True Poets Are Few

Though many aspire to poetic greatness few do make the grade
For it is said about poets they are born not made
Those who aspire to poetic greatness are many and true poets are few
You may say to that tell us  something that is new
Many refer to themselves as poets but it seems fair to say
That true poets are rare in the  Human World of today
Literary degrees may make you a literary critic of note
But a literary critic  is one not born to be a poet
Robert Burns did not have literary degrees the man the Scottish celebrate
He was born into life to be a poetic great
In Scotland he commands the highest literary place
The pride of his clan and the pride of his race
I have met a few literary people of note
But as of yet i have not met a true poet
So many with words  who like to have a play
But poets are not made they are born to become poets one day.

Memories Of What Was

It has been some time three decades of years since my hair was dark brown
When i was younger, fitter and healthier near distant Millstreet Town
Till the wanderlust got into me on a bleak December day
I left the old fields i did love  for places far away
In Claraghatlea my first homeplace to most i was  well known
And many there then did look on me as  one of their own
But the wanderlust in me for places elsewhere
For to travel a bit in the big World out there
But when i visualize the past returns to me
And i hear robin sing on a leafy birch tree
And the sweet scent of mown meadow wafting in the breeze
On a nice sunny day in July of around twenty degrees
I have not seen Claraghatlea for almost twenty six years
But memories of what was no longer move me to tears.

Of Nature We Learn

Of Nature we learn something new  every day
We never stop learning as some like to say
And though our wonder of her only does grow and  grow
The more we learn of her the less of her we know we do know
The one who creates a flower and a tree
Her beauty is  all around us  for to see
Her wonders are many and her secrets not few
Though every day from her we learn something new
She grows the food that we depend on for to live
But we take and take from her and in return to her nothing give
The  one who has in her great magical power
She creates a beautiful thing like a flower
From her we do learn something new every day
We never stop learning as some like to say.

The Poor Talking Millionaire

You'd swear listening to him times  on him were bad
The fellow who was born to a  wealthy mum and dad
Managing director of one of his parents factories yet he does  complain
Though him and his  wife and schoolgoing son and daughter just back from a holiday in Spain

The fellow who suffers of mind poverty
That he and his wife can afford to drive in two new mercedes does not seem poor to me
But then suppose if you feel poor in your mind then poor you have to be
That poverty can be a relative thing with that one must agree

A very unhappy millionaire of his type there's a few
That money cannot guarantee or buy you happiness is not saying what is new
You may be financially well to do drive  an expensive car
But if in your mind you feel you are poor then poor indeed you are

Financially one of the wealthiest people in the town yet he does not feel that way
But then suppose you are what you think you are as some do like to say
Of how poor people have to live he would not be aware
Though he  is a poor man in his ways  the poor talking millionaire.

Where Everyone Knows Everyone

Where everyone knows everyone it is that sort of a town
And where those not well in with the well in by many are verbally put down
Where only the locally born and raised are those made to feel belong
To where everyone knows everyone where the tribal bond is strong
Yet so many little towns like it in the bigger World out there
Where for years  you remain as a stranger if you were born and raised elsewhere
Where everyone knows everyone your business not your own
Where parochialism takes pride of  place such towns  i have known
Where if you are not locally born and raised you do feel out of place
Though for some time you have lived there and  there your's is a familiar face
Where everyone knows everyone of such places quite a few
And  some may even say to this go tell us what is new
Such towns and villages are not rare where parochialism reside
There are  millions of them so it seems for they are Worldwide.

One Screaming Girl

One teenage girl screamed for Justin Bieber her contagious screaming was so loud
That her scream grew into a huge screaming crowd
And one scream amongst teenage girls spread around the World at the very mention of his name
Life for  young Justin will never more be the same
What has he got that others have not why bother to ask me
Since anything special in him i for one cannot see
Save for  a young man with an inflated ego that and nothing more
But then i am an old bloke five years with three score
And what i think of Justin should it matter anyway
Since i am one who has known a far better day
But forgive  me if i struggle for to understand
That the screams of one girl could grow  to millions of young screamers in every land
Over one cocky young popster as a singer far from great
Such hysteria that one screaming girl did create.

Old Soldiers

Old soldiers were young, brave and active before they grew old
And old soldiers do die hard as we have been told
Buried with military honours their praises are sung
It is not true that only the bravest die young

Old soldiers do walk in every war parade
They fought in the battles where heroes were made
They survived where many of their young comrades did die
Though that they fought to bring peace is surely based on a lie

For  peace is never the winner though the war has been won
The  mother is left for to grieve for her son
Those who killed him his friends and his  family will never forgive
Against them they will harbour a grudge for as long as they live

On their coat lapels their war medals for bravery they like to display
Old soldiers grow older and slowly fade away
The flag of their Nation they carry with pride
The flag that so many of their young comrades for  died.

This Thing Known As Hatred

This thing known as hatred does seem a huge waste of energy and time
And it often does lead one to commit a jailable crime
Against the person that he or she has grown to hate
Most times bad feelings to worse feelings do escalate
Hatred crowds out all positive thoughts from the mind
And  where it exist compassion you will not find
In the Human World hate crimes in numbers everyday does grow
Those who harbour hate to their enemies compassion cannot show
In the mind where love is hatred cannot survive
Only in the clouded brain it can take root to thrive
The one who lives with hate cannot think with a clear head
Though breathing the air of life he or she is soul dead
The one who harbours hatred of spiritual help is in need
Of all the human feelings the most toxic indeed.

Larry The Poet

A happy go lucky sort though not financially wealthy
For one in his early eighties he looks fit and healthy
One with the wisdom of  the long lived old timer
Larry the Poet is an old fashioned rhymer

One might say of  him by rhyme  he's been smitten
In fifty years of writing many poems he has written
He writes just for the love of it not for money or glory
His biography would make a great story

In his young years a wild one time him did mellow
In his prime years he was an energetic fellow
Though five times a grand-dad he never did marry
The married lifestyle would not suit one like Larry

Though not a major poet he is not a poetaster
And reading his book of  verses is not a time waster
On saturday nights he's in the pub making merry
With his long time  mates ageing Johnny and Jerry

I Feel Lady Luck

I feel lady luck must be smiling on me
For wherever i turn to look only beauty i see
A cimson rosella chirping on a sunlit tree
A beautiful image to live in memory
Just simply amazing is all one can say
The beauty of  Nature on view every day
The beauty to look at that is monetary free
Nature is  amazing would you not agree
The one who has unrivalled magical power
Who can create a thing of great beauty such as a flower
Yes i feel lady luck must be smiling on me
Everywhere i turn to look Nature's beauty i see.

Big Jim

Of his adventures Big Jim has many stories for to share
The man who risked his life for a bet for a dare
He jumped into a  flooded river that was flowing at great speed
Where the wary fear to venture the bravest succeed

Without confiding in his young children and Jo his devoted wife
For a five hundred dollar bet he risked his life
From a challenge he is one  not to back away
The man has to be crazy some of him does say

Watched by the two who waged the bet with him a  mile from the town
He jumped into the bank high flooded river but he did not drown
From where he jumped in he got washed out in a field two hundred metres down
He risked his life for a bet not for any sort of renown

Just one of the amazing stories that is told of Big Jim
The man has to be crazy many does say of  him
For a bet he risked his  life in what might have been a  watery grave
It has  to be true that fortune favours the brave.

