Francis Duggan River Poems

Near the sea in South Australia the Murray River flows brown
Through the old and dry countryside by Tailem Bend Town
A river that has flowed for centuries before the dinosaur time
And has been the inspiration of story and rhyme
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Down through bare fields and by many a hedgerow the streams from the high country flow
Down to join and swell the big river that into a huge water-way grow
On it's long journey to the ocean it babbles along night and day
From it's birth-place in the high valley saltwater seems quite a long way,
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In the once great river pollution is rife
Nowadays it does not support much aquatic life
In a polluted river fresh water fish rare
Pollution can cause extinction of that much we are aware
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The river widens and deepens as it nears the ocean and into a huge mass of water does grow
To look at it does hardly seem to be flowing at a snail's pace it does crawl along so slow
For dabbling and diving water birds ideal to live in with plenty fish and other water food to eat
The World is quiet by the high and brown paddocks near where the sea and the river do meet
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From the bogs of Ballydesmond down the fields of Knocknagree
Flow on wandering Blackwater flow on blissfully and free
Down by Cork and Kerry border through the Meadows of Rathmore
At the starting of your journey for the wild Atlantic shore.
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Above the scrub by mouth of Powlett river
The small brown lark is singing as he fly
And singing ever singing he is soaring
A small speck in the sunny evening sky.
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The rill that flows down from the foothills along by the bracken and heath
Grows into a wide and deep river before the ocean it does meet
It babbles through groves and by hedgerows and receives waters of stream and drain
In dry spells it flows in a trickle and it overflows in heavy rain.
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Home of brown trout, wild duck, otters, moorhens and the shy and elusive water rails
The River of three names Annagloor, Kales or Cails
From it's birthplace in the high Lake of Kippagh it journeys on down
To join the Finnow just west of Millstreet Town
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Up the distant river in the cold damp gray of a November dawn
The salmon swim against the strong currents to spawn
To the gravelly river fords in the fields by the town
As yesterday's flood that flowed bank high goes down
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A place to my thoughts that remains ever near
The River of Pigeons so far north of here
In fancy i can hear the nesting birds sing
When the old fields are in their wildflowers of the Spring.
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By woodlands and through grasslands and places where rank scrub grow
The river to the ocean forever will flow
On it's sea going journey it receives the waters of drain, creek, brook and rill
The river born as a stream in the lake by the hill
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I long for a place by a river away from the streets of the town
Where musical shrike thrush is whistling in his feathers of light gray to brown
Away from the noise created by humans where the water goes gurgling along
And where gray butcherbird he is piping he has such a beautiful song
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In a journey of a hundred kilometers or more
To Warrnambool in south west Victoria to the Pacific shore
Through a mostly flat countryside it winds on it's way
Towards the Blue Hole at the end of it's journey by night and by day
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Generations of people to life have come to and from life have gone
But the old Barwon waters to the ocean flows on
The river that has inspired song, story and rhyme
That has flowed to the Pacific through the centuries of time
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In that beautiful place where the river meets the sea
The magpie he pipes on a stringybark tree
And the silver gulls mew on the white beach nearby
As the dark shades of twilight are crossing the sky.
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In a paddock a few miles from old Warrnambool
The black duck are dabbling in a dark Merri pool
The river flows gently as gently can be
Such beauty in Nature there is for to see
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In the valley in view of Mushera above Millstreet Town
The old Aubane River in flood waters of brown
From waters of the high ground in streamlet and drain
Flowing with a loud babble swollen by recent thunder rain
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The Avoca River is not flowing today
By the Town of Avoca to the sea far away
On the grass banks between the water holes sapling trees grow
It has become a river with a broken flow
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The Avoca River in stormwater of brown
Recently overflowed in the park by Avoca Town
As it raged on it's journey to the Pacific far away
In the flattened grass of the park signs of where the flood has been today
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In the Southern Grampians by night and by day
The brown Wannon waters slowly wind their way
In the home of the gray roo, long billed corella and dark pale eyed crow
The ageless old waterway babbles on slow
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In and out of Lake Pertobe it slowly winds it's way
And then on to the ocean close to Lady Bay
The waterway that has inspired story and rhyme
The old Merri River is so old in time
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Home to badger and rook and the silver backed crow
The flat rushy fields where the Blackwater flow
On it's way through Duhallow in north Cork towards Youghal sixty kilometers or more
To join with saltwater at the Atlantic shore
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From the hills above Kilcunda in it's babbling tongue of brown
The old Powlett river it winds it's way down
Through the flat coastal scrub land to the Pacific shore
Where it has flowed forever and will flow forever more
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Where Finnow the white river to the Blackwater flow
In the fields where the rushes in clusters do grow
Where it has flowed forever it babbles on slow
In the home to the badger, the rabbit, the hare and gray crow
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In the places of the wallaby and the pale eyed crow
It crawls through the flat country deep, dark and slow
It has inspired writers to song, story and rhyme
The dark Tarwin River so ancient in time
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From the high country by Gneeves by ditch and by hedgerow
Through the home of the badger, the rook and gray crow
For centuries and centuries it has journeyed it's way down
To the great Blackwater River through the fields near Millstreet Town
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Through the old brown paddocks it flows night and day
The great Merri river from here far away
Through the coastal lands of Warrnambool on it's way to the sea
Older than the age of the Dinosaurs it pre-dates history.
