Manchester George

Some sixty years of time has passed since George was seventeen
With a few drinks in at the local pub he sings 'God save The Queen'
Though he left Manchester forevermore fifty six years ago
And in Victoria far south of there time has become his foe

His loyalty to the Monarchy and the Union Jack remains with him today
Such things with most of aging migrant males until death with them does stay
Twelve years ago divorced by his Aussie wife Maud for his fondness of the beer
She says that George loved her far less than he loved his pot of cheer

Eleven times a grandad George showing his years his hair is silver gray
It truly can be said of him he has known a better day
Yet the accent that he brought with him to this day he retain
And until the very day he die with him it will remain

With a few drinks in George is happy and in the mood for song
And in the pub on Saturday he joins in the sing along
I have never seen him in an aggressive mood proud of his race and clan
In truth it can be said of George that he is a happy man

The love of Monarchy, Homeland and the Union Jack in George does remain strong
To the staunch ex patriotic type his sort surely belong
In Manchester thousands of kilometers north of here George first saw light of day
And his love of Homeland and heritage until death with him will stay.

Whatever You Achieve In Life

Whatever you achieve in life there will come the day
That the Reaper of lives will come reaping your way
The Reaper who does not respect money or fame
The one who treats every life as equal and the same
Immortality for human kind is based on a lie
Like all other mortals we are born to die
Fleeting our younger years and our physical prime
Eventually we all become victims of time
Death brings an end to hope and to fear
The tolling of the funeral bell for you is one you will not hear
Though one good thing of death i do have to say
There is no inequality where dead people lay
We are born as mortals why otherwise pretend
Whatever we achieve our life's journey must end.

In Every Big Town

In every big town there is a Poverty Street
Where only the poorest you can hope to meet
Homeless teenagers of broken homes who were born to lose
Who have turned to crime for to buy drugs and booze
It is so hard to live a successful life if you are born to fail
If your parents for drug related crimes are serving long terms in jail
Where no one wants to know of you when you are feeling down
Just one of the many homeless of the poor side of the town
Teenagers of the poor side of the town employers fail to impress
Where one does not have any hope of a job start without a postal address
Where circumstance of birth to prison for many does lead
Of success stories from Poverty Street there are so few of to read
In a Human World where the gap between the wealthy and poor does keep growing ever wide
To every big town there is a poorer side.

Only Memories Of What Was

Only memories of what was with me does remain
And perhaps i will never see Clara again
Or stand on it's slopes on an evening in July
Above me the lark singing in the gray sky
When the whortleberries the tiny blue fruits of the heather are ripe for to eat
In the taste buds of the mouth they are a tasty treat
On my flights of fancy time seems to stand still
And i often climb to the steel cross on Clara Hill
With wonderful views of Duhallow and Sliabh Luachra stretching far and wide
On either side of the County border of the green countryside
A musical speck in the gray of the sky
The little brown lark sings as upwards he does fly
Above the mountain above high Claramore
In distance far north of this southern shore.

For Too Long Of Terrorists

For too long of terrorists people have lived in fear
An end to terrorism in the World has to be near
The terrorists masterminds to do their killing for them of volunteers will run out
That terrorism too will come to an end there can be little doubt
Far too many civilians by terrorists bombings have received terrible injuries or have died
And so many life dreams by these so called human beings have been destroyed
Eventually all of this insane violence will come to an end
In the not distant future on this you can depend
Eventually their Karma the terrorist masterminds must face
There is no place for them in the human race
Eventually for their crimes they will be made to pay
What goes around comes around as the wise one does say
The terrorists masterminds will run out of volunteers on this you can depend
The age of the terrorist it is near an end.

They Use The Mentally Ill

For to commit their worse than horrible crimes they use the mentally ill
Who carry concealed bombs and take their own lives others to maim and kill
Last week it was Brussels in Belgium yesterday Lahore in Pakistan
By the murderous I S I S and equally bad Taliban
To kill and maim innocent people they use the mentally unwell
How long will their maiming and murdering go on only time will tell
Eventually for their heinous crimes they will be made to pay
If not by human made law karma on them will have the say
For their brainwashing of the mentally unstable into crimes of hate
They without realizing it have sealed their own fate
The masterminds of the bombings in Brussels and Lahore
Have the worst sort of Karma for themselves in store
Because of them so many life dreams have been destroyed
By those who kill for them in the act of suicide.

A Man's World After All

It is and will always be a man's World after all
Men have so much to talk of war and football
And their wives and their lovers and women they have been with in bed
On such stuff the male egos always are fed
In their exclusive groups in the local pub
They discuss lawn bowls and the cricket club
And of how good their children at their chosen sports are
A good spot for bragging at the local bar
You do not have to walk far a bragger to meet
Call into the pub at the top of the street
With a few drinks in you hear their loud voices they are not discreet
With each other at bragging they like to compete
Of women and their sexual prowess and war and football
In the so called age of equality for women it is a man's World after all.

I Am One Of Those

I am one of those who with words like to play
A rhymer as such i write rhymes every day
Without fame or the rewards of monetary pay
But what i love doing i could not give away

It is said about rhymers they are not of the few
But this in itself is not anything new
We are told of the men and the women of rhyme
That their sort knew of glory in another time

The rhymers of the twenty first century not held in high esteem
Out of literary fashion is how they do seem
In literature they were looked up to in decades long past
Suppose few things in life ever do seem to last

I am not deemed to be worthy of the title of poet
A rhymer nowadays is not considered to be worthy of literary note
My best days in life in the forever gone
But i do love rhyming and i will rhyme on.

Old Tony

Old Tony in his late seventies he laughs every day
He is one of the few who laughs his cares away
He does not have children or he never had a wife
But he is one who does live quite a happy life
On Saturday evenings in the pub there is music and song
And Tony always joins in the sing along
Laughter is the best of medicine Tony does say
About him he has such a jovial way
He says hello to everybody he does meet
And he carries joy with him when walking the street
He looks well for his years without an ache or pain
He is one person you will never hear complain
The town for him in it a happier place
He always does have a big smile on his face.

There Are Good And Bad People

The non racist people are color blind
The good and the bad in all races you will find
Since they do believe on a fair go for all
The fair minded people in their thinking never small
There are good and bad people in every town
Of many nationalities and colors of black, white and brown
Those who talk of superior races have got it all wrong
Superiority to any race or nationality does not belong
Since like all other life forms us humans are born to die
Rank and class distinction have their source in a lie
Since we are on a life journey that for us must end
Death makes all people equal why otherwise pretend
Of many nationalities and colors of black, white and brown
There are good and bad people in every town.

How Lovely To Be

How lovely to be far from the noisy street
On rocks on the beach where the land and sea meet
In the peace and quiet for an hour maybe more
The only sound the sound of the waves lapping on the shore
Of such peace and beauty a poet could write
A poem for others to read and enjoy and recite
On your skin the refreshing feeling of the ocean spray
In the clean coastal air on a nice Autumn day
A cottage by the ocean i often visualize
Away from the town of human created noise
But such a home does not come cheaply in the World of today
Though we all need our dreams as the wise one does say
With the sun at times peeping from behind the gray cloud
Far away from the traffic and the noisy crowd.

In My Own Way

It would be hypocritical of me to condemn the slaughtering of life forms since i eat my fill
Of the flesh of creatures that others do kill
I eat meat and fish often though not every day
I help to promote the killing of creatures to be eaten in truth i can say

Though the slaughtering of life forms i do not condone
I should leave it to the non flesh eaters to cast the verbal stone
Since they do not eat flesh they are entitled to say
That the killing of creatures to be eaten should not be the human way

Since vegetarians are known to live long lives without fish and meat
Vegetables and fruits and nuts are all they do eat
For their stand against the killing of creatures to be eaten i can only admire
And of singing their praises i for one could not tire

Since to the flesh eating majority i do belong
To condemn the killing of creatures to be eaten of me would seem wrong
I too eat fish and meat though not every day
And i too am a hypocrite in my own way.

