Francis Duggan Poems

George W Bush will always be remembered but not for any good that he has done
With the help of others he's declared war on distant Nations one well might say he is his father's son
He mentions God by name in many of his speeches and on some Nation leaders only can speak ill
Whilst he ignores old Moses fifth commandment which clearly states for all 'thou shalt not kill'
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From Beaufort in Victoria he scaled the heights of literary fame
And in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries his was a household name
A socialist 'til the day he died to his cause he remained true
Though he never received the credit the credit he was due
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One could be called worse things than a poetaster
A person known for penning doggerel rhyme
It does seem an inoffensive sort of a hobby
And never should be looked on as a crime
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The winds of climate change across the landscape blowing and drinking every dropp of moisture from the ground
The creek of the foothills is no longer flowing where once was a babble the silence is profound
Last week for a day it did rain rather heavily but a full day's rain was not nearly enough
The farmers their breeding sheep and cows are selling one can say that times on them are rather tough
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The familiar song of the goldfinch takes me to places far away
To leafy groves and hedgerows scenting of the blooms of May
Though not the finest songster in the northern or southern Spring
One never could mistake him in the song he has to sing.
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The sky is glowing red where the sun is setting above saltwater the ocean seems so still
And larks are carolling o'er the lush green paddock as twilight slowly gathers on the hill
It has been quite a warm day for November the evening calm with only the faintest breeze
As the sun sets the evening does grow cooler a high today of thirty two degrees
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Far north of here I spent my best years though old memories refuse to fade
And there I grew to love the famous writers the legends of the wordsmith trade
Twenty one years in Australia in time may seem a lengthy span
But I'll always be a migrant here I was born an Irishman.
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Those who refer to some people as losers as people themselves are not nice
Before they even think once they always speak twice
That words can be soul destroying the point they seem to miss
Like most unenlightened people with them ignorance is bliss
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What most see as most important not all that it does seem
They swear by fame and money as being good for their self esteem
Material things serve the ego the ego in us all
And the ego is a thing of pride and pride comes before a fall
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In a World where millions of poems are being penned every day
And words are being used in every sort of a way
And on any one subject few seem to agree
That us humans are complex it does seem to me
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