Francis Duggan Poems

You wrote how Dublin made you now that seems fair enough
But when you put down rural Ireland I find that a bit rough
And there's nothing special about Dublin it is just another Town
And when you put down rural Ireland you've put all of Ireland down.
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In the lounge bar of Wonthaggi's Whalebone Hotel
The story of his life to me he told
A gray haired man and one who had worked hard
And hard work even make young man look old.
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The leaves on liquid ambar tree have turned a russet yellow
And balding oak stand in the rain like aged hoary fellow
And May stole through the silent wood and no one heard her coming
She came at dark in russet cloak when the frogmouth was humming.
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I know Matt Duggan but I never knew Chris his son
And a friendship missed is a friendship never won
And how can I grieve for one I never knew
Though I feel for Matt for what he must go through.
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Long before she wrote for the Clara News
And years before I even knew the taste of booze
For her love of people she became well known
And the fame of Eily Buckley has since grown.
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I feel that we live off of Mother Nature and that to Mother Nature we belong
And if we bite at the hand that feeds us then to ourselves we are doing wrong
Another war now almost certain and more huge bombs will be dropped from the sky
And Mother Nature she will suffer and some of her human children will die.
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I'd packed my tent in the gray dawn of the morning and put it in the car booth ready for the road
The kookaburra laughed on the black wattle and cock bantam in a backyard nearby crowed
Seven to eight hours driving through the outback before I'd reach the hills near Adelaide
And from there an hour at least to the inner suburbs in suburban traffic expect to be delayed
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At forty Ian Milne may seem a bit old for surfing but I've been told that he is very brave
And at the surf beaches of Inverloch and Cape Paterson he revels at the challenge of riding the giant wave
He still holds his own with fellows half of his age there's no substitute for experience they say
He'll still be surfing well into his sixties and suppose he'll never give the game away.
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In life for us there always is a challenge and every day a mental hill to climb
And for some to even leave bed is an effort there is no holding back the hands of time
It won't matter to us when we are gone forever whether we be cremated or where our bones will lay
So live long as you can and do be happy and try to make the most of every day.
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In my dreams the past keeps coming back to me
The old Town by the hill again I see
And the roads I travel winding up and down
That takes me to the streets of Millstreet Town.
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