In Port Fairy Today

Utopia is surely not that far away
From beautiful Port Fairy on this Summer like day
Though in mid to late Winter in the southern July
There is not one gray cloud in the blue and sunny sky

For  it's magnificent coastal scenery Port Fairy is well known
The place that does possess a charm of it's  own
To so many people a holiday Town
But than that it has  far more claims to renown

To Port Fairy in March people come from far and near
For the weekend of Victoria's biggest Music Festival of the year
For three days a place of enjoyment and cheer
Of culture and song and food, music and beer

In the sunny Winter sky not one  cloud of gray
It is pleasant and peaceful in Port Fairy today
Though here to many mine is a stranger's face
I do feel at home in this beautiful place.

It Has Been Awhile

It has been awhile since  my hair was dark brown
Since i was a younger man near Millstreet Town
Far north of this Country even as the bird fly
In distance at least ten thousand miles of sky

Where i used to daydream of places far away
The far off hills green as some are known to say
And i like many others went off to elsewhere
To learn more of life in the big World out there

The day i left Claraghatlea for a distant shore
Old Clara overlooking high Claramore
Was wearing his white hat of December snow
And down from the northlands the cold winds did blow

In time i am going back near twenty six years
And i have shed all of my nostalgic tears
For faces and places i may never more see
Though the past is still living in my memory

It has been awhile since i heard a cow
Lowing in the calm of a Summer twilight by the River Finnow
And the redbreast singing on a  leafy birch tree
Only the  memory of what has been is living in me.

Jim Cashman

'Twas sad to read of the passing of Jim Cashman he died in Springwood New South Wales from Tullig far away
I remember him when i was a  young fellow he was then fast approaching his prime day
As a young man he was such a carefree person tall and  lean and lively on his feet
He and Fiona Hickey Duhallow's finest rock 'n' rollers the dance craze they introduced  to Millstreet
The wanderlust was in the young Jim Cashman he left Tullig when he was in his prime
His journey took him far south to Australia where he married, raised his children and grew  old with wear of time
Fond memories of him do live on in Millstreet where he lived as a young man decades ago
But the biological clock does  ever keep on ticking and time does become everybody's foe
How could one ever forget one like Jim Cashman in his young years quite a likeable young man
I knew him when i was a boy in Millstreet close to his prime  and  full of life's elan
'Tis sad to think that he is gone  forever but his fate will be all our fates one day
For after all we are born as mere mortals and time does not wait as  some are known to say
He showed them how  to rock 'n' roll in Millstreet lively on his feet he had the dancing skill
But sad to think he is at rest forever so far from his first home on Tullig Hill.

So Much Of The World

It does look like that time is catching up on me
And so much of the world i never will see
Though in my travels i have met people from almost everywhere
It is not a small World the  big World out there
The Athenian loves Athens the Roman loves Rome
And Millstreet in Duhallow to me is still home
Though i have not lived there for twenty six years
And for it i've shed all of my nostalgic tears
I have seen a bit of the World beyond Hibernia's shore
But many others than me they have travelled far more
I've never had enough of cash for to travel far and wide
That lack of money can be a barrier to travel cannot be denied
Though the lust of the wander has not died in me
So much of the world i never will see.

Eugene Brosnan

The undying bug of wander in some people is strong
When young Eugene Brosnan left the Town of Millstreet with him he took his guitar along
He busked around Europe in many a  city and town
At the start of his journey to greater renown

He left Murphy's Terrace when he was eighteen
A far bigger World out there for  him to be seen
To travel in Europe from home far away
From where he first looked on the bright lamp of  day

As a talented singer songwriter he is widely known
But in Millstreet they still do claim him for their own
Wondering what the  big World out there looks like he will not take to his grave
In his case it does seem fortune favoured the brave

That true talent does triumph cannot be denied
Far from old Duhallow he is famed far and  wide
That he has made it through his natural born talent happens to be true
From life we receive what is only our due

He left Millstreet in Duhallow on his journey to fame
And as a singer songwriter his is now a great name
As a teenager the yearn was in Eugene for places elsewhere
And he has known of success in the big World out there.

With Hope In Your Life

The strength in the human will for survival is something one cannot deny
And with very little money people manage to get by
Even in the worst living circumstance many seem to cope
Something they could not manage to do if they did  not have hope
When financially embarrassed in your poor side of the town
Hope is your ally when you are feeling down
Without hope you would lose the  desire to stay alive
At such times 'tis hope  instils in you the will to survive
With a strong sense of hope a big problem seems small
And you will yourself to rise after a  setback or a financial fall
For hope gives you the strength when all else has gone
For  to hang on to life and keep on keeping on
Your biggest worry it can help to make small
With hope in your life you are not poor at all.

For Her Unconditional love

So very strange indeed the ways of life
The man who loves his dog does  dislike his ex wife
And since to pay her off he had to sell his house
He pities the man who has her for his spouse
But for a good feed and a few  pats every day
His dog his friend devoted to him stay
Each evening when he comes home  from work she greets him at the gate
Wagging her tail as if to say good evening mate
As if he ever was in any doubt
His dog defines to him what friendship is about
Her unconditional love to him she does give
And will do so for as long as she will live
For her unconditional love all from him she does need
Are a few pats and  kind words every day and a feed.

Since Compared To Many

Since compared to many my troubles seem small
I do not have a reason for  worry at all
As the wise one said from worrying nothing to gain
The thought in such wisdom with me does remain
One  must feel for the wealthy who are full of  worry and stress
Their money has failed to bring them happiness
They suffer of what is known as soul poverty
Of a happier life money no guarantee
Though this in itself does seem puzzling to me
On our journey through life this is how it must be
As money goes  i am a long way from being a millionaire
When my bills are  paid i have little cash for to spare
Yet compared to many my worries seem small
And life it is  quite good to me overall.

The Former Rose Of Rathmore

From her Hometown in East Kerry does  she live far away
The former Rose of Rathmore where might she be today?
The Pride of  Sliabh Luachra four decades ago
But time it does become everybody's foe

Her eyes were as blue as the November sloe
And her hair was as daark as the wing of a crow
In anti ageing creams and hair dyes does she hide time's decay?
She would be in her early sixties today

From Rathmore in distance does she live  far away
Or in her old Hometown did she choose for to stay
Is she married with children and grandchildren or is she a divorcee
Or single and childless she even may be?

The former Rose of Rathmore was lovely in her prime
But eventually we all become victims of time
Memories of her young beauty with me does remain
Though on her i never may lay eyes again.

