I Do Not Feel Like

I do not feel like praising your culture since what your culture stands for me does not impress
They judge people by the suburb they live in as well as their postal address
Those who believe in a different god to them they do not see as equal though each to their own one must say
Those who do not respect me for my beliefs respect to them i cannot pay
In many of your ways of thinking you do seem as one who is small
You believe on a fair go for your own sort but not on a fair go for all
You claim that you are a good person that to your god you live true
But you look on those as inferior of a different religion to you
You say this is part of your culture that you are of superior kind
Arrogance and ignorance does seem to thrive in the closed to light mind
Yes with the saying of ignorance can be bliss one surely does have to agree
What do i have to like in the person who feels superior to me?
To the ways of your culture you are one who does remain ever true
But your quite narrow in your ways of thinking does not make for a likeable you.

Tim Joe Dennehy

Those who knew Tim Joe Dennehy do fondly recall
That as a young man for Millstreet he played Gaelic Football
It is so sad to learn that the farewell bell has tolled
For the once dashing forward of the green and gold

In Murphy's Terrace in Millstreet he grew into a man
But his life journey ended many kilometers from where it began
In Knockraha where he lived with his family and wife
The amiable Tim Joe lived out his life

In his late sixties when he passed away
But on how long we live we do not have a say
A painful terminal illness on his once strong and healthy body told
Suppose he was one not meant to live to die old

On long gone Summer Sundays when Nature was in bloom
In the football parks of Coachford and Macroom
For the dashing forward Tim Joe Dennehy the cheering was loud
Always a favorite of the Millstreet fans in the crowd

An amiable person well liked and well known
One can say of Tim Joe he was in a class of his own
His suffering behind him and in truth one can say
For all of us there will be a last night and day.

On Badgers

Creatures during the hours of daylight one seldom does see
It is said about badgers that they are carriers of T B
That they spread to cattle though others do say
That it is cattle infect badgers and not the other way
Down the centuries of time at the hands of men and their dogs badgers have suffered their share
An example of this is Badger a great poem by John Clare
About a badger who was beaten with sticks by people and savaged by their dogs and died in a painful way
And sadly poor badgers are suffering and dying at the hands of cruel men every day
I have been learning about Nature's creatures since i was a young boy
And reading poems and stories about badgers today i enjoy
Badgers sleep by day in their sett in the ground
They are mostly creatures of the night and in large numbers never abound
It is said by some that they infect cattle with T B
Though others with this do strongly disagree.

The Best They Can Be

Those who live to be the best that they can be
And speak for the rights of the homeless and the refugee
From the impressionable masses any praise may not win
But they are making the World a Better World to live in
Those who live successful lives for others do care
They believe on give to receive and with others are willing to share
Always willing to help those of helping in need
For their future good Karma every day they plant the seed
The size of your home or your swimming pool or car
Does not say anything of the person you are
That you must think of your own need is surely not a lie
But there is more to living of life than living for me, myself and i
The way you treat others says more about you
Than your material things could ever hope for to do.

Like All Other Life Forms

Like all other life forms we are born to die
This applies to the earth worm as well as you and i
On how long we live we do not have a say
The Reaper of lives claims more lives every day
The years go by quickly fleeting our lives prime
Eventually we all become victims of time
The one who claims the lives of the president, the monarch and the billionaire
The Reaper of lives any life does not spare
Whatever you achieve in life death is only your due
That it is the great equalizer happens to be true
We are only mere mortals why otherwise pretend
The life journey we are on for us all comes to an end
In some place or time and on some night or day
The Reaper of lives will come reaping your way.

Where The Blackwater Flow

The cool winds of September in Duhallow blow
Above the old rushy fields where the Blackwater flow
Where it has flowed forever and will flow forever more
On it's long winding journey towards the Atlantic shore

The old waterway that has flowed in Duhallow through the centuries of time
Has inspired the writers of story and rhyme
Swollen by the waters of many a river and rill
That began it's ocean bound journey by a far away hill

A favorite river for rod and line fishers one of it's claims to fame
The dark colors of it's waters gave rise to it's name
On through north east Cork it babbles on it's way
To the Saltwater near Youghal by night and by day

In view of the Boggeragh Ranges it winds along along slow
In flat lush fields and in rough fields where the rushes in clusters do grow
The cool winds of September from the mountains do blow
Above green Duhallow where the Blackwater flow.

Eddy

For sadness in his life there is not any space
Eddy always has got a big smile on his face
With two lovely primary school going daughters and a beautiful wife
He has cause to feel happy with his lot in life
He may never be among the wealthiest men of the town
And though he is one who knows what it's like to be financially down
He is the happiest and best liked fellow on his street
And as nice a person as one could wish to meet
On Saturday in the pub in the hour of song
With a smile on his face he joins the sing along
One can say of Eddy he has the inner glow
The happy person everyone wishes to know
For sadness in his mind there is not any space
He always does have a big smile on his face.

I Have Not Been In Millstreet

I have not been in Millstreet for close to twenty nine years
And for the what used to be i have shed my last tears
And to many i would be a stranger in Millstreet today
Since the years have left me looking older and gray

On the images on the Millstreet website of Millstreet people i know
Like me the years on their aging faces do show
Some of them with grandchildren in their lives prime
But eventually everyone becomes a victim of time

So many i knew like me live far from Millstreet
And many of them i may never more meet
From the town and countryside in view of Clara where we first saw light of day
On our journeys in life we went on our own way

I am aging far south of where my life's journey began
Claraghatlea where i was raised and grew into a man
Just west of the Duhallow Town of Millstreet
And the old rushy fields where the rivers do meet.

