Francis Duggan Poems

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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You feel sad and down life is not always fair
And of hope for the future you are in despair
In that you are not alone people like you everywhere
But when the going gets tough the tough hang in there
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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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That time catches up on us all is surely not a lie
He is too old to work and he is too young to die
On retirement pension and quite bored with life
He spends much of his time arguing with his wife
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His marriage is over but he has no tears
For the woman he was married to for just over two years
Though he miss his baby daughter when he comes home from work at night
In his marriage she was his one source of delight.
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I feel I am a non achiever my life's come to nothing at all
I go to the pub meet my mates there drink beer with them and talk football
And politics and the economy and work and family and war
That seems to forever keep raging in Lands where from we live afar.
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When I hear you talk of losers you I do not wish to hear
For you do sound quite judgemental and to me it would appear
That you've got that small man's complex though you stand over two metres in your shoes
And you keep on talking more rubbish after every dropp of booze.
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For to defeat terrorism one do not wage war on terror for terrorists do not respect man made laws
Since the only way that terror can be defeated is for Governments to attack it's root cause
And that is not to shoot and bomb and murder for terror is caused by inequality
For the war on terror ought to be more friendly a benign war on man made poverty.
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Not everybody is perfect and not everybody is good and kind
but if you look for the good in others the good you are certain to find
No such a thing as a good or a bad race of people in every race there's bad and good
Human Beings to say the least complex we are not easily understood
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I hear her in the wood across the way
The bird with yellow breast and cloak blue gray
She sings at dawn and in the evening late
And her song the local lyrebird imitate.
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