I Have Loved Mother Nature

I have loved Mother Nature since i was a boy
And learning of her ways i still do enjoy
Yet the more i learn of her the more my wonder of her does grow
And  i've come to realize so little of her i do know
Yet so many of her bird sounds familiar to me
There is no mistaking the call of the pee wee
Or the distinctive call of the pied currawong
The dark yellow eyed birds who have rain in their song
In life we never stop learning as some like to say
And  from Nature we  learn something new  every day
Her wonders are many and her secrets not few
And every day of her we learn something new
How complex Nature is i have come to realize
For us every day she has some new surprise.

The Beautiful Place

I long to be far from this loud city street
Where the creek from the  hill and the river does meet
And the shrike thrush does sing on the  black wattle tree
The beautiful place lives in my memory
Where the kookaburras laugh on the tall trees nearby
In the dark just before day's light does brighten the sky
In a place of human created pollution free
In fancy the beautiful place i do see
Great natural beauty at it's  best to be  seen
Where the Goddess of Nature she does reign supreme
In the home of the wallaby and kangaroo
And the big dark brown parrot known as the weerloo
And though the noise of loud traffic is all i do hear
The beautiful place  to my thoughts ever near.

We Live In The Now

We live in the now that is how  it must be
But wherever i go to my past follows me
In my flights of fancy i hear and i see
The male red breast singing on a leafy birch tree
When wildflowers are in bloom in old fields far away
And the hawthorns are cloaked in their white flowers of the May
And the small plain brown lark with the slender musical bill
A tiny speck in the  sky sings above the brown hill
Far south of the place where i first looked on the light of day
The years have left me looking older and gray
And only the memories with me now remain
Of faces and places i may not see again
I live in the now and the future ahead
And the past follows me like the ghosts of the dead.

Sandra And Freddy

One would have to go back some five  decades in time
Since Freddy the Dancer was in his prime
But for his age he  is lively and on his feet light
And at the bowls club on saturday he dances all night

With his beloved Sandra his  long term wife
Fifty one years of marriage their contract for life
With seven great grandchildren they have seen a better day
But for octogenarians they are doing quite okay

Freddy and Sandra have their claim to renown
As the finest dancing pair ever in the town
To everybody in the town they are well known
In their decades of dancing their legends have grown

The grayness of time may be in the hair
Of Sandra and Freddy the Dancer the marvellous pair
With people half of  their age on the dance floor they compete
And  time has not left them with leaden like feet.

The Man From Kilcorney

Far from his old homeplace the years have left him gray
But he doesn't pine for Kilcorney far away
The eldest of his grandchildren his namesake grandson
On his next birthday will turn twenty one
Married to a good Aussie woman for  three years with two score
He has not been back to Kilcorney for  twenty years  or more
On retirement pension he has turned sixty nine
The work free lifestyle  seems to suit him fine
The  man from Kilcorney a likeable bloke
One who enjoys a beer and can laugh at a joke
The accent he  brought with him with him does remain
That is something till death with him he will retain
A naturalized Aussie and here he will stay
He would feel a stranger in Kilcorney today.

The Battles Of Survival

In poor suburbs and refugee camps from here far away
The battles of survival go on every day
Where poverty and hunger gives rise to worry and stress
And just to survive is seen as success
In the places where the poorest of people do live
Those who for survival depend  on what others to them do give
The people born into the wrong circumstance
For a happy and  prosperous life they they've never had that chance
Since bad circumstance of a successful life many does  deny
Life choices to everyone does  not apply
Life choices not for everyone would  you not agree
Not for a homeless person or a refugee
The gap between the haves and the have nots growing wider by the day
And that does seem a sad thing for to have to say.

Claramore In July

Far inland in miles  from Hibernia's shore
Above the high fields of green old Claramore
The dark barn swallows chirping as they fly
In pursuit of flying insects across the gray sky
Yesterday it was warm and sunny and dry
But the weather seems quite changeable for July
The sun is well hidden behind clouds of gray
And the swallows flying low a sign rain's on the way
The weather temperature pleasant around twenty four degrees
And  the  sweet natural aroma of the mown meadow wafting in the breeze
The skylark above Clara a musical speck on the wing
His song though familiar to hear is a beautiful thing
The swallows flying low in the gray Summer sky
In high Claramore on a day in July.

I Have Only Heard Stories

I have only heard stories of Tureengarriffe Glen
And the rebels who fought there now long deceased men
It is out of gun battles that heroes are made
And the flags are waving in the passing parade

I have only heard stories of how Jesus died
As legend does have it he was crucified
For one so great he died in a horrible way
Good people they too are being murdered today

I have heard many stories of the great John of God
He devoted his life to the helping of the poor and downtrod
A compassionate and caring person he was free of taint
In life a marvelous person and in death a saint

Of greatness Abraham Lincoln could not be denied
And the story of his assassination is known Worldwide
He did not deserve to die in such a way
But then such is life as some do like to say.

Like Millions Of Others

Like millions of others i know all too well
That life in  it's down times can be Earthly hell
And though i am a writer of mere doggerel
I am one of many with stories to tell
Of people i have known and places to i have been
And the unrivaled beauty of Nature i have seen
But the more of life i do learn of the less about it i know i do know
Far south of the place of the silver back crow
The wanderlust in me for places elsewhere
So i left the old fields for the big World out there
Yet the stay at home types perhaps happier than me
Any of the bigger World out there they have no wish to see
Content to live and grow old in the original home-place
Where his or her's is a loved and familiar face.

That And Nothing More

My lack of material success does not bother me
And though not wealthy i do not know of poverty
And old age creeping on me five years with three score
I want to live as a better person that and nothing more
Perhaps the term of selfcentred to me does apply
And in me plenty of room for self improvement that i won't deny
Make yourself a better person make the World better to live in applies to us all
Any act of kindness towards another is never too small
In life it is said we must give to receive
On such a philosophy i am one who believe
That we reap what we sow in life seems to be true
And to the kind and compassionate good things will be their due
I wish to live as a better person that and nothing more
This is something you may have heard me say before.

Bad Circumstance

With holes in his shoes and  holes in his socks 
He has his degrees from the college of hard knocks
Unshaven with long uncombed  hair he wears shabby clothes
One cannot say of him that he scents like a rose
Down on his luck without a home to l,ive in
He is not one of those who was born to win
The hard side of life he only has seen
He was a street kid when he was sixteen
As a boy one abused by his mum and his dad
Yet a nice enough person in him nothing bad
In his early twenties luck not on his side
Of the poor suburb one of the unemployable unemployed
For to know of success never did have the chance
He is a victim of bad circumstance.

Time

In the sands of time the largest footprints seem small
And time strips all power of the most powerful of all
Babies are  learning from life before they learn how to crawl
And people are born to die and empires do fall
Eventually time becomes everyone's foe
In retrospect it does not seem long ago
Since i was a boy in a place  far away
But between now and then many a yesterday
You may be one of  those the masses celebrate
But like the food you do eat on you a use by date
On how long we live there is no guarantee
That goes for the billionaire and the celebrity and you and me
It does not seem that long since i was in my life's prime
But between now and then many Seasons  of time.