In Ten Years From Now

In ten years from now if living i will be an old man
And very near the end of a long life span
And though i have long lost the energy of youthful elan
I wish to live on for as long as i can
Live for on a life after bodily death i do not believe
For if i did tell you different you i would deceive
No i do not believe on a paradise in the sky
Where good souls post bodily death with wings to does fly
Like every other mortal with every new dawn my last day draws near
My lack of faith perhaps is one reason that death i do fear
I do envy those who have the gift of faith
Who believe that for their devotion to their god Paradise them does await
In ten years from now if living the end of my life's journey for me will be in sight
Since for all of us there is a last day and night.

Kate O' Bree

The best loved person of the east end the widow Kate O' Bree
Of any care or worry she seems totally free
A grandmother in her late seventies lovely to behold
With shoulder length wavy silver hair she does not look as old
As her age she has turned seventy nine
She is one who grows better with age like good wine
Always with a lovely smile on her beautiful face
Without hair dyes or makeup she is aging with grace
Her equal as a person would be hard to find
Always helping the poor she is compassionate and kind
Her husband of fifty years Joe last year passed away
On the loss of her beloved soul mate for Kate a tearful day
One can say of her she has the inner glow
People like Kate O' Bree are a pleasure to know.

We Will Always Have Rhymers

So many things change in the passage of time
But the rhymers they never do run out of rhyme
They keep on rhyming on till their last night and day
And only in death do give rhyming away

Twenty first century literary critics dismiss rhyme as a thing of the past
But then so few things in life ever does seem to last
But those who write rhyme's eulogy have got it all wrong
For rhyme does live on in the words of a song

Fond memories of great rhyming poems to this day i retain
And the love of rhyme with me it will remain
For as long as i live however long this will be
My great love of rhyme has made a rhymer of me

The praises of rhymers literary critics never sing
And nowadays non rhyming poetry seems to be the in thing
And though their glory days in the forever gone
We will always have rhymers and rhyme will live on.

On Steven O' Riordan

A candidate for the next Irish General Election in Cork North West and a political stand out
This young Millstreet man Steven O' Riordan does not leave anyone in doubt
Whom his allegiances are with a fact he does not hide
Society's ignored and marginalized can count on Steven on their side

Few Independent left wing politicians have ever made it to Ireland's Dail
The three seats in Cork North West held by Fine Gael and Fianna Fail
For Steven for to win a seat it would be a huge achievement indeed
Though of more politicians like him every Country is in need

At his speech online at U C C i could only feel impressed
The needs of his less privileged constituents by him passionately addressed
The World better to live in when people like him do succeed
Of change much for the better his kind always sow the seed

In a constituency where people in their political views never change that much at all
Steven's hopes of winning a seat to say the least seems small
But i feel this is a pity and i only hope he beats the odds
As they do need good friends in Cork North West the children of the lesser gods

Where most people vote as their parents did and who advise them from the grave
For to enter politics as a socialist independent one would have to be quite brave
There is more to Steven O' Riordan than an older brother of the World famous Joanne
It surely can be said of him that he is his own man.

In Yangery In September

In latter September near the prime of Spring
The nesting birds of Nature chirp whistle and sing
The sky overcast in low clouds of gray
The sun is not shining in Yangery today

The morning is cool with only a slight breeze
A forecast high for the day of seventeen degrees
On the warmest day the sea breeze keeps the air cool
In Yangery between the Town of Koroit and the City of Warrnambool

The undulating coastal paddocks in Spring look so green
And Nature at her very finest is seen
The Moyne Shire looking so green after recent Spring rain
And the tiny breeding frogs singing in every watery drain

The warbling flute like notes of the magpies melodious and clear
And the distinctive songs of the blackbirds so pleasant to hear
With every new dawning warmer weather draws near
In Yangery in September in a green time of the year.

So Why Worry

You mind your own business and never harm anyone in any way
So why should you worry of what others of you do say
People who find pleasure on verbally putting others down
Are never the most popular people of the town
And since to your higher self you are one who is true
Why worry what a few negative individuals say about you
The self esteem of others they never do raise
Since in their words anyone they never praise
And since of negativity they only do sow the seed
To their unflattering comments on you do not pay any heed
Their sort lack in compassion and common sense
They only find pleasure in causing offense
That you live as a good person happens to be true
So why worry what a few negative people do say about you.

Tower Hill

Gray Kangaroos in Tower Hill in large mobs do abound
The echo of their hopping in the scrub clad ground
Where emu, black wallaby, echidna and koala can be seen every day
To see the native wildlife of Tower Hill people come from places far away

Tower Hill of the Dreamtime sacred home of the Budj Bim
A volcanic valley in a sandstone rim
Where centuries ago red hot rivers of fire
Among the south west's first people awe of their gods did inspire

Where on a still day one can hear the calls of the big dark brown parrots weerloo
The birds known to many as the yellow tailed black cockatoo
In Tower Hill today one can hear the cough of the gray kangaroo
But never the wailing sound of the didgeridoo

In Tower Hill in south west Victoria so much natural beauty for to see
A place with an old oral indigenous history
From Koroit Town only five minutes by car
Where people like to visit from places afar.

