Francis Duggan Memory Poems

In memory i never left west of Millstreet
And the green rushy fields where the waterways meet
And in fancy i often does hear the birds sing
In a leafy grove in the prime of the Spring
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In Killorglin Town at old Puck Fair she sat on her pinto pony
With wavy brown shoulder length hair i recall her name was Joaney
A member of the travelling clan she looked so fit and active
In her early twenties at the most so young and so attractive.
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Her mum wept aloud on her birth bed she still does remember that day
At the birth of June her youngest sister now in her mid forties and turning gray
At that time Anna in her sixth year was too young to understand why
Her mother seemed so very unhappy at what should have been her moment of joy.
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To me a walk on memory lane can be a thing of joy
To visit my uncle Dan and aunty Mary in their home in Lisnaboy
I could call there at anytime and a welcome i would find
The past it seems to stay with us in the memory of the mind,
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A stroll along old memory lane is a thing I do enjoy
And I can hear the songbirds sing in the groves of Lisnaboy
And white butterflies are flitting midst the wildflowers of July
And above the rushy meadow the lark carolling in the sky
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Mental pictures of things of Nature through life one recall
I once found a bird's nest in ivy growing on stone wall
The nest of a robin and his faithful wife
A memory to carry and to cherish for life.
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She was quite young not even in her twenties
And i was two years younger seventeen
And i loved her but the thought of love it scared me
For to the ways of love i was still green.
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It was the Cork County Council i remember
Who cut the small wood by our house away
They did it for the purpose of road widening
But what a barren mess it looks today.
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The past in the real sense in the forever gone
But in the memory of your mind it is living on
Your life's good and bad memories with you do stay
And will be with you till your last night and day
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As long as the gift of memory we retain
Old memories from long gone years with us remain
Of the old friends we have not seen for many a day
In anti ageing creams and hair dyes some of them cover their gray
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The elvers in the clear pool of the old Glasheen rill
How often I watched them from the little bridge near the Town by Clara hill
The rill that marks the border between Inchaleigh and Claraghatlea on the roadway to Rathmore
Their mothers made the long journey to give them birth from the saltwater shore
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Still young in my memory their faces I know
As they walk up the Main Street down towards Minor Row
Their shoulder length hair blowing in the wind and rain
The past in my memory does ever remain
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O'er the mudflats of McLouglins beach in South Gippsland it is pleasant to hear
The flute of the curlew at this time of year
Though five hours by car distant to my heart 'tis near
That beautiful music melodious and clear
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When I was a young Schoolboy more than five decades ago
I first saw the dark brown river bird with breast as white as snow
On a rock midst the stream rapids a mile west of the town
I watched as he sang his head bobbed up and down.
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The Summer holidays i did enjoy
In uncle Dan and aunt Mary's farm in Lisnaboy
When i was a young boy going back in time
Many years before i discovered rhyme
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In my flights of fancy I fancy I hear
The song of the curlew melodious and clear
Above the brown bogland from here far away
When the bog cotton bloom in the prime of the May
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The travellers parked their romany horse drawn vans at the Shannaknock Cross when when frosted fields were bare
But despite the cold and damp weather they did not seem to have a care
Their pinto horses with ropes tied to trees munched on bunches of hay
And old Clara Hill wore his hat of snow on a cold February day
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Than the coastal scenery few things seem so fair
The smell of the kelp in the cool evening air
The babble of the waves lapping on to the shore
A sound destined to live forever more
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The past in reality in the forever gone
But within the mind it is living on
And as long as the gift of memory you retain
Your memories of what was with you will remain
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I am one from west of the Town of Millstreet from where i now live far away
From those old fields that were green on all Seasons i used to see old Clara every day
But the lust for wander for years had been in me and from there my journey southward did begin
I yearned for to see some of the big World out there suppose in life nothing venture nothing win
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When I am gone forever and not one memory of me remain
The birds will chirp and whistle in the Spring before the rain
And Nature's flowers will be blooming and on every fruit bearing tree
The clusters of pink blossoms so pretty for to see
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What would we be without the power to recall?
Without our gift of memory we'd be little at all
To those who lose their memory confusion is their lot
The faces of friends and family by them even forgot
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Perhaps she's not the beauty now that she once used to be
And I may not recognize her today if her I see
Her hair was as dark as the wing of a crow
And her eyes as blue as the ripe November sloe.
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From the place i was born and raised in i live far away
And to many there i would be a stranger today
Since many i knew there are deceased and others from there did migrate
That to few things stay the same i too can relate
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For as long as i live the memory i will retain
Of old Mushera cloaked in the gray fogs of rain
And on the fog shrouded high Butter Road the cars crawl up and down
Through the hills between Rylane and Millstreet Town
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The last time i climbed to the cross on Clara's summit
On a November day twenty five years ago
The weather dry but the mountain air was chilly
Since the clock has ticked on and time has become my foe
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In memory i only can go back in time
And in memory i only can re-live my prime
But the now is what matter as the rational say
And the past just a memory of a bygone day
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The sun blazing bright in the blue and gray sky
And the blackbird he pipes in the parkland nearby
His music does take me to places far away
To cooler and breezy weather in the northern May.
