Francis Duggan Poems

Goodbye and may luck be with you the grand old lady said
You need lots of good karma for the tough road ahead
You may be in your late fifties but I am eighty two
And one might say I've been around so much longer than you.
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The last rhyme woman of Gippsland with the departed lay
She was one who loved Nature her poems live on today
The natural World inspired her and with Nature she belong
She glorified the beauty in the white backed magpie's song.
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Paul Congues is a very generous fellow a credit to Wonthaggi one might say
And those who know him say there is none better for to help out others he goes out of his way
He has given of his time to poorer people and only asked what they could afford to pay
And he is saving for himself the best of karma and good karma will be his reward one day.
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For you never an easy day child of the lesser gods
Your life road is an uphill one you compete against the odds
Disadvantaged by where you live and your postal address
where poverty is prevalent there is not much happiness.
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To climb to the Everest summit may well be your life's dream
And though to some quite a daunting task not impossible 'twould seem
Yet whilst some have have scaled the World's highest mountain some on climbing it have died
Their remains never to be found but for their goal at least they tried.
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He hails from the wide and brown country the land of the big sky
Hundreds of miles north west of here even as the crow might fly
Yet he does not yearn for places off of the beaten track
He is happy in the big Town the man from the Outback.
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I will not criticize you since you are clever and wise
But you and I like everyone else see things through different eyes
When you say my verse is slipshod perhaps you may be right
But I never said I was a poet I am a lesser light.
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He will never more be seen again in Tullig or Currahaly
Or in Claramore or on the Clara road that leads to Ballydaly
But memories of him will not fade like brown leaves of December
For Billy Murphy is one that till death we will remember
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Some of you poets 'twould seem to me that you write for yourselves only
You ignore the bigger World out there and the plight of the poor and lonely
The Me, Myself and I 'twould seem to you are all that matter
Whilst thousands of hunger die each day and the rich grow sleek and fatter.
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Above the wide brown country in the gray evening sky
A black shouldered kite out hunting he hover as he fly
With quivering wings it hover suspended there in space
Scanning the ground for small prey it hangs in the one place.
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