home of the wombat and dark brown weerloo
The big parrots better known as yellow tail black cockatoo
The big and noisy city lifestyle does not suit me at all
I long for the place where the wild boobook call
At night when the moon lights the bushes and trees
It's boobook call carrying in the freshening breeze
I long for the place where pollution is not rife
Away from the bustle of the big city life
Where tall factory chimney does not puff black smoke to the sky
In a bungalow by a wood with a creek nearby
With the nearest human from me a mile away
A life such as this would suit me okay

Your Waking Nightmare

Long past your prime years and you no longer young
And in a foreign city where to you the people speak in a different tongue
Unable to read the train signs and under mental duress
And feeling confused due to far too much stress
At the stress levels of a near mental breakdown
Lost in a crowded railway station far from your hometown
These things do happen to travelers every day
Such is life as some do like for to say
You ask many for directions but none your language do speak
Such things in one's nervous system havoc does wreak
Yet by some gift of good fortune beyond you to explain
You somehow did manage for to board the right train
And at your destination did safely arrive
Your waking nightmare you have managed to survive.

Ignorance Can Become You

Ignorance can become you it does grow and grow
If you think you know all there's nothing you have to know
The people who like the sound of their own voices words of wisdom never hear
Their egos too big for their heads that's how it does appear
If you think you know it all you have nothing to learn
Such people do find it quite hard to discern
Between genuine knowledge and misinformation to them ignorance is bliss
The point like all others that they have heaps to learn they do seem to miss
Ignorance can become you if you think you know it all
Then the scope of your thinking would have to be small
For one never stops learning we learn every day
We never stop learning as some like to say
You have nothing to learn if you think you know it all then you know everything
Though the praises of a know all others never do sing.

George Michael

In the English speaking pop World George Michael is an almost forgotten man
But his song Last Christmas at Christmas is huge in Japan
Played on the Japanese airwaves many times every day
The Japanese favorite Christmas song believe that if you may
Many years ago the dame of good fortune on George Michael did smile
And he and his band Wham knew success for awhile
But few things in life ever does seem to last
And the man of the seventies became the man of the past
Like the Seasons of Nature pop stars come and go
And eventually time becomes everyone's foe
And George Michael the man who knew fortune and fame
To most young people his is not a known name
But at Christmas his song Last Christmas is huge in Japan
In his case the fame of the song has outlived the fame of the man.

To The End Of My Life's Journey

To the end of my life's journey not that far to go
Time is ticking on and becoming my foe
More than three decades have pssed since i was in my life's prime
And that is going back many Seasons in time
Far north of here i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways i still do enjoy
From her we do learn new things every day
We never stop learning as some like to say
I was raised in the home of the silver back crow
Where Finnow from Gneeves to the Blackwater flow
Down from the high country it babbles it's way
Though the old fields of Millstreet by night and by day
And only the memories i have to retain
Of something for me that was but may not be again.

It Is All About Greed

It is all about greed and lust for wealth and fame
The siblings of narcissism for want of a better name
That is creating the huge gap in equality in the social divide
In a Human World where hidden poverty has nowhere left for to hide.

The majority of the material wealth of the World is owned by the few
In saying this i am not saying anything that is new
In a densely populated Human World the less aggressive and less assertive losing out
That winners are grinners now as ever no doubt

For to be successful at anything with others you must compete
To be best in your neighborhood or best on your street
To be best in your Nation and best Worldwide
Competition is what creates the human social divide

Success breeds success as some are known to say
This is how it is in the Human World of today
And winners by most people looked up to and admired
The reasons many to be winners do feel so inspired.

It Does Seem This Way

We reap what we sow it does seem this way
For what goes around comes around as some like to say
You cast stones at others at you they cast the stones back
The best form of defence is to go on the attack
In life it seems true we must give to receive
On such a philosophy i do believe
Those generous in their ways and who willingly give
Do reap the good rewards of the way they do live
It is true about greed that much does want more
This is something you well may have heard said before
One can only eat and drink so much every day
And though the billionaire for plastic surgery can afford to pay
He or she are mere mortals just like you and i
Born into life for to eventually  die.

So Live In The Now

The longest lived human life in time is not a long span
Supposedly on average the woman by a few years does outlive the man
And since the aging one can never regain youthful elan
Do enjoy life for as long as you can
For the biological clock does tick on and on
And in memory we can only live in the past since the past it has gone
So live in the now make the most of your day
Since time does not wait for anyone as the wise one did say
And worrying about a problem does not make it go away
The more you worry the longer the worry of your problem with you does stay
You can only live to be the best you can be
And remember there are others to think of than the one known as me
For kindness you show to others of future good Karma you plant the good seed
Of more of the kind and compassionate the Human World is in need.

Most People

Most people live at or below the poverty line
And can only afford to drink the cheapest brands of wine
And cannot afford to pay rent so are condemned to sleep rough
They know about life and that life can be tough
Even poverty can be at varying degrees
In the Refugee Camps of the World millions of refugees
The people of drought ravaged and war torn Countries with nowhere to go
Who know all about suffering and hardship and woe
Those who talk of life choices have got it all wrong
Only to the privileged by birth such things to do belong
For every millionaire many in poverty
This is how it is and it always will be
So much inequality in the Human World of today
And that does seem a sad thing for to have to say.

Why Even Pretend

That on the twenty first of December 2012 life in the World will end why even pretend
Though for some people everyday their World does end
Everyday on Planet Earth people do die
That their World does end for them is not a lie
On the twenty second of December 2012 people will recall
That life in the World goes on as usual nothing happened at all
The Mayan Calendar forecast changes not the Apocalypse of doom
Which has been magnified by the twenty first century prophets of gloom
On the twenty second of December life as usual will go on
And the twenty first like all yesterdays to the forever will have gone
But the World will end for you one day as it will end for me
As James Shirley wrote Death The Leveler  with that i agree
The deceased monarch and president are history today
And no sign of life where their last remains lay.

The Rhymer

The rhymer has no desire to become a poet
Or never craves for the recognition of literary note
The rhymer is one who just loves to write rhyme
One might say a throwback to a long gone time
It is easy to write rhyme as we have often been told
And rhymers never grow famous they only grow old
Though as writers of worth few rhymers make the grade
Everyone is needed in the wordsmith trade
To write rhyme is easy as easy as can be
At least anyhow that's how it seems to me
In the Literary World rhymers are many and poets are few
You may say to that tell us something that's new
The rhymer is one everyday you do meet
One or two or more of them lives on every street.

Two Duhallow Greats

In Duhallow where i was born and raised many famous rally drivers, athletes and many great players of Gaelic football
Their achievements in sports Duhallow sports writers like to recall
And though out of sporting achievements legends are known to grow
For true greatness we look elsewhere this much i have come to know

Sister Mary Lucey in Pemba in Zambia miracle worker supreme
Far from her birthplace and first home one held in high esteem
She has helped to build homes for the homeless her life to the poor she devote
For her amazing achievements a woman well worthy of note

In South America Conor Hartnett from Millstreet helping those of helping in need
One of kindness and compassion and a great human being indeed
Doing his bit for humanity far south of Hibernia's shore
Of his kind the Human World is in need of many more

Many more great people from Duhallow who have achieved great things elsewhere
Who have made their mark in the big World out there
Like Sister Mary Lucey and Conor Hartnett for the poorest of people they do care
Though sad to say in the World that their kind are too rare.

Of Living In An Earthly Utopia

Of living in an Earthly Utopia i often daydream
A bungalow by a wood by a clear flowing stream
In the sunlit pools sunning and slowly swimming about
In their natural environment the wild-born trout

The buzzings of the nectar gathering bees
From the flowering shrubs and bushes and blossoming trees
And the music of the birds as they chirp and they sing
The beauty of Nature is a magical thing

A bungalow in the countryside a few miles from the nearest small town
Far from where people compete for success and renown
On the noisy and polluted city street
Where people of all sorts and races one meet

An Earthly Utopia or so it does seem
Where the Goddess of Nature she does reign supreme
Alone with my thoughts in a life i have never known
In a nice little home that i can call my own.