A Happy Old Man

It has been awhile since his hair was dark brown
The wrinkled old bloke from the far away town
Five times a grandfather divorced by his wife
But he feels quite happy in his single life

She gave him an ultimatum it was her or the booze
His  saturday evenings with his  mates at the pub he did choose
No better than him for to belt out a song
He always does lead in the pub sing along

Since she left him in his life he feels  happy and well
He says he pities her new husband she will give him hell
He says  the day she walked out on me happiness in my life began
One can say of him he's a happy old man

For one who has drunk heaps of grog he has never been in a fight
The life of the pub on a saturday night
In his  seventy ninth year he drinks alcohol and cigarettes smoke
And he is a man who can laugh at a joke.

The Call Of The Whipbird

In the gully in the high woodland where rank scrub abound
In the quiet of the morning their  loud whip like cracking calls resound
With cuck on head and  white cheek patches and mostly dark green
Birds  quite often heard though not that often seen
The birds known as eastern whipbirds by name
Their whip like cracking calls is their great claim to fame
In his breeding season the lyrebird include the songs of his neighbour birds in his song all day till evening late
The song of the whipbird is one he does imitate
How nice in the high woodland in the prime of  the Spring
When every wildborn bird chirp, whistle and sing
The whip cracking like call of the whipbird echoes loud and clear
Him you may not see though to you he is  near
In the high wood in the gully in the scrub from view hidden away
His loud whip cracking like calls can be heard every day.

Your Worth As A Writer

Your worth as a  writer you sometimes do doubt
Though never shortage of things for you to write about
The sun out and shining it is a nice day
And the  birds chirp and sing in the park by the bay
Of Nature a story or poem you can write
For others to read and enjoy and recite
Nature's beauty all around you to hear and to see
The song of the magpie the call of the pee wee
In the sunny blue sky just a few clouds of  gray
Earthly Utopia from where you are not too far away
Of Nature's great beaauty to write of you feel inspired
And of singing her praises you never feel tired
Such beautiful weather near twenty degrees
And warmth in the sunshine and warmth in the breeze.

He Only Grows Older And Gray

I know of this arrogant judgemental fellow in his brain a screw slightly loose
In public he called me  an ordinary poetaster just another literary goose
I did find his words quite insulting but to his kind ignorance is bliss
His type to put down other people the opportunity never do miss
He is not the type i would chat to in the pub with a beer or a wine
And what he thinks and says of me is his business and his business cannot be mine
There are all sorts in the human family of that i am only all too aware
Yet it does seem a bit sad for  to think that his kind of person not rare
There is not one  harsher critic of me  as a rhymer than me
Yet what i think of  self is my business at least that's how it ought to be
Some people do lack in discretion and to insult seem all too inclined
In their putting down of other people some warped form of enjoyment they do find
He tells others what i know of myself no fool like an old fool they say
Some people as they age grow wiser he  only grows older and gray.

Nature's Own Weather Forecasters

I do not need to switch on the radio the weather forecast for to hear
When i hear the currawongs singing i know heavy rainfall is near
They are  Nature's own weather forecasters the dark crow sized birds pied currawong
As forecasters of storms and heavy rain they never seem to get it wrong

A beautiful day of warm sunshine and not one gray cloud in the blue sky
But a small flock of currawong singing on the tall gums  and wattles nearby
They sense a quick change  in the weather the birds  who have rain in their song
Tomorrow a day for hat, umbrella and rain coat when they sing karrawong karrawong

The day it is warm and sunny with only the slightest of breeze
But the dark birds ill famed as  nest robbers are singing on the higher trees
You can bet tomorrow will be raining since prior to rain the pied currawong sing
To sense rain it is in their nature and nature's an amazing thing

When you hear the pied currawong singing you know rain is not far away
You know  that it will rain tomorrow if not tonight or later today
Their forecasting of  rain a wonder of  nature and nature's  wonders are not few
I write  of what is known to many and that is not anything new.

Say Nothing At All

If you only have negative things of one to say
It might be best if you keep your tongue at bay
Many who do lack in wisdom of mind
To judge without thinking seem far too inclined
'Tis easy in words for to run others down
And demonize them as the crims of the town
The words judge and thou shalt be judged to you too does apply
And in your words if  the right to a fair go one you do deny
Some negative Karma for yourself you do sow
That what goes  around comes around you ought to know
Judgemental people as you are  i don't look forward to meet
But there are others like you who do live on your street
The words of a wise one may do you well to recall
If you do not have nice things to say of one say nothing at all.

A Natural Thing

To want to be liked is a natural thing
It makes us happy when others our praises do sing
But most people sensitive  to criticism or so 'twould appear
Nice things said about them they only wish to hear
You may have many admirers though not everyone is on your side
And put down words can leave one with a wounded sense of pride
But the words of a wise one i often recall
That you well may win many but you won't win them all
Hurt feelings can leave one feeling down as most would  agree
And 'tis nice to be liked that's how  it seems to be
But why allow those who try to deride you for to get you down
Who wants to be known as the sad sack of  the town
That most people like to be liked does remain ever true
And you feel happy when others say nice things of  you.

In Birdsland Today

The high paddocks of South Belgrave are looking green
As healthy looking as they ever have been
The  currawong calling rain not far away
And the magpies are singing in Birdsland today

The overcast sky it is looking quite gray
We've  not had much sunshine since the end of May
The dark welcome swallows near to the grass fly
Still the weather is pleasant enough for July

The weather forecast tells of  more heavy rain
And brown stormwater flowing in every drain
Yet the weather not cold it is fifteen degrees
And the voice of the pee wee carrying in the breeze

Mid Winter in the  south is a green time of year
And with each passing day the  calendar Spring near
Not cold for  the Season 'twould seem fair to say
And the magpies are singing in Birdsland today.

Like Every Yesterday

I am from the place of  the brown mountain hare
And the badger a creature whose type are now rare
And  the dunnock a small mottled brown bird who frequents the hedgerow
And the rook and the jackdaw and silver back crow
But the place of my young years from here far away
And there i might well be a stranger today
But in my flights of fancy i can hear the rill
Babbling to the river down the field by the hill
The old fields i loved they would still look the  same
Many of them i recall had their own given name
To wherever you go to the past follows  you
This something i believe in and  hold to be true
And the now is all that matters as some like to say
And the past it has gone like every yesterday.

Old Mick Connie O

He had great stories old  Mick Connie O
Of the civil war days in Ireland  long ago
And he was a brave rebel who fought the Black and Tan
In his better days when he was a young man

From hunting and house hauntings and miracles at Tubrid Well
He had many yarns and stories to tell
His type of person everyday one does not meet
As a storyteller he was the best of Millstreet

Of living and life so much he did know
His marvellous stories in numbers did grow
I knew him as an aged pipe smoking man
When he was in the twilight years of his life span

One who never yearned for wealth and renown
Seems a shame his stories in book form were never written down
An old legend  of Millstreet from decades ago
The marvellous old Character Mick Connie O.