My Journey In Life

Of the home of the badger and brown river trout
My journey in life it did take me far south
To the Land of koala and emu and roo
And rosella and kookaburra and cockatoo
I only have memories of the what used to be
And of faces and places i may never more see
And of the croak of the frog in the waterlogged drain
And of the waterways swollen by heavy rain
Many Seasons gone by since my physical prime
And only in memory i can go back in time
Though only the autobiographies of the wealthy and famous are published in book form to sell
We all have our stories of life for to tell
And the life journey for me began north and far away
But who knows where i will live my last night and day?

A Day In Late March In The Moyne Shire

A typical enough late March Autumn day
The sun from time to time briefly peeps through clouds of gray
But most of the time from view it is hidden away
A day of peek a boo sunshine as some like to say

The Moyne Shire is greening after recent rain
But the dams low in water and bone dry every drain
They call this a green drought though natural beauty to be seen
The paddocks in need of rain though looking green

The warbling songs are so pleasant to hear
Of the magpies who sing every day of the year
And the dainty black and white magpie larks call out pee wee
Birds one does hear often and often do see

In the coastal countryside near the City of Warrnambool
The weather neither warm or windy or cool
A weather forecast high for the day of eighteen degrees
With a refreshing coolness in the freshening breeze

That blow from the ocean from Killarney Bay
In the Moyne Shire it is a pleasant Autumn day
And though the dry paddocks looking green they could very well do
With a day of rain or maybe even two.

Where The Millionaire Is Only Equal

Where the millionaire is only equal to the one financially down
Oh wouldn't it be marvelous to know of such a town
You will not find equality where you live or doubtless anywhere
In any town, village or city in the big World out there
People who believe on equality for all one can only admire
But in their lifetime they will not live to see what they desire
Equality in the Human World which will never be
Among people there will never be equality
As long as there is circumstance of birth and money there will be class distinction and rank
For inequality in the Human World we only have ourselves for to thank
By making small gods of mortals inequality we do create
The poor of the World anyone never does celebrate
Inequality is rife in every village, city and town
Few do wish to know of the financially down.

They Could Have Lived On

They could have lived on for to die old and gray
The martyrs for Ireland remembered today
I was raised on stories of nineteen sixteen
Of the men who gave their lives for the gold, white and green
So many stories have been written and songs have been sung
Of the men without fear who died brave and young
The ultimate sacrifice for their country they made
And memories of them from history may well never fade
Since we all look at life in a different way
Is any Country worth dying for is not for me to say
And though honor is great one must say nonetheless
That life is the greatest gift that one does possess
Only the sound of the bugle when the last post is played
It is out of martyrs war heroes are made.

East Warrnambool's Rose

With brown shoulder length wavy hair and eyes blue as ripened sloes
Years ago she was known as East Warrnambool's Rose
Before she was married back in her life's prime
The divorced grandmother showing the wear of time
Though she uses anti aging creams to smooth wrinkles away
And dyes her hair brown to cloak the silver gray
Those who knew her in her prime nowadays her would not know
She has put on weight and the years on her show
To a faithless man she was a devoted wife
But ten years ago he left her alone in life
For one many years younger some men are this way
With a faded beauty he did not wish to stay
Who would believe she was East Warrnambool's Rose
But having this said such is life one suppose.

On Radovan Karadzic

Radovan Karadzic he will die in jail
As a human being he is one who did fail
For his crimes against humanity in Bosnia the price he does pay
In prison he will spend his last night and day
Under his orders so many poor people have died
And so many life dreams by him have been destroyed
But the sad thing about it would you not agree
Is that many despots today enjoying the good life and living free
So many bad people go unpunished for their crimes against humanity
This is how it has been through human history
Of people who abuse their power over others the World is not in need
Power in the wrong hands can be destructive indeed
And what goes around comes around as the wise one does say
Radovan Karadzic in prison will live his last night and day.

Competition For Material Success

Nowadays competition for material success with many people is an in thing
I am not a fan of those who their own praises do sing
Enamored by self in their own self conceit
Their sort i do never feel happy to meet
I see nothing in them of which to admire
Of them bragging of self i quickly do tire
By too many too much emphasis on self in the Human World of today
Self praise is no praise as the wise one does say
You may own a big new home and drive in a brand new car
But this does not tell me of the person you are
The flower of the garden stifled by the weed
Materialism does have it's source in greed
Every day in every town and on every street
People with each other for material success do compete.

If To Your Higher Self

If to your higher self you remain ever true
And never deprive anyone of what is their due
And are one of those who does give to receive
On Karma you must be one of those who believe
If you are willing to help one in need of helping without asking for pay
And try to perform at least one good deed every day
And when speaking of others the truth only say
The Goddess of love she is smiling your way
If you treat all people as equal and same
And never do call anyone out of name
And never differentiate between black, white and brown
You are an asset to your side of the town
And you are a very good person indeed
And of more of your kind the Human World is in need.

Brother Vincent Corkery

A person i knew of but never did meet
He is right up there with the best of Millstreet
In Malaysia for decades helping those of helping in need
Brother Vincent Corkery was a great man indeed

In Liscahane in Millstreet he first saw light of day
And in Ipoh in Malaysia on his eighty seventh year he passed away
For the poor of Malaysia one who did care
Compassionate people like Vincent are rare

People like he was who their lives to the helping of underprivileged people devote
Are people i believe to be well worthy of note
Unselfish in his lifestyle some great work he done
His father and mother in him raised a good son

On this age of the selfie where many for money and fame do compete
There is such an abundance of greed and conceit
It makes one realize that people like Vincent Corkery are truly great
And their lives as a gift to humanity we should celebrate

Far south of the Town on view of Clara Hill
The heart that beat with kindness is forever still
Perhaps in life for him never a rousing hooray
Though to help those in need he went out of his way.

The Dark Tarwin River

In the places of the wallaby and the pale eyed crow
It crawls through the flat country deep, dark and slow
It has inspired writers to song, story and rhyme
The dark Tarwin River so ancient in time
On long gone Summer days in the shade of the trees
South Gippsland's first people had their corroborees
They danced to the strains of the didgeridoo
In their dances of Nature from the movements of emu and wombat and roo
Many centuries centuries before the first white strangers came
And called their country South Gippsland by name
Yet the honor of South Gippsland's first people their tribe does retain
And by the dark Tarwin waters their ghosts do remain
And the old Tarwin River flows on night and day
Towards the Pacific near Tarwin Lower and Venus Bay.

A Good Friend Of Mine

My first home place from here in distance far away
And there i may not live my last night and day
From there the roadways of life took me to places elsewhere
Yet i have not seen much of the big World out there
The beauty of Illowa is all around me
And every day new wonders for me to see
We learn from Nature and life every day
We never stop learning the wise one does say
I love this great Land it is a marvelous Country
Though a migrant here is the best i can be
So many i have known are unwell or in eternal rest lay
And the best i can do is to live in the day
The magpies are warbling in the warm sunshine
And it does seem that good luck is a friend of mine.

Lower Forms Of Criminal Cowards

Their religious beliefs they take beyond too far
For to kill defenseless people carry bombs in a car
Or to commit mass murder take their own lives in suicide
So many because of them have been maimed for life or died

Of their disregard of human life one can only feel shocked and surprised
Of terrorists we are told they have been radicalized
By their horrible and soulless mentors who see human life as cheap
But the Karma they sow they too will have to reap

In Brussels in Belgium they have struck again
Inflicting on innocent civilians death, suffering and pain
They have become a threat to the lives of civilians Worldwide
The life dreams of so many by them have been destroyed

On their religion and culture they do only bring shame
Lower forms of criminal cowards for them seems an apt name
They are quite bad people and soulless indeed
The Human World of their sort most definitely is not in need

These radicalized terrorists are likely for to strike anywhere
Far too many of their sort in the big World out there
Since all they have to offer is suffering and death
To the lives of civilians Worldwide they have become a threat.