Mount Fuji

It towers above the woodlands of the dark raven crow
Mount Fuji the giant in it's great hat of snow
One of the World's great mountains the pride of Japan
Thousands of centuries older than the first human
How old is Mount Fuji would anyone know?
Millions of years older than the birth of the first serow
In Winter the cold winds from it through the mountain towns blow
And the myths and legends of it only seem to grow
A wonder of the Natural World to many it does appear
To the mountains towns by Fuji thousands flock to view it every year
It has been sketched by the artists and writers to write poems and stories of it feel inspired
And some to sing of it's praises do never grow tired
Mount Fuji the giant of the higher ground
The mysteries and legends of it do abound.

Australia

One of the if not the least densely populated livable Countries in the World of today
Australia the vast Land from the nearest Country far away
The great Land  Down Under of the Southern Cross
For words to describe it one feels at a loss
The home of emu, koala and wombat and roo
Of wallaby, echidna and many species of cockatoo
Of platypus and mallee fowl, scrub turkey and lyrebird the mimic supreme
For it's amazing wildlife second to none it does seem
The home of many species of wattle and pittosporum and eucalypt tree
And kookaburra, aussie magpie, apostle bird and pee wee
White winged choughs many species of honeyeaters and species of parrot  by the score
Of talking of Australia's wildlife one could go on for days more
Australia the amazing Land of the far south
A big Country that is well worth talking about.

Greg Trencher The Aussie

Greg Trencher the Aussie the well traveled man
Speaks fluent Japanese and lives in Japan
Near Tokyo the great City busy night and day
From Mt Evelyn his first home many sky miles away
A man who for himself in life has done well
Of his many travels he has great stories to tell
For one in his early thirties he leads an adventurous life
With his beautiful young Japanese soul-mate Natsumi who is to become his wife
They plan to become spouses in August next year
He has made a commitment to her and to him his honor is dear
By the friends he has made one held in high esteem
His future in Japan or so it does seem
Greg Trencher the Aussie the well traveled man
He speaks fluent Japanese and he lives in and works in Japan

Paidi O Shea

As a Gaelic footballer true greatness of him cannot be denied
So sad to hear that the great Kerry player Paidi O Shea of a heart attack has died
In his fifty seventh year of life he was far from an old man
He won eight All Ireland  medals playing for Kerry in his amazing playing span
A great Kerry player he was famed and well known
Through the length and breadth of Ireland his legend has grown
Of arguably Ireland's greatest Gaelic football team he was a true great
The fame of the amazing Paidi does not have a use by date
One who wore the green and gold of Kerry with passion and pride
He was likeable and liked by many and made friends Ireland wide
In the Gaelic playing parks of Ireland he proved himself when put to the test
I see the great Paidi  playing when he was at his best
The great Gaelic footballer has lived his last day
May he rest in peace mighty Paidi O Shea.

Tokyo

One of the World's great Cities yet not a multicultural place
The residents of Tokyo are mostly of Japanese Race
Few parks there for wildlife few birds to be seen
Where buildings are many little room for natural green
Tokyo the City that never sleeps busy night and day
Yet the people there are courteous and respectful in their own charming way
There are no slums in Tokyo though homeless people there
In the Human World of today homeless people everywhere
For a place that is so densely populated it is so clean and well organized
Anyone who visits Tokyo are bound to feel surprised
Of how the overcrowded trains always run on time
And for such a huge population so very little crime
One of the World's great Cities but not a multicultural place
Millions of residents of Tokyo are of Japanese Race.

The Tokyo Man

He loves the open spaces of the Australian countryside
The paddocks on either side of the highway that stretch far and wide
Miles south of overcrowded Tokyo in Japan
The lust of the wander is in the young man
Where people most part of the night and all day long
To and from their places of work to and from the fast trains do throng
One thing about home he does not feel nostalgic about
There are some things in life that we can live without
He feels happy to live where the weather is breezy and bright
Where the magpie in Winter sings in the moonlight
He is from one of the World's great Cities where people for success compete
At any time of the day or night in Tokyo never a deserted street
He does enjoy life where people are few
Where every day from Nature he does learn something new.

In Millstreet Town Tonight

There is music and singing and dancing in The Bush Bar tonight
And laughter abundant and none seem uptight
Drink and be merry as some like to say
Any thoughts of care from their minds far away

In Tarrant's Bar tonight joy and laughter abound
Where people are happy sadness  not to be found
Making light of their worries on guinness and beer
There is a sense of happiness in the sound of cheer

The talk is of greyhounds in Corkery's Bar tonight
Of track and coursing dogs and of what dog might
In The Town Park race into coursing renown
On a wintery evening in old Millstreet Town

In The Mal Paso Pub the talk is of the World game of football
Where great players  and clubs men whilst drinking recall
Patronized by the fans and the players of Los Zarcos Millstreet oldest Soccer Club
They do feel at home in Brian Sullivan's Pub

A forty five drive in progress in McCarthy's where the atmosphere is great
On enjoyable hobbies there is never a use by date
Of economic hardships in Ireland we read of and hear
But people go to the pubs though alcohol to buy is dear

In Ursula Pomeroy's Clara Inn the old Pub in Church Street
Where the friends and the families for drinks like to meet
In Millstreet everyone do have their favorite public bar
They go to the pub where their bonded friends are

In The Wallis Arms tonight a twenty first birthday party in full swing
Like it is said about youth it must have it's fling
They eat, drink, dance, laugh and sing until pub closing time
The young like to party near to or in their life's prime

Going by the publicans in Duhallow who seem to be doing well
That there is an economic depression in Ireland one could hardly tell
There is drinking, laughter, music, dance and song and not a worry in sight
And entertainment of some sort in every pub in Millstreet Town tonight.

The Philippino

The young man from the fishing village in The Philippines as a young boy
Out fishing with his dad in his dad's boat at the weekends he used to enjoy
Till the lust of the wander grew in him for Lands far away
And far south of the Philippines he is living today
In South Western Victoria in Camperdown
He works as a builder in the old country Town
But the wander bug is in him in Camperdown he will not stay
He will be moving on in a not distant day
Though the praises of the hometown many may sing
The lure of the wander is an irrestible thing
The accent of The Philippines with him does remain
And he will be happy to be on the highway again
North on the way to another big town
From South Western Victoria and Camperdown.

People Of Different Nations

From Countries quite near and Countries far away
People of different Nations i do see and meet every day
Most of them quite good people in every Race every kind
You look for the good and the good you will find
Far more good than bad people in every Race
So never judge a whole Race on one person's disgrace
Though some people do tend to generalize
Such people if not obviously are latent racists i have come to realize
Most people will help you if of helping you are in need
No matter your Color your Race or your Creed
The good in humanity far outweighs the bad
Few negative experiences of people to report i have had
In the park or the shopping complex or on the street
People of different Races every day i do meet.

Jack London

He even daydreamed of adventure as a young child
And as a young man Jack London he followed the call of the wild
He went to the Yukon where men mined for gold
His books of adventure millions of copies have sold

Since the days of Jack London many Seasons have gone
But in death his legend it is living on
He wrote stories of wild creatures and places and of the adventurous kind
Travel lit the flame of genius in his brilliant mind

Jack London was one who with words had a way
There is no one who write stories like he did today
For stories of adventure he was famous and known
Jack London he was in a class of his own

To millions of people Jack London brought joy
His stories stirred the lust for adventure in many a boy
His legend in his writings is living today
A writer amongst writers as some like to say.

The Dead Hero's Grave

He died bravely under gunfire that much of him we do know
But on the dead hero's grave only wildflowers do grow
His life ended on a battle field many decades ago
And he did not live on for time to become his foe

He did not even live to see the prime of his life
He did not have children or he did not have a wife
His parents now deceased for him wept tears
Their grief and sense of loss did stay with them for years

In the town's old graveyard his last remains lay
The dead hero's grave no one visits today
In the gap of fear he was one who died brave
He gave his life the life of a comrade to save

He died bravely under gunfire but he was so young
He had just turned nineteen and his praises were sung
Brought back in a body bag from a war far away
Amongst his hometown's departed his last remains lay.

I Know A Man

I know a man many times a millionaire he lives a simple life
He lives in a bungalow in a seaside town with his long term devoted wife
And with them their miniature black poodle that they walk every day
Which they treat as one of the family with most people and their dog it is this way

An ageing couple close to if not seventy well beyond their life prime
With grandchildren in their late teens they are feeling the wear of time
With money he is very mean he finds it hard to spend
Though he has far more than enough of it to see himself and his wife to their life's journey's end

That he is many times a millionaire even to strangers he does boast
But because he is not a generous man none to him ever drink a toast
That he talks so much about his successful life it obviously does seem
That he craves recognition and is one low in self esteem

I often meet him and his wife walking their dog she never does have much to say
But he more than makes up for her on that count he would talk and talk all day
That he is many times a millionaire he will gladly have you know
Though the trappings of wealth in the clothes he wear i have yet to see him show.

