Francis Duggan Poems

On Inverloch night is descending the sun has set over the sea
And the currawongs call on the foreshore on a high branch of an old cypress tree
In the chill of a mid Winter's evening the stillness is almost profound
I stand looking out on the calm sea and beauty I see all around.
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O'er the fields of Claraghatlea North the sun peeps through gray clouds in the sky
And the swallows o'er the old fields are chirping as they fly
And though yesterday was showery today is warm and dry
And the newly mown meadows scenting sweetly of Nature's perfumes of July.
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A red black spotted ladybird upon a stalk a thing of beauty rare
Reminds one of a poem by the Helpston poet the renowned one John Clare
The 'Clock a Clay' he referred to a ladybird by another name
The poem lives on as a poetic gem along with the poet's fame.
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To deliberately maim and kill unarmed people is surely the worst sort of crime
Though it is not the first time such has happened and it hardly will be the last time
These people have lost all of their values and their hatred is out of control
And surely it can be said of them that none of them have got a soul.
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Mine is only one opinion with me you may not agree
And whether you like or not like what I say does seem all the same to me
Mere words will not change the World I'm just your ordinary man
One that time has left looking older near the end of my life's span.
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When I am long gone and forgotten one hundred years from now or more
Will songbirds be heard in the Woodlands will gulls be heard by the Sea-shore?
Will wombats, roos, koalas and possums be heard calling, will elephants be heard trumpet, will lions and tigers be heard roar?
For Wildlife is under threat of extinction more so now than ever before,
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I cannot say I hate anybody 'tis what some stand for that I hate
Those for war and anti nature people are people I would not celebrate
With them I share nothing in common no two are the same as they say
But war between Nations and war on Nature are wars that are waged every day.
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Phil Cronin is a Millstreet man his wife Kitty is from Kildare
And amongst the Irish Community east of Melbourne they are a well known pair
Kind hearted and good people and surely nice to know
And a credit to that misty green Isle where the tree leaved shamrock grow.
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Around a nankeen kestrel a pair of noisy miners fly
And they drive him from their territory across the morning sky
They have their nest with young in it on a tree somewhere nearby
And to protect their nestlings their outmost they will try.
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Keep singing your own praises you surely may as well
For to even those who care to listen to you 'twould seem you cannot sell
Your notion of self achievement they smile at you and say
You've done well for yourself mate greatness from you not far away,
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