Kiwi Joe

Though his  wife and children are Aussies  Joe  is quite proud
To tell you he is from the  Land  Of  The Long White Cloud
When New Zealand  in rugby or soccer or cricket does play
A win for the Kiwis helps to make his day

A hard working fellow who earns his every pay
I do love Australia you will hear him say
But in Christchurch i first looked on the light of  day
And as a New Zealander at heart i will stay

A man in his  mid forties the eldest of his two daughters is eighteen
On Summer evenings out walking in the town park he and  his wife  i have seen
And  sometimes i see them walking on the street
A nice and friendly couple and pleasant to meet

To all who know of him he is  known as Kiwi Joe
And one can say of him he does  not have a foe
Still loyal to New Zealand though in Australia he has lived most of his life
He has two lovely Aussie daughters and a lovely Aussie wife.

I Am What I Am

 I am what i am not not what i am you think you see
Even sometimes i feel i'm a stranger to me
My acquaintancs many my friends are so few
And every day from life i do learn something new
As a schoolboy i was known as a  lesser light
It would be true to say that i was not bright
But the bright boys of the classroom now showing time's decay
Like me they now have  seen a far better day
In my younger years i aspired to be a poet
One who would  be seen as worthy of literary note
But my hopes for myself in life did  not come true
Suppose life only gives to us what is our due
I am what i am that is all i can be
And sometimes i feel i'm a stranger to me.

The Old Glasheen Rill

Through green Inchaleigh with tongue that's never still
It flows to the Finnow the old Glaseen Rill
The tiny waterway honoured in story and rhyme
Has babbled it's way through the centuries of time
Above the old fields in the sunny sky
The dark barn swallows do chirp as they fly
And the rooks sounding hoarse as if their throats were dry
In far away fields in the prime of July
And the lanky gray heron with dagger like bill
Is stalking the elvers in the Glasheen Rill
And robin is singing on leafy birch tree
In my flights of fancy such beauty i see
And in the gathering twilight the  soft lowing of a cow
Where the  old Glasheen Rill babbles to the Finnow.

A Few Things In Common

A few things in common all people do share
That goes for the pauper and the billionaire
The poor of the World can say life's unfair
But we are all born to die and we breathe the same air

Though even amongst human kind no such a thing as equality
In some respects all other life forms in ways equal to me
In that they too are born into life for to die
I speak here of fact and fact never lie

In the Human World money speaks every language as some like to say
This never more relevant than in the World of today
But from the Reaper of lives you cannot buy eternal life with money and  gold
The one who claims the lives of the wealthy and poor and the young and the old

The praises of money many like to  sing
And though it can buy one a lot it cannot buy everything
It cannot buy the one who on all lives has the final say
Since everybody is born for to die one day.

Lost At Sea

The coastal guards searched the ocean for miles around
But by them no trace of him was found
His wife and  son and daughter then of five and three
Him were never more to see

The long distance  swimmer never more
Will swim miles out of the ocean shore
Perhaps swallowed by a giant wave
His is a deep watery grave

Twenty eight in his life's prime
When he swam for the last time
For everyone there's a last tea
Just like the brave one lost at sea

To the beach he did not swim back
Some say maybe a victim of a shark attack
Though most say he drowned in a huge wave
In his case fortune did not favour the brave

Four years ago his  wife and children last see him
When he went for his last swim
She is now another fellow's wife
This is how it is with life.

In Love As In Life

In love as in life all is not always fair
And  the ache of lost love does take time to repair
The one you love  in your life may not choose to stay
Love does have it's sorrows  it does seem this way
The ways of  love  have not changed for centuries of years
It can bring great happiness as well as heartache and tears
When tender feelings  are hurt sorrow is  your gain
And they take time to heal the scars of mental pain
The one you love may not be in love with you
For another his or  her feelings may be more true
In love as in life it is always this way
You win some and lose some as some like to say
But in years from now in hindsight you will recall
That time is the greatest healer of them all.

'Tis Said We Do Learn

'Tis said we do learn from life every day
But some men don't grow wiser they grow old and gray
But then wisdom never grows on the bushes and trees
Nor can one acquire it through uni degrees
But ignorance is bliss it does seem this way
And no fool like an old  fool as some like to say
War started by ageing men for young men to fight in and die
That age does bring with it wisdom is surely a lie
Though the praises of heroes of battles many love to sing
The human lust for power is an addictive  thing
It is leaders desperate to cling to power create us against they
By sending their troops into battle in war zones far away
We do learn as we live as some do like to say
But some never learn they just grow  old and gray.

Mt Napier

It was from a great artist Mt Napier got it's  name
But thousands of  centuries before him great rivers of flame
Flowed down it's brown face leaving rocks here and there
For miles around in the flat countryside everywhere
Australia's first people must have looked on in awe
In fear and amazement at the wonder they saw
They must have felt their  gods were angry with them for displaying such ire
To see the hills coughing up rivers of fire
The long dormant volcanic hills of the Southern Grampians Shire
Poets, storytellers and artists never cease to inspire
To South West Victoria the Seasons have come and the Seasons have gone
But the legends of Mt Eccles, Mt Rouse and Mt Napier live on
Today volcanic stones and  rocks from past volcanic eruptions in numbers abound
From the hill of Mt Napier for many miles around.

The Tag One Of Our Own

It is nice to live as one to so few known
Where none does say of  you one of our own
Where you are a stranger on every street
And mostly strangers you only do meet

The tag one of our own is a tribal tag
He or she one of our group we salute the same flag
The parochial and patriotic tribalism embrace
Such groupings are plentiful in every race

So lucky are those who think with their own mind
Who some  form of happiness in their own individuality find
Who the praises of flag or Country never do sing
They live in their own way and do their own thing

The  saying one of our own it is used Worldwide
By people imbued with parochial pride
A tag years ago that did apply to me
But now i am happy to be a who is he?

Mother Nature By Name

Her wonders are many her secrets not few
But every day of her i learn something new
Her wildborn creatures i hear and i see
And her beauty is everywhere all around me
The food that we live on for us  she does grow
The only god i can claim of for to know
Her presence  it is everywhere Worldwide
And true greatness of her it cannot be denied
Us humans we depend on her for to live
But we take and take from her and in return to her nothing give
In reality the World's only Superpower
The one who can create a beautiful flower
To be the World's only immortal one of her claims to fame
Who else but the Goddess Supreme Mother Nature by name.

The Economy Is Strong

The economy is strong still jobs seem so few
And the  rich getting richer this is nothing new
And though the economy is good the homeless and unemployed do not care
Since of any improvement on their standard of living they are not aware
'Tis an insult to their intelligence to tell them that many are doing  financially quite well
When they only know of life  in an Earthly Hell
Of a booming economy they do not wish to hear
When they are experiencing another terrible year
Out of work and homeless on Poverty Street
It is not for  wealth or fame  they will ever compete
The only form of  success for which they do strive
Is in their harsh environment for to survive
Of the Nation's booming economy you better not tell
To those who are living in their Earthly Hell.