In The Park By The Sea

Evening picknickers enjoying their cake, sandwiches and tea
Sitting at picnic tables in the park by the sea
An hour before sunset on a nice Summer's day
With the sun low in the sky above the western bay
With such a nice life one could hardly complain
From scenes such as this joy the watcher does gain
The song of the magpie so pleasant to hear
He sings in the park every day of the year
The wattlebirds call on the blossoming trees
And there's a pleasant coolness in the freshening breeze
That blow through the park from the saltwater bay
The mental images of such a nice evening with me bound to stay
And reflect on in future times when pleasant memories i recall
Of evenings in the park by the sea an hour before nightfall

On The Blackwater Swim

To be truthful i am not one bit surprised for to hear
That the organizers of The Boeing swim in the New Year
Are advertising online for new swimming volunteers
For most thoughts of a dip in icy waters never gives rise to cheers

At temperatures at or below zero degrees
The Blackwater in Winter a brass monkey might freeze
Better ways to enjoy yourself it does seem to me
Than swimming in icy waters in January

When there isn't a leaf in any deciduous tree
This is a good way of catching pneumonia and would you not agree
That this is not a recipe for a long life span
For any boy or girl or woman or man

I never went for a dip in the Blackwater in Winter not even in my life's prime
And that is going back a few decades in time
When the  Boggeraghs are in their white hats of snow
And cold Arctic like winds in Duhallow do blow

The organizers advertising online for volunteers for the Blackwater swim on New Years Day
For to celebrate the birth of twenty thirteen one can think of a more enjoyable way
Of welcoming the New Year though it is for a good cause they brave the chill
When frost is in the old fields and snow is on the hill.

Life Is For To Be Lived Well

Life is for to be lived well as many do like to say
But if for the work that you do your's is below average pay
How can you hope for to live well at all
If your monetary income to live well on too small

That money speaks every language a saying that is true
Whoever said that first a wise one to give him or her their due
The value of quality of life linked to money none ought to deny
With little of it in life you struggle to get by.

Of any great success in life i am not one who can tell
I have enough money to live but not to live well
I can only imagine the beauty of exotic places far away
For the air ticket to such places i could not afford to pay

Life may be for to be lived well but would you not agree
Without a good livable income that does not seem possible that's how it seem to me
Money speaks every language or so it does seem
It can give a huge boost to your personal or public esteem.

Very Lucky Indeed

That some people can lack in compassion would you not agree
To laugh at someone else's expense does not seem right to me
In life what we sow one day we receive
On such a philosophy i do believe
So blessed are they the compassionate and kind
Who to help those in need of helping are always inclined
Who perform their good deed or two every day
And to do one a favour go out of their way
If everyone were like them the Human World would be poverty free
Such people indeed a great credit to  humanity
Some people like them i feel privileged to know
And my respect for their sort only does grow and grow
I feel that them i can turn to in my moment of need
And for knowing them i feel very lucky indeed.

Enjoy Your Youth

The praises of heroes and heroines of the past many well may sing
But the great gift of youth is a marvellous thing
Of their triumphs of the past the ageing and aged may tell
But it is on past glories they only can dwell
The clock on our lives ever keep ticking fast
And enjoy your youth for youth does not last
Yesterday to the forever has gone
Make the most of the now and life does go on
Though the accumulation of money and material possessions adds to one's public and self esteem
Success can be a relative thing  or so it does seem
Your idea of success may be different to mine
You have your opinions and that suits me fine
Some will tell you we receive from life what is only our due
Though others will tell you this is not necessarily true.

On The Gold Coast

Fair skinned residents are rare in every Gold Coast Town
Most people in Southern Queensland from the sun are brown
Further north in the tropics warmer by a few degrees
Though relief from the heat in the evenings in the cool coastal breeze
In the gray of the dawn every day of the year
The pipings of the pied butcherbirds is pleasant to hear,
For the mango orchardists in December and January in the Summer's prime
Protecting their ripening mangoes at night from the fruit bats it is a busy time
The buzzing of flies and nectar gathering bees
And the lorikeets chirping on blossoming trees
From the Gold Coast Earthly Utopia cannot be far away
My dream is to live in such a place one day
But those who do not like warm climates in South Queensland could not stay
It is each to their own as some do like to say.

Do Not Waste Your Tears

Do not waste your tears on the one who is dead
But weep for the poor and the homeless instead
For the dead one is past every sorrow and care
And of tears shed by you for him or for her they will not be aware
Though to his or her last resting spot you may stand quite near
When you weep for them the dead do not hear
So weep for the paupers of poverty street
And help every poor person that you do meet
The dead past all suffering they no longer carry their cross
When you weep for them you weep for your own loss
Since we are born as mortals we are destined to die
This a fact of life and fact never lie
So weep for the homeless if you have tears to shed
The poor one tonight who does not have a bed.

A Warm December Day

The day it is warm as some like to say
One could fry an egg on a rock on a day like today
A weather forecast high for the day of 38 degrees
And the warm air full of the buzzings of flies and of bees
A jump of nineteen degrees in temperature since yesterday
Though the cool change is coming the weather forecaster does say
The weather of late has been acting quite strange
This well may be the symptoms of Climate Change
Such a warm and humid afternoon without any breeze
The cattle shelter from the heat of the sun in the cool shade of the trees
The locusts plagues swarming in the sunny sky
Not made to feel welcome to wherever to they do fly
The weather temperatures soaring to near forty degrees
On a warm and humid afternoon without any breeze

In Late February In Duhallow

In fancy i hear the harsh croaking of the breeding frog
In a water filled drain in a field by the bog
And old Clara obscured in the gray fogs of rain
Memories of late February in Duhallow with me do remain
The cattle in farmshed bellow for silage or hay
In the gray dawning of a cold Winter's day
And the cold chill of Winter in the freshening breeze
Soughing in the bare branches of the deciduous trees
Though you may feel happier now than you've ever felt well may be so
Your past follows you to wherever you go
Though the first breath of Spring to the old fields is near
Late February in Duhallow is a cold time of year
When the harsh winds of Winter in the old fields blow
And the Boggeragh hills wear their white hats of snow.

Camperdown

In South West Victoria an old country Town
It has been awhile since i've been in Camperdown
The people there friendly as the word can be
At least anyhow that's how they seemed to me
In the surrounding countryside at most part of the year green
Natural beauty in abundance to be seen
Though to everyone there mine was a stranger's face
In Camperdown i could live and not feel out of place
In it i did feel such a good energy
A town that does live on in my memory
I'd love to visit Camperdown on a nice Summer's day
When the surrounding paddocks scent of freshly baled hay
And nesting birds singing on the sunlit trees
Their pleasant notes carrying in the freshening breeze.

The Wanderlust It Is Still In Me

The wanderlust it is still in me for Lands that i never will see
And  though i am one of the ageing the spirit of adventure is alive in me
I have only been to six Countries not what one would call a well traveled man
I have  not been to China or Russia or India or Pakistan
I do live far from my birth Country in sky miles far south of my first home
But i've not seen some of the World's great Cities such as Paris or Rio or Rome
I'd love to visit the Serengeti where amazing wildlife range free
And i dream of boating on the Amazon River but a dreamer is all i can be
For to travel one needs heaps of money and air fares i cannot afford
Of living long term in the one place i am one who becomes very bored
I am not a well traveled person though i live far south of Clara Hill
I have never been to Turkey or Egypt,  Germany, Italy, Argentina or Brazil
The wanderlust it is still in me for Cities and Countries far away
Though  the years have left me  looking older and  the  hair on my balding head is silver gray.

Philomena Cronin

The memories of my younger years in me remain strong
Philomena Cronin a friend of the past born as Philomena Long
Through the medium of the internet me she did trace
We were childhood friends in our first homeplace

The eldest of Jer and Mary Long's five children into a young woman she did grow
In a beautiful cottage near where Cails waters flow
On it's journey to the Finnow in old fields from here far away
With a babbling tongue never still night or day

A fine looking woman when in her life's prime
I have not seen Philomena for quite a long time
A young woman of the sixties a  grandmother today
Time ticks on and  on as some do like to say

And though she is one i may not meet again
Fond memories of Philomena with me does remain
A good mother to her family and to Johnny Cronin a good wife
It is good to know that she is enjoying life.

