Francis Duggan Poems

I cut down trees in wood by Mushera mountain
Where in the snow the sheep of hunger died
In Winter 'twas a bleak and barren country
But Spring brought beauty to that mountain side.
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'Twas Dathai Dowling found him or so I have been told
Up there in field by Clara hill his body yet not cold
And sad news travels quickly across the Countryside
And it was known for miles around how Jack the Mule had died.
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We are living in an age when top sports people and top actors are grossly overpaid
And too much of those with celebrity status by the masses is made
We make small gods out of people who seem very ordinary
But having said that everyone is different and we see things differently.
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There was a time when you called me darling but now that seems some while ago
And love has died between us and apart we've seemed to grow
You now have only eyes for someone else with me you do not have to stay
Of love and happiness for you I won't stand in your way.
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Don't talk of war to Ruby or battles fought and won
In Vietnam in the late sixties she lost her only son
When he was only twenty the Vietcong killed her Dave
He was a noble young man and he died very brave.
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The grey shrike thrush pipes in the sunshine on a branch of a silky oak tree
And on the beach I can hear the gulls calling from the road that leads down to the sea
On this beautiful evening in September as we near the prime of the Spring
The familiar song of the blackbird to it has an exquisite ring.
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I had my daydreams as many do of great wealth and renown
Of making a name for myself far south of my Hometown
But of successes sad for me to you I cannot tell
I will end my days perhaps unsung as a man of doggerel.
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The sky overcast the rain comes down in drizzle August the thirtieth the date of today
This time tomorrow yes this time tomorrow Spring will be just a few hours away
Some birds are nest building others on their eggs sitting male magpie is piping on the stringybark tree
At this time of year he attacks without warning even humans who venture near his territory.
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We all need recognition we need others to say
You are quite good at what you do and well done anyway,
You may blush when others sing your praises but you like it just the same
And you too are entitled to your ten minutes of fame.
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He never more will see again the Adriatic sea
Or hear the gulls above the shores of distant Italy
In this wide and brown Southern Land his bones at rest now lay
Guiseppe was an honest man he went to earth today.
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