Francis Duggan Poems

He is one that I do see often and lets say too often of late
The one I can't see eye to eye with the one who was never my mate
Our ideas of life are so different and nothing in common we do share
Save we both were born to a woman and we live in and breathe the same air
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'Tis a fact of Nature and facts never lie
That for one to live another has to die
The predator cannot survive without meat
It's natural instincts to hunt and kill to eat
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He and his mate were rescued from their cage in a collapsed mine shaft a few years ago
And of the story of their rescue the World came to know
But so disappointed am I for to hear
That he spends his weekends hunting and shooting at deer.
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As a poet he's celebrated and his praises the critics sing
Yet his esoteric writing to it does not have a poetic ring
But that is only my opinion with which many would disagree
What does seem a poet to many does not seem a poet to me
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I had my daydreams of great literary renown
Back there in the old fields west of Millstreet Town
Just dreams of success I was never to know
And that is going back many Seasons ago.
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Though nothing of importance I have for to say
The rhymes in my soul they keep bubbling away
And though they never will bring to me wealth and renown
They keep coming to me and I pen them down
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All of you known to be poetasters of which I must add I am one
Despite lack of success you keep writing for that to you 'tis well done
Literary critics may choose to ignore you but they are rude in their own way
Since everyone who put their thoughts to paper in the wordsmith trade their part does play
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'Tis said he has fleas in his long gray beard the homeless and sad faced old man
And his is such a tough existence at the twilight of his life-time span
He drinks cheap brand wines by the bottle perhaps alcohol his downfall
If you judge him don't judge him too harshly or why should one judge him at all
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For culture and hospitality it has won renown
Port Fairy by the ocean a famous old Town
To it's famous music festival that is held once a year
People from all Nations they come from far and near
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On this morning in June the trout jumping for flies
In Kippagh mountain lake where the Cails river rise
And the skylark he seems a small speck in the sky
As carolling upwards to the gray clouds he fly.
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