Francis Duggan Poems

You cannot beat them they have God on their side
And to go with their God they have National pride
And of their National heroes they feel proud to sing
The lure of patriotism is a magnet like thing.
...

The sun shining bright on the Parkland on the second day of the Fall
And amidst the buzzing of the bush flies the black and white magpie larks call
By the weather forecast today is supposed to be raining but we will not have rain today
Even weather experts are prone to error such is life some are known to say,
...

You do feel suicidal know of financial strife
But live for as long as you can you only have one life
You are not a Jesus he rose from the dead
At least we are told and in scriptures have read
...

The skylark o'er the rushy field carolled as he did fly
And singing whilst ascending just a small speck in the sky
Till in the gray foamy looking cumulus he seemed to disappear
The little bird had vanished though his music I did hear.
...

The poet Liam Ladds with religious types feel angry
And about god he doesn't have kind things to say
He does not understand religious people
And from their god he feels so far away.
...

Old Tom the bushman is not well educated still you might say he is nobody's fool
And he says he has learnt more from nature far more than he has ever learnt in school
As a thirteen year old his education ended When he left Primary school in forty two
When only children of wealthy parents went to college and war was raging and jobs only few.
...

He is a quiet one he never does speak too loud
The type who would never stand out in a crowd
Yet not the sort that you would make him out to be
There's more far more to him than the eye can see.
...

We are part of Nature to her we belong
Those who tell you otherwise they have got it wrong
The only God or Goddess I can claim to know
Lives in Nature and my wonder of her only grow.
...

In his early fifties his once brown hair is gray
And from the Cork and Kerry border he lives far away
Far south as the crow flies from Hibernia's shore
And from his old border Hometown of Rathmore.
...

I never do fancy myself as a poet
Or one in anyway who is worthy of note
And for me there never has been an encore
I pen for the love of it and nothing more.
...