Francis Duggan Poems

I've seen them out by Woori Yallock way
On insects, grubs and grasshoppers they prey
In mid November latter days of spring
A time of year when young birds take to wing.
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I've always thought that the word holy involved prayer
But the Muslims of Ambon in Indonesia say they ought declare
A holy war on all Christians living there
And religious tolerance seems strained beyond repair.
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Down at his local Raymond makes a whole lot of noise
His loud voice heard above the din 'boys always will be boys'
He and his mates meet every evening for an hour's drinking or two
And their subjects seldom vary as pub talk seldom do.
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I thought it was love but it wasn't And when she dumped me love's ache I did know
But from my sense of loss I recovered though my ego had received a blow,
Her parents did not think much of me my station in life seemed too low
Perhaps it was all for the better and that was a long time ago.
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As i stood in phone booth by Swansea road
The sky was dark though street lights brightly glowed
And those street lights lit the busy motorway
And i could see as if it were bright day.
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I over heard two fellows arguing about poverty
Whilst I sat in the cafe drinking coffee
And in truth I could not help but overhear them
As they sat at the next table to me.
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In this here wood where gum trees stand so tall
And peace and silence do reign overall
A silence broke by intermittent wild bird call
Like sound of whip that's cracked against a wall
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You boasted of Cromwell's renown
Of how he put the Irish down
Of how he tamed a Sister Land
And English respect did command.
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Believe half of what you read in magazines and newspapers for journalists and reporters tend to exaggerate
And don't believe one word that a politician utters for out of lies success they can create
And some people of course are so very gullible and they tend to believe all they hear and read
They do not seem to see through the power hungry who by their ambiguity mislead.
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The men with guns and dogs on sunday are hunting sambar deer
And the loud cracks of their rifles on the high woodlands I hear
And then the hills are silent and the only living sound
Is the magpie piping on stringybark upon the higher ground.
...