Why Should I Even Care

Though i never was what one would call an athlete
Nowadays i am even slower on my feet
Yes even far slower than i was a decade ago
But time eventually becomes everyone's foe

Perhaps 'tis not by Cashman's Hill my last remains  will lay
But that is not a worry to me anyway
All i ask from life is a painless release
The lifeless body anywhere does rest in peace

I am close to four decades past my life's prime
And my ageing body is  feeling the wear of time
In the Autumn of my life my best years long gone
But i enjoy living and i want to live on

For as long as i can live since i know  i must die
Since immortality for human kind is surely a lie
The great gift of life the greatest gift of all
We've been learning from it before we've learned how to crawl

When the heart that beats in me by death rendered still
I may not be laid to rest by Cashman's old hill
But since post death of  feelings one is not aware
Where my remains rest why should i even care.

I Might Be A Stranger Now

I might be a  stranger now in that far place
Where mine years ago was a familiar face
But the old  fields i loved to me would look the same
I even recall them by their given name
Where i grew to love  Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways i still do enjoy
And my wonder of her never ceases to grow
And the more i learn of  her the less about her i know i do know
I am from the place of  the  silver back crow
And dark brown water bird dipper with breast white as snow
But it has been many Summers since i've seen the swallows fly
Above the old fields in the prime of July
And i might be a  stranger now where i was well known
Where many looked  on me as one of their own.

Addicted

Addicted to penning of  doggerel rhyme
To many that does  seem a  huge waste of time
But what others think of me no business of mine
They have  their opinions and that suits me fine
That i do enjoy rhyming why otherwise pretend
And i will be  a rhymer till my life's journey's end
I penned my first rhymes in nineteen seventy three
And a love of rhyme has made a rhymer of me
Thirty eight years  of rhyming my best years long gone
But for as  long as i can i will keep rhyming on
Not everyone who writes can be a playwright or novelist or poet
And only the few know of literary note
But i hope to be rhyming till the day i do die
If i said otherwise i'd be telling a lie.

Another Bad Day

No such a thing for you as an easy pay
And for you at work it has been another bad day
Your boss is a hard one  for to satisfy
The term of  unreasonable to his  sort does apply

You would like to tell him what to do with his job
But in doing so 'tis only yourself and your wife and two young children you would rob
Of a livable income where jobs are so rare
You may not get another job start in this town of that you are aware

You wake at five thirty every working day
And cycle to the work yard some three miles  away
Such are the sacrifices one must make in life
For love of his children and love of  his wife

If job starts locally were plentiful to your boss you would say
Here's my written week's notice in your employment i will not stay
But job vacancies are few and  many are unemployed
And  some you know cannot find a job though they've searched far and wide.

All I Can Be

The wanderlust has made a migrant of me
Yet a Claraghatlea fellow is all i can be
In view of old Clara west of Millstreet Town
Where i used to live  when my hair was dark brown
Sometimes in flights of fancy i can hear the rill
From the high Claramore fields babbling on downhill
On to the big river it ever does flow
Through old fields where the rushes in clusters do grow
Where i used to daydream that i would be a poet
A fellow seen as worthy of literary note
And though i am one who has penned many pages of stuff
The best that i can be is a rhyming buff
Where i was born and raised few would now know of me
Yet a  Claraghatlea fellow is all i can be.

A Marvellous Thing

I have lived for sixty five years in time quite a span
And if living in ten years from now i will be an old man
And  though i have lost all of the youthful elan
I want to live on for as long as  i can

Live  since death it is forever and though my best days long gone
For as long as i can live i will try to live on
Since any of the deceased have not come back to tell
Us of a  life after Earthly death or of a heaven or a hell

Of the praises of a noble death the balladeer may sing
But the great gift of life is a marvellous thing
The reaper of lives claims the  old and the young
But the dead never hear when their praises are sung

The Goddess of Nature the only god of which i do know
And my wonderment of her only seems to grow
And i hope to live for as long as i can since my soul may not fly
To god's supposed heavenly kingdom somewhere beyond the sky.

I Am One Of Those

I am one of those who on karma believe
The fruits of what we sow will be ours to receive
What wrongs we do to others to karma we must pay
What goes around comes around some like to say
The people who perform some good deed every day
And to help those in need of helping go out of their way
And  to their higher selves and humanity remain ever true
Such people good karma in abundance are due
If the dishonest pathway we choose to pursue
Our wrongs of the past we will live for to rue
To come by money you may have done others ill
But if the law does not catch up with you karma surely will
The karma we sow we will receive one day
At least that's how  it seems to me anyway.

That Is How It Ought To Be

Many believe in a heaven somewhere in the sky
Where when they draw their last breath their soul to will fly
To the Kingdom of God  way beyond the stars
Way beyond the Planets of Venus and Mars

Though since to an invisible god i am not one who pray
Of the existence of such a place is not for me to say
But each to their own belief is how it seems to me
At least anyway that is how it ought to be

'Tis only the praises of Nature that i choose to sing
And of her four Seasons Summer, Autumn,Winter and Spring
Her beauty is visible and easy to see
Everywhere i turn to look it is all around me

I respect them for their faith those who believe in the unknown
But like  as is said to each their own
And whether i am buried or my last remains to ashes will burn
My Goddess is Nature and  to her i will return.

Not Always Fair

For some form of success in life many do strive
But for others the battle is just to survive
And many define what success is in ways differently
At least anyway that's how it seems to be
But in a Human World where the gap between the haves and the have nots grows wider by the day
Far too many doing it tough it does seem this way
And in a World of many a homeless person and many a refugee
Far too man are experiencing extreme poverty
And far too many are obliged for to sleep rough at night
Yes for far too many life is a hard uphill fight
Though well meaning those who say everyone are  equal have got it wrong would you not agree
Lack of money is one of the main causes of inequality
So many are  poorer for every new millionaire
Yes everything in life is not always fair.

Where There Are Not Many Trees And Bushes

Where there are not many trees and bushes not many birds and animals you will see
For wild creatures for to shelter in need every bush and tree
That wildlife numbers are being decimated by habitat destruction all around the World today
Is a poor reflection on human kind it does seem sad to say
With other life forms us human kind this  Planet are meant to share
But due to our destruction of their habitat many wild creatures are becoming rare
And more species of fish, insects, birds and  animals becoming endangered every day
And much of this due to human greed does seem sad to have to say
In a World of a greatly increasing human population many wildlife species on the endangered list
Without their  trees and bushes many creatures cannot exist
We push creatures nearer to extinction when we deprive them of a living place
The un-necessary removal of trees is a human disgrace
From Mother Earth who feeds us  we take and in return little give
And the creatures we share the Planet with we deny the right to live.

