Francis Duggan Poems

The way for to combat terrorism is not by the bomb or the gun
Since that only creates bigger refugee camps when people out of war zones run
The numbers of the Homeless and Stateless keep increasing which gives people cause for dissent
Those who dropp their big bombs on your city are those whom you come to resent.
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Do you ever feel like some do that you may as well be dead
That times on you are getting tougher and even tougher days ahead
That your mind from stress too damaged for even a psychiatrist to repair
And you do not care about your appearance and you do not comb your hair.
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Above the rushy field near the roadway to Rathmore
The skylark carolling as upwards he did soar
In the gray morning sky and singing as he fly
His song still in my heart will be with me till I die.
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We are made to believe we're inferior and looked on as not good enough
All because we are lacking in money this paper cash is remarkable stuff
It can make the scoundrel seem a good person though he has been known to cheat and to lie
Some say money speaks every language and there is not much that it cannot buy.
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In a thousand years from this day birds will build their nests in Spring
And on the tree that marks his borders a golden billed blackbird will sing
And on the old shed rafters in their nest of feathers in a ball of hay
The house sparrows brown fledgelings will chirp all through the day.
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It has been three years and five months since my friend Jedder died
But when I am out walking I fancy she is at my side
With her eyes glued to the bulge in my trousers pocket for the hidden tennis ball
For chasing that or fetching stick her favourite games of all.
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In dykes and drains of Claraghatlea
By the rank rushes hid away
The snipe are probing for their prey
Amongst the brown mud and the grey.
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Enough talk of sports and politics of late that's all we hear about
Of the Football Finals and the Federal Election we are left in little doubt
That these things should be seen as important quite important to us all
But not everybody is interested in politics and football.
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He said your angry verses we do not wish to hear
'Tis only poets and poetesses to read their poems are welcome here
You write with so much crudity your verses are slipshod
You insult some great people and you even insult God.
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The one without sin ought be first to cast the stone
And the one with courage stands there all alone
A silent figure before the jeering crowd
For his principles he refuses to be cowed.
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