Are You One Of Those

At a party where yours was not a well known face
Have you ever felt that you were out of place?
Where in their own small groups friends did socialize
That you were a stranger you did realize
The person at a gathering who to others is not known
Is one who can feel very much on her or his own
But personality in this has a big part to play
Since an outgoing person would never feel this way
Anti social for shyness can be just another name
But then how boring we would be if we all were the same
In social gatherings shy people do struggle for to fit in
And new friendships for them always seem hard to win
Are you one of those who does feel out of place
At a party where yours is not a well known face?

One Must Wonder Why

He goes to his house of worship for to pray
And people do listen to what he has to say
About religion and god and on how people should live
Free advice he is always quite willing to give
But among his fan club you will not find me
With some of his utterances i just could not agree
He does have his fans but him i cannot admire
And of listening to him i quickly seem to tire
Everybody is not equal at least not in his eyes
Yet that so many are like him is not a surprise
A church going community leader but in truth one can say
He is one who is far from perfect in any way
The right to a fair go in his words some he does deny
That some so called religious people not true to the higher self one must wonder why?

Some Say To Me

Some say to me your accent it is quite strong
And to what part of Ireland did you belong
I tell them Duhallow west of Millstreet Town
Where i used to live when my hair was dark brown

The way i speak some struggle to understand
We have our own way of speaking in Ireland
In Ireland from County to County the accent seem to change
We have our own ways in this there is nothing strange

Suppose we would be boring for want of a better name
If all of our accents sounded quite the same
Variety is the spice of life it is this way
And each to their own it does seem true to say

My accent with me till the day i die will stay
Though in where i came from i would be a stranger to many today
A migrant here and a stranger in Millstreet
To many people there that i would meet

Some say to me that i ought to learn for to speak slow
Though they are not my friends and them i do not know
But their problems with my accent i do understand
Since we have our own way of speaking in Ireland.

The Silver Tongued Rill

The silver tongued rill inland from the foothills does flow
In the fields of the rook and the silver backed crow
Ever babbling onward by night and by day
To the river that flows to the sea far away
From it's source a spring well in the high bracken clad ground
Swollen by water from the drains in the fields all around
It flows to the river in a tongue never still
On it's winding journey from the foot of the hill
In the fields on it's way to the river to the ocean shore
It has flowed forever and will flow forever more
The waterway that has inspired story and song
Through the centuries of time it has babbled along
In the fields of the rook and the silver backed crow from the foot of the hill
On it's journey to the river the silver tongued rill.

Joe

Joe feels he is a lucky fellow as lucky as one could wish to be
He says i do not know how it is to be homeless or to live the life of a refugee
With a beautiful wife and two lovely healthy children a boy of nine and a girl of ten
Joe feels he is very lucky one of the luckiest of men
Yet to see the man unhappy always a smile on his face
For self pity or for sadness in his mind there is no space
In the pub he drinks in moderation never goes home drunk to his children and his wife
Such a good husband and father with a happy outlook on life
He is often in the town park on Summer evenings playing catch football with his children Tom and Sue and their mother his wife Ann
As well as being a hard worker and a good person he is also a good family man
One who does not take life very seriously he enjoys a few good laughs every day
He is one who makes friends rather easily since about him he has a nice way
He enjoys a few beers in his local where he is well loved and well known
And one can say of Joe in his early thirties that he is in a class of his own.

He Danced In Dominic Mac's Star Ballroom

He danced in Dominic Mac's Star Ballroom where love stories began
Going back some five decades when he was a young man
In the days of the Beatles, Elvis Presley and Bill Haley's rock n roll
To those years down memory lane in time quite a long stroll

On Thursday night until 1 a m on the morning of Friday
To the sounds of the sixties he did twist, rock, jive and sway
And till the day he does die the good memories with him will stay
Of when in the Star Ballroom with the young nubile females of Cork and Kerry he danced his cares away

Of the Star Ballroom in Millstreet Town he has good memories to recall
It was there he met his first love a young Killarney beauty dark haired slender and tall
But like many first loves they did not become man and wife
They did go on different journeys in life

Ten times a grandfather with his Australian wife of forty five years
For the what used to be he has long shed his last nostalgic tears
And though in his early seventies time has become his foe
His memories often take him to the Star Ballroom five decades ago

He goes back the decades and many Seasons in time
To his early twenties in his life's prime
When in the Star Ballroom in Millstreet Town he did rock, jive, twist and sway
On a Thursday night till 1 a m on the morning of Friday.

A Sad Thing For To say

For winners there has to be losers this goes without doubt
For billions of people sad to say this is what life is about
The poor people who live on the brink of despair
Despite what many may tell you life is not always fair
For life's many losers life's winners are few
You may say to this do tell us what is new
In a World of the homeless and the stateless and war and climate refugees
Poverty does come in varying degrees
Everyone has life choices by some we are told
But the majority of those born into poverty as paupers grow old
Where many are homeless and financially down
Few stories of success from the poor side of the town
In a World where the gap between the wealthy and poor grows wider by the day
And does this not seem quite a sad thing for to say.

Of How You Appear To Others

You cannot judge if people are good by the clothes they do wear
Or of the color of their skin or of their eyes or their hair
Of how you appear to others does not tell us if you are compassionate and kind
For such beautiful gifts do belong to the mind
By the clothes you do wear others you may impress
And you may be one who lives at a fashionable address
And though you live in a beautiful home and drive an expensive car
These things do not tell us of the person you are
Of more kind and compassionate people the Human World is in need
For a better World to live in they are sowing the seed
You may be very well off financially a known billionaire
And the most expensive clothes every day you do wear
But if you never help those of helping in need
Then despite your great wealth you are ordinary indeed.

