Francis Duggan Poems

Guiseppe came to Australia in nineteen fifty with Maria his lovely young dark haired wife
To Box Hill near Melbourne in Victoria for to make for themselves a new life
From Reggio in southern Italy a city by the Meditteranean sea
She was twenty one and a few months and he had just turned twenty three.
...

He forgave his daugther's murderer what's past is past he said
I grieve for my beloved daughter but one cannot bring back the dead
I do not hate her killer of hatred I feel free
He is such a marvellous person a better man than me.
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On the flagpost in your backyard in the wind it toss and wave
And many gave their lives for it and they were young and brave
It's the flag of your Nation and of it you feel so proud
And it's colours were in battles where the guns were booming loud.
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The mirror that hangs on the wall of my bedroom is ego deflating to me
Each time I look at my reflection an old man is all I can see
An old man who looks tired and wrinkled that father time has left silver gray
You handsome young males and young females my lot will be your lot one day.
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If I should go back to my Hometown some even might ask who is he?
For I've not lived there for many years and not many there now would know me,
Many Of those I've known gone to the reaper whilst others are growing old and gray
And there now a new generation are fast approaching their prime day.
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In Lusher park I met a young woman in her early twenties maybe
The sun was in her golden hair she said good day to me
A happy smile lit up her face and warmth in her friendly hi
And all around the sunlit park she spread her gift of joy.
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On the last time that I was in Birdsland the Butcherbird piped on a wattle tree
And a warm wind blew downhill from South Belgrave when Spring was in her infancy
On a day in early September it was such a beautiful day
And memories of such peace and beauty in a few months does not fade away.
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Our poetry critics ageing males on saturday evenings from six to nine
Meet at the literary room of the Lions Club to do what suits them fine
To talk of poetry and poets each to their point of view
Though they agree on one thing that good poets only few.
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They go to sleep at nightfall and wake at daybreak still they are not shackled to time
And though their life span compared to ours is much shorter they have inspired the poets to rhyme
With no concept of death it would seem and if you don't know of death then death you don't fear
Though 'tis known they crawl into cover when they know that their end is near.
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It's true we can only be jealous of the people that we most admire
Of the people who have set a high standard and others around them inspire
Perhaps the blind not fully open of the tiny window of the soul
And the light that we are not receiving of our human frailties take toll.
...