Francis Duggan Poems

When we look for flaws in others the flaws in them we do see
That's how it is and always was and that's how 'twill always be
For some 'tis easier to be cruel than it is to be kind
Their souls are clouded over by darkness of the mind
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She said to me you have written a lot of rhymes though you do not write well
You are just one of many who writes doggerel
Not one to mull over what she has to say
And meeting her did not bring joy to my day
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The wealthiest person In the rural town
And his was far more than a local renown
A billionaire he was one known far and wide
Beyond the borders of his home countryside.
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I'll tell you about a great hurler he hurled his way into renown
And his fame spread distant from Cork City through many a village and town
He inspired the poets to write of him and the song writers his praises did sing
And he was the hurler of all Seasons the one and only Christy Ring.
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What happened to the Tinanmen Tank Man perhaps only the Chinese Authorities do know
The brave one who stared down the tanks of a powerful Nation in time back two decades ago
He stood on the pathway of the huge tanks dancing and swinging his shopping bags above his head
In his eyes the look of sheer courage against all odds he did not show any dread.
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On the wooded hill overlooking the old town the home of wallaby and roo
In the gloam of a Winter's evening the calls of the yellow tail black cockatoo
Echoes in the darkening valley as they fly off to roost for the night
To see them shredding pine cones for their dark seeds on the pine trees one can say is an often seen sight
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They struggle through life as they battle with stress
Those born and raised at an unfashionable address
It is a long hike to success and renown
For those who are born at the poor side of town.
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The pleasant sounds of Nature are everywhere near me
On the sunlit beach at morning the lapping of the sea
And in the quiet Parkland the song of the pee wee
And the wattlebirds are calling on the flowering banksia tree,
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I've had a good innings time has left me gray
The future belongs to the youth of today
Allow them their passion for time hurries by
As life is for to live well and for to enjoy,
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Though bare are the hedgerows and few songbirds sing
In far Northern Lands 'tis the first day of Spring
A blanket of fog envelopes the old hill
And the flood is bank high in the river and rill.
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