It Follows

It follows that the person who is racist to one person is racist to a whole race
The beauty in the fair go for all such people could never embrace
They are not an advantage to humanity in their thinking they have got it all wrong
Their ideas on life out of fashion to a long gone age their sort of thinking belong
Racists are such ignorant people they suffer of darkness of mind
To be racist to even one person is to be racist to humankind
Such people only cause division in their words they never unite
Their words betray their negative thinking their thoughts are highjacked by spite
There are racists in every village, town and city and racism is Worldwide
And racists never unite people they only know how to divide
They fan the flames of intolerance people against others who discriminate
Self loathing spreads to mistrust of others and division only does create
For to become a better person a  racist does have far to go
Such a person never unites people though they do know how to make a foe.

On Such A Nice Day

The great gift of life is a  wonderful thing
And for as long as  we can do to it we should cling
Through the sunny blue sky just a few clouds of gray
So good to be living on such a nice day

Such amazing beauty Nature does create
The one with the power to self re-generate
To so many her beauty such joy does bring
Her praises i always feel happy to sing

Were i born a poet of Nature i would write
A poem lovers of Nature would feel happy to read and  recite
In the early Summer three weeks from the New Year
Earthly Utopia to this  place would have to be near

A minstrel of Nature always pleasant to hear
The flute of the blackbird melodious  and clear
And the songster of all Seasons the magpie is warbling upon a gum tree
And no mistaking the call of the pee wee

To describe such beauty words not in me to say
A cool Summer breeze in the park by the bay
Earthly Utopia from this place cannot be far away
So good to be living on such a nice day.

Live In The Now

Live in the now is all you can do the past has gone and the future is ahead
Do not dwell on your small worries soon enough you will be dead
If you are happy and smiling others of you wish to know
Happy people  attract people to them and their friends in numbers do grow
Others do not wish for to hear of your troubles since they have troubles of their own
Perhaps bigger worries than your's they have lived through and have  known
They wish to know happy people not one who is feeling down
One who does  not seem to have  many friends is the sad sack of the town
Laugh and the World laughs with you those words as ever ring true
If you are feeling sorry for  yourself sadness is only your due
Happy people carry joy with them and spread it around every day
Some people always seem happy it does seem their natural way
Live in the now  is all you can do a smile does not cost you a thing
They enjoy life to the fullest those who can laugh, dance and sing

On Yeats 'A Terrible Beauty Is Born'

There is little doubt Yeats was a great poet his poems the best anthologies adorn
But i question the sentiments he expresses in one of his great poems 'A Terrible Beauty Is Born'
On the executions of the brave men by the British in Dublin three years from a century ago
That beauty can be  born out of suffering and death i do question this to be so?

That suffering and death can give  rise to beauty does not seem at all right to me
But then having that said it does seem we all look at life differently
In a glorious death Yeats could see beauty many with him in that would agree
But human blood shed by brave young men for Irish freedom the beauty in that i can't see

That beauty in any war can be born out of death and suffering to me  does not seem at all right
The violence in any war is far greater than the violence in any pub fight
I honestly cannot see any beauty in the blood dead and injured men bleed
Yeats idea of great beauty to me does seem puzzling indeed

A Terrible Beauty Is Born words on death from a great poem by Yeats
And doubtless that he was a great poet one of Ireland's true literary greats
But in suffering and death i cannot see the beauty and with that would you not agree
That beauty is in the eye of the beholder at least that's how it seems  to be.

Dicky The Odd

He hates police and politicians and he despises fans of football
And  he despises royals and celebrities and he hates himself worst of all
Last year his wife left him and with her took their young son and daughter for that she is hardly to blame
He had become too bitter to live with she has even reverted back to her maiden name
He does not go to the  pub or community gatherings  or socialize in any way
After work for a few hours he wathches t v and then early to bed for work next day
He does not have friends never did have he is always seen on his own
He will never be part of a gathering one who does not wish to be known
He never says hello to his neighbours he does not have a hobby or a god
He does seem a very strange fellow  his  nickname is Dicky The Odd
He is quite mistrustful of others he does not seem to like anyone
Yet in his ways he is quite harmless wrong to another he never has done
He despises the wealthy and famous he does  not like  the poor and downtrod
And he  despises himself his main problem the bloke known as Dicky The Odd.

What I Say Of Others

What i say of others says more about me
Than any words can that's how it seems to be
But having said that it does seem fair  to say
That the one nearest to perfection not perfect in every way
You may not be one who is  untainted by sin
But you can make the Human World better for to live in
By becoming a better person in your every thought and deed
In life we receive the good fruits if we plant the good seed
Any move towards the better self is never too small
It is a positive step from no self improvement at all
To receive in life you must learn how to give
And if you can believe in live and let live
Then a better Human World to live in you are helping to create
For self improvement for anyone it is never too late.

I Cannot Say

I cannot say i am a good person though i never wish on others ill
I do not live  as a vegetarian i eat creatures others do kill
And because of me  animals suffer and die in a horrible way
Good people never cause animals to suffer though most would not agree with what i do say.

I cannot say i am a good person though i empathize with the downtrod
I am not pure and clear in my thinking and to many i seem a bit odd
Not seen as a successful person as on my roadway of life i do plod
And it is surely not to my advantage that i do not have a heavenly god

When i say in me heaps of room for improvment i only say of me what is true
If living to me is  a battle what i receive from life is my due
In school  i was dunce of the class-room perhaps i did wish it that way
Even then the  negative streak it was in me and it does remain in me today.

I cannot say i am a good person though that i never pretended to be
I am not one into self improvement though heaps of room for self improvement in me
My journey in life will not take me to riches and fortune and fame
And if living for me  is a battle for that i have myself to blame.

The Stuff I Email

The stuff i email to an internet blog site
To me does come at no effort to write
Anybody can pen rhyme as some like to say
There are millions of my sort in the Human World of today
But it is something i enjoy doing as i have said before
And to my numbers of rhymes every day i add more
I just do it for enjoyment without fame or monetary pay
And i hope to never give rhyming away
Anybody can rhyme you can have that from me
It is  easy to do as easy as can be
Jo rhymes with Mo and Dan rhymes with Stan
And Pru rhymes with Su and Tan rhymes with Ann
And i will go on rhyming for as long as i can
For to give it away it is not in my plan.

Laughing Joe

One worthy of his nickname of Laughing Joe
Since laughter is with him to wherever he go
In his mind for sadness there is not any space
I have yet to see him without a smile on his face
He works hard but he is happy in his  life
He loves his two young children and he  loves his  wife
He has made many friends and does not have a foe
And he will not waste one moment of his  life on woe
One quite free of worries and conceit and  guile
On his  face he always does have a big smile
In his early thirties one without a care
His great gift of joy with the World he does share
A likeable and  happy and free of care bloke
The laughter in him is not hard to provoke.

Like All Other Creatures

Like all other creatures the great and the small
For us humans a last day and night for  us all
Death the  great egalitarian does not differentiate
Between the billionaire and the pauper and the unknown and the great
This tag of immortal is surely a lie
For us humans are born as mortals and mortals do die
Three score and ten years is the average human life span
On average a few years more for a woman than it is for a man
Death the great equalizer treats all as the same
And is one who does not respect people of money or fame
For the monarch and president a last night and  day
Death on the time span of their existence has the final say
With all other life forms we share a similar fate
Since like  the food we do eat on us a use by date.

Memories Of Clara

Of years it has been at least six with a score
Since i climbed on Clara above Claramore
On a chilly but dry mid November sunday
Behind the gray clouds the sun hidden away
The fields of Duhallow and Sliabh Luachra as ever looked green
I retain the memories of the beauty i've seen
When i was younger in my very late thirties though then past my prime
Memory can take us far back the Seasons of time
But time that does not wait for anyone  did not wait for me
And all i have left are memories of what used to be
The hair on my balding head is silver gray
But Clara i'm sure would not have aged a day
Of the hill i often climbed above Claramore
In sky miles far north of this southern shore.

