Francis Duggan Night Poems

The moon did appear from behind dark clouds
Only again for to steal out of sight
And boobook owl called in the Parkland
His voice echoing in the calm night.
...

They march uptown for to reclaim the night
Carrying lighted candles and small battery hand lights
Their peaceful protest for basic human right
And in solidarity you will find much might.
...

Hundreds of small moths around the orange street light fly
And a boobook owl calls on moonlit trees nearby
And the sounds of the night are around everywhere
And how pleasant to walk out in the cool night air.
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The night is calm and frosty I hear the lapwing cry
Above the darkened paddock beneath the starry sky
Just five sleeps till September and the calendar Spring
The time of year upon us when wild birds nest and sing.
...

I heard the black swans in the clear moonlit sky
As above the Town to the lake they did fly
To me they do have such a musical song
You hear them once and you never get them wrong.
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He does not sleep that well at night though his troubles are small
The possums walking on his roof the rats squeak in the wall,
The boobook owl is crying mopoke on the trees across the way
He used to sleep without once waking till after break of day.
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The tiny frogs singing in the roadside drain
And the magpie is warbling in the wind and the rain
And cloaked by the darkness the brown boobook owl cry
His mopoke call echoing in the night sky
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The fox is hunting on the mountain there's no mistaking his wild cry
And the full moon is silently stealing it's way through the Autumn night sky
The boobook owl on the moonlit acacias utters forth his distinctive mopoke call
On a calm night in early April in the prime of the southern Fall
...

O'er gum and tree fern shades of darkness creep
And birds head under wings doze off to sleep
And save for laughing kookaburra's goodnight call
A serene silence does reign over all.
...

Tonight's a great night it is raining the first heavy rains of the Fall
The first heavy rains since last Winter the farmers rejoice one and all
The drought it may well not be over but 'tis good to hear the patter of the rain
Falling on the galvanize iron and gurgling down the shoot to the drain,
...

The cradle of Humanity anthropoligists say
Africa the great Continent from here far away
And though for the air ticket i cannot afford to pay
If wishes come true i will go there one day.
...

The night is wet and windy in the quiet Countrytown
And along the seemingly deserted streets few cars pass up and down
And flood waters can be heard gurgling in the town's stormwater drain
And house gutterings are rattling in the driving wind and rain
...

All seems so dark under a moonless sky
And the repetitive sound of the nocturnal boobook's cry
Echo in the quietness of the night
On the tall gum trees on the wooded height
...

Tonight is Poets Night at the Cultural Hall where poets their verses read and recite
It is a nice place for to spend a few hours if for soul nourishment you have the appetite
The town's best to perform their work have been invited it should be a happy night of verse and song
As well we'll have the town's best singer songrwriters and with them feel free for to sing along,
...

The night it is chilly the sky it is dark
And the spur winged plover he calls in the park
As above his breeding territory he fly
The sound of aggression is in his wild cry
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The moon is up the night is calm and peaceful
And countless stars are shining in the sky
The barn owl the shy nocturnal hunter
On silent wings from tree to tree does fly.
...

The Harvest moon in a sky of stars is looking full and bright
Above the rural Village in the stillness of the night
The streets are quite deserted there's not a soul in sight
And small grey moths are circling around the lamp of the street light.
...

I was there that night in eighty three as one of the massive crowd
For to celebrate our great athlete he made us all so proud
The speeches were made in the Town Square the band played up and down
From San Juan he had brought a World Championship medal with him to Millstreet his Hometown.
...

A cool moonless night just a few visible stars in the sky
The masked lapwing cry in the parkland nearby
For the safety of their young from predators they have reason to fear
On a night in late Winter near the Spring of the year
...

The night cold and dark few cars pass up and down
On the dimly lit streets of the old country town
And a boobook owl calls out mopoke in the parkland nearby
To small birds the one who has death in it's cry
...

A full moon does silently creep it's way across the starlit sky
And the flute of the magpie I hear on this cool Winter night in July
He does not sing for the love of song he sings to defend territory
Whilst most others birds are asleep he pipes high on a wattle tree
...

A full moon silently creeping through the starlit sky
A cattle dog barks in the farmyard nearby
In answer to the hunting fox's shrill cry
The domestic one to the wild one feels compelled to reply,
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A night in mid May in the Fall the rain is drizzling down
And the magpie is singing in the park of the old coastal town
In or near their breeding Season the magpies sing at night
Their music echoes in the darkness when the old town is quiet
...

The moon silently creeping through the starry sky
Whilst in the high woodland the boobook owl cry
And male brush tail possum on a gum gives his harsh mating call
On a calm night in May in the Southern Fall
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The moon it is stealing through the starry sky
And in old Mt Beauty the boobook owl cry
The beautiful place with the beautiful name
Mt Beauty and beauty are one of the same
...