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Swollen by heavy rains that melt the mountain snow
Bank high by Millstreet Town the old Finnow flow
A river that will flow till the end of time
That has inspired poets to song and to rhyme,
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Back there by the old Finnow river the pink breasted male chaffinch sing
And the white breasted dipper sings in the rapids and the first wildflowers of the Spring
Are blooming by the hedgerows and in the sheltered places and new leaves sprout on the deciduous trees
And the old fields becoming much greener and the Wintery chill has left the breeze
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The good old Powlett river so very old in time
Has been sketched by famous artists and has inspired the bards to rhyme
From the hills above Kilcunda it flows downland to the sea
Centuries before the first Australians came down to the South Country,
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On the fence post in the paddock the black pale eyed crow
Is cawing in the gloam where the Wannon waters flow
On through the Southern Grampians to the Pacific shore
A journey destined to last forever more,
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A walk by the old Finnow river
A thing that I used to enjoy
I had my first lessons in Nature
When I was a very young boy.
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Through dry and brown paddocks and many a bush town
The river from the high country babbles on down
In the darkness of night and the bright lamp of day
To the Pacific Ocean many miles away
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Down by the Port River on a February day
In the blue sunny sky just a few clouds of gray
The silver gulls called in the fresh coastal air
And a lovely young woman with blond shoulder length hair
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It is a vast body of water a wonder of Nature to see
The river that is known as the Hopkins through Warrnambool crawls to the sea
From a very humble beginning into a vast waterway it does grow
As near to the shores of the Pacific at a slow snail's pace it slowly does flow
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I hear the monotonous cawings of the glossy pale eyed crow
And the sweet flute of the magpie where the Hopkins River flow
Through green and fertile coastal lands near Warrnambool to the sea
I love this grand old Country 'tis home from home for me
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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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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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So little about them I can claim to know
Though my wonder at their ways only seem to grow
From where they live one can hear the ocean tide
In the Hopkins River the musk duck reside.
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The river grows wider and deeper as near to the ocean it flow
It crawls onwards quietly at a snail's pace and a snail's pace it is very slow
One can hear the surf waves in the distance as they crash against the cliff on the shore
A sound that is as old as forever and that will be heard forever more
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In and out of Lake Pertobe it winds it's way slow
Then on to the nearby ocean at a snail's pace it does flow
The old Merri that has inspired bards for to rhyme
The river as old as the father of time
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Centuries before the black people to this Land came
An unknown Country that did not have a name
The river now known as the Hopkins through the scrublands did flow
And that is going back many centuries ago.
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The river that flows from the hills far away
Through wetlands and dry lands by night and by day
As old as father time will journey forever more
Through the flat coastal lands en route to the sea shore.
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Near the mouth of Powlett river one can hear the surf waves roll
The peace and beauty of this quiet place is nourishment to the soul
Close to an Earthly Utopia few with that could disagree
Where the dark waters of the Powlett crawl quietly to the sea.
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The river that flows to the great ocean shore
Flows under the bridge of the road to Rathmore
Through Duhallow to Mallow it journeys on down
To flow into salt water by old Youghal Town.
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It flows from the foot of Mt Baw Baw through many a Yarra Valley Town
The waterway known as the Yarra the river that flows upside down
It deepens and crawls at a snail's pace through Melbourne it always looks a muddy gray
The river that flows bottom to top I only quote what others say.
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Those old sandhills must have been here forever in other words for an eternity
They stand like silent sentinels in the sunset by where Powlett waters crawl to join the sea
And in the distance the rumbling of the surf waves I love this place far more than words can say
If there's a heaven am I bold to mention that from heaven's gate here is not far away.
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From the Artic of Siberia thousands of miles away
A local fellow told me that they arrived yesterday
To the beach at Powlett river a quiet estuary
Where fresh water off of the high ground joins the salt water of the sea.
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Her hair dark as the raven's wing and her eyes blue as the sloe
And she lives near Kilcunda where the Powlett river flow
And darkens and deepens and moves slowly as it nears it's destiny
On it's last mile to salt water to the great Pacific sea.
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The tourist cruiser touring up and down
Through Torrens river along by Adelaide town
Through parklands that the sprinklers have kept green
Though where water missed brown patches to be seen.
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