Francis Duggan Poems

Because to any creed I can't say I belong
Some dismiss me as one who in life has gone wrong
They see me as bad since to a God I don't pray
Why worry about them what they think or say
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He speaks English with a French accent Jacques from Normandy in France
Young at heart though in his mid seventies but with the best he still can dance
His Aussie wife Emma died five years back and though he miss her more than words can say
Life goes on for Jacques the dancer he makes the most of every day
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As long as you live in a good enough way
Why worry what others of you have to say
Some even would see faults in a living saint
They do not look for good so they only see taint
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In this Human World we live in ourselves with others we compare
But of what it takes to be a good person many do not seem aware
Few aspire to be better people though at what they do they want to be best
Many know of material success though many do not pass the good person test.
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Despite writers block and despite writers drought
There is always something for to write about
Above the ocean a rainbow in the sky
A thing to inspire one to write when one's creative well is dry
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The Yarra from Mt Baw Baw it journeys it's way down
Through rough and shrubby places and paddocks rank and brown
From the foothills of Mt Baw Baw by many a country town
On it's sea going journey on through Melbourne a City of renown
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Who is or is not a loser why do you ask me
We all become losers eventually
The animal, insect or bird no different to you or I
We like them are mortals and were born to die.
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You may be one afflicted by low self esteem
But since everyone is good at something you too must be 'twould seem
A talentless person I have never met
And such a one 'twould seem has not been born yet
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The high paddocks lush in their Spring greenery
And clusters of bright yellow flowers on the old wattle tree
And the mud nest building magpie larks are calling out pee wee
On the golf course a couple of miles from the sea
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In their dark and grey feathers and their wings tipped with gold
The new holland honeyeaters lovely to behold
And long thin bills for probing for nectar in the blossoms and flowers
That bloom on bushes and trees in the sunshine and showers
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