The Politicians We Do Deserve

Many complain they do lack in ideas and in verve
But the politicians we vote into Parliament are the politicians we deserve
Politicians are not as clever as many make them out to be
Any of the Country's most intelligent people are not in Parliament though some with this may not agree
In the Chambers of Parliament humility is dead
The egos of most politicians barely fit in their head
We only vote for those best at their own praises to sing
Arrogance and egotism nowadays seem the in thing
It seems like Parliament House is a safe haven for conceit
In their broken promises they sow the seeds of deceit
They live by nepotism and in their ways they are so small
And for the poor and homeless of towns and cities they do nothing at all
That we deserve the politicians we get happens for to be true
It is life's way of giving us what we are due.

The Poet Of Freemount

The Poet of Freemount Denis J Foley one of literary note
He was such a marvelous lyrical poet
You read his poems once you will read them again
If you like rhyme the music in his words with you will remain
The stamp of the lyrical wordsmith in the words does shine
Of one who has written many a memorable line
In the medium of the Worldwide web his poetry loved and known
One can say of him in a class of his own
He will never be one of the forgotten gone
The lyrical poet may not be living but his words do live on
There was a time decades ago when rhyme was the in thing
But nowadays the praises of free verse poets the literary critics like to sing
But the words of good rhyming poets like the Poet of Freemount with us does remain
For to visit again and again and again.

Denis Kevans

Despite his fame a down to earth fellow untainted by conceit
Denis Kevans was known as Australia's Poet Lorikeet
A skit used by those who do not like modern poetry since Denis wrote in rhyme
One might say as a poetic rebel the best of his time

In his words for the rights of Australia's first people the banner he flew
A lyrical genius his equals so few
For political and social outsiders he always spoke out
Of his way of thinking he never left one in doubt

On his sixty sixth year Denis Kevans passed from life a decade ago
That his words may live forever well may be so
A poet of the people of him one can say
With words he was one of those who had a way

Born in Canberra in Wentworth Falls the great man died
The legendary poet who was known far and wide
His lyrical poems out of passion were born
On the ruling classes he was one who poured scorn

Wordsmiths of his conviction and honesty the wordsmith trade need
Of change for the better his kind sow the seed
His marvelous lyrical poems from the memory don't fade
Poets like Denis Kevans are born not made.

In Illowa On A September Night

In the paddocks of Illowa on a September night
A fox it is barking in the moonlight
A wild nocturnal shrill voice that is a fox's own
And a voice of Nature that is widely known
With his warbling flute like song to proclaim territory
A magpie is singing on a black-wood tree
A voice that is heard every day of the year
And at night in it's nesting time one often does hear
In Illowa on a night in September under a starlit sky
Mopoke mopoke the hunting boobook owl cry
In the still of the night long after sundown
Between Warrnambool City and old Koroit Town
And the hunting fox calling in the moonlight
In Illowa in Spring on a September night.

The Old Fellow From Knocknagree

You are what you are this is all you can be
I am quoting the old fellow from Knocknagree
His craggy wrinkled face is a familiar sight
In the local pub on a Saturday night

The hair on his balding head is silver gray
And clearly he has known a far better day
But happiness does not end beyond one's life prime
And the old Knocknagree bloke enjoys a good time

In his early eighties without children or wife
It can be said of him that he does love life
He enjoys the laughter the dancing and song
And he always joins in the pub sing along

Today in the Village in Sliabh Luachra his would be a stranger's face
And there he may well even feel out of place
He has not been back there for decades of years
And for his long gone youth he has shed his last tears

A character in his ways well loved and well known
In Warrnambool they do claim him for their own
You are what you are this is all you can be
I am quoting the old fellow from Knocknagree.

Life Can Be A Struggle

Life can be a struggle it does seem this way
For many a financial challenge to face every day
Though there are also mental challenges for the privileged few
On saying this is part of living is not saying anything that is new
Of the praises of money the masses may sing
But money cannot buy you one most important thing
It cannot buy you happiness a thing one cannot buy or sell
A lot of financially well off people feeling unhappy and unwell
I have traveled a bit walked on many a street
But a truly happy person i have yet to meet
Those who live as moderately happy are lucky indeed
And of more of their sort the Human World is in need
Few people with age grow happier but everyone grows old
And happiness cannot be bought with money or gold.

True Love Lasts A Lifetime

His hair silver gray it was once nugget brown
The fellow who hails from the far away town
His wife is a local they have been married for forty years
Without children to bring to them laughter or tears
He says the luckiest day in his life
Was the time he first laid eyes on his lovely to be wife
She was the barmaid in the pub he was drinking in that night
For both of them it was love at first sight
The wanderlust was in him in one place he could not settle down
He was traveling the Country moving from town to town
But meeting her was his luckiest and happiest day
He had met the woman for as long as he lived that with he would stay
Every evening in the town park they walk hand in hand
That true love lasts a lifetime not hard to understand.

