Francis Duggan Child Poems

On the name of humanity great shame it does bring
The usage of children to fight in war is a terrible thing
By some so called patriots in the World of today
The scum of the Earth of them one well might say
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A three quarter square metre of ground covered in concrete compared to the other graves small
With the name and age of the deceased on the headstone a sad memory for to recall
Even to the eyes of a passing stranger a beloved child to her parents hearts dear
Who had not been granted a long life she passed on in her second year.
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The child born of poor parents the he or the she
Start life at a disadvantage would you not agree
Disadvantaged by their suburb and their postal address
For them a great achievement any form of success
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He used to beat his children and his long suffering first wife
But what goes around always does come around in life
The wife beater is with a husband beater today
She bellows orders at him and he does obey
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I miss my child within since from me he went away
He left me long before my hair turned to gray
And that is going back quite a few years in time
Perhaps before i even reached my life's prime
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Back in the nineteen fifties when i was a boy the memories i recall
Of the political discussions on the three major political parties in Ireland's Dail
Our representatives in the House of Parliament Fine Gael, The Labour Party and Fianna Fail
As well as minor parties T D's and Independents the parliamentarians supposed to represent us all
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Her mum and dad behind prison bars one of the city's down-trod
She walks the street in shabby clothes child of the lesser god
A child prostitute at thirteen years her only means to stay alive
Some of her sort to adulthood are not known to survive
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I was only a five years old boy in nineteen fifty one when the Mother and Child Bill of Dr Noel Browne
Due to pressure from the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church in Ireland went down
Which brought about Browne's resignation as Minister for Health which to history now does belong
Though in trying to financially help single mothers for to raise their children he had not done anything wrong
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War is a child of intolerance and hate
Fear, death and suffering is all it does create
It's living victims are the dispossessed and refugee
From war zones every day thousands of people across borders do flee
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The human will to succeed in the face of adversity never ceases to surprise
Three years old Jacob Nowak from Millstreet the child born without eyes
About to start pre school and in life progressing quite well
His story if written in book form millions of copies should sell
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She throws a wild flower in the river she says the flower will reach the sea
Young Annie has imagination of cynicism she is free
She looks at the World through a child's eyes her World is so different to ours
What to us are noxious weeds only to her are quite beautiful flowers.
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Apart from Nature there is a God known as the God Within
Found in every child in every Land for children are free of sin
A God within in every child or so 'twould seem that way
But most adults lose their God within though to another God they do pray
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The pitter patter of the tiny feet
Of children running up and down the street
I love to hear them laughing at their play
My child within from me has gone away.
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In her offspring there may be room for improvement
Their character by their behaviour may well be soiled
But against the put down words of others
The mother will defend her child.
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She asks her mum about her daddy where's daddy mum she say?
Your daddy is in heaven dear in heaven far away
He went off to the war dear his body in the grave
But we ought to be proud of him he did die very brave,
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She makes her smile and she woos her with her charms
Her little babe she carries in her arms
This mum in her mid twenties in her prime
Too young as of yet for to worry about father time.
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For you never an easy day child of the lesser gods
Your life road is an uphill one you compete against the odds
Disadvantaged by where you live and your postal address
where poverty is prevalent there is not much happiness.
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He was a child of Nature who for awhile knew fame
A truly marvellous writer Robert Bloomfield was his name
Yet his poems seem neglected and memories of him in decay
Though his literary worth will be re-discovered in the not too distant day.
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In the heart of ageing fellow there was still the little boy
In his bed and on the blankets playing with his soldier toy
Stevenson the great poet and author for long years at writing toiled
Yet despite success and glory at heart he was still a child.
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In her eyes he's a marvellous super man
And her daddy is the greatest to seven years old Ann
And she tells all who listen there is nothing Dad can't do
But others they think differently each to their point of view.
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From my Aunty and Uncle's house in Lisnaboy
I thought Caherbarnagh was touching the sky
To boy of seven years that mountain seemed tall
But compared to high peaks old Caher looks small.
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