Francis Duggan Poems

The peals of the funeral bell echo to the calm sky
For someone today 'tis a final goodbye
And on some future date whenever that be
A similar bell will be ringing for me.
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I do like the Italian cypress it is such a nice small garden tree
So skinny yet pretty to look at it does seem attractive to me
Ideal for the small town garden as it does take up so little space
That is the great beauty of Nature for everything there is a place
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Racism on it does not have gender or colour or creed
And the Human World of it is surely not in need
The greatness in 'the fair go' the racist seems to miss
There is truth in the saying that ignorance is bliss
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Along the quiet back streets pedalling up and down
Three boys on their bicycles in the old country town
The prime years of their lives a decade ahead
The future belong to the youth as has often been said
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They should not have a Nationality on them to all people they should belong
Those three wonderful gifts of humankind known as music and dancing and song
They do not belong to any one Nation at least that's how it does seem to me
Though many Nationalists hold such things precious and with my thinking would not agree.
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A war about God and a war about Land
The tragic loss of lives I do not understand
A just war in truth is a damnable lie
For in modern day conflicts many civilians do die
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I've seen them out by Woori Yallock way
On insects, grubs and grasshoppers they prey
In mid November latter days of spring
A time of year when young birds take to wing.
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As the train approach the station it slow down
And the conductor shouts the next stop Violet Town
At the station platform it grinds to stand still
And the Melbourne V line whistles loud and shrill.
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I've always thought that the word holy involved prayer
But the Muslims of Ambon in Indonesia say they ought declare
A holy war on all Christians living there
And religious tolerance seems strained beyond repair.
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Down at his local Raymond makes a whole lot of noise
His loud voice heard above the din 'boys always will be boys'
He and his mates meet every evening for an hour's drinking or two
And their subjects seldom vary as pub talk seldom do.
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