Lacking In Class

An orifice of the body used as a put down word that is often said
By people who speak with their mouth but do not think with their head
One can say of such people that they are lacking in class
On some of their expressions they do seem rather crass
On their choice of words of putting down others they only put themselves down
Everyday i meet their sort when out on the town
The words of the wise one i often recall
If you have nothing nice to say about someone say nothing at all
Some in their usage of language their coarseness does show
They surely are lacking of the inner glow
Those they do not like to an orifice of the body they do compare
And sad to say that their sort of people are no longer rare
Live and let live as some do like to say
At least anyhow it ought to be this way.

It Is All About Ego

For this thing known as success every day people with each other compete
To be best in your neighborhood or best on your street
To be best in your Nation and best Worldwide
The ego inflated by this thing known as pride
It is all about ego if you do ask me
The humble of mind are in the minority
But it will not matter how successful you have been at your life's journey's end
Since we are born as mere mortals why otherwise pretend
One does have to wonder what is life all about
For one to win big others have to lose out
Self promotion nowadays does seem the in thing
Their own praises too many only too willing to sing
In a Human World where poverty is on the rise
Far more poor than well off is not a surprise.

Malcolm Or Bill

Malcolm Turnbull preferred Prime Minister of Australia to Bill Shorten in the polls by the majority
But as Australia's Prime Minister every time i see and and hear him on t v
I feel he is looking down on people like me
And i feel he is a snob though most with this would not agree
And as for Bill Shorten of him do not know what to say
He seems more down to earth than the Prime Minister on his speaking way
His dream of becoming Australia's Prime Minister he may never fulfill
And if they do not win this year's election the Labor Party will surely dump Bill
Who wins the next Australian Federal Election i for one does not care
That either the Coalition or the Labor Party will not be legislating for poor people i am all too aware
What would Malcolm or Bill know of real poverty
Their Political Parties only legislate for the wealthy minority is how it seems to be
Malcolm or Bill for Prime Minister good luck to them both is all i can say
But i will not be voting for either of them on Federal Election Day.

My Inner Thoughts Online

My inner thoughts online with others i do share
In that one of many my sort are not rare
A scribbler of rhymes dismissed as doggerel
There may be a spot for me in poetasters hell

I am not one who has a literary degree
But penning of rhymes a source of joy to me
I have been penning stuff since my physical prime
And this is going back some four decades in time

I never refer to myself as a poet
I leave that to those worthy of literary note
Rhymers are many and poets only few
To this you may say do tell us what is new

To write rhyme is easy as easy as can be
Anybody can do it you can have this from me
And like me there are many rhymers in every town
Who will die as strangers to literary renown

With rhyming words i am one who does love to play
A scribbler of doggerel i write every day
My best days in life in the forever gone
But for as long as i can do i will keep on rhyming on.

Stories Of Tubrid

It used to be a place where angels did dwell
But of late i have heard stories of Tubrid Well
Stories i do find hard to believe
Though the source they came from with words do not deceive

Good people who were praying there as food for the soul
From their unlocked cars did have their purses stole
Like all bad news the word has got around
That even at Holy Tubrid thieves do abound

To Tubrid in Millstreet not all people do go to pray
In the twenty first century it does seem this way
Even in holy places crime is on the rise
But stories of robberies at Tubrid to me is a surprise

Good and devout people go to Tubrid for to give them their due
But not everyone who goes there to their higher selves true
Even places of worship of crime are not free
In the twenty first century is how it seems to be

Where good and devout people worship thieves also are
In Tubrid nowadays if you do not lock your car
And leave your purse with money in it you may return to it to find
That even in places of worship are some of the dishonest kind

Where people come to worship from many miles around
Thieves hide in the cover of the trees by the sanctified ground
To where angels do dwell thieves are hiding near
Such stories of Tubrid of late i do hear.

Poor In His Mind

Compared to the real worries of many his biggest worry is small
Though he does not see it in this way at all
And having said this poverty thinking is mind poverty
At least anyhow this is how it seems to be
Most definitely not one of the poor of the town
Though he acts as if he is financially down
To self pity he is one all too inclined
They are no longer rare those of poverty of mind
That he is a poor person he honestly believe
On his thinking reality he does deceive
Poverty has many faces as the wise one does say
That you can be wealthy and think you are poor it does seem this way
Wealthy in money and assets but poor in his mind
Suppose in the Human World there are every kind.

Many Of Those I Know

Many of those i know in their interests different to me
Suppose many of us in our ways different as can be
Most of them are sports fans and at their local pub
They discuss the on field performance of their favorite football club
As for me for years i have been a rhyming buff
One who has penned reams and reams of rhyming stuff
Though over three decades past my physical prime
I remain as addicted to the penning of rhyme
Just one of many who pens rhymes every day
One who writes for enjoyment not for fame or pay
But how boring we would be if we all thought in the same way
Variety is the spice of life as the wise one does say
And many of those i know in their interests different to me
Suppose many of us in our ways different as can be.

With Them You Share Nothing In Common

With them you share nothing in common though them you know by sight and often meet
Between you and them there is only silence when you pass them by on the street
Familiar to you by sight only though as strangers to you they will stay
With them you share nothing in common with so many it is this way
The first time you met them you said hello but to your greeting they did not reply
But since between you no sign of recognition in silence them you do pass by
By sight to you they are not strangers you even know of them by name
But those who treat you as a stranger you can only treat as the same
Like most some you do not like and others who do not like you
Perhaps it is do unto others as to you they choose to do
For to like everybody you know or know of you would have to be a living saint
They are a rare breed in the World the humans who are free of taint
Between you there is only silence when them you do happen to meet
You pass them by as silent strangers whilst out walking in the park or on the street.

Ann Moynihan

Before she became Ann Moynihan and time became her foe
She was born and raised as Ann Murphy many years ago
In her late sixties her life's journey came to an end
She was a nice person to have as a friend

In Inchileigh by Millstreet Town Ann first saw light of day
And in Mallow she died from there around thirty kilometers away
Predeceased by her son and her husband of life's crosses she knew
A life without one sad day a gift to the very few

In Millstreet and Mallow where she had lived for many years
Her passing from life would not have gone without tears
The Murphys formerly of Inchileigh are known far and wide
Beyond the borders of Duhallow's green countryside

The death of one we knew reminds us of our own mortality
At least anyhow this is how it seems to be
Ann who had lived as a good person died quite suddenly
But whatever we achieve in life death becomes our destiny

From her first home just over a kilometer away
Near Millstreet Town by Cashman's Hill in St Mary's Cemetery Ann's last remains lay
One can only say of her what one knows to be true
That she lived as a good person for to give her what is her due.

My Past Follows Me

I will never be free of the what used to be
Wherever i go to my past follows me
It has followed me from old fields far away
I am one who thinks of the past every day

The song of the chaffinch i fancy i hear
He sings in a grove to my thoughts ever near
A pink breasted songster in his physical prime
Old memories remain and take me back in time

My wonder of Nature only seems to grow
Though little about her i can claim to know
I first grew to love her far north as a boy
And learning of her ways today i enjoy

The white breasted birds of backs of dark brown
Are singing in the waterways to the west of the town
Fond memories of the water birds dippers with me does remain
Often in fancy i hear and i see them again

Good memories of what was are with me to stay
And my thoughts often go to places far away
But we can only live in the now as the wise one does say
And tomorrow the past it will be today.