Old Joe

On looking back the Seasons time does go so fast
And  only the memories of what was seems to last
Old Joe likes to talk of when he was young
When by many locals his praises were sung
When he kicked the winning goal on Grand Final Day
For him he remembers the loud hip hooray
But that is  going back some sixty years ago
And time as we know  becomes everyone's foe
And Joe who turned eighty four years in May
Is now walking slowly and showing his years in gray
But in the local pub with a few beers in
He talks of the day when he helped the Club to win
The Premiership Flag in a great footballing display
When he kicked  the winning goal to become the hero of the day.

They Used To Be My Friends

They used to be my friends in a bygone day
Till in our thinkng we drifted apart or it does seem this way
So little in common we now have to share
In human relationships such things are not rare
I only have memories of how things used to be
They do look at life now quite different to me
My friends of the past are not my friends today
Suppose this is life as some do like  to say
No long chats nowadays with them when we do meet
Just a hello in passing on the park or the  street
Apart in our ways it would seem we have grown
With them and with me it is to each their own
Though none of them ever did become my foe
Our friendship did  die many Seasons ago.

On The Promotion Of Self

Many wallow in their own self importance and conceit
In a Human World where many for material gain do compete
In this the age of self promotion the  promotion of self does seem the in thing
Nowadays by most seen as not bragging your own praises to sing

But give me the one who is compassionate and kind
Who to help those in need of helping is always inclined
Who always perform their good deeds of the day
And in helping of others go out of  their way

Of more of these sort of people the Human World is in need
Since there are  too many of the sort obsessed with material greed
Those with empathy in them though now a rare breed
As well as being kind are quite marvellous indeed

The promotion of self looked on as boasting in a bygone day
By many nowadays looked on as quite okay
To meet these sort of people you need not travel far
Just a  five minute walk to the local bar.

Though Wrong To Me

Though wrong to me  on purpose some people have done
I simply refuse for to hate anyone
I sure do not like them because of what they did to me
But not liking is different to hating would you not agree?
The strong feeling of hatred can lead one to serious crime
To jail and a long term of prison time
I would rather forgive and in my life move on
We cannot change the past since  the past it has gone
Those who wrong you on purpose in any sort of a  way
To karma will surely have some price to pay
In karma we always do reap what we sow
A bad seed into a fruit bearing tree never grow
What we sow in life in turn we receive
On such a philosophy i do believe.

On Capeweed

When in bloom in the Springtime they are lovely to behold
When they turn the paddocks yellow in their petals of bright gold
From their ancestral home in South Africa introduced decades ago
Capeweed as noxious weeds are designated they have become the Aussie farmers foe
In the paddocks that they infest grass or other crops cannot grow
Their seeds spread in the winds of Summer and they naturally self sow
For grazing animals not a food source known to be a toxic weed
Though poisoned and sprayed with roundup for to thrive they do succeed
By the freshening winds of Summer in tiny seeds self sown
As a noxious weed in Australia they have become well known
In full bloom pretty to look at but looks often can deceive
Some beauty to it has a darker side as we have come to believe
In Spring seen blooming in their billions in town parks, gardens and paddocks in the countryside
That they are successful colonizers of them cannot be denied.

It Has Been More Than Six Years

It has been more than six weeks and in that many a day and week
Since i drove  on the high road through the hills of Archies Creek
On a nice day in November towards the end of the Spring
The swallows chasing flying insects above the high fields did chirp and sing
From the  Loch-Wonthaggi road  the scenery breathtaking to the Pacific shore
A beauty that is timeless that will live forever more
Of the high road from Loch to Wonthaggi the memories with me remain
And often in my flights of fancy i drive on it again
The marvelloous gift of memory it is an amazing thing
Above the hills of Archies Creek i can hear the bushlark sing
When the cattle quite contented sit chewing their cuds by the trees
On a mild evening in November with a freshening mountain breeze
On the  roadway that leads to Archies Creek i may never drive again
But fond memories of such beauty my lifetime with me will remain

A Warm Day In Late November

A warm day in late November close to forty degrees
Without any coolness in the warm coastal breeze
That blow up the street through the park by the bay
For the sun wise this surely an out of the sun day
The second last day of the calendar Spring
Of the praises of such warm humid weather you will not hear many sing
Going by the weather forecast the cool change is near
In what weatherwise has been a changeable year
Yes the weather of late  has been acting quite strange
This has to be  the symptons of Climate Change
An escalation by twenty degrees from a two days ago high of nineteen
How changeable indeed the weather has been
On a high branch of a gum tree a magpie does sing
To tell of the cool change that's coming on the second last day of the Spring.

Though Memories Of What Was

It has been at least twenty six years since i've seen
The bluebells in bloom on mossy ditch of bohreen
When hawthorns are in their white blossoms of May
And wildfowers are in bloom in old fields far away
Though the river he sings  in to me not anywhere near
The song of the dipper i fancy i hear
The dark brown river bird with breast as white as snow
He sings on a rock around where babbling waters flow
I never may walk in the old fields again
But the memories of what was are mine to retain
Of where i grew to love  Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways to me  remains a source of joy
The  now is all that does matter it does seem this way
Though memories of what was in our thoughts do stay.

Dangling From A Rope

Though some may look on me as as quite negative i will not be found dead dangling from a rope
For i love life and wish to keep on living and i am one who is not without hope
Of better times in every new tomorrow the future days some happiness may bring
I have no reason to complain of my lot the gift of life is such a marvellous thing
I will never be one of the  famed and wealthy though in my younger days i daydreamed of being a poet
But daydreams are just that and for few come true i will never become one of literary note
In the  recent past i've thought of quitting rhyming but a voice in my mind to me did say
Remember you are not a quitter Francis you never ought to give rhyming away
I look in hope to every new tomorrow the rhymes keep coming to me every day
A rhymer always happy penning new rhymes i am one of those with words who likes to play
I well may not be one of life's successes but the thought of failure does not get me down
I no longer have the desire and ambition that does lead people to wealth and renown
The great gift of life is the greatest gift of all gifts and i do look to the future with some hope
I love life and i hope to keep on living and i will not be found dead dangling from a rope.

We Dislike In Others

We dislike in others what we dislike in ourselves a wise one these words first did say
These words that were relevant in decades gone by are just as relevant today
I dislike in others what i dislike in me i do believe this to be true
They pay me the  disrespect that to them i do pay what we give in return is our due
The fruits of the good or bad seeds  of the karma we sow one day will be ours to receive
On saying this i am not saying anything new and on such i am one who believe
The law may lack the evidence to convict you but from karma your sins you can't hide
But if by all others you do the right thing then good luck will be on your side
From the point of my opening line here which is not unusual with me one might say i have tended to stray
We dislike in others what we dislike in ourselves but then who is perfect anyway
You cannot love anyone if you cannot love self  with these words i cannot disagree
The frailties in others that i do dislike are the frailties i dislike in me
We dislike in others what we dislike in ourselves words from generation to generation passed down
The judgemental sort have never been rare in countryside, village or town.

Ordinary People

Ordinary people i meet every day
But then what is ordinary the wise one does  say
Since everyone is talented as we are told
And people born as mortals and destined to grow old
In the pub or the shopping complex or the street
Ordinary people everyday i do meet
Ordinary people as ordinary as me
Yet the most extraordinary in some ways ordinary
With what i am about to say many may disagree
You look for the greatness in the ordinary and greatness you do see
Those known as the  ordinary do not under-rate
Since they are an asset to Country and State
The ordinary people i meet every day
Are quite extraordinary in their own way.

A Blackbird Sings In Timor Street

A monday evening in Warrnambool in November in the Spring
On low branch of norfolk island pine a gold billed blackbird sing
In the grayness of the twilight just after sundown
It is quiet on monday evenings  in the old seaside town
The familar song of the blackbird used to have me close to tears
They were familiar songsters of my long gone younger years
But i have outgrown nostalgia and with me only memories remain
Of places that i once loved i may never see again
The schoolboy of the fifties is an ageing man today
On his  face time wrinkles his balding head is gray
He only has the memories of what used to be
Many young boys of the fifties and one of them is me
A blackbird sings in Timor Street in the gray after sunset
A Spring voice that i grew up with oh how could i forget.