Some live till they die in the place they were born in and others from their old homes go to live elsewhere
The wanderlust in their young years was in them to see some of the bigger World out there
And I've known ageing people in their seventies and eighties whilst talking of their Hometown close to tears
Though their great grandchildren are in their late teens and they had not seen the old Homeplace for years,
...

The stormwater drains gurgling the rain pattering down
On the galvanize roofs of the old country town
The streets are deserted not a human in sight
And the Townpark belong to the creatures of the night
...

Out there in the quiet countryside in the still of the night
The unmistakeable cry of a hunting fox in the moonlight
And perhaps at the threat of a predator to their ground nest nearby
The wary spur wing plovers are calling as they fly
...

At night in Kallista the wood of the white cockatoo
The powerful owl calls out in his mournful woo hoo
Where in the pale moonlight the giant mountain ash trees
Are soughing ever softly in the freshening breeze
...

On a damp night in late Winter three weeks from the Spring
On a gum tree in the Townpark a male magpie sing
Near the busy highway where cars and trucks pass up and down
He is piping his notes at the top of the town
...

The sky is not as dark as I thought it might be though the moon it is not out tonight
Whilst on the gums in the nearby Parkland brush tail possums snarl and fight
And in the roadside drain the tiny frogs are singing their songs only tell us of rain
How they can detect a subtle change in the weather is beyond someone like me to explain.
...

The moonless sky dotted with bright stars on a cool and damp Winter's night
The breeding frogs in the roadside drain singing at the sound of passing footsteps they grow quiet
I shine my torch but I cannot see them they hide from the glare of the light
The secret of survival for these tiny amphibians is to remain concealed and out of sight
...

The magpie on the gum tree is singing in the night
I hear him softly piping in the faint moonlight
From mid Winter all through the Spring sometimes on his roosting tree
He even sings in the dead of night to proclaim his territory.
...

On Inverloch night is descending the sun has set over the sea
And the currawongs call on the foreshore on a high branch of an old cypress tree
In the chill of a mid Winter's evening the stillness is almost profound
I stand looking out on the calm sea and beauty I see all around.
...

The faint lamp of the moon is shining through the branches of the trees
And the night is calm and pleasant with a very timid breeze
And I hear the crickets chirping in the undergrowth nearby
And around the bright orange Street light the moths in circles fly,
...

The magpie's voice is echoing in the moonlit Winter sky
And the weather wet though pleasant for the first week of July
And the birth of Spring draws nearer with every passing day
Across the World towards the southern shore Goddess of Spring is on her way,
...

The tiny frogs sing in the pond and the drain
And out there on the hill in the wind and the rain
The wild fox is barking so distinctive it's cry
And the coldness of Winter is in the dark sky.
...

A moonless night the sky is dark
A boobook owl calls in the park
And a fairly cool and freshening breeze
Is rustling in the blackwood trees.
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There scarcely is a puff of wind and in the pale moonlight
Out there in the quiet paddock the red fox barks tonight
Perhaps she is feeling hungry with fast growing cubs to feed
A scavenger and a hunter and a hunted life she lead,
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The magpies now sing every night it is that time of year
When Winter hours are getting old and Spring to us is near
It is their breeding Season and night and day they sing
And those who know of Nature say birdsong is a territorial thing,
...

Each time I hear a magpie sing in the dead of the night
I feel a gush of happiness my heart beats with delight
It may be the depths of Winter but when at night the magpie's song i hear
I think of balmy days ahead and i know that Spring is near.
...

A car on the roadway a dog barking nearby,
The calmness is profound stars twinkle in the sky,
I feel a peace within on this cool July night
The air has a slight chill and the moon full and bright.
...

Saturday night in The Ramble Inn Bar
Johnny the folk singer strums on his guitar
For his entertainment in beer he is paid
Not a hard one to please is Danny McDaid,
...

When shades of night cloak the forest at Olinda the silence is almost profound
Though the cry of the owl known as boobook can be heard for acres around
And the hissing like calls of the brush tail possum as he proclaims his territory
By day his kind they are not seen out they rest in a hole in a tree.
...

The sky is dark the countryside is quiet
But the spur winged plovers cry out in the night
Above their territory they call and fly
Perhaps the hunting fox is prowling by.
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The night Sir Denis was suspended for fighting
For greyhound racing it was a setback
We never saw him race again in Ireland
Or cheered him on to victory at Cork track.
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The night the Sam Maguire cup came to Millstreet
The cheering could be heard far as Rathmore
Ten thousand people in the Millstreet Town Square
I'd never seen the likes of it before.
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Like small motor bike purring it's way along
Across the sky the nightjar's churring song
The bird known as 'the swallow of the night'
With mouth agape enjoying his flying insect diet.
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In the moonlit park the spur winged plover trilling
As above his breeding territory he fly
And territorial brush tail possums hiss and bicker
And boobook owl calls on the gums nearby.
...

On the third morning of January nineteen and eighty four
Across the top of Clara hill a gale force wind did roar
And the wooden cross which stood up there for thirty years or more
Was fighting for survival like it never fought before.
...