It Is The Very Fear Of Death

In my late sixties the Reaper of lives soon to me will be reaping near
It is the very fear of death that i only do fear
I only fear the nothingness beyond the Earthly grave
It will never be said of me that i was one who died brave
But the fear of death is a common fear even among those of strong religious faith
I once asked a devout religious woman did she fear death her reply 'heaven it can wait'
Like me she also does fear death such a fear a common thing
Of the praises of the Reaper of lives you will not hear many sing
None have come back for to tell me of a paradise beyond the sky
Where good souls post bodily death with wings to do fly
The fear of death is the fear of the unknown
Of having such a fear i know i am one who is not on my own
I only wish for to live on for as long as i can
And die in my sleep without pain as a very old man.

Everyone For Herself Or Himself

Everyone for herself or himself and God for us all
Whoever first said this in thinking thought small
Though with such i know of many who do agree
Such a negative way of looking at life does seem selfish to me
I would much prefer the saying of give to receive
As on such a life philosophy i do believe
Of material wealth and fame so many of seem in need
Such things as we know that have their source in greed
I know it is something that has often been said before
Of kind and compassionate people the Human World is in need of more
The wealthy and famous too one day must die
There are too many who promote me, myself and i
I would much prefer the saying of live and let live
And for to receive you must know how to give.

I Yearn To Live

Far from the noise of the busy town street
Where the creek from the hills and the river does meet
With Nature's peace and beauty all around me
This is the place i am longing to be

The song of the grey shrike thrush a joy for to hear
His beautiful whistling melodious and clear
You will not hear his kind in the park of the town
Near where busy traffic does buzz up and down

I yearn for a cottage home in the quiet countryside
Where the peace and beauty of Nature abide
Where the only sounds are of the wind and the bees
And the wild born birds on the bushes and trees

Where many humans live Nature does not choose to stay
From the noise of the town she does live far away
The Goddess of Nature will never live near
Where industrial noise is all that one does hear

I yearn to live in a place of human noise free
With the beauty of Nature all around me
In a cottage on view of the hills near where the waterways meet
Far away from the noise of the busy town street.

It Hardly Will Matter

It hardly will matter to you on your life's journey's end
If you are one who never did have one good friend
If very few of you have nice things to say
Though to help one in need of helping you would go out of your way
You may be looked on by the impressionable as an ordinary one
Though your mother in you raised a good daughter or son
In the Human World of today the humble seem to lose out
That in the twenty first century self promotion is the in thing there can be little doubt
In public anonymity you are not on your own
The majority of humble people like you are not ever well known
In the twenty first century self promotion does seem the in thing
The praises of the humble few bother to sing
The most of the praise goes to the one with the loudest mouth
And the one who is humble of admiration loses out.

On Polliticians

To their sort to be in the limelight is bliss
On any photo opportunity most of politicians never do miss
In Parliament not much of humility
Where arrogance is rife to a varying degree
Most of them good at lying big lies they do tell
Among politicians the look at and hear me syndrome is alive and well
They are in a position to make a difference to humanity though few of them do
If you are poor they will not be the sort who will be helping you
I cannot see most of them making any difference to humanity
Politicians not my favorite sort of people or never will be
Among the majority of their sort narcissism is rife
They are not the type you should trust with your life
It is mostly waffle what they have to say
Though we hear of and read about them every day.

If Ever I Return To Duhallow Again

If ever i return to Duhallow again
I will walk in the fields in the drizzling rain
When the wild birds are singing in the prime of the May
The memories of what was are with me today
The fields of Duhallow lush and green after recent showers
Are looking resplendent in their Nature's flowers
And the cattle out of sheds from months of eating silage and hay
On nutritious young grass gaining weight by the day
Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways today i enjoy
The yearn for adventure did lure me away
From where i first looked on the bright lamp of day
But if ever i return to Duhallow again
I will walk in the fields in the drizzling rain.

St Patrick's Day In Koroit

St Patrick's Day in Koroit at the Mickey Bourke's Hotel
The publicans Bruce and Wendy for themselves doing quite well
The staff rather busy with customers glasses to fill
To any publican it is a nice sound indeed the constant ring of the till

St Patrick's Day in Koroit there is laughter, music and song
And to the music the happy patrons sing along
To the musical groups Rusty Bucks, Wednesday Whistlers, Tommy, Tuddy and Mick and Cill Airne taking their turns on stage
In Koroit the musical taste to it does not have an age

In Koroit on St Patrick's Day the favorite drinks dark Guinness and green beer
In Mickey's Bourke's and the Commercial Hotel it is a day and night of drinking, laughter and cheer
Laugh and the World laughs with you as the wise one does say
In Koroit it is like this on St Patrick's Day

A day of celebration when old friends do meet
In the pubs on Commercial Road Koroit's longest street
St Patrick's Day only does come once a year
The sweet lilt of laughter a happy sound to hear

The Guinness is dark and the beer it is green
In St Patrick's Day in Koroit on March seventeen
The revelers party on until the evening late
In the Town of Koroit they know how to celebrate.

The Forgotten Dead

They are in the graves of the forgotten dead
And nothing is known of them written or said
No headstone to tell of who they were above where their remains lay
The forgotten dead in the World of today
On the graves over where they lay the grass and weeds overgrown
And nothing of their heritage it does seem is known
Perhaps in life they knew of some laughter, sorrow and pain
But the mystery of their identity under the dark earth remain
Like others they ought to be remembered but sadly they are not
The forgotten dead in the graves of the forgot
Nobody brings flowers to place on where they lay
And kneel with head bowed for them for to pray
No headstone on their grave inscribed with their name
Perhaps they lived as they died as strangers to fame.

Born Not Made

Though every writer needed in the Wordsmith Trade
It is said about poets that they are born not made
How much truth is in this i for one cannot say
A fellow with rhyme words who does like to play
The novelists, the playwrights and journalists as well
The lexicographers, historians as well as the scribblers of doggerel
Have one thing in common they are writers all
Though not many writers have their names inscribed on the literary memorial wall
The successful writers only in the few
But then this is not saying anything that is new
And many writers who aspired to greatness when they were young
Have only known of disappointment and died poor and unsung
And only the chosen few the literary fans see fit to celebrate
Suppose every writer cannot be looked on as famous and great.

An Autumn Day In The Moyne Shire

In the sunny blue sky cannot see one cloud of gray
For the middle of March it is a beautiful day
A weather forecast for the day of twenty nine degrees
And the magpies are warbling on the sunlit trees

Such marvelous weather for the time of year
The call of the magpie lark pleasant to hear
Pee wee pee wee they do sing every day
Dainty black and white birds in their distinctive way

Such a beautiful Autumn day in the coastal Moyne Shire
The wonders of Nature one can only admire
Thousands of white butterflies dancing in the breeze
Around the wildflowers and the bushes and trees

Though the paddocks from recent showers looking green bone dry every drain
And the Moyne Shire could do with a few days of rain
For many months El Nino the thirsty one has been around
Sucking the moisture out of the dry ground

A beautiful day of blue sky and sunshine
On a weather forecast high of a warm twenty nine
And the coastal Moyne Shire farmers are hoping for rain
But the forecast for tomorrow is sunny and warm again.

False People

False people i do meet with them every day
I feel I am like them though not in every way
And of myself of me this is a hard thing to say
Since i am one with words who do like to play
The falseness in others that i do see
I have come to realize is also in me
What i dislike in others i have come to realize
Is what i dislike in me this is not a surprise
Many of us are like wolves in the sheep clothes
But we are what we are one has to suppose
In a Human World that is in need of more honesty and ruth
You will never become popular by speaking the truth
And the falseness in others that i do see
Are only a reflection of the falseness in me.

