Francis Duggan Poems

Young Thomas is eleven and to his mum he often say
I'll climb to the top of Mt Everest you'll be proud of me one day,
You will say that's my son Thomas there is none so great as he
He has made world news headlines and is often seen on the t v.
...

I often sat upon the dunce's stool
In the class room in Millstreet Town Primary school
My parents they could not feel proud of me
I was not the type of boy they wished me for to be.
...

It's been a long dry Summer and it's been a dry Fall
And the water reservior almost empty and the old bloke recall
That in seventy years of living he has not known it so dry
And he has seen many a Season since he was a boy.
...

The spur winged plovers breed in depths of Winter
And in the night you often hear them cry
Perhaps they scream at fox who is out hunting
As in the darkness he goes prowling by?
...

In the late forties and all through the fifties and that's going back in time
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet was in his glorious prime
In the game of Gaelic Football the great man knew great fame
And through the length and breadth of Ireland his was a well known name.
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An occasion I won't forget
As long in me as there is living breath
And the memory with me will stay
Of Little Bella's Christening Day.
...

He does not smoke pot or cigarettes or alcohol he doesn't drink
And he's the perfect role model or so some seem to think
He attends church on sundays with his wife and teenage daughter and son
And though not many ideal fathers he is seen as one.
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She doesn't use hair dyes or makeup to hide ageing signs away
The woman from Indonesia her hair is silver gray
A beautiful brown skinned woman of average build and height
And her smile is infectious she seems carefree and bright.
...

For the past twenty of her fifty years she's lived in Port Adelaide
And every day in the old Town a new friend she has made
Her nickname is 'The Coorong Rose' from the coastal lands from where she came
And she is one who doesn't take offence to be called by her nickname.
...

The raindrops on the rooftop pitter patter
And the wind the leaves on the verandah scatter
On this wild and wet January sunday in the Summer
The type of day the Aussies call a 'bummer'
...