Francis Duggan Poems

He is in his late sixties one might say getting old
Though the story of his life's journey it may never be told
Yet for one of sixty seven he looks fit and okay
He jogs before his breakfast a few miles every day.
...

I've never once seen them on land though from the shore I see
Them with folded wings from dizzy heights diving into the sea
And then they rise out of the waves and upwards again fly
These hunters of the ocean who stalk their prey from the sky.
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Money can buy you almost anything it can even buy you time
Bruno Grollo the billionaire Melbourne builder and his wife both well past their prime
Are in China receiving anti ageing stem cell treatment in their quest for a second youth
Those who deny that money is not important are only denying the truth.
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Every Sunday she is in church praying and singing hymns to God
And in her prayers she asks her God to remember the hungry and the downtrod
And to take care of our soldiers who fight in an awful war
Against those awful people in a Land from here so far.
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Methuselah 'tis said lived to be very old
Nine centuries of years or so it has been told
Perhaps another myth as it does seem that way
Believe it if you wish or dismiss it as hearsay.
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A rough and ready sort of a bloke Rough as Guts is his nickname
Drunk or sober he's in a good mood he always seems the same
Never in a striped suit collar and tie formal clothes he never wear
No airs and graces about him his type of man are are.
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The young man he loves parties and sex, discos and beer
The old man he loves short walks after evening tea with his old dear
His party days long over his legs feel tired and slow
He too enjoyed his glory days some fifty years ago.
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I have never yet seen him happy he has no good reason to smile
He's out of work living on welfare like an ageing workhorse worn from toil
A fellow in his early sixties his better days for him long gone
And the only thing that keeps him living is the will that he has to live on.
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They walk down the street with their guns in their holsters their loaded guns that are always ready to draw
Two men in blue suits on their beat through the Main Street
those often referred to as the men of the Law
One might say they have got their friends and admirers though not everybody likes them 'twould be fair to say
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I fancy I can hear the male chaffinch singing at the verge of the wood on a silver birch tree
And over the meadows the dark swallows are flying their swiftness and gracefulness in flight is a pleasure to see
And bluebells and primroses on the ditch of the bohreen and snowdrops as white as the new fallen snow
I thought that my past I had left behind me but my past it is with me where ever I go,
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