Those Old Fields I Loved

I think of them at least once a day
Those old fields i loved from here far away
The male chaffinch is singing in my memory
In the prime of the Spring on a leafy birch tree

Contented cattle chewing their cuds on nutritious young grass lay
In those old fields i loved in the prime of the May
And the dark barn swallows chirping as they fly
In pursuit of flying insects across the gray sky

I only have memories of the beauty i have known of and seen
Like the bluebells in bloom on the ditch of the bohreen
And the song of the dark brown white breasted dipper in fancy i do hear
The stream he sings in to my thoughts ever near

The old fields i loved many of them had their own given name
In my memories of them they look the same
As when i walked on them a long time ago
Long before time it did become my foe

Of those old fields i loved fond memories i retain
And in my flights of fancy i walk on them again
But the now is all that does matter as the wise one does say
And at midnight tonight the past will be today.

You Have Your Own Worries

You have your own worries of which i am aware
But you will find few others of your problems will bother to care
Since they do happen to have worries of their own
Most people in their lives some problems have known
You have a wife and children to support though for your work you are poorly paid
And when down on your luck few will come to your aid
In life every day for you a new challenge to meet
Though you are not the only poor person who lives on your street
Life is a struggle for most on the poor side of the town
Where few wish to know of you when on your luck you are down
With a family to support on poor take home pay
Your battles in life do go on every day
That you do have your worries i know all too well
For people like you life is an Earthly Hell.

What Is Human Life

What is human life but a short span of time
Just ten years of life in our physical prime
And from mid life to old age the clock does tick on
On looking back the Seasons one wonders where to has the time gone
Time will not wait for you it did not wait for me
How many more years will i live for to see
Since i am one who has lived to see many a Spring
And who is to say what the future will bring
To me or to you or indeed to anyone
Though the past we remember and when all is said and done
The now is what matters and at midnight today will be of the past
And few things as we know them ever seem to last
The longest lived human life in time such a short span
On average a few years more for a woman than it is for a man.

Old Campbell The Swaggie

Old Campbell the Swaggie is in Port Fairy today
But by this time tomorrow he will be on his way
Perhaps towards New South Wales and in a bigger town
So many roadways he has been up and down

With wrinkled brown face from life in the open air
Old Campbell self barbers his long straggly dark greying hair
An amiable old fellow of him one can say
There are few of his kind left in the Australia of today

In festivals in old rural towns in the brown countryside
By people Campbell the Swaggie is known far and wide
He recites old poems and bush ballads he learned as a boy
To so many people this man has brought joy

Old Campbell the Swaggie his body now showing the wear of time
At least twenty five years past his physical prime
He has often slept on his swag on the unsheltered ground
Without bushes or trees anywhere near around

Old Campbell the Swaggie he leads an adventurous life
Cannot say if he did father children or has had a partner or wife
In South East Australia he is widely known
One can say of him that he is in a class of his own.

If Money Speaks Every Language

If money speaks every language of us what does this say
That there are billions of losers in the Human World of today
And i must be one of them for my years i do not have assets and little money for my time to show
And wealthy people i only know of but cannot claim to know
But in many peoples eyes money and assets the type of person you are does not define
It does not mean you are a superior person if you can afford to drink the most expensive wine
Material wealth does not make a person better in any way
Than the person who works hard for a small take home pay
Material wealth it does have it's source in greed
I know people who are not wealthy themselves who go out of their way to help those of helping in need
Of the praises of money you hear so many sing
And to the majority nowadays money does seem the in thing
But it does seem puzzling quite puzzling indeed
That the more money some people do have the more they seem to need.

Those Who Abuse Their Power

Those who abuse their power over others in their lust for renown
Are those who are letting humanity down
They come in all shades of colors black, white and brown
And are to be found in every village and city and town
For abusing their power they cannot have an excuse
Since power does not give them the right others to abuse
Any form of abuse does constitute a crime
Though not all abusers do serve prison time
Those with power over others who abuse their power are in minority
And thankfully most people who do not abuse their power are of the majority
But a few rotten apples in a bag does rot others as the wise one does say
And there are far too many abusive people in the Human World of today
Of more compassionate people as leaders in the World we are in need
And the person who leads by good example is a good person indeed.

Aging With Grace

One can say of her she is aging with grace
With anti aging cream she does not hide the time wrinkles on her face
And she does not use hair dye for to cover her gray
One of the few who does age in the natural way
Quite attractive to look at as most would agree
For a widowed grandmother of seventy three
An attractive looking woman of her one can say
She looks well for her years her hair a natural gray
Quite a charming person and free of conceit
One who is always a pleasure for to meet
She is one i see often though not every day
And about her she does have a beautiful way
One of the rare few who have the inner glow
Nice people are always a pleasure to know.

March By The Finnow

Behind the gray clouds the sun is hidden away
Where the old Finnow River is babbling today
In the flat damp fields where the rushes do grow
In the home of the rook and the silver backed crow
Far north of here even as the migratory birds do fly
Close to if not more than twenty thousand kilometers of sky
No cattle out of wintering sheds yet in the fields where the waterways meet
In the old countryside near the Town of Millstreet
A cool weather temperature high for the day of seven degrees
With a drizzling rain in the strengthening breeze
That blow from the hills shrouded in the fogs of rain
And brown storm water flowing in every field drain
In mid March a little too early yet for birds to nest and sing
Though leaf buds on the deciduous trees tell of the approaching Spring.

Time Is On The Hurry

The past for us hold memories but the past in the forever gone
And the now is all that does matter and time keeps ticking on
And to us they remain as a mystery the future days ahead
Make the most of your existence you will be forever dead
The years go by so quickly our bodies show time's decay
Though we may use anti aging creams and with hair dyes cloak our gray
Age cannot be hidden from the eyes in the body it does show
The legs that once had a spring in them nowadays are walking slow
Eventually Life's Reaper who claims every life the life from you will sever
Make the most of your every living day for you will be dead forever
In life there is joy and laughter and there are tears and sorrow
And for some this is their last day they will not see tomorrow
Laugh and the World laughs with you there is no joy in worry
And do make the most of your day for time is on the hurry.

Aine Tyrrell

A brown skinned brown haired beauty of wavy raven hair
The talented musician singer songwriter Aine Tyrrell an entertainer of charm and flair
She lives in Killarney by the sea in the Moyne Shire people like her are rare
A long way south of her native place in the County of Clare

That she would become a World famed entertainer would not come as a surprise
The marvelous Aine Tyrrell her star is on the rise
Far beyond the coastal Moyne Shire she is one admired and well known
It truly can be said of her she is in a class of her own

I know her by sight only but she is one to impress
And as a musician singer songwriter she will know of greater success
Perhaps in her mid thirties not long beyond her life's prime
All good things come to those who wait and greater fame will come to her in time

She expends a lot of energy when she performs on stage
As a talented entertainer she has come of age
There is a saying that is well known this is cannot keep a good one down
And it does seem that Aine will know of far greater renown.

People With Big Egos

People with big egos are all around me everywhere
There are millions of them in the big World out there
To everyone they meet of their latest success story they tell
The me syndrome one can say is alive and well
Self promotion nowadays has become the in thing
Of those who their own praises do love to sing
Those who like to tell you of how great they are
Have taken love of self one can say too far
People with big egos i meet every day
This is a sad thing of sorts for to have to say
Humility nowadays endangered it does seem
They are a minority those of low self esteem
Those who tell me of how very marvelous they are
One can say take love of self that bit too far.