Just Your Average Rhyming Fellow

I am not a poet i've never pretended for to be  i just pen simple to write stuff that rhyme
I have been advised more than once by wiser counsel that on my hobby i should call time
But i am honest to them in my answer since one lie  only leads to another lie
I tell them writing rhymes does keep me happy and i'll be penning stuff until the day i die

I write rhymes on the beauty all around me Nature's beauty that i see every day
The birds of song and the wildborn flowers of Nature the pleasant scent of new mown Summer hay
The mountains and the woodlands and the rivers, the buzzings of the nectar gathering bees
The peals of thunder and the sound of rain on the galvanize roof and the wind soughing in the branches of the trees

I write rhymes of people and their joys and sorrows the moods that does afflict the human mind
Of people who are cruel to others and of the compassionate and kind
I pen rhymes of the birds and animals the creatures i often hear and see
One never does run out of rhyme words at least that's how it seems to me

For many years i've  been a rhymer and for longer a rhyming buff
And in close to forty years of doggerelizing i have penned a lot of rhyming stuff
I will not die wealthy and famous and to many people i'm not known
I am just your average rhyming fellow and like it is said to each their  own.

The Men Who Built This Town

No street parade or monument for to honor their renown
They are of the unremembered dead the men who built this town
Amongst the dead in the town's old cemetery their bones  forever lay
Many of their descendants live in the town today

They worked hard to support their families great strength of arms and back
They built the homes and factories the roads and railway track
They laid the  heavy sewerage and water pipes worked hard for every pay
Yet they are of the unremembered dead and this does seem sad to say

At their grave side no eulogy for them read no bugler a last farewell for  them played
The weeds grow rank on their unkept graves memory of them left to fade
Some of their sons in wars did die in battles far away
Cut off in the prime of life not left to grow  old and gray

The mighty men who built this town died as strangers to fame
Not one of them in history lives as a remembered name
A better World for  you and me in their hard work they did create
They deserve to be remembered and them we ought to celebrate.

A Beautiful Songstress

A young woman of beauty a princess of song
Wherever she goes to joy with her goes along
In her early twenties born to entertain
You see and hear her sing once memories of her with you remain
Dark wavy hair to her shoulders and lovely eyes of brown
What is a  gain to the World is a loss to her hometown
She writes her own songs and she sings as she plays her guitar
And she has entertained in many a club and bar
By her beauty and  talents many are impressed
She earns heaps of money doing what she likes best
From her hometown from town to town she has travelled far
To her next singing job in her new blue toyota car
Her fans in numbers are growing with a charm of her own
As a beautiful songstress she is  famed and well known.

Perhaps The Town's Wealthiest Person

Perhaps the town's wealthiest person but in his thinking quite ordinary
To him there is money in destroying Nature's beauty and in Nature beauty he cannot see
To develop land for  his new building projects his workers cut old growth trees down
Those into preserving Nature's beauty never amongst the wealthiest people of the town
You show one like him a flowering garden and he will only see decay
No money in preserving Nature's beauty and  that does seem a sad thing to say
Less trees for arboreal creatures to live on due to un-necessary human greed
More people who are anti development as friends Nature is of in need
For every tree removed more birds and tree dwelling animals homeless and that does seem a sad thing to say
Habitat destruction and Climate Change the main causes of species of wildlife extinction today
Due to human greed Nature's creatures suffer due to habitat destuction less songbirds to sing
Due to our greed we are robbing our Earth Mother of her beautiful music of Spring
You show  to him a flowering garden and an ugly sight he only does see
He has grown wealthy from destroying Nature's beauty which makes  him quite ordinary to me.

If You Help Some Poor Person

If you help some poor person out of kindness not for  pay
And consider it as your good  deed of the day
Then your good deed into good karma for you will grow
In life it is true we do reap what we sow
But if from the poor  you steal for  to satiate your greed
For your bad karma you plant the bad seed
The sort of karma we are due we do receive
This is something i for one on do believe
Some people unkind things of others you never hear them say
And to help those in need of helping they go out of their way
Those with the gifts of kindness and compassion are great people indeed
And of more of their  kind the Human World is in need
They make the World  to live in a far better place
And they are a credit to the Human Race.

Ireland In May

The place  where i first saw the  light of day
From where i now live far away
And yet the memories with me stay
Of Ireland in the month of May

When the lark above the mountain sing
Such joy such thoughts to me does bring
A fading musical speck in the gray sky
He sing as to the clouds he fly

The old fields lush and green from recent showers
Are  looking resplendent in their Nature's flowers
And  cattle out of wintering sheds of eating silage and hay
On nourishing Spring grass gain weight by the day

Some old  memories with us do remain
The song of the robin i hear again
And the dipper singing in the rill
That babbles downland from the hill

The past in the forever gone
Yet some memories in me do live on
And perhaps till death with me will stay
Of Ireland in the month of May.

There Are Times In My Life

For years i've been battling my black moods of despair
And telling myself life to me is unfair
But others than me have far heavier crosses to bear
The human depth of suffering can be relative of such i am aware
I am lucky in that i've never heard voices in my head
Or at anytime never wished myself dead
Though like many i know of the dark moods of woe
Such moods  to the human mind that come and go
Most of us  have our moments of inner self doubt
When we ask ourselves what is life about
When we feel we were born to under achieve
At times on your worth as a person it can be hard to believe
I am not one of those free of phobias and fears
There are times in my life when i feel close to tears.

For Some Not All

For some not all life it is never easy and every day a new challenge to face
The winners in life do take all of the glory it is never easy for to lose with grace
In the Human World many Stateless and Homeless and over thirty million refugees
The  gap between the haves and have nots is widening and poverty comes in varying degrees
There are poor suburbs in every town and city where homeless people do sleep rough at night
For to see people sleeping on park benches is no longer an unusual sight
In a Human World where the minority do have most of the money inequality between people is rife
Do not tell me  that's how humanity is meant to function or do not tell me this is how it is with life
The Reaper of lives is the true egalatarian the one who treats all people as the same
The one who claims the lives of the  billionaires and paupers is  the  one who does not have a  celebrated name
But The Reaper is one who is quite impartial and between lives does not differentiate
With all of the other life forms on the Planet in death we share a very similar fate
For some not all life it is never easy and thousands dying of hunger every day
And the gap between the  rich and poor growing wider in a fair Human World it would never be this way.

Jack Tarrant

Jack Tarrant was a likeable old fellow in his younger years in an accident he lost an eye
He told good jokes and he liked his  pint of porter the term of good bloke to him did apply
In Liscreagh he and his wife raised their children one liked by many and known far and wide
One who was never lacking in compassion he had the gift of kindness on his side
When i was a  young boy Jack was in his prime my memory takes me to Seasons long gone
People like him are not easily forgotten good memories of the man he was live on
The World was better for him living in it Liscreagh without him a far poorer place
One who never did complain about the hard times i never see him with a sorry face
A larger than life character Jack Tarrant he looked at life in a whimsical way
Contented with his lot he never grumbled he tried to make the most of every day
He always did look at life on the bright side a man who did work hard for his every pay
Jack Tarrant laughed at life and he was happy though the passing years had left him frail and gray
He was indeed a likeable old fellow he lived in Liscreagh by the railway track
His last remains in the bosom of Nature but good memories are living on of Jack.

I Used To Think

I used to think on Spring twilights he sang his song for me
The gold billed blackbird by my first home upon the cypress tree
But i was green to Nature's ways and thought had proved me wrong
It is to proclaim their territory that inspire birds to song
Old memories do live on in us as long as the gift of memory with us stay
Each time i hear a blackbird sing it takes me to far away
To the old grove by the  roadway in the prime of the Spring
The marvellous gift of memory is an amazing thing
When Nature's feathered minstrels sung at their best in May
The beauty of their singing lives in my mind today
But for the purpose of road widening the Council Workers cut down the grove trees
And all i have left of the past are fading memories
Of an old grove by a roadway that once used to be
And time that does not wait for anyone why should it wait for me?

A Story Of Pat Lehane

Some great old story tellers in Duhallow they told great stories to give them their due
The story that i am about to tell you i cannot vouch if it be false or true
The deceased one who told me a great teller of stories some real good yarns he was known to spin
At least he told it to me with a straight face without one sign of a betrayal grin

Years before Billy Coleman became a champion rally driver a neighbor older by a few years in Minor Row
Young Pat Lehane a brave and carefree fellow as a driver of fast cars in confidence did grow
Decided to have a go at rally driving but to get his rally driving ticket he had to pass a test
Young Pat he wrote off for his rallying permit to acquire it he vowed to try his best

The rally tester who came out to test him was one who was in for a big surprise
He did look quite scared when the test was over the fear of the almighty in his eyes
Pat at top speed raced down the narrow roadway and flew the bends without once applying the brake
To acquire his rally ticket he did drive his fastest without once realizing that was a big mistake

The rally tester not happy and smiling at Pat's performance he was not impressed
For one who did not scare too very easily to say the least he did look quite distressed
His fastest drive and he lived to tell the story he had tested one who revelled in a dare
But at least he had one very scary story with other rally testers for to share

The then young Pat Lehane did not become a rally driver today he is living in the U S A
I only told this story as i heard it how true it is not for me for to say
By all accounts he was a daring fellow in his younger years back in the distant past
He did not get his rally driver's ticket because he simply drove the car too fast.

