Francis Duggan Poems

For winners there have to be losers that's life as some are known to say
That's how it is and always will be for it always has been this way
For one to feel success elation many disappointment do know
Compared to the delighted winner disappointment on the losers faces show,
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Global warming is claiming the great white ice bear
Due to less ice to hunt on they are becoming rare
Seals for them becoming harder to catch so of hunger they die
Global Warming is for real and that's not a lie.
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Only one can be president and only one can be pope
And for every millionaire many struggle to cope
With the business of living, poor people are not rare
There are billions of them in the big World out there.
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The weather may not be that good the sky overcast and gray
But the Millstreet Town St Patrick's parade it will take place today
From Minor Row led by the Pipers Band up through the old Town Square
I'm just one Millstreet person amongst many more who wishes he were there.
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Bruising on her face proof of her terrible life
The young woman who is a wife beater's wife
Her bruises they seem far too many to hide
But with year old twin girls to her man she feels tied.
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You may be a very good person well known and well liked in the town
But there's one or two who do not like you and there is one to put you down
Some only search for faults in others in their ways these people are small
You may win the respect of many but you cannot win the respect of all.
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In the City of Sydney at Blackwattle Bay
An environmental crime was committed not in light of day
But in the dark of night someone poisoned some trees
Many of which bore flowers for pollinating bees
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Someone should have told him he should not murder others and then kill himself for fame
Since all he left of himself is his legacy of shame
A gun in the wrong hands can cause sorrow and tears
And the kin of his victims left to grieve for years.
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I envy the people who can cope with stress
They are on the high road to happiness
They have anger caused by frustration under control
The one who can laugh under stress has a beautiful soul
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On volcanic Mt Rouse where the thistles grow tall
They spread their seeds around in the warm winds of the Fall
And with each passing year their numbers multiply
For to control their spread people no longer do try
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