You Are Not Poor

You are not poor if you have enough to eat and drink every day
And a nice home to live in and a comfortable bed on which to lay
There are millions of people far worse off than you
And this only happens for to be true
Many people homeless in Winter weather temperatures below minus degrees
And in the refugee camps of the World millions of refugees
And of malnutrition poor people are dying every day
Poverty can be relative as the wise one does say
So many in the World of a fair go denied
The gap between the wealthy and the poor has never been so wide
Worldwide in every city and every town
There are millions of people who are financially down
And in comparison to many in life you are doing okay
You do not know how it feels to be hungry even for a day.

Donald Trump

Oh what is the World coming to at all
Donald Trump says if elected U S President he will authorize to build a wall
Across the Mexican border for to keep Mexicans out
The man does not seem to know what he is on about

A wall he says that the Mexican Government for will have to pay
Though the Mexican President has already told him no way
Will his Government be funding Mr Trump's latest dream
It does seem that the big mouth Donald is just letting off steam

Donald Trump says he will stop all Muslim migration to the U S of A
Words hard to be put into practice though easy to say
By his words he is racist quite racist indeed
Is he the type of President the U S or any country would need?

If Donald Trump is elected President of the U S the Land of the free
How very sad for this great Nation this would be
For by his words Donald Trump is mean spirited and small
He is one who does not believe on a fair go for all.

A Beautiful Young Woman

Her skin was darker than the darkest sky of night
But by her demeanor she was bubbly and bright
With a beautiful smile she bid me a good day
A beautiful young woman in every way

Her hair was as dark as the wing of a crow
A young woman of rare beauty with the inner glow
One can say of her quite a pleasure to meet
She carried joy with her whilst walking the street

So nice to meet a friendly young woman of her beauty not proud
For she was one who would stand out in a crowd
People like her known to spread happiness
The look at me syndrome she did not possess

Her shoulder length wavy dark hair she was elegant and tall
And her beautiful eyes brown as ripe chestnuts of the Fall
Down to earth in her ways and she seemed free of guile
Her white teeth seemed to glitter when she did smile

She was one that i never had seen before
And she is one that i may not meet anymore
So friendly in her ways and free of conceit
I find people like her a pleasure to meet.

That From The Lessons Of History

That from the lessons of history some do not learn does seem sad to say
About borders and religion and Nature's assets wars are waged every day
The opportunity to kill other human beings some never do miss
To the angry males of the World sheer ignorance is bliss
The right to life of innocent people war criminals deny
But what goes around comes around to them does apply
To Karma for their crimes they eventually must pay
Their mutilated victims in mass graves do lay
A known fact from poor seed good crops do not grow
In life we do reap the Karma we do sow
The Karma we warrant is what we receive
On Such a philosophy i do believe
Civilians dying or being badly injured in war zones every day
And this indeed is such a sad thing to say.

To Be Lacking In Money

To be lacking in money will never be the in thing
The praises of the poor the masses never do sing
A billionaire is one you never will meet
On the grimy sidewalks of Poverty Street

So many poor people in life doing it tough
Hungry and homeless living and sleeping rough
A thousand grow poorer for every new millionaire
The poor of the World as ever not rare

For many money and fame is what life is about
And the financially down sad to say counted out
Only a compassionate minority help those in need of helping without asking for pay
And this seems a very sad thing for to say

In a Human World of winners and losers the winners take the lions share
And most of the wealthy minority of their own needs only aware
In the twenty first century poor people to be found almost everywhere
There are billions of them in the big World out there.

It Is Out Of Myths And Legends

I have heard many stories of Tubrid's Holy Well
Of miracles that occurred there of so many i have heard tell
Of people who left their crutches and walking frames by the grotto and from there unaided walked away
Believe what you want to believe as the wise one does say

I have heard stories and legends of the Paps of Shrone
Those twin peaks in east Kerry of bracken, heather and stone
That they are the breasts of Goddess Anu pointing towards the sky
Of the truth in this who am i to deny

Of sightings of the Loch Ness Monster in Scotland we read of and hear
Though any photographs of it are not visually clear
But it is lack of clear evidence that keep public interest alive
One reason that myths and legends do survive

A subject some discuss whilst enjoying their cake and tea
The Lost City of Atlantis somewhere under the sea
And though of it's true existence none can truly claim of to know
Like is said of wonder it never does cease to grow

It is out of myths and legends that great stories are made
And from generation to generation they never do seem to fade
It is the stories of the distant past shrouded in mystery that are living today
Suppose this is how it is and it will always be this way.

For Me In It

For me in it not any money or fame
This penning of rhyme is a hungry belly game
One the literary critics do not consider worthy of literary note
And who does not warrant the title of poet

And why should i worry what literary highbrows think of me or say
Since i do love rhyming i write rhymes every day
For many years i have been a rhyming buff
And have become addicted to penning of rhyming stuff

For many years i have been dabbling in rhyme
At least some four decades this is going back in time
And as a rhymer i will never be one to the fore
It is something i enjoy doing and little else more

The birds they are singing in the park by the bay
For a rhymer this is quite a nice rhyming day
On a forecast high of twenty four degrees
To lay out of the sun in the shade of the trees

And write rhymes of the natural beauty that is all around me
Everywhere i do turn to look i do see
The World's greatest beauty that to view is free
How much better off can one wish for to be?

Love Causes Problems

In life we get what we wish for this is not a lie
The man who wished for death he got his wish to die
In his mid twenties death came to him all too soon
He decided to shoot himself in the mid afternoon
He died so young with time still on his side
Unrequited love did drive him to suicide
Not the first or last for to die in such a way
For one reason or other people decide to take their own lives every day
And because of unrequited love some people do decide
To take their own life in the act of suicide
Love causes problems it always has and always will
And because of it people have been known to kill
Or commit suicide he died at twenty five
And i near seventy healthy and alive.

I Am Not Really Up With The Big Stories

I am not really up with the big stories at all
Did not know that Rupert Murdoch had married Jerry Hall
And that her ex husband Mick Jagger about this is hopping mad
But as for Mick and his tantrums this all seems too bad

And since i am not known as one of empathy
For Sir Michael Jagger i cannot feel any sympathy
Jerry Hall only happens for to be his ex wife
The man is just jealous he should get a life

Seventy five years old Sir Michael behaving like a spoiled brat
Of the Marriage of Rupert and Jerry the dummy he spat
Of Jerry's new found love he does not feel over the moon
He does not like Rupert the octogenarian media tycoon

Old Sir Michael the randy one who with the finest of women has been in bed
Is not very happy that Jerry to Rupert is wed
Some men do not grow wiser they grow older and crankier instead
And for Sir Rupert and Jerry Sir Michael does not have any nice thoughts in his head

That money speaks every language happens to be true
Attractive looking younger women old wealthy celebrities do like to pursue
Cannot blame Jerry for falling for Rupert in such a big way
Though her ex Mick Jagger is not applauding and shouting hooray

Rupert Murdoch and Jerry Hall are now man and wife
These two have had many unions will this one be for life?
And by all accounts Mick Jagger he is hopping mad
One would have thought he would have had more sense than this as he is no longer a lad.

How Boring We Would Be

How boring we would be if on all things in life we did agree
If you on your ways were no different to me
But this cannot be since no two are the same
Though of people with similar interests many i could name
We are individuals is how it seems to be
And this applies to members of the one family
Brothers and sisters do not see life in the very same way
We are all very different in our own ways one can say
By sad stories many of us can be brought close to tears
And we all do have our own phobias and fears
We all have our flaws the perfect person i have yet to meet
In this Human World where so many for success do compete
No two i do know of are exactly the same
Though many of similar interests in life i could name.