That For A Minority To Win

That for a minority to win many destined to lose life ought not be this way
In a Human World where Loser is an often used put down word of the day
Where only the winners do stand proud and tall
And no such a thing as a fair go for  all
Where losers are many and winners are few
You may say to that tell us  what is new
For every millionare many in poverty
In a fair Human World this never would be
'Tis somethng way beyond me to even try for to explain
How somebody's loss can be someone else's gain
Some do talk of life choices  but would you not agree
That only a saint would embrace Earthly poverty
And saints as we know in this World are rare
Where so many are  poor  for every millionaire.
                                                                                                   

In A Hundred Years From Now

In a  hundred years from now stars will shine in the night sky
And the migratory birds to breed from south to the northern Spring will fly
And i will be long dead one more forgotten name
And life on Planet Earth will go on as the same
In retrospect it does not seem that long ago since i was a  young lad
But only the memories i retain of the  happy times i've had
Where into manhod i did grow north of here and far away
Though to many i would be a stranger there today
A stranger to many in Claraghatlea in view of Clara Hill
Though in fancy i can hear the babble of the rill
In the fields of Claraghatlea from it's source in Claramore
To the bigger waterways to the Atlantic Shore
In a hundred years from now the living breath from me will be long gone
But the stars will shine in the night sky and life as usual will go on.

On Barn Owls

Barn owls i've  never seen in light of day
They are  known to be nocturnal birds of prey
Renowned for keeping rodent populations at bay
In dark corners to roost they hide away
Mottled brown uppers and unders gray to white
I have seen them in motor car headlights at night
Flying low across roadway graceful in flight
One might say indeed quite a beautiful sight
Whilst hunting the barn owls fly close to the  ground
On silent wings  with the keenest of hearing they detect the slightest sound
They even can hear a tiny mouse in the grass
And on the chance of such a tasty meal they never do pass
A long drawn out eerie screech the only sound they do make
And they fly to their dark roosting hide at daybreak.

The Stay At home Fellow

With a young primary going son and daughter and a devoted wife
The stay at home fellow is content in his life
A family man content in his job one who loves his hometown
And one who never does yearn for worldly renown
He has never yearned for to travel elsewhere
For to try out his luck in the  big World out there
On the street he was born in he will grow old and gray
And in the local cemetery his last remains will lay
On saturday he plays football with the local football club
And on sunday he has a few beers with his  mates in the pub
Content to live and work where he is loved and known
Where he is referred to as one of  our own
One who has never yearned to travel to lands far away
At home he feels happy and there he will stay.

Your Past Follows You

You may travel to  Tokyo or Kathmandu
But wherever you go to your past follows you
You may live in Paris or London or New York or Rome
Your past it will follow you to your new home

The past may be gone but the memories of it with you remain
And in your flights of fancy you visit again
The place where you lived as a girl or a boy
Fond memories of what was are your's to enjoy

Yes the memories live in you of what used to be
In that sense you are not any different to me
The mental images of the faces we knew young in our minds stay
As if we had seen them only yesterday

You may live in Sydney or Melbourne, Christchurch or Adelaide
But the memories in you do refuse for  to fade
Of the faces and places you loved and you knew
Before the lust of wander took you to places new.

It Does Seem Sad To Say

Suppose from life we receive what is  only our due
And that self praise is no praise i hold to be true
But nowadays those not into self promotion in life may not succeed
Human values have changed very much so indeed
Than when i was a teenager a decade short of my prime
In retrospect going back half of a century in time
When those into self promotion were those others tried to drag down
They never became the  best loved in the town
But self promotion does seem the  in thing of today
If you do not praise self as an unknown you will stay
The fact does remain and fact never lie
That we live in the age  of the me, myself and i
And it does seem sad to say so very sad indeed
That the humble are those who in life don't succeed.

Anyone Can Pen Rhyme

It is true what is  said anyone can pen rhyme
But the works of the true  poets do live on in time
And the twenty first century litrerary critics the praises of the modern poets sing
It does seem that blank verse is  now the in thing
And though everyone needed in the wordsmith trade
It is true about poets  they are born not made
True poets like true playwrights and true novelists with words  have a way
They were born to be writers to know of wealth and fame one day
Back in the mid fifties when i was a boy
Reading the poems of  the rhyme poets i used  to enjoy
But rhyme nowadays does seem a thing of the past
Suppose in life few things are born for to last
And though in it for me no fame or financial gain
The rhyming addiction with me does remain.

On Muhammad Ali

The greatest boxer that ever lived many venture to say
But a mere shaadow of the man he used to be today
Time's clock on the life ever ticking away
On the great Muhamad Ali born as Cassius Clay
The  boxer never found to be wanting when put to the test
He beat Liston and Frazier and Foreman when he was at his best
But near to four decades beyond his glorious prime
The great Muhammad Ali is running out of time
Yet some of the great wit with him does remain
And to his last night and day that he will retain
From Louisville in Kentucky one who came up the hard way
A legend in his prime and  a legend today
Famed and known worldwide in every village, city and town
Like 'tis  said one cannot keep a good one down.

A Long Way South Of Near Clara

A long way south of Near Clara Mountain where i grew to a man from a boy
In this great far southern Country i have lived in Ballarat and Clifton Hill in Fitzroy
And in Mt Evelyn not far from Healesville where at dawn the kookaburra laugh and the currawong call as they fly
And in Belgrave in the Yarra Ranges where the tall gums  seem to touch the  sky
I have ventured far south of Claraghatlea and the high green fields of Claramore
And i've lived for awhile in South Gippsland in Wonthaggi close to the sea shore
I may have  little to show for my travels and many others have seen more than me
But i feel happy in my existence in the home  of the  magpie and pee wee
I have lived in Penshurst in the Southern Grampians in a rented and very old house
In the stony volcanic country in view of historic Mt Rouse
And i've lived in Warrnambool City not far from where the Merri and  saltwater meet
In a basement flat of a historic old building at the top end of Kepler Street
And now i live in Koroit in the Moyne Shire though here i may not live  my last day
Far south of  the hill known as Clara and old  fields i knew far away.

The Only Way

The only way i can make the Human World better is for me to live as a good man
And anyone in need of helping for to help them out if i can
To never pass judgement on others and in words never put anyone down
And not be living for self interest only though plenty of such a type in every town
I have traveled far south of my birthplace i have seen many Seasons come and go
I'm at the twilight of my existence and time is becoming my foe
In me heaps of room for improvement to one's own self one can only be true
We sow the seeds of our own karma and the karma we receive is our due
Help those in need of help if you can do so since in life we must give to receive
For living a good life a passed down philosophy and on such  i am one who believe
Some people they take and keep taking 'tis only for self they do live
For that they do seem all the  poorer since they do not know how to give
I can make the Human World better to live in by doing a good deed every day
And by helping those in need of helping without looking for reward or pay.

Ignorance As Is Said Can Be Bliss

Some  religious people and the government advise my kind on how to live though to them i am not even known
I wonder does it occur to them that i have a life of my own?
What they think of me is their business and their business cannot be mine
Without their advice and criticisms i am sure i could get along fine
Religious zealots and government bureaucracies cannot embrace difference and that does seem a sad thing to say
All atheists by them seen as inferior the same goes for people who are gay
Many politicians and religious people share things in common they go to their church on sunday
But many of them seem far from broadminded to be non judgemental is not their way
They believe on a fair go for their own kind but not on a fair go for all
They may feel that to those different to them they are superior but in their thinking they are small
No doubt there are some good  people amongst them but the judgemental amongst them the point seem to miss
That those who pass judgement on others are ignorant and ignorance as is said can be bliss
Here's to a fair go for all people of none that we ought to begrudge
And down with all ignorant people who believe they have the right for to judge.