I Will Keep On Rhyming On

In rhyme words perhaps i have said all that one should say
But what i love doing i cannot give away
For so many years i have been a rhyming buff
Perhaps i have become addicted to penning of stuff

Since my worth as a rhymer i always does doubt
Of rhyme to others i would rather not talk about
Though with rhyming words i am one who does love to play
And i add to my numbers of rhymes every day

The rhymes to me keep coming in notebook i pen them down
But never for money or for literary renown
But i hope to be penning rhymes till the day i do die
If i did tell you different this would be a lie

Those who tell us poetasters are many and poets are few
Are telling us something we already knew
So few out of writing a success has made
Though everyone is welcome in the wordsmith trade

I have been writing rhymes since nineteen seventy three
And time everyone's foe it is telling on me
My best physical years in the forever gone
But for as long as i can do i will keep on rhyming on.

A Sunny Day In Port Fairy

In the parks by saltwater the birds whistle and sing
In Port Fairy on a beautiful day in the Spring
September has brought us her wildflowers and green
In Nature so much natural beauty for to be seen
Voted as the World's most livable small to medium sized Town
Port Fairy has attained for itself a Worldwide renown
And for it's annual music festival has become widely known
A Town by the Pacific with a charm of it's own
With strong links to an Indigenous history
On Griffith Island a large short tailed shearwater breeding colony
They arrive in Port Fairy in late September for a six months stay
And will be far out at sea by late Fall in May
On a sunny day in Port Fairy in September in Spring
The nesting birds in the park lands do whistle and sing.

Matty O Riordan

Above his evergreen fields of old Lackabawn
He saw many a sunset and many a dawn
Though in all who knew him good memories of him will remain
In the flesh Matty O Riordan will not be seen in Millstreet again

He was quite a gentleman in every way
And he lived to a good age of him one can say
In Lackabawn he was raised and grew into a man
And there spent the greater part of his long lived life span

The life journey for him ended in the early Fall
There is a last day and last night for us all
The mental images of him that remain to recall
As a young man he was handsome and dark haired and tall

Gone from Lackabawn another well loved face
And Millstreet without him a much poorer place
In his many years of living he never harmed anyone
And his mother and father in him raised a good son

Our very young years go quickly as does our life's prime
And eventually we all become victims of time
And for us all from the cares of living a final release
The good man Matty O Riordan may he now rest in peace.

If At What They Are Doing

If at what they are doing they are well rewarded in pay
Good luck to them for this is all i can say
Everyone for what they do need to be rewarded in some sort of a monetary way
As money is quite important in the human World of today
The praises of the wealthy and famous many may like to sing
But for anyone to be undervalued is such a sad thing
To be ignored can be mentally hurtful would you not agree
For the many who are overlooked how sad life must be
They too like all others need to be recognized
Even shy people do not like being ignored psychologists have realized
To be rewarded and recognized seems an overall human need
And for the overlooked of the World it must be sad indeed
If for what you are doing you are rewarded in a good way
I feel happy for you is all i can say.

You Can Make The World

You can make the World better to live in
But to such a thing with yourself you begin
By being kinder to others and helping those of your help in need
For a better World to live in you are planting a seed
By performing at least one good deed every day
To a better World to live in you are one of those leading the way
He is not one who changes the World for the better the wealthiest man in the town
Who has climbed to the top by dragging others down
Though many impressionable admirers he is one who does win
He is not helping to make a better World to live in
The one who believes on live and let live
And is one who believes in to receive one must give
Has learned with yourself it has to begin
To make the World a better World for to live in.

I Spent Hours Of My Young Years

I spent hours of my young years listening to grown men talking of the politics in Ireland's Dail
And of the then three major Irish political parties Fine Gael and Labour and Fianna Fail
As well as arguing about hurling and Gaelic Football
Though financially these things for their lives did nothing at all

I was too young then to find it a bit strange
That their political views never did seem to change
For the same political parties their mums and dads voted for they only would vote
To parental thinking their lives they did devote

So much time talking of men who for Ireland died brave
Our parents are ruling our lives from the grave
Few people can claim to have minds of their own
The ways of our conservative mentors few of us have outgrown

Around the fireside at night when i was a boy
Stories of men who fought and died for Irish freedom i used to enjoy
But of what true freedom entails they never talked about
That was left to myself for to later find out

It is a fact of life that is widely known
That the seeds of the wars of today in the distant past have been sown
By men who for God and for Country died brave
Our mentors are talking to us from the grave.

Never An Asset

The one who finds pleasure on verbally putting others down
Is never the most popular person in the town
Such people in their ways are so very small
They have not learned if you do not like someone why bad mouth them at all
Live and let live as the wise one does say
Though some people do not see life in this way
On putting those they do not like down some do find delight
Though to pass judgement on others should not be anyone's right
People lacking in compassion as well as common sense
In their words find pleasure on causing offense
Some people in their words like to make a foe
That they do not like themselves does seem to be so
The one who verbally likes for to put others down
Is never an asset to his or her town.

Old Jimmy

His fastest pace nowadays does seem rather slow
The passage of time on old Jimmy does show
The town's best fifteen hundred meters runner fifty years ago
Eventually time becomes everyone's foe
He slowly walks with the aid of a cane on the street
Who would believe that he was a marvelous athlete
A National champion when in his life's prime
It rusts steel and iron it is said about time
Shoulders slightly hunched his balding head gray
Physically he is one who has known a far better day
For the Olympics he once qualified but due to injury could not compete
Some setback in life most do happen to meet
A great grandfather his wife and soulmate Kate died seven years ago
And time it has become old Jimmy's foe.

