Francis Duggan Poems

I watched him for a half an hour today
To gum tree trunk he clung side way
And constantly looking towards the ground
For slugs and beetles crawling around.
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The baby rosellas chirping in their nest hole high in a standing log
Far distant from Sliabh Luachra and the road to Barna Bog
The road she often walked on back in her younger years
Though for the past or what has been she doesn't have any tears.
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In Sherbrooke the weeds are abundant they cloak the ground around the gum trees
In September the white blooms of the angled onion are nodding in the freshening breeze
Though one should not mistake them for snowdrops whilst in bloom they make for a pretty sight
Billions of them bloom in the sun shine so beautiful and snowy white.
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He said I am happy in my own home place
For I like to see old Clara every day
And why should I want to leave old Millstreet Town
To live in a big city far away.
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I'll always be a Millstreet man a Millstreet man forever
For my ties with that town by Clara hill I have no wish to sever
And though I live far from Millstreet Town you may find it surprising
That I oft times return to there when I start visualizing.
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He goes to his church every sunday and with his church group pray and sing
And he feels he is bound for heaven since by his God he is doing the right thing
But he overlook one thing important that God does not live out there God lives within
And despite of how he feels about himself he is not the greatest of men.
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The best road in Northern Ireland is the road out of it she say
Near forty per cent unemployment it has always been that way
And who is to disagree with her as Sharon ought to know
For she lived in Northern Ireland up to a few short months ago.
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The heating up to twenty five and the lounge room nice and warm
And Joe sits on the sofa studying the racing form
With his ears tuned in to 3 U Z what's Higgins got to say
The movement in the market and the scratchings for the day.
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I knew a girl who had 'slimmers disease'
Or anorexa nervosa to those of high degrees
A charming person with hair of chestnut brown
And the prettiest of the pretties in our town.
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The grey butcherbird he is piping on high branch of old grey gum tree
In a paddock in that flat coastal country where the Tarwin slowly flows to the sea
Between Inverloch and Tarwin Lower away from the traffic and noise
No factory chimneys in these parts of Gippsland puffing black smoke to pollute the skies.
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