Because I Love To Write

I do not write rhymes for money or glory
I only write because i love to write
And it bothers me none if the stuff i have written
Is not the type that readers do read or recite

I live far south of where i first saw daylight
From where the life's journey for me began
In Claraghatlea in view of old Clara Mountain
Where i lived as a boy and grew into a man

I thought that i had lost migrant nostalgia
Only for to learn that thought had proved me wrong
I do admit to for yearning for what has been
Whenever i do hear an Irish song

For twenty four years i have lived out of Ireland
And in twenty four years there is many a night and day
I am getting on in years into my sixties
And time on me keeps ever ticking away

Doubtless it is a changed place Millstreet in Duhallow
And not many people there i now would know
But in my dreams the Finnow River is babbling
And i hear the harsh cawing of the silver backed crow

I write for the love of it and little else more
And for many years i have been a rhyming buff
And still the rhymes to me they do keep on coming
I am one who has penned reams and reams of stuff

I write rhymes because it is something i like doing
And i will go on penning for as long as i can
I would feel a stranger now by Clara Mountain
And here i will always be a migrant man.

On Rememberance Day

The young men who died in wars from their homelands far away
In some parts of the World are remembered today
By the more patriotic who see war as okay
Yet what did they die for can anyone say?
They could not have died for peace since troops today in battles engaged
And war over borders and God are still waged
The war drums are beating in every war memorial parade
And the blame not all on one side when enemies are made
At the war memorial a bugler the last post does play
On the eleventh of November Rememberance Day
Yet war and it's brutality does not have a use by date
And in every battle more heroes to celebrate
And on Rememberance day in the town by the sea
The National flag at half mast on the town hall i do see.

The Last Rhyme Poet Of Her Suburb

She was the last rhyme poet of her suburb the classic rhymers nowadays seem quite rare
As well as poems she also penned songs and ballads her gifts with others she did share
She lived on her own never gave birth to children or never wished to become any fellow's wife
In her working years a secondary school teacher penning rhyming poetry was her passion in life
She never did yearn for the fame and glory yet through her poetry she became known far and wide
She never sought to make money from her verses yet greatness of her could not be denied
She lived to eighty seven quite a good age amongst the suburbs deceased her remains do lay
Her poems today read and enjoyed by many greatness outlives mortality some say
Her works are musical and quite enlightening she was born with the gift of perfect rhyme
And through her legacy of words she will be long remembered though everything does seem to fade in time
Her songs are sung and her poems often recited in the pubs and social gatherings in the town
In death she is becoming very famous in life she never did know such renown
The last great rhyming poet of the suburb her likes perhaps may not be seen again
Her musical words sung, read and enjoyed by many and memories of her in her works remain.

If You Are One

If you are one who does laugh away life's worries some will even say with you there's something wrong
They will dismiss you as one who is mentally not right as if seriousness to sanity belong
They cannot see the happiness in laughter joy in their being a thing they do deny
They cannot laugh or see the use in laughter one of life's great gifts 'twould seem has passed them by
Life's short enough you may as well enjoy it three score and ten the average lifetime span
On an average by a few years it is noted that the woman usually does outlive the man
Yet some people do take life very seriously though never short of money they look unhappy most of the time
They seldom smile you never hear them laughing they ought be told that laughter is not a crime
Kathy on our street the mother of seven and eight years old daughters her husband left her a few years ago
One might say she would have reason to feel unhappy but she is not one for to harbour woe
To her laughter always seems to come easy she always has a big smile on her face
Even in the mind of one who has known hard times happiness has been known for to find a place
Some though financially well off are known to shun laughter as if to laugh would be a mortal sin
Whilst to some who have known hard times laughter does come easy they do possess the glow of joy within.

Sanderling In Killarney

The sanderling born and raised in the Arctic i saw them on Killarney beach today
They feasted on sea lice along the tide line and from the incoming waves they turned and ran away
Only to return quickly when the waves had retreated to devour what the ocean had washed in
Each incoming wave brought with it tiny life forms they need to move fast their morsels for to win
One can only marvel at these tiny gray birds each year they travel thousands of miles of sky
From the Arctic they fly far south to coastal Australia and back home once again to breed they fly
For such tiny birds this is a daunting journey twice a year to have to undertake
It remains a mystery how they find their way so far south and their way back home to the Arctic make
On the beach in Killarney in Victoria they do usually arrive in early to mid Spring
And in early Fall depart for the Arctic the workings of Nature is an amazing thing
The sanderlings that i see in Killarney have seen by far more of the World than me
Their journeys take them through so many Countries a lot of beaches in their lives they do see
From Siberia by the cold far northern ocean far south to the sunny southern shore
Than the most travelled person on the Planet of miles the tiny sanderling have travelled more.

When I Was Young

When i was young my head was full of daydreams i had such silly notions of renown
But my prime years seemed to come and go so quickly in the countryside just west of Millstreet Town
In Claraghatlea in view of Clara Mountain from this great Land thousands of miles of sky
Whenever people ask me where i came from to them my heritage i never do deny
'Tis said by some that our destiny is in our Karma and this indeed may very well be true
In some ways i do believe in such a theory on what i receive from life it is my due
Nowadays from life i do ask very little i wish for to be happy that is all
I want to know the feeling of contentment my expectations of life now are small
I still walk in the fields just west of Millstreet i brought them with me in my memory
And every time i visualize old Clara with the bracken face is beautiful to see
So good to hear again the Finnow waters with ever babbling tongue as it does flow
Through old fields that have long pre-dated people where the rank rushes in great clusters grow
We must live in the now though my wish is to be happy we all do have our links to the past
Time has left me feeling and looking older and the biological clock on me is ticking fast.

Birdsland In November

The kookaburra laughing in the wood at Birdsland and magpie fluting for to greet the day
And the familiar voices of the small green bellbirds like tiny bells tinkling in the dawning gray
The sulphur crested cockatoos on the tall trees always quite noisy at nightfall and daybreak
Snow white with yellow crests quite pretty birds to look at their harsh grating squawks once heard one can't mistake
The water birds with their young swim on the lakes at Birdsland Spring there is such a lovely time of year
So nice to hear the piping of the shrike thrush and the blackbird's song melodious and clear
The white and the straw necked ibis feeding on the wetland with their long bills probing for slugs in the softer ground
A safe haven for wildlife in old Birdsland where many species in numbers abound
Were i a poet i'd write a poem of Birdsland of November in the latter days of Spring
When the daisies and the capeweed are blooming of Nature's praises i do love to sing
From recent rain the high paddocks are at their very finest and Nature resplendent in her cloak of green
I retain great mental pictures of old Birdsland and the beauty in that grand old place i've seen
I may be living many miles from Birdsland but fond memories of the place i do retain
And in fancy with my faitful old dog Jedder i walk the pathways by the lakes again.