I Have Been Lucky In Life

I have been lucky in life luckier than most one can say
In the beauty i see around me every day
Pink and white blossoms are blooming on the leaf budding fruit trees
And the songs of the birds carrying in the freshening breeze
That blow up the hill from the park by the bay
And in the mostly blue and sunny sky just a few clouds of gray
The countryside looking lush and green after the recent rain
With such pleasant weather how could one complain
Such beauty an artist or writer to sketch or write would inspire
Of singing Nature's praises one never could tire
In early September the first month of the southern Spring
The nest building wild birds chirp whistle and sing
And Nature at her finest is all around me
Such beauty that one does not pay for to see.

I Am From The Fields

I am from the fields of the silver backed crow
And of hedgehog whose only means of defense is to know
How to roll into a tight ball it's sharp quills sticking out
For dog, fox or cat who attacks it to receive a painful and a bloodied snout

I am from the fields of magpie, rook and jackdaw
And dark raven the big crow of the harsh and loud caw
And rabbit and shy hare in it's coat of brown
Who never makes it's home in the park of a town

I am from the fields of the silver tongued rill
That babbles to the river from the foot of the hill
Home of the water bird dipper and the shy brown trout
Who hides under a bank when it senses danger about

I am from the fields of the badger a creature of the night
Who sleeps in it's dark and deep sett in the hours of daylight
Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways today i enjoy

I am from the fields of the male snipe who on a Spring night
Can be heard in a drum like roll aerial courtship display in the moonlight
Where i grew to love Nature many Seasons ago
Many years before time it did become my foe.

Your Past Seems To Follow

Though time that rusts iron has become your foe
Your past seems to follow you to wherever to you do go
In your flights of fancy memory lane you go down
When you walk on the old streets of your first hometown

It seems as if time has stood still on your first home street
When friends of your young years again you do meet
In the schoolyard you played football with them long before your life's prime
And they have not aged any in the passage of time

In your visualizing when you meet them again
They do not seem to have aged as young they remain
Though in your visualizations people remain young you have come to realize
If you met them today them you may not recognize

The years have left you looking weary and gray
But your past is with you from a town far away
Where you spent your years of youthful elan
And grew from a schoolboy into a young man.

The Sun Out And Shining

The sun out and shining though the sky of gray rain clouds not clear
And in the still morning air the bleating of sheep i hear
On the Warrnambool Penshurst road near old Koroit Town
Cars and trucks on the roadway buzzing up and down

Such natural green beauty stretching far and wide
In early September in the Moyne countryside
In lush paddocks contented cattle chewing their cuds do lay
On nutritious young grass gaining weight by the day

Everywhere one turns to look there is beauty to see
Pink blossoms adorning every fruit bearing tree
Such natural beauty the artists and writers inspire
Of singing Nature's praises could one ever tire

The songs of the blackbirds so pleasant to hear
And the birds who do sing every day of the year
The silver billed magpies proclaim territory
Birds who defend their borders quite aggressively

In early September the first month of the southern Spring
The gray shrike thrush has his beautiful flute like song to sing
And the dainty black and white magpie lark calls out pee wee
Where the beauty of Nature is all around me.

September North And South

In the home of the kangaroo in the Land of the far south
In sky kilometers far from the waterways of the brown trout
The sun shines in a sky of blue and gray
And the nesting birds are singing in the Moyne Shire today

September the first month of the northern Autumn in the fall of the year
The Summer is over as Winter draws near
Some leaves on the deciduous trees already turning brown
And the river bank high in the fields by the town

September in the south is the first month of Spring
In the gray of the dawn the nesting birds chirp and sing
After recent rain the countryside looking green
And Nature at her very finest is seen

In September it is early Spring in the south in the Land of the kangaroo
And the home of the yellow tailed black cockatoo
But in September in the north it is Autumn a cool and wet time of year
And in the gray of the dawning the songs of the birds one does not hear.

Sports Is A Diversion

In the media every day sporting stories are rife
But sport has become a diversion from the hardships endured by many in life
Suppose stories of the forgotten few of do wish to hear
It is mostly of life's winners that people do wish to read about seems obviously clear
In poverty there is nothing for to celebrate
It is so called successful people most wish to emulate
The community band never plays for the poor of the town
Few do wish to know of the financially down
In the twenty first century it does seem the in thing
That the praises of the heroes of sports many do like to sing
Though the numbers of those in dire poverty does grow
Of the stories of homeless people few of do wish to know
Sports is a diversion from the reality of life today
This is how it is and it will always be this way.

So Many I Knew

So many i knew i will never more meet
The most of them lay in cemeteries of the Parish of Millstreet
Whilst some from Duhallow did die far away
Far from their first home-place their last remains do lay
Our date with life's Reaper we are obliged for to keep
Some i went to school with are in their long sleep
In the flesh them i am never to meet again
And of them only good memories with me does remain
And only the memories do seem to last
Of our school going friends of the distant past
From where as a baby i grew into a man
My life journey has taken me far from where it began
Fond memories of my school going friends with me does remain
Though many of them i may not meet again.

