Francis Duggan Dark Poems

As the dark clouds of rain are gathering in the sky
The birds sing and whistle in the parkland nearby
From listening to Nature's creatures knowledge of weather we do gain
The birds always whistle and sing before rain
...

He is from the place of the dark brown weerloo
The birds known to many as yellow tail black cockatoo
The high wooded country from here far away
Where he feels he would be a stranger today
...

That poem by Denis Murphy felt like a whiff of joy
On the whereabouts of Richard Regan the once dark haired Butcher Boy
It seems he is back near Ballydaly in his mansion by the hill
Though looking a bit older time never does stand still
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In and out of Lake Pertobe and on to Lady Bay
The dark Merri waters slowly winds it's way
And follows on the course of it's destiny
For to join the great waves of the Pacific Sea
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The sun it was not shining and dark gray were the skies
Yet he wore dark sun glasses for to conceal his eyes
From the gaze of other people what was he trying to hide
Since to the mirror of his soul daylight he had denied.
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To him Ireland she was his Dark Rosaleen
And for as long as the fields of Ireland remain green
That beautiful poem is destined to live on
When others to posterity will have long gone,
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The woman in dark glasses her eyes I can't see
I wonder why she keeps on staring at me
Though she does not smile me does she recognize?
The mirrors to her soul from me she disguise
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The bloke who is wearing dark glasses his eyes from me hidden away
Yet the sun is not even shining it is quite an overcast day
In my direction he keeps staring and that sort of does bother me
Which to say the least feels quite perturbing since his hidden eyes I cannot see
...

She lives far from South West Gippsland now Guiseppe's dark
haired daughter
On Italy's Adriatic coast a short drive from saltwater
Married to a young Italian their pretty dark haired baby girl born last November
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Where you live the air is cleaner and no smoke pollute the sky
And you're happy and contented young and happy dark skinned boy
You don't know yet of thing called evil every day a new surprise
And all you see are things of beauty through your innocent brown eyes.
...

With the sun on their dark wings in the blue Summer sky
In pursuit of flying insects the welcome swallows fly
Above the brown paddocks a familiar sight
Of the southern Land often in full flight
...

On a dark and wet Winter's night in the old country town
On the main street few cars and trucks pass up and down
And the hunting boobook owl in the park nearby
It's often repeated mopoke on the tall trees does cry
...

A dark skinned dark haired beauty of eyes of dark brown
The fairest by far on her side of the town
As nice a person as one could wish to meet
She carries joy with her when walking the street
...

For years you have known your dark moods of despair
And you feel that life to you is rather unfair
Life has it's high points and low points it does seem this way
And the moods of the mind we deal with every day
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Feeling happy though the boss knocked back his request for a raise in pay
For him it has been anything but a good day
And though of late his wife left to live with another and with her took their young daughter with her from him
He refuses to allow this to get him feeling down dark haired laughing Jim
...

On a dark laneway by a disused factory doorway out of sight
Some mother's young daughter is dying tonight
Prostate on the cold hard concrete near her life's journey's end
From an overdose of narcotics alone without a rend
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The ways of the City he is coming to know
The young man from the place where the dark Tarwin flow
On it's way to the ocean near Venus Bay
Though in Ferntree Gully he is happy to stay
...

By the Town of Port Fairy as ever it does flow
On towards the Pacific at Griffith Island it crawls deep, dark and slow
The river known as the Moyne that has inspired song, story and rhyme
That will flow on forever through the centuries of time
...

The big dark brown parrots yellow tailed black cockatoos
The birds that are known to some as the weerloos
I do hear and see them often though not every day
Their voices and appearance to their identity a give away
...

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

In the home of the pee wee and magpie and the black pale eyed crow
The dark Merri waters to the Pacific does flow
In and out of Lake Pertobe on by Middle Island it flows on it's way
Into the Pacific Ocean at Stingray Bay
...

Where the dark Merri waters to the Pacific does flow
Far south of the fields of the silver back crow
The magpie is warbling in the dawning gray
Of a cool and a windy June Winter's day
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In fancy i can hear the dark pale eyed crow
Cawing on a gum tree near where Wannon waters flow
Through the flat brown paddocks from here far away
It babbles on seawards by night and by day
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Financially you may be in quite poor shape and feeling down and close to counted out
And believing that the whole World is against you and you are one who is being racked by self doubt
And you hold out little hope for a bright future your mind clouded with the black moods of despair
Of late you have reason to feel unhappy as is said of life it is not always fair
...

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
...

The most of us have our dark demons to fight
When the brain is shrouded from positive light
In our moments of sadness that borders despair
We tell ourselves life to us not at all fair
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The silver bill magpie pipes on a gum tree
A bird quite familiar to many and me
And the magpie lark sings his distinctive pee wee
Near where the dark Hopkins waters crawl down to the sea
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When James Clarence Mangan penned 'Dark Rosaleen'
A poem that will live for as long as Ireland's fields are green
Millions of people in Ireland of hunger were dying or were dead
And times never tougher and tough times ahead
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In the bleak and dark laneways off of Poverty Street
A millionaire is one you could not hope to meet
In disused factory doorways out of mind out of sight
The poor of the city shelter from the night
...