Francis Duggan Poems

Two centuries or even more gone by
Since William Blake wrote 'The little black boy'
He told in verse how black skin equalled white
And in what he wrote of course the poet was right.
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She lives far from South West Gippsland now Guiseppe's dark
haired daughter
On Italy's Adriatic coast a short drive from saltwater
Married to a young Italian their pretty dark haired baby girl born last November
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A migrant in Wonthaggi is all I'll ever be
For I come from a distant Land beyond the cold north sea
A place of bracken mountains where skies are seldom clear
And the weather wet and windy for nine months of the year.
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In neighbour's yard enclosed by concrete wall
All through the day his male blue peacock call
Unpleasant to the ear his harsh wild cry
And I wish to other place the bird would fly.
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The sparrow she keep busy all the day
Weaving her nest with dried out grass and hay
And lining it with feathers on inside
But in her work she seem to show no pride.
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For years I'd known Bill Sullivan of Kilmeedy
Perhaps since I have been a five year old
In Millstreet he was both well known and well liked
As the saying goes he had a 'heart of gold'.
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This Melbourne like all Cities doesn't seem to have a soul
And I have witnessed callous acts since I've left Maryknoll
I've seen old ladies have their handbags snatched and my house has been robbed twice
Suppose for living in suburbia there has to be some price.
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Old Billy on his tin whistle pipes a tune
He learned from his Dad in Nar Nar Goon
When he was young and freckled faced and shy
Some sixty years since he was school going boy.
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Down at the R.S.L. club they call her Dancing Queen
And she wheels around the dance floor as if she were nineteen
With faster tunes or slow tunes she's never out of time
And she's still more athletic than many in their prime.
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My feet felt quite unsteady on the ground
And I felt like boxer trying to last the round
And I felt wobbly, wobbly at the knees
The drink had won the booze had got to me.
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