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The roads of life I have journeyed up and down
Since I left Claragahatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
But in my flights of fancy the past comes to me
And remembered faces again I do see
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The wildering flowers are blooming in the Parkland by the sea
And nesting birds chirping and singing on bush and shrub and tree
And there is the scent of freshness in the cool clean coastal air
Days like today are perfect and perfect days are rare,
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Old Clara in his hat of snow, the stream bank high is flowing
And across the wet and bare and deserted fields the cold north winds are blowing
Winter arrives in his cloak of gray on the first morning of December
And the redwings chirp on the bare hedgerows old memories i remember,
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I still recall a memory from my childhood
Long years ago and many miles away
The robin on the flowering hawthorn singing
And the high fields wore their wildflowers of the May.
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I cut down trees in wood by Mushera mountain
Where in the snow the sheep of hunger died
In Winter 'twas a bleak and barren country
But Spring brought beauty to that mountain side.
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With me now just a memory but memories with us remain
In the heavy rains of late Winter the female frog lay in the drain
Her eggs like crystal lumps of jelly from which her tadpoles hatched out
And all around their watery home they wriggled all about.
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White butterflies are dancing in the warm evening breeze
And the house sparrows are chirping on the sunlit garden trees
On a warm day in April in the far Southern Fall
Of the Southern Land's four Seasons the most pleasant one of all,
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The old Finnow river in flood waters of brown
Is bank high in the fields just west of Millstreet Town
And water is gurgling in the roadside drain
And the blackbird he sings in the wind and the rain
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In my memory it remains as the Millstreet I did know
The Millstreet I lived in decades ago
But in Millstreet the changes keep happening that's life as some do say
And perhaps I would feel a stranger in the old Hometown today.
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When his dog Strider he did have put down it was such a sad day for Paul
Faithful till the end he was such a good mate and till his own end he'll recall
The fawn bull terrier cross staffy his friend for many years but every thing comes to an end
Though the love of one's dog is an unconditional love your dog surely is your best friend.
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I've always thought that Gaelic Football was a grand and a sporting game
But after witnessing a match between Rockchapel and Kiskeam
Played in the Gaelic Playing Field half a mile from Knocknagree
The uglier side of Gaelic Football was all brought home to me.
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The lapwings gather in flocks in the Winter in fields gray with frost in the coldest time of year
And though it's been a while now since I've seen them their peewit calls I fancy I can hear
They always flew south in the colder weather when northern fields wore thick blanket of snow
In February and March I often see them when I lived north of here long years ago.
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They dragged Sister Irene and four local men to the Mountain Village Square
And after a brief sham trial the five were murdered there
Found guilty by 'The Shining Path' of helping those in poverty
Another shameful episode in human history.
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Sparrows chirp in the sunshine it is a marvellous day
And the silver gulls are calling in the park by old Port Bay
And there is not one rain cloud in the bright blue sky
A memory to remember for decades to enjoy.
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I remember and why not I that saturday in July
I was ten years or eleven since then many years gone by
And the weather not so summery rain clouds gathering in the sky
Slashing thistles for my uncle in a field in Lisnaboy.
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I fancy I can see him still the bird with breast as white as snow
He dip and bob on moss covered rock where the stream rapids flow
With chestnut coloured head and short stiff tail and mostly dark to brown
I hear him pipe his scratchy notes as he bobs up and down.
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The rooks were cawing in the darkening sky
And wood pigeons with whirring wings towards their roosting trees did fly
And I saw her out of the corner of my eye
But I walked on I could not say goodbye.
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The story has been told down through the ages of how men nailed the son of God to a wooden cross
And still we hear of crimes against humanity and one person's loss of rights is everybody's loss
And still we have men going to war for God and Wealth and Land and Glory though their God hardly with them would agree
And many far too many go unpunished for awful crimes against humanity.
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It's only six to seven miles I've walked that far before
From Millstreet to the Kerry border by the Town of Rathmore
And though to some six miles may seem a long walk to a person young and strong
A six miles jog is easy the distance doesn't seem long.
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The deep, deep emptiness of solitude
That drives one to a melancholy mood
I stand here on green bank of riverside
With thoughts on recent victim of suicide.
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I still recall a memory from my childhood
Long years ago and many miles away
The robin on the flowering hawthron singing
And the high fields wore their wildflowers of the May.
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In St Davids in Wales i picked potatoes in my early twenties
And though that was more than thirty years ago
On looking back in time it doesn't seem that long
The months and years did not drag on that slow.
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