Francis Duggan Poems

The pleasant fluting of the gray shrike thrush to it has a familiar ring
And the mating calls of the koalas can be heard in Mt Eccles in Spring
In the wilds of these volcanic mountains in the Dreamtime in the shade of the trees
The first Human Beings of Australia hunted and had their corroborees
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In rushy places by the Town of Millstreet the brown Finnow waters bank high do flow
When the redwings are back in the old fields and Clara wears his hat of snow
The trees stripped bare by the cold north winds that across Duhallow does blow
And the birds of song are not singing in grove and in windswept hedgerow.
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They stifle the grass and they stifle the flowers
The weeds that grow rank in the warm Spring showers
Reminds me of the war men who for war create their foe
They don't give the flower of peace a chance to grow
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With humanity it may be all is not okay
But I meet a good person or two every day
And though my dealings with a few have caused me to regret
A very bad person I cannot say I've met
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To so called patriots and pro war people and those to enlightenment blind
They are not to be trusted and are traitor kind
But they march for peace and I see that as great
And they are the people that I celebrate
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Two serious looking old ladies out walking arm in arm
They don't have happy faces they seem to lack in charm
They do seem quite judgemental the way they stare at me
My eyes can only tell me what my eyes believe I see.
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A double decker load of sheep were bleating as the small town the truck passed by
I thought to myself they must be uttering to me a help us cry
Their loud bleatings told of their stress of them a five hour drive ahead
Today is their last day of life tomorrow they will be dead
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Most Bikies they are good and decent people
Though a rowdy few do give all a dubious name
But such is the case with all groups of people
The sins of one bring to the many shame.
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You say about these people that they were born to lose
But you seem quite judgemental since you do not live in their shoes
Born in the leafy suburb of the hard life you do not know
And if empathy you do not have then such you cannot show
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The good old Powlett river so very old in time
Has been sketched by famous artists and has inspired the bards to rhyme
From the hills above Kilcunda it flows downland to the sea
Centuries before the first Australians came down to the South Country,
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