Francis Duggan Poems

Though with a high powered rifle in his hands he suddenly feels empowered
A terrorist is a terrorist and he'll always be a coward
He places a bomb under a car and he quietly slinks away
Damn the likes of Al Qaeda and H.A.M.A.S. and damn the I.R.A.
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In the Town Park in Millstreet when Matthew Twomey raced hot rod
Some of the women onlookers gasped aloud 'oh my god'
He will never take the turn but Matthew went around
His back wheels madly spinning kicked earth clods off the ground.
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The grey shrike thrush has sung his final song
He lay on forest floor neath fallen leaves
And Mother Nature who gives life and then take
For her dead children never seems to grieve.
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No not a sound the still like silence break
Save for the noise the babbling river make
And robin he doesn't sing his merry song
On cypress tree by cottage of Jer Long.
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Broad shouldered standing six foot two or three
Still Big Bill is not the man he used to be
And though only thirty on his last birthday
Ill health from him has sapped the strength away.
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Her hair dark as the raven's wing and her eyes blue as the sloe
And she lives near Kilcunda where the Powlett river flow
And darkens and deepens and moves slowly as it nears it's destiny
On it's last mile to salt water to the great Pacific sea.
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The chill of late Autumn is in the morning
And before the sun comes out the sky looks gray
And Jack Iversen and Kenny are off fishing
They left quite early at the break of day.
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Nostalgia at his heart pricks like a thorn
His thoughts are of the Land where he was born
And a beautiful woman he once loved there
Miliza with the curly ginger coloured hair.
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Life it is no path of roses
Only a mixture of woe and joy
And long before the time of Moses
People have been known to cry.
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Thank God we're surrounded by water, I find that song a bore
I've heard it sung in pubs and clubs too many times before
The one who penned these lyrics in spirit must be poor
To put down one of Ireland's best immortal Thomas Moore.
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