Francis Duggan Poems

Far too much of envy and hatred and greed
Of more love, kindness and compassion the Human World is in need
Self improvement it only can come from within
Make yourself a better person make the World better to live in
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It is one of your bad days nothing for you is going right
And life for you seems a constant uphill fight
But so many like you in the big World out there
Who in life never seems for to get anywhere
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Another despot is in prison where of time he will spend a lengthy span
Under his watch his soldiers murdered many people he is just another disgraced man
Far too many Presidents have abused power because of them many have died in the foulest way
Many looked on as heroes by the masses are in prison for crimes against humanity today
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On who is or is not a good writer even well informed literary critics known to disagree
But suppose in the works of every good writer there is some originality
Most great writers do not lose any of their literary creativity beyond their physical prime
In fact some of them even do improve with the passing of time
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Christmas Eve in the Moyne Shire and scarce a puff of breeze
Less than an hour from sunset it is over thirty degrees
The warm air full of the buzzing of small bush flies and bees
As the last rays of the evening sun are retreating from the trees
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To live to be a better person is the best you can do
And help anyone who needs helping of you
If in words or deed they put anyone down
He or she is not a good person though the wealthiest in the town
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A poet and a comedian and quite a talented bloke
Than Roger Casey there is none better for to tell a good joke
In Duhallow the life of every party that he does attend
He is not one of those people who finds it hard to make a friend
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On Christmas Day in south western Victoria it is thirty five degrees
And it is even warm in the shade of the trees
Though the paddocks scenting sweetly of freshly mowed grass for hay
To be out of doors it is not a very nice day
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The people i for one would rather not meet
Their egos over-inflated by their self conceit
Their body language tells one you look at me
My sort every day you are unlikely to see
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It is mostly of the wealthy and famous we hear of and read
And of the privileged people who are born to lead
But never of those living in Earthly Hell
Though they too do have their own stories to tell
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