Since I Left Claraghatlea

Since i left Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
I've traveled through many a countryside flat, wide and brown
But for  my years i've  little to show in financial gain
And only the memories with me do remain

Of old Clara  cloaked in the gray fogs of rain
And faces and places i will not see again
And though nostalgia in me has died the memory i retain
In early Spring of the breeding frogs croaking in the water filled drain

I penned my first rhymes of old fields far away
But far south of them i am growing old and gray
I realize now i will never be a poet
Or even one worthy of minor literary note

Where the flute of the magpie does herald the day
The pee wee does sing in the park by the bay
And clusters of yellow flowers on the golden wattle  tree
Even in Winter there is great natural beauty in this Southern Country

And though memories of  what was till death i'll retain
Perhaps i will never see Clara again
Or hear the dipper sing in the ever flowing rill
That babbles to the river down the field by the hill.

He Suffers From The Small Fellow Complex

He walks around in a swagger as if he were broad shouldered and tall
Though he does seem far from a  giant to look at he is  physically small
He has what is known as the  small fellow complex one who is too big for his shoes
He is always looking for trouble after drinking a few cans of booze
The alcohol makes him feel angry it does not seem to suit him at all
His face worse for wear for his agro he has yet to win out in a brawl
Yet from past mistakes he has  not learned to learn some seem a  bit slow
For his involvement in brawling he does have the scars for to show
When sober he is far more tolerant though about him he has a cocky way
Alcohol for him does seem a no no apart from that he is  okay
The alcohol stirs in him the hidden agro what's inside sober comes out drunk they say
For every brawl he has been involved in his price in scars he's had to pay
He suffers from the small fellow complex there is  one like him on every street
He has lost every brawl he has been in he is far too slow with his hands and his feet.

Lottie Bowman

Thanks to Robert Vanderhope and  Marianne his good wife
I was introduced to a woman who has known one hundred and two years of life
A beautiful person Lottie Bowman her name
Her great age alone is a just claim to fame

For one who has lived two years with a century
Her memory intact seems amazing to me
She could go way back to her grandparents time
To many years before she  reached her life's prime

So clear in her mind and a lady complete
The oldest person i've been privileged to meet
One hundred and two years of age and still going strong
To a rare group of  people Lottie Bowman belong

Perhaps the oldest person in the City of Warrnambool
It has been many decades since Lottie went to school
Till the day i will die memories of her i will retain
I may never meet a person of one hundred and two years again

Meeting one like her would  make anyone's day
She is quite amazing is all i can say
She has lived through two World wars and tough times did see
And she will still be around at one hundred and  three.

Good Day

You say hello to him he bids you good day
But that's all he ever seems to have to say
Good Day is the nickname that he is known by
For to engage in a conversation he seems a bit shy
In his early twenties  he is not well known
And everywhere one does  see him he is on his own
As a talker he will never know of local renown
And he will never become the windbag of the town
Not interested in sports he does not play football
Save for work and watching t v little else seems to interest him at all
He never bad mouths anybody or anybody's praises does sing
He lives on his  own and he does his own thing
To him all are equal and he treats all as the same
He only says Good Day and that is his nickname.

From Life We Do Learn

From life we do learn something new every day
We never stop learning as some like to say
And from others we learn something we never knew
Yes everyday we live we learn something new
Not every old  person you know  is a sage
Some young people have wisdom way beyond their age
I know many younger people far wiser than me
Of that age does  bring with it wisdom there is no guarantee
Few lessons in life  ever come to us for free
At least anyhow that's how it seems to be
Though for our every mistake there is some price  to pay
We learn as we live as some  do like to say
That from living we do learn does seem so true
And  from life we receive what is only our due.

He Used To Be A Shearer

He used to be a shearer when in his life's prime
And  nowadays he's a scribbler of  uneven rhyme
Yet his rhymes are quite musical and enjoyable to read
Of many more of his kind the literary World is  in need
His kind the literary critics dismiss as a non poet
In their opinions rhymers are unworthy of literary note
But in the local pub on a saturday night
His poetry reading hour is always a highlight
He is one the pub patrons  never under-rate
To them their poetic hero is a literary great
In his early seventies time is becoming his foe
He was shearing sheep up to six years ago
A poetic hero in his side of the town
He is enjoying his status of local literary renown.

On The Warrnambool Train

The old bloke half drunk on the Warrnambool train obviously barracks for Geelong
For  he wore their club colors and he sung their club song
Though the previous evening they lost to Sydney at Sydney that did not seem to bother him at all
To him his favorite team are the kings of football
He sung the club song between puffs on a smoke
A young woman seated beside me said the silly old bloke
For one of  his years he's not a rock of sense
But credit him when it comes to his feelings he does not sit on the fence
Football barrackers to me may seem addictive but to give them their due
To the colors of their club they remain ever true
Though the A F L footballers of  Sydney Geelong did outscore
He sang the club anthem some younger passengers asked for an encore
The applause echoed for him in the carriage for to sing it again
The happy old character on the Warrnambool train.

On Patience

Patience is a wonderful gift though i am not one of that kind
For every patient he or she some fifty impatient you will find
All things come to those who do wait a saying that is based on truth
And in those blessed with patience it does seem you will find the gift of ruth
People with patience so lucky you never see them irate
They never seem to get cranky all things  come to those who do wait
Patient people are quite relaxed under pressure they do remain cool
Unlike one like me under pressure running around like a fool
If everybody were patient there would be World harmony
People would not rush to battle less inclined to disagree
I wish that i could be patient the patient have presence of mind
Those who are blessed with such a gift to fight with others uninclined
Patience is a virtue a gift granted to few
On saying the patient are good people i am not saying what is  new

When Somebody's Loss

The big doubt on human values does remain
When somebody's loss is another one's gain
The wealthy minority the judgemental see as a success
Whilst the  haves nots are those who do fail to impress
Of the people who social rank like to promote
Of your  material assets and money they like to take  note
Of the spirit of the fair go and  human equality
These people do make a complete mockery
The one true egalatarian the Reaper does not discriminate
Betwen the pauper and the billionaire he does not differentiate
Yet he is the one most do fear and hate
The Reaper of lives none ever celebrate
When somebody's loss is another one's gain
That's something that's way beyond me to explain.

In The Sliabh Luachra Of Today

Where poets and musicians and storytellers in numbers did abound
Of their kind in the Sliabh Luachra of today not many to be found
The long dead migrants of Caherbarnagh and the Paps countryside
Took their stories and poetry and music with them Worldwide
The past it has gone and old memories in decay
And time has brought change to the Sliabh Luachra  of today
Less poets and storytellers and musicians that's how it seems to be
In the Sliabh Luachra of the twenty first century
An old mountain countryside with a great cultural past
But few things in life ever do seem to last
Sliabh Luachra it did have it's glorious cultural time
But the World has changed much since the passing of rhyme
Poets, Storytellers and Musicians are rare in the Sliabh Luachra of today
The changes keep happening it does seem this way.