Francis Duggan Poems

Some talk of their mates and what Mateship's about
But the greatness of Mateship is open to doubt
What is one person's truth is another person's lie
And so few for their mates would be prepared to die.
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In my memory she still looks lovely and in my memory she's still nineteen
And I visualize her this moment picking bluebells from the ditch of the bohreen
So lovely and young and so happy her brown hair blowing in the Spring breeze
The hawthorns laden with white blossoms and birds sing on bushes and trees
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Suppose bullies will always be bullies they were bullies as schoolgirl or schoolboy
The idea of having power over others is something they seem to enjoy
Few school bullies grow into nice people since that is not their natural way
Few of them becoming loving and caring old habits die hard as some say
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These multinational criminals of legalized crime
Many of them ought to be in prison serving years of time
Instead with their wealthy friends in upper class uptown restaurants they dine
And eat the best of food and drink the most expensive wine
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The flies are buzzing in the sunshine and the little dark brown honeybees
Are busily gathering nectar from the flowers of the blossoming trees
On a beautiful day in October of around 27 degrees
And Nature she is at her calmest with only a very faint breeze
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In Gods of religion no shortage of choice
But one God for all religions that would be nice
The Gods of the Universe trouble create
A Human World without wars for God something to celebrate.
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The boys of the fifties are not young today
The years have left them looking wrinkled and gray
In the late nineteen sixties they were in their lives prime
Anybody does never get younger in time
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A complaint by many women is a good man is hard to find
That many men are selfish and to the needs of women blind
And that some men physically abuse their women so happens to be true
But give the good man credit if credit he is due.
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They are the future of humanity
But many of them living in poverty
And without shelter homeless on the street
Searching through rubbish bins for scraps of food to eat.
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One hundred years from now when I am long gone
And there is not one mention of my name
Life it will carry on as it has always
And people will enjoy their weekend game
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