Only The Lucky

In leaky boats from Syrian war zones far away
Hundreds of refugees arrive in Europe every day
But to undertake such a dangerous journey one needs luck on their side
And in boats that have sunk many people have died
In the twenty first century it does seem sad to say
That many for a better and a safer life with their lives do pay
For the homeless the stateless and the refugee
How tragic and so very sad life can be
Of the praises of war heroes nationalists and patriots may sing
But for many poor civilians war can be a terrible thing
From war zones in fear of their lives thousands do flee
Oh pity the lot of every poor refugee
In Europe every day hundreds in unseaworthy boats arrive
And only the lucky the dangerous journey survive.

With Rhyming Words

With rhyming words i am one who does like to play
And i add to my numbers of rhymes every day
To write rhymes is easy as easy as can be
Anybody can do it as most would agree
To the twenty first century literary elite rhymers are out of date
The modern poets are those they celebrate
They tell us what we know poems do not grow on trees
And to write poetry one does need uni literary degrees
Since in it for me no literary gain some to me do say
That maybe i ought to give rhyming away
But life is not all about working for pay
And since i am one with rhyming words who likes to play
As a rhymer i hope for to stay
For as long as i live till my last night and day.

I Long For

I long for a place of human created noise free
With Nature's own beauty everywhere around me
Free of pollution where birds sing all day
Far from where factory chimneys puff up smoke clouds of gray

Such places are rare which seems quite sad to say
For urbanization and industrialization there is some price to pay
I long for a cottage far from the noisy street
Near a wood not far from where a stream and a river do meet

In a World of billions of people Nature's creatures are losing out
In the pools of the rivers less fish swimming about
In a World where us humans in huge numbers abound
Far too much pollution of air and water and ground

With Nature most of us humans have not learned how to live
We take and take from her and in return to her little does give
Because of us many species of wildlife are becoming rare
Nature's resources with them we have not learned how to share

Of the noise of heavy machinery i long to be free
On a nice sunny day sitting in the shade of a tree
In kilometers far from the crowded street
Near where the stream and the river do meet.

Jackdaws

In Spring to home owners they can be a pest
When on chimneys they decide to build their stick nest
They do cause a lot of blocked chimneys in May
These medium sized dark corvids with napes of silver gray
Jackdaws in their range are birds quite well known
One can say of them they have ways of their own
Than most other corvids much smaller in size
Once seen and once heard not hard to recognize
Good friends of the farmers some are known to say
They keep harmful insects, slugs and grubs at bay
From where people live they are never far away
In town parks and the countryside they are seen every day
Compared to most corvids in size they are small
And than their bigger cousins have a weaker call.

The World's Worst Criminals

The World's worst criminals wave their black flag
And of their heinous crimes in public they do brag
To humanity they do not have anything for to give
Since they do not believe in live and let live

An army of murderers the lowest of the low
The beheading of people online they do show
They are not soldiers since soldiers can be brave
Such a title for those worthy of it one ought to save

To the World's worst criminals human life is quite cheap
But eventually they too what they sow must reap
What goes around comes around remains ever true
The worst of bad Karma will become their due

As criminals worse than them one could not name
One can say on humanity they do bring shame
For their crimes eventually they will be made to pay
If not to human law then to Karma one day

The World's worst criminals an army of thugs
And those who choose to join them are ordinary mugs
As criminals they are the lowest of the low
And eventually they too must reap what they sow.

Not A Small World After All

It surely is not a small World after all
The World that we live in is anything but small
There is not one living person who has been to everywhere
Every town, village and city in the big World out there
Though in many towns and villages and cities i have been
So little of the World i can claim to have seen
And so many Countries i never will see
The saying of a small World just a saying would you not agree
The big World out there is a big World indeed
And in a lifetime to see all of it anyone could not hope to succeed
In the big World out there the roadways go to places far and wide
To cities and towns and villages in every countryside
It is a small World is a saying i recall
But the World we live in it is far from small.

No Thanks To People Like Him

He supports the same football team and he has voted for the same political party all of his life
And he often goes home from the pub and argues with his wife
Ten times a grandfather he sees anyone who believes in change
As one who lacks in conviction and in ways rather strange
When the party he voted for loses Government he says i am not to blame
I have always voted for them and in the next election for me it will be the same
To change in thinking to him would be to betray
The instigators of change never think in this way
His wife to him supports a different political party and does not like football
Some of her ideas on life does not suit him at all
The love has gone out of their marriage on many things they do not see eye to eye
Between them quite often the heated words fly
That he always sticks to his opinions he never leaves one in doubt
No thanks to people like him when changes does come about.

Leave Uranium In The Ground

For humanity not a source for joy
In nuclear weapons created for to destroy
All life forms including humans Worldwide
On the invention of the nuclear bomb for humanity not any sense of pride
In time going back a seven decade span
Look what happened in big Cities in Japan
In Hiroshima and Nagasaki by two nuclear bombs two great Cities were destroyed
And thousands of people were badly injured and thousands died
Some Countries Governments have nuclear weapons at their disposal today
And they pose a threat to all life forms including humanity one can say
Just one of those bombs thousands of people could kill
And leave thousands badly injured and gravely ill
In Mother earth the stuff for making nuclear bombs is found
They ought to leave Uranium in the ground.

