Francis Duggan Poems

John Buckley lived in Mushera upon the higher ground
A quiet and decent person his nickname 'John The Pound'
For the Aubane Gaelic Football Club he played Gaelic Football
Back in the nineteen sixties as I can well recall.
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When they feel hungry with their urge for meat
The birds of prey hunt other birds to eat
They even tackle and kill birds of them a greater size
In Nature few things do seem to surprise
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My dad sold black Tom our old work-horse when he had known a better day
But what happened to him after that I do not know for to say
Suppose he was slaughtered for dog meat few work-horses of old age do die
To say that all work-horses become children pets would be telling a lie
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Bill in his days as a farmworker witnessed many plagues of mice
He said the damage done by the tiny creatures it wasn't very nice
For the farmer to look at some of his grain crop by them destroyed
To the huge dent in his profit he wasn't overjoyed.
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What sounds good to you does not sound good to me
The blare of rock music with my senses does not agree
The loud stereo in your car that you do play
You well may live for to regret one day
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On few things 'twould seem we do ever agree
The failure to you is a success to me
'Tis true one person's weed is another's rose
So few think on the same lines one would have to suppose
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For to win the war many must die and the dead forever dead
Forget about making war mate you should make love instead
For making love is very beautiful of love the poets do sing
It is better by far than making war as war is a horrid thing,
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The place I once called home is no longer so to me
And a migrant in this Land is all I can be
But I am happy to live here and here I will stay
Until the Grim Reaper on my life has his say
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From the Gougane Barra he made famous his bones lay far away
But the poems of J J Callanan alive and well today
Buried in distant Portugal the translator and poet
In Ireland's literary history remains as one of note
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I know him only as my neighbour and though I see him most every day
For each of us a struggle for to find words for to say
Whenever we come face to face in the park or on the street
'Tis just a hello in passing we don't chat when we meet
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