They Are A Rare Breed

They are a rare breed those who never do lie
As saints they do live and as saints they will die
But you will not find any in Parliament House where Parliamentarians do meet
Where at lying with each other they do always compete
And you will not find them among solicitors who in court lie all of the time
Defending one who is on trial for a most heinous crime
The truth every day in court they are denying
One can say they make a good living from lying
And you will not find living saints among real estate agents and second hand car dealers who lie to clients every day
In their professions to be good at lying does pay
Of classes of professional liars i have just mentioned a few
You may say to this do tell us what is new
You will not find many free of vice or taint
In my years of life i have yet to meet a living saint.

Duhallow In March

The morning is drizzly with a damp March chill
In the freshening wind blowing down from the hill
The Boggeragh Ranges are cloaked in the gray fogs of rain
And brown storm water flowing in every field drain

The soughing of the wind in bare deciduous trees
On a weather forecast high for the day of a mere five degrees
The cattle in the farmyard sheds bellowing for silage or hay
And real Spring is at least some four weeks away

The redwing thrushes have gone north to their breeding ground
Though signs of Winter still linger around
The old fields where grass as of yet does not grow
And the waterways bank high from the high fields does flow

Though to nicer Spring weather every dawning draws near
Ireland not an ideal holiday destination in March of the year
At least not for a sun loving young woman or man
You will not return home from there with a suntan

Some fifty kilometers inland from the Atlantic Sea
Duhallow weather-wise in March not a nice place to be
Where rain free days are few and the sun often hidden away
For most of the day behind clouds of gray.

John Anthony Murphy

Though far from where he was born and raised he lived his last night and day
Among his ancestors in Drishane's old cemetery John Anthony Murphy's last remains lay
From his birthplace in Ballydaly some three miles away
The love of home strong as the wise one does say

The Murphys near Ballydaly Church in Duhallow are well liked and well known
And the people of Ballydaly will mourn for the passing of one of their own
In the place where he had lived in his younger years
The final farewell to him would not have gone without tears

Those who knew him well with fondness him will recall
But eventually death it will come to us all
The longest lived human life in time not long why otherwise pretend
Two years short of eighty John Anthony's journey came to an end

As a boy on the Millstreet Ballydaly road on a Summer Sunday
At a road bowling score i saw John Anthony play
Sparks flew off of the road from the steel bowl that he threw hard and long
A young man near his prime then broad shouldered and strong

In London where he lived with his wife Breeda and his family he died
But his last remains are at rest in his home countryside
And though the great gift of life from John Anthony Murphy may have gone
In everyone who knew him he is living on.

Everyone Is Talented

Those who talk of untalented people do not know what they say
For everyone is gifted in some sort of a way
That everyone is good at something does happen for to be true
Though not everyone receives the credit that ought to be their due
Not everyone is famous and does have a great name
But only those who crave it most are those who know of fame
The one admired by the masses not necessary humble in any way
Since self promotion is the in thing in the Human World of today
I know some very talented people who are not that well known
Of what they are good at of them one can say in a class of their own
Not into self promotion their own praises they never sing
To crave for to be the center of attention in life is not their thing
Yes everyone in some way is talented of this there can be no doubt
And those who tell you differently do not know what they are on about.

Esther Cashman Manley

In Tullig House on Tullig Hill Esther Cashman first saw light of day
But her life's journey ended in London from there far away
The yearn for the wander took her to elsewhere
One who was to grow old in the big World out there

In her school going years in the Convent at the West End of Millstreet Town
The high road to and from Tullig she often walked up and down
The Ireland of the nineteen forties very different from the Ireland of today
That the changes keep happening only true for to say

Esther did not travel far her partner in life for to meet
She married John Manley of the Square of the Town of Millstreet
But far from Duhallow in London they raised their family
For to grow old in Millstreet not in their life's destiny

In Esther a huge loss to Millstreet was surely London's gain
One can only hope death to her came without any pain
In London from Tullig House in distance far away
Esther Cashman Manley lived her last night and day.

Inspiration Today

Physical work of thought process does get in the way
This is not going for to be a good rhyming day
Above the noise of the chainsaw the birds i cannot hear
Inspiration to me is not anywhere near
Inspiration is never where noise does abound
Only in peaceful and quiet places it is to be found
Such as a place far from the noisy street
In view of the hills where the waterways meet
Inspiration is one who likes the quiet life
It cannot feel at home where human created noise is rife
The noise of a chainsaw or traffic or loud machinery does drive it away
In noisy surroundings inspiration does not stay
Above the noise of the chainsaw Nature's voice i cannot hear
Inspiration today is not anywhere near.

Port Fairy In The Moyne Shire

Port Fairy in the Moyne Shire voted the World's most livable small town
Though this is not it's only claim to renown
On nearby Griffith Island a huge short tailed shearwater colony
Though sadly the island of predators of their young not totally free
And a huge Music Festival is held every year in March in the Town in the Moyne Shire's coastal countryside
That have World renowned entertainers and music fans from Countries Worldwide
As a Town that attracts wealthy tourists Port Fairy is well known
For it's beaches and scenic views it has a charm of it's own
From early Spring to late Autumn the accommodation house owners do a brisk trade
Most business owners in Port Fairy at year end a big profit have made
For it's hospitable people Port Fairy has a good name
And the World's most livable small Town one of it's claims to fame
But not the most affordable as many would agree
At least anyway this is how it seems for to be.

Early March In The Moyne Shire

One never runs out of material for to write rhymes about
Not even me from the waterways of the brown trout
In early March in early Autumn in the sky blue and gray
The sun shining bright on this nice warm day

A magpie is warbling on a sunlit black-wood tree
And there is no mistaking the song of the pee wee
And a freshening breeze blowing uphill from the bay
Across the bare paddocks the color of hay

Though the dry countryside seems in need of more rain
With such beautiful weather one should not complain
A weather temperature high for the day of twenty four degrees
With a refreshing coolness in the coastal breeze

That from the Pacific shore through the coastal Moyne Shire blow
Though on prolonged warm and dry weather grass does not grow
And the farmers feeding their cattle on silage and hay
Are hoping for rain though rain from the coastal land seems far away

For many weeks El Nino the thirsty one has been around
Sucking every drop of moisture out of the dry ground
And though the Moyne Shire is in need of lots of rain
With such pleasant weather it seems hard to complain.

What Most Of Us Receive From Life

What most of us receive from life is only our due
And that we get the politicians we deserve only happens to be true
As they become our reflective mirror after election day
This applies to those who voted for the successful candidates anyway
Some people are slow to see through conceit and guile
And many politicians lose their luster after being in parliament for only a short while
Between the government and opposition in parliament there is blame and counter blame
Just parliamentary squabbling for want of a better name
That we get what we voted for one can only believe
And most politicians with their words are known to deceive
It is true that you can only take anyone on trust
But few make it to parliament by being honest and just
I only do say what is known to be true
That more often than not we receive from life what is only our due.

Of My Worth As A Writer

Of my worth as a writer i have reason to doubt
But every day something new for me to write about
In more than four decades i have not run out of rhyme
And on going back the Seasons this does seem a long time
The rhymes do keep coming to me every day
With rhyming words i am one who loves to play
And to those who advise me to give rhyming away
I will when i die to them i do say
For if i told them i would this would be a lie
As i hope to be rhyming until the day i do die
Sometime in the not distant future whenever this will be
The Reaper of lives will come to claim the life from me
So as long as i can do i will keep rhyming on
Though the best years of my life in the forever gone.

Poor Mangan

Poor Mangan passed from life in Ireland's post famine years
And at his death the people of the Country were not plunged into tears
A poor person back then not seen worthy of note
Though Mangan he was quite a marvelous poet

In Eighteen forty nine on his forty sixth year of consumption Mangan died young
In his life time one of the poor his praises never sung
Since his passing one hundred and sixty six years has gone
But the greatness of Mangan in his poems lives on

The author of Ireland's national poem Dark Rosaleen
In his tragic life so much hardship he had known of and seen
But today many of his poems are known Worldwide
And true greatness of him cannot be denied

In the Dublin of his time there was so much poverty
But James Clarence Mangan he did write marvelous poetry
Though he died young and poor and in his writing prime
His verses have withstood the great test of time.