The Young Rose Of Old Lisnaboy

Good memories remain to her a source of joy
Of when she was the young Rose of old Lisnaboy
When her shoulder length dark hair had a glossy sheen
Some of the bigger World out there since then she has seen

A young beauty of eyes blue as a ripened sloe
But going back in time this now seems long ago
With dark hair dyes nowadays she cloaks her gray
And she use anti aging creams to smooth hand neck and face wrinkles away

Far from Duhallow a mother, grandmother and to an aging man an aging wife
One can say she has seen her better days in life
She left green Duhallow when in her life's prime
And this is going back many Seasons in time

In the countryside in view of Clara, Caherbarnagh and the Paps of Shrone
And old Gortavehy in it's face of stone
To many she would be a stranger today
The years go by quickly and time ticks away

Good memories of what was with her does remain
And in fancy she walks on the bohreen again
Where a carefree existence she did enjoy
When she was the young Rose of old Lisnaboy.

You Have Lost Your Nostalgia

You have lost your nostalgia for the what used to be
Even of the good memories of what was you are finally free
You can only live in the now you have come to realize
The past it has gone like this morning's sunrise
To remember without nostalgia of sadness sets you free
Homesickness lose out to time eventually
We live in the now and the now is today
And our biological clocks ever ticking away
The past it has gone though to it you may cling
To remember without nostalgia is such a joyful thing
How good for you to be free of nostalgia at last
You can only live in the now and what has been is in the past
So good to be living on such a nice day
When the birds are singing in the park by the bay.

You May Be Like Many Others

You may be like many others that time has left old
Whose life story in book form will never be told
On the lives of celebrities people of high public esteem
Most biographers like to write books on or so it does seem
But you are a good person one who has lived well
And of life you have many good stories to tell
You believe on live and let live and in each to their own
And the good and the hard times in life you have known
In your words you never put anyone down
One of the good people in your side of the town
Self promotion in life has never been your thing
And you leave it to others your praises to sing
But sadly like so many others that time has left old
Your life story in book form may never be told.

The Better Man Than Me

Only the good in others he only seems to see
In him so much to admire the better man than me
One of the nicest people in our side of the town
I have never heard him in his words put anybody down
One can say of him a great person indeed
Always willing to help anyone of his helping in need
Of singing his praises i for one cannot tire
For his honesty and generosity him one can only admire
Of the needs of others one who is aware
But sad to say his sort of person is becoming rare
A hard working man devoted to his children and to his wife
He represents all that is quite good in human life
By good example he leads the way
He is a better man than me of him i can say.

The First Of September

The first of September and the calendar Spring
In the gray of the dawning the blackbird does sing
And the bird who does sing every day of the year
The warbling song of the magpie so pleasant to hear
Pink blossoms adorn the leaf budding fruit trees
On a cool and dry morning of seven degrees
And in a voice that is familiar to many and familiar to me
The magpie lark sings his familiar pee wee
Many birds are nest building the urge in them to breed
For the survival of their species they are the seed
In a few months from now their young will take to wing
The workings of Nature is an amazing thing
And on the first of September in the dawning gray
The blackbird is singing to welcome the day.

He Will Always Be

He will always be the aging bloke from elsewhere
A blow in from the bigger World out there
That he is not a local is not hard to tell
His accent is strong he does not speak the language well

In his late forties well beyond his prime years in life
A bomb cost him his three children and their mother his wife
A survivor of a terrible war far away
He lives safe from gunmen and bombers today

Tall and athletic and dark skinned quite a handsome man
Perhaps in this town he will live out his life span
Quite gentle in his ways of him one can say
That he would never harm anyone in any way

Though safe from the gunmen and bombers at last
He does live with his terrible memories of the past
His grief at his great sense of loss he retain
Such bad memories with him sadly well may remain

He is one as a local who will never be known
And whenever i see him he is always on his own
Often out walking in the park or on the street
As nice a person as one could wish to meet.

Some Say

Some say people receive from life what is their due
Though in most cases this is not exactly true
The person dying of malnutrition in a drought stricken region and struggling for breath
Does surely than this deserve a better death

Anyone never chooses to live in poverty
Or as Stateless and homeless or as a refugee
Those who talk of life choices should understand as well
That they do not have life choices those in Earthly Hell

Though losing is a thing anyone does not choose
For one to win big many have to lose
This is how it is and how it always will be
The majority of the wealth of the World is owned by the minority

That one receives from life what is one's due in many cases is a lie
Every day many good people of a painful illness slowly do die
One would think from life better than this they deserve to receive
Many people tend to generalize on what they do believe

In a World where many must lose for a minority to gain
From life we receive what is only our due the dogmatic maintain
Yet their sort of thinking to a minority only apply
And why they stick to their opinion one must wonder why?

At The September Horse Fair

Deciduous leaves of late August not yet turning brown
At the September horse fair in old Millstreet Town
The cool nip of late Summer in the morning air
But it is quite a nice enough day for the fair

From Main Street to the Square on either side of the street
Stall holders in their stalls for business compete
In times of a struggling economy street traders not doing that well
Since the collapse of the Celtic Tiger things for them harder to sell

More horses in the fair field in the fairs of old
But plenty traders there and horses bought and sold
The days of the farm workhorse is in the past
But then few things in life ever does seem to last

People there from all parts of Ireland north, east, west and south
And Sean Radley with his camera out and about
Taking photographs as well as a story to write
The well known reporter of the Millstreet Web Site

Less Irish travelers at the fair than in the days of the horse drawn van
The sixties brought about change for the wandering clan
But few things escape change as the wise one does say
And only memories of what was are with us today

With a clear view of the cross upon Clara Hill
The morning air in it does have a slight chill
The deciduous leaves not yet showing any brown
At the September horse fair in old Millstreet Town.