The War Supposed To End All Wars

The war supposed to end all wars it is long over it ended more than ninety years ago
But most of us human beings are known to be aggressive and not unwilling to create a foe
After two World wars and many major battles we hear of wars and rumors of wars every day
And the poor in war are those who mostly suffer this is how it is and it will always be this way
Great World powers invading smaller Countries where everyday soldiers and civilians die
All wars are started by aggressive people and that of their sort there are many not a lie
The power hungry leader to retain power creates an enemy and another war begins of us with they
Power hungry men never learn from war history power can corrupt as some are known to say
And every war gives rise to acts of terror where the innocents with their lives are made to pay
And as a payback for war acts of revenge through terror are prevalent in the World of today
Too many wars have been fought for god and borders and most wars begin due to abuse of power
Of peace in the World it does seem hope is fading the flower of peace it is a faded flower
Wars are started by power hungry aggressive people this is how it is why otherwise pretend
And in a Human World of many aggressive people to conflict there will never be an end.

I Live Far South

I live far south of my first home in Duhallow Koroit in Victoria is now my hometown
In miles distant from Claraghatlea in view of Clara Mountain where i used to live when my hair was dark brown
From the fields of rook and jackdaw and badger and the predatory one known as the gray back crow
Where the Finnow from fields by Gneeves mountain to the Blackwater in Drishane does flow
In the countryside west of the town of Millstreet i spent my youth and best years of my prime
There i did learn my first lessons of Nature and discovered my useless gift of rhyme
In the old grove by the stream from the high fields I often heard the pink breasted chaffinch sing
Such lovely memories with me to remember the gift of memory is a marvellous thing
The dark brown white breasted dipper in the stream was singing his scratchy song to his identity a give away
The old fields were resplendent in their wildflowers and the hawthorns wore their white blooms of the May
But the lust of wander it was stirring in me for cities far from Claraghatlea and Claramore
For Lands far south of Millstreet in Duhallow in miles distant from Hibernia's windswept shore
Koroit in South West Victoria now my hometown and only the memories with me do remain
Of where i was raised far north by distant mountains and old fields i  may never walk on again.

Jimmy The Shearer

Jimmy the Shearer a much traveled fellow he first saw light of day in Camperdown
He has shorn in many shearing sheds in the big country and lived and worked in jobs in many a town
In his late twenties a well traveled fellow yet to father children or to take a wife
But in every town he's been in he has had a woman the fairer sex come and go to his life
He has worked on building sites in all of Australia's big cities and shorn in many shearing sheds and with the best shearers held his own
A tall brown haired handsome man quite a likeable fellow in every town he has lived in he's well known
Jimmy the Shearer for him is a nickname though he is not a shearer full time
He has worked in various jobs around the Country a work hardened fellow for one in his prime.

Betty Fitzgerald

She was born as Betty Conway, Fitzgerald was her married name
An attractive looking woman in her young years though she never yearned for wealth or fame
A good mother to her son John and to Jim her husband a good wife
So sad to read the news of the passing of one who led an honorable life
With dark brown hair the young Betty Conway looked beautiful in her life's prime
When she was one of Millstreet's finest going back some four decades in time
A charming and kind hearted person one unaffected by conceit
She will be missed by friends and family in Murphy's Terrace and the Town of Millstreet
That Millstreet was better for her living in it of her seems a fair thing to say
Us human beings born as mortals for all of us there's a last day
Predeceased  by her husband Jim Fitzgerald he died a few years ago
It is true what is said about time that it does become everyone's foe
May she rest in peace Betty Fitzgerald she did lead an honorable life
To her son John she was a good mother and to her husband Jim a devoted wife.

A Mere Shadow Of The Man

He walks stiffly with a cane He has arthritic knees
And he feel his  heart race if he does cough or sneeze
Not a mere shadow of the man that he once used to be
Time takes care of all and it will take care of me

Fifty five years ago on grand final day
He was best on ground witrh a marvellous display
The club's best and fairest in a premiership winning year
The best in the league by far none to him near

A marvellous player at the peak of his prime
Until he became one more victim of time
Two of his grandsons good footballers and quick on their feet
With the best in the league with success they compete

He is now on his own last year his wife passed away
He misses her more than words could ever say
A mere shadow of the man that he was years ago
Eventually time becomes everyone's foe.

I Have Written The Rhymes

I have written the rhymes of the birds and the bees
And the wildflowers of Nature and bushes and trees
And of life forms that fly or swim, walk or crawl
And of creatures quite big and creatures quite small
I have written of love and of people of sorrow and joy
Of love's bliss and heartache and the war orphaned boy
And a rhymer i will be till the day i do die
If i did tell you differently that would be a lie
As a young man i often imagined myself as a poet
One wealthy and worthy of literary note
My over energized imagination on me did run rife
Back then i did seem detached from the realities of life
I have written the rhymes about many a thing
The jingles in my brain they do love to sing.

November In The Hills

A beautiful Spring morning of twenty five degrees
Made even more pleasant by a freshening breeze
The balmy air full of the buzzings of flies and of bees
And the birds chirp and whistle on bushes and trees
Through the blue and sunny sky just a few clouds of gray
So good to be living on such a nice day
In the children's playground children laugh at their play
Youth does have it's fling as some are known to say
November in the high wooded country a beautiful time of year
Utopia to such places has to be near
Of singing Nature's praises one never could tire
Her beauty the writers and artists inspire
Them to practice their gifts of creativity
To sketch and to write of the beauty they do see.

The Familiar Song Of The Blackbird

The familiar song of the blackbird take me to places far away
To woods by the northern mountains in April and in May
When buttercups are in full bloom by the silver tongued rill
That babbles to the river down the high field by the hill
Of the past that has gone to the forever only memories do remain
And often in my flights of fancy i walk in old fields again
Surrounded by Nature's greenery on a balmy day in Spring
Such pleasant memories that come to me when i hear a blackbird sing
On a rock in the river rapids in a field close to the town
The snowy breasted dark brown dipper sings his head bobbing up and down
For as long as we retain the gift of memory such memories with us stay
Until we breathe our last breath of life on some future night or day
The familiar song of the blackbird take me way back in time
Such memories that will long outlive this easy to write rhyme.

I Am Not Of The Poetic Kind

I am not of the poetic kind that is how it seems to be
In notepaper i only write the rhymes that come to me
And often in my rhymes of Nature the praises i do sing
The glory of her creative powers in every living thing
She is the World's greatest teacher to me anyway
From Nature i am learning new lessons every day
I am one who loves the quiet place far from the noisy street
Off of the roadway to the mountains where the creek and river meet
Some tell me in my thinking i have got it all wrong
When i say we are of Nature and to her we do belong
Far from their way of thinking in my way i have grown
But then any two never look at things in the one way and to each their own
Though he lives in the mountain parkland to the big town not anywhere near
The pleasant fluting of the gray shrike thrush in fancy i do hear.

With Love's Betrayed One

At the end of love for one the price in hurt feelings can be high to pay
In love ache that can last for many a day
Though nothing last forever as some do like to say
In love as in life it is always this way
Of sense of loss in the World there is nowhere to hide
Only memories of what was when love it has died
Of a love that once bloomed brightly like a beautiful flower
In the warmth of the sun after a Summer shower
The bitterness of betrayal in the betrayed one can linger for years
Of a love once full of passion that ended in tears
When one to love's loyalty failed to remain true
And a new start with someone else choose to pursue
And with love's betrayed one only the bitter memories remain
Of a love that once bloomed never to bloom again.