The Hokey Pokey In Claraghatlea

In life there is laughter and sorrow and tears
But good memories do last through the decades of years
The good memories are ours a lifetime to enjoy
And i have good memories of Claraghatlea as a boy

Back in the late fifties a long time ago
The Murphy cousins musicians Jackie and Neily Joe
Had a dancing timber platform in Claraghatlea on a quarter of ground owned by Matty Owen
The old memories in me by time have not been outgrown

On Summer evenings at the timber platform a kilometer west of Millstreet Town
Neily Joe and Jackie Murphy played music until after sundown
To their hearts delight for three hours or more
The men and women of Millstreet west danced around the platform floor

There were dance evenings on the Claraghatlea Platform from early Summer to mid Fall
And one particular evening in mid July i will always recall
When Annagloor's Jimmy Twohig and his wife Kathy dancers quite sprightly on their feet
Introduced The Hokey Pokey to the dancers west of Millstreet

It is an old memory that is with me today
The other dancers stood and applauded as Jimmy and Kathy gave their Hokey Pokey display
A memory that has survived through the Seasons of time
Though then i was many years from my life's prime

Many of the people who danced on the Claraghatlea timber dance platform in eternal rest lay
And the young people back then are now showing time's decay
And the music comes to me from the long ago
Of the musician Murphy cousins Jackie and Neily Joe

The Claraghatlea Timber Dancing Platform a memory of what used to be
Another thing of great beauty of Duhallow's past history
And the memory remains with me as the sun was going down
Of Jimmy and Kathy Twohig dancing the Hokey Pokey on the Platform near Millstreet Town.

Macaulay's Heroes

Macaulay who wrote The Lays Of Ancient Rome
For his heroes did go a long way from home
For Horatius Cocles his hero huge odds not afraid to face
Was a legendary warrior of Roman Race

Thomas Babington Macaulay the famed English politician and poet
In English literature remains as one worthy of note
His Lays Of Ancient Rome are widely read today
One can say of him with words he had a way

Though Macaulay passed from life many decades ago
Time that rusts iron to his poetry has not yet become a foe
In fact i heard a few stanzas of Horatius On The Bridge recited on radio today
Good poetry lives on though time does tick away

Reading the famous rhyming poems today i enjoy
As much as i did when i was a young boy
In my mind Macaulay's verses have a place of their own
The love of old rhymes i have not outgrown

In English political history Thomas Babington Macaulay's is a legendary name
But as a poet his is also in time an enduring fame
For his heroes he did go a long way from home
You can read all about them in The Lays Of Ancient Rome.

And Only The Memories

From Claraghatlea just west of Millstreet Town where i first saw light of day
And grew to a man i now live far away
The years have left me looking wrinkled and balding and my hair silver gray
That time ages the body only true for to say
On looking back the Seasons time does seem to fly
Though i often remember climbing Clara Mountain on evenings in July
When the whortleberries the small blue fruits of the heather were ripe for to eat
To the taste buds in the mouth they were a tasty treat
A skylark was singing just after sundown
Above Clara as the shades of twilight crept over the fields near Millstreet Town
From high Claramore to Claraghatlea downhill
I often followed the winding journey of the Claramore rill
And only the memories with me does remain
Of what used to be for me but will not be again.

George Cardinal Pell

If he is not telling the truth then at lying he does well
The best one can say of George Cardinal Pell
To say of the child abuse in Ballarat that he did not know
Is like saying the Antarctic in Winter is free of ice and snow

From a hotel room in Rome evidence on the Ballarat paedophile priest Gerald Risdale
Who more than likely will spend his last days in jail
George Pell said of the happenings under his watch he had not known
And of any responsibility on his behalf he does disown

On the ailing Bishop Ronald Mulkearns he puts all of the blame
Whilst he exonerates himself of any knowledge of the Ballarat crimes of shame
When bishop Mulkearns says on covering for Risdale by shifting him from parish to parish he got it all wrong
We know on his side that at least the truth does belong

That George Cardinal Pell is a clever man there can be little doubt
And it is hard to believe that the crimes by priests in Victoria he would not have known about
In the Ballarat Royal Commission for him there has not been any prestigious gain
As a doubt on his and his character will always remain

Whether George Cardinal Pell is lying or telling the truth is not for me to say
For who am i for to be his judge anyway
But many do look on him as one not free of taint
And doubtful that he will ever be one to be canonized as a saint.

Everywhere All Around Me

On the streets every day them i do see
I hear them on radio see them on t v
Of them the Human World will never be free
The egotistical are everywhere all around me
In the twenty first century the look at me syndrome is alive and well
The arrogant people who do play the swell
They want everybody to be looking their way
Just too bad i do have to see them every day
Arrogance and self conceit to them is bliss
A photo opportunity they never do miss
It does seem out of fashion in the twenty first century
This beautiful thing known as humility
Their egos are swollen pumped of self conceit
Everyday i do see them when out on the street.

We Know All About You

We know all about you since you tell us of how marvelous you are
And of the size of your new home and your brand new car
That you like to show off as you drive up and down
With your attractive blond wife and your young son and daughter on the streets of the town

We know all about you people like you impress
The impressionable aspirational who yearn for material success
But not far from where you live it is sad to say
There are some who are homeless and hungry today

Of your recent material successes you have stories to tell
But you mention the poor as the never do well
And you ignore one fact of human life that with us does remain
That somebody's loss becomes to another a gain

We know all about you since you make sure we do know
That your material assets do grow and do grow
But that material possessions say little of a person you fail to realize
In any case this is not any surprise

We know all about you since you make sure we do
your main topic of conversation it is always you
And the size of your home and your swimming pool and your brand new car
You do let us know of how marvelous you are.

For One To Win Others Must Lose

In all things in human life it does seem for one to win others must lose
And everyone wants for to be a winner losing is something one never does choose
Doubtless far fewer winners than losers the poor of the World are not rare
There are at least a thousand poor people for every known millionaire
The winner takes most of the money and most of the glory and fame
And everyone wants to know a winner this is how it is and will always be the same
Those who do talk of egalitarianism somehow does not seem to realize
That as long as there are winners and losers people will never be equal this is not any surprise
In the World every day more losers than winners does this not seem a sad thing to say
Though you may have been a gallant loser it cannot have been your greatest day
Everyone wants to be a winner to say otherwise would be a lie
And this applies to everybody as well as to you and to i
For one to win big in tattslotto so many their money must lose
And winning to most is all important and losing anyone does never choose.

I Am One Who In life

I am one who in life has been quite lucky
Nothing as such for to worry about
And though rhyming to me seems far more than a hobby
My worth as a rhymer i always do doubt

To be a poet i have never pretended
A rhymer at best is the best i can be
Literary critics see my sort unworthy of criticism
Each to their own views one has to agree

This is a beautiful day for a rhymer
In the sunlit gray sky the welcome swallows are circling above the old town
To the northern tropics they will soon be migrating
The dark airborne wanderers of throats of light brown

In Nature every day inspiration for a rhymer
Beauty is everywhere all around me
After the recent rain the park looking fresh and greener
And so pleasant to hear the song of the pee wee

Lucky to be here among such nice surroundings
In this quiet park on this beautiful day
Alone with my thoughts on such beautiful weather
Utopia from this place cannot be far away

Just to be here in this place i feel lucky
Where a magpie is warbling on a sunlit gum tree
Where mother Nature is in all of her splendor
And her amazing beauty to view it is free.