Francis Duggan Poems

I have written reams of verses though my books are slow to sell
But had I written of sporting heroes for myself I might do well
Still I'd rather write of Sherbrooke and it's majestic gum trees
And the songbirds of the wooded hills singing in the freshening breeze.
...

My dearest friends gone from my life forever and in a green and quiet place they lay
And though by many they are now forgotten I fancy I can see them every day
I see them working in the sunlit meadow with two pronged pikes they toss the hay to dry
And wild born bees are busy gathering nectar from the wildflowers and blossoms of July.
...

The brown haired one from Drishane in Millstreet
She lives near where the two rivers meet
Where Finnow waters through the fields wind slow
And near the bridge into Blackwater flow.
...

The chill of Winter in my bones these last few days seem colder
Though maybe there's a lesson here that I must be getting older
And I've less bearing to the cold for I can well remember
That I did not feel the cold as much in Ireland in December.
...

All I see are two ageing power hungry men squabbling for the lion's share
And who will win Howard or Beazley? don't ask me as I do not care
The Labor party and the Coalition seem very much the same to me
As neither of them have once promised for to combat poverty.
...

Off of old dirt track that winds through Selby forest on bark of still standing though now dead blackwood tree
Are letters etched by knife the worst for wear now that you would have to strain your eyes to see,
It reads pop died on July 10 the other letters unreadable by the bark overgrown
His monument one might say very modest and outside of Selby he was hardly known.
...

In the darkness of late evening in the cool wind driven rain
The frogs are croaking their chorus in the watery pond and drain
Winter is their breeding season and on rainy nights on water logged ground
Under the cover of darkness they fill the air with the sound
...

Though not well known outside of Cullen for he was rather shy
A hero of my childhood was Den Joe of Lisnaboy
He lived alone on his small farm a lonely sort of life
Though some men are far better off 'twould seem without a wife.
...

You're my soulmate and you've been good for me
And you've given me young children John and Lee
And you grow more lovely mature like good wine
My brown haired one my Jenny of Sunshine.
...

The magpie pipes the dawn in on high branch of blackwood tree
And silver gulls are calling in Cowes by the sea
And the sooty oystercatchers are whistling as they fly
And pied shag standing on the beach with his wings hung out to dry.
...