The Lampooning Poet

One who is frowned on by the town's upper class
They look on his kind as ignorant and crass
Since in his words he tries to drag tall poppies down
The financially struggling poet from the poor side of town

He knows of the hard life on Poverty Street
Where like everyone else he must struggle just for to make ends meet
At the poverty caused  by inequality he feels quite perturbed
He lampoons the wealthy in the written word

By the highbrow literary critics one dismissed as not worthy of literary note
To them just one more anti wealthy lampooning poet
In lampooning the wealthy in his words the price he does pay
You do not go into the cage of the lion as the wise one did say

His poetic future is financially insecure
As one who lampoons the wealthy in his words he can feel sure
That he will never have a wealthy patron though he daydreams of wealth and fame
Though neither of them he may have to his name.

For As Long As I Live

For as long as i live the memory i'll retain
Of old Mushera cloaked in the gray fogs of rain
And on the fog shrouded high Butter Road the cars crawl up and down
Through the hills between Rylane and Millstreet Town

By the Boggeragh Ranges the Winters cold, wild and wet
When the hare moves to the high fields from the bracken and het
One knows that the depths of the Winter are near
Towards the end of November six weeks from the New Year

At a time of the year when grass refuse to grow
And through the mountain countryside the wintery winds blow
And the brown flood bank high in the fast flowing mountain rill
With a loud babble racing to the river down the fields by the hill

On the high fog shrouded Butter Road from here far away
The cars pass up and down at a crawling pace today
At the end of November towards the end of the Fall
A memory of late Autumn by Mushera to recall.

In The Park In The Mountains

In the greenery of the park in the mountains where Nature's beauty does abound
In the heat of the sun after a Spring shower you see the steam rise from the ground
The birds in the woodland are singing enjoying the warmth after the rain
Though Nature in her ways mysterious beautiful insights from her we do gain
In the beautiful park in the mountain the home of many different species of trees
In the warm sun after rain in November a refreshening coolness in the freshening breeze
That blow up the southern valley from the flatlands by the country town
And blow dry the wet leaves on the trees in their every shade of green gown
Were i a poet i'd write of Nature of Spring weather breezy and bright
Of steam rising from the grass in the park in the mountains just after rain in the sunlight
Such beauty to view that gives pleasure i've loved Nature since i was a boy
The one who does create such beauty for many a great source of joy
The steam from the grass it is rising in the sunshine just after the rain
A beautiful image for the memory for a lifetime to cherish and retain.

Humphrey And Paddy Den's Donkey

One of the last if not the last donkey derby to be held in the Town park in Millstreet
In the late fifties when young bare back jockeys for glory on their mounts did compete
When donkey racing was popular in Ireland  at Autumn carnivals in every country town
Back then to ride the winner of a Donkey Derby transcended one to above local renown

Hopes of a Millstreet win depended on a young teenager who at gaelic football would know of greater fame
From the nearby Tanyard tall and sturdy Humphrey Kelleher his was to become a very famous name
Riding Paddy Den's black stallion donkey a powerful beast with a mind of his own
One who often kicked and bucked and threw his rider for such behaviour he had become known

The stallion donkey at the starting line was bucking but Humphrey proved too hard for him to throw
He must have realized that he had met his master donkeys can be quite clever as we know
At the starting gun he was the back marker he did seem slow to get into full stride
The champion gray mare with her young jockey from East Kerry  of the early lead refused to be denied

But the Kerry gray did not have things her own way with Humphrey riding him hard on his back
Paddy Den's stallion his ears flattened was racing in hot pursuit of her ahead of the main pack
Ten metres from the winning post he hit the front the cheering could be heard for miles away
On that sunday evening from the Millstreet Town park in September a great moment from a memorable day

Since that carnival day in the Town park in Millstreet more than fifty years in the way of time has gone
Paddy Den's donkey is now a faded memory but the legend of Humphrey Kelleher does live on
In seventy three at full back for Cork against Galway at Croke Park the hero of All Ireland Final Day
His first taste of fame was at the Millstreet Donkey Derby and far greater glory was to come his way.

Nature To Us Is Such A Good Teacher

Nature to us is  such a  good teacher we learn new things from her every day
In life  we do never stop learning as some have been known for  to say
And Nature i do not know  that well in ways she's a stranger to me
Though some of her birds i know by chirp or song and such beauty in her for to see
Were i a poet i'd write about her a  poem for decades that would live on
A poem that would bring joy to others long after life's breath from me has gone
For Nature is one loved by many her presence around us and near
Her colors do change with her Seasons and the  songs  of her feathered minstrels are pleasant to hear
Some people defoilate Nature's beauty just for their own financial gain
Why they never give and only take from her seems way beyond  me to explain
To make way for another big factory by them more beautiful trees are cut down
The people who cause the most environmental damage are never from the poor side of the town
Nature is truly amazing in her own mysterious way
And to us she is a great teacher we learn from her every day.

The Man From The Northlands

He is from the  place where the bog cotton grow
In the home of the rook and the silver back crow
By northern mountains from here far away
Where first he did look on the bright lamp of day
The place that he left when he was a young man
With a head full of dreams born of youthful elan
Of making it big in the big World out there
The wander bug in him for places elsewhere
Though he did have many women in his life
He never had children or never had a wife
And he was quite  partial to his pot of cheer
He did enjoy stout and he did enjoy beer
But all is quiet and dark where at rest he does lay
The man from the Northlands was buried today.

In The Pirianda Garden

In the sunny sky amidst the blue just a few clouds of gray
In Pirianda Garden on a nice November day
The crimson rosellas chirping as they fly from tree to tree
Nature is at her finest in her full bloom around me
And no beauty to compare with Nature at her finest would you agree
The rhododendrons in full bloom quite beautiful to see
I've been a student of Nature ever since i was a boy
And learning new things about her today i do enjoy
Such a beautiful place Pirianda Garden on a pleasant day in Spring
In the coolness of the evening the golden billed blackbird sing
For to describe such beauty the words not in me to say
Utopia from such a place cannot be far away
In singing Nature's praises i for one could never tire
In the beauty she does create there is so much to admire.

The Dead Do Not Have Cares

He never did complain that life to him was unfair
Though for years he had been battling his black moods of despair
Determined that he would not grow old and gray
Found hanging beyond help from a tree branch today
Perhaps for himself he is better off dead
For many years hearing voices in his head
In his twenty eight year his mum and dad and sister in tears
The great sense of loss they feel will be with them for years
On strong medication for ten years of his life
He did not leave behind him children he did not have a wife
Found hanging this morning from the branch of a tree
By a young woman out walking how sad life can be
At least from his sorrows he found a release
The dead do not have cares they have found their peace.

Doug Williams

Doug Williams not on his feet but do not count him out
In a short time he well may be up and about
And though physically his best days are in the long gone
The fight it is in him to keep on living on

In his nineties a great grandparent as is Molly his wife
Doug Williams has led an adventurous life
In tough times he worked hard to support his family
The Nation indebted to one such as he

In the mid nineteen forties the young Doug was in his prime
Going back in years more than six decades in time
In tough times he proved himself a man amongst men
A tall, strong and dashing and handsome fellow back then

Though down he is not out on that you can depend
Like the champion boxer he will rise and fight on to the end
The last bell for him is not ready to ring
One cannot say of him he has lived his last Spring.

Far Better Than Me

He is non judgemental as the word can be
And the nice side to others he only does see
Of all of the isms he is totally free
He is a good person far better than me
He does not set himself up to be anyone's judge
And he does not belittle or he does not begrudge
To help others out he goes out of his way
And he performs a good deed or two every day
Though not looked up to as a role model not even on his side of the town
In his words he never puts anyone down
He is not an athlete has no interest in football
And he is one who does not crave the limelight in any way at all
The good side to others he only can see
He is a great person far better than me.

On Hearing A Greenfinch

His wheezy sort of a song that one could never mistake
A slumbering memory in me does awake
The song of a greenfinch bring me back moments of joy
Of Spring in the leafy groves of Lisnaboy

Somewhere camouflaged in the greenery of the cypress tree
I know him by his voice though him i cannot see
With some dark gray on his tail and wings and mostly palish green
Amongst Nature's greenery birds not easily seen

Their nest small and open cup shaped lined with hair four to six palish green eggs they do lay
On a tree branch or hidden in bushes in the Northlands in May
In south east Australia they breed in late October and November in Spring
And to proclaim his borders the male bird does sing

The song of the greenfinch takes me to places far away
When in my dark brown hair there was not any gray
And though in memory i often re-visit old places again
That is all of the past with me that does remain.