Francis Duggan Time Poems

I love time out with Nature and I love peace and quiet
To walk along the gravel path in the evening sunlight
When the wild birds are singing and Spring is in her prime
And even memories of such inspire the soul to rhyme.
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Why waste your time on worry stress and woe
For life is brief and time quickly ticks away
And why stress yourself about things you cannot change
Since worrying leaves you looking old and gray.
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I remember the time when the Gaelic Footballers of Millstreet
In the Cork County Senior Championship for the best were a hard team to beat
But time does bring change as some like to say so
And that is going back a few decades ago.
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I thought it was love but it wasn't And when she dumped me love's ache I did know
But from my sense of loss I recovered though my ego had received a blow,
Her parents did not think much of me my station in life seemed too low
Perhaps it was all for the better and that was a long time ago.
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Go and have a good time Jean
For life is short or so 'twould seem
And enjoy yourself as well you may
For time so quickly ticks away.
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The time has come to throw my ghost away
The ghost that's lived in me since childhood day
It's lived and grown in me all down the years
I'll cast it out and for it shed no tears.
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In the sixties in my prime
Before I discovered rhyme
And felt the yearn for the warmer clime
That was back in Auden's time.
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It is a tragic time we live in with the violence in the World of today
For God and for National fervour the price in death is huge to pay
Two wrongs never ever make a right or words to that effect the wise say
It did take more than one side without a doubt to start the war of us against they,
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At a time of your life when you need peace of mind
You feel lady luck to you is not so kind
And money problems cause you worry and stress
And so sad for you in a financial mess.
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She said to me why do you waste your time
On expending your energy scribbling rhyme
In written words you have said all you can say
Do yourself a favour and call it a day
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I go back in time to a long gone Spring
To where i last heard the male robin sing
On the tall cypress tree by the garden wall
Such memories are always a joy to recall
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Time Magazine has it's person of the year
And the stories of the successful and celebrated we read of and hear
But the facts are we are mere mortals and facts never lie
And like all living things we are born to die
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In rushy places by the Town of Millstreet the brown Finnow waters bank high do flow
When the redwings are back in the old fields and Clara wears his hat of snow
The trees stripped bare by the cold north winds that across Duhallow does blow
And the birds of song are not singing in grove and in windswept hedgerow.
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At this time of year in South Eastern Australia the white backed magpies sing night and day
You hear them piping in the moonlight when brush tail possums in their cloaks of gray
Are fighting for to defend their borders on galvanize roofs and on trees
The noise of their snarlings is carrying through the quiet streets in the freshening breeze
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If to save yourself from serious injury or death to lie is not a shame
For that's self preservation and for that none you should blame
With someone pointing a loaded gun at you then your life you will save
Not to lie at such a time more suicidal than brave
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Time it is catching up on him his best days in the distant past
Once he could dance without tiring once he could run very fast
A shadow of the man he once was his life is in it's late Fall
The clock on our lives always ticking old age it comes to us all
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Her mirror tells her she looks older she feels time is not on her side
She use hair dyes as well as makeup but the ageing signs she cannot hide
Her body does not look as shapely as it was in her beautiful prime
But then she is not alone in that we all become victims of time.
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The Spring had brought flowers to the old fields the robin sang on the leafy birch tree
And hawthorns wore their white flowers of the Maytime on the last time I saw Knocknagree
And on the mossy ditch by the bohreen the bluebells were blowing in the breeze
On a bright and pleasant May evening in temperatures of nineteen or twenty degrees.
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Old Belgrave it hasn't changed that much the traffic buzzing up and down
To and from the Melbourne eastern Suburbs on the Burwood highway through many an old Sherbrooke Town
Yet out of Belgrave it is quieter in Kallista of the tall gum trees
The wind in the mountain ash soughing in the freshening mountain breeze.
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Each time I listen to the news on radio I hear of more deaths in Iraq
And the occupying forces constantly under attack
From those the occupiers see as insurgents though others see it differently
An insurgent to one is a freedom fighter to another that's how 'twould seem to be.
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There was a time when you called me darling but now that seems some while ago
And love has died between us and apart we've seemed to grow
You now have only eyes for someone else with me you do not have to stay
Of love and happiness for you I won't stand in your way.
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We still live in the age of fearless heroes
The type who inspire some writers to story and rhyme
And we still honour dead and living legends
Things have not changed that much since Homer's time.
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Where many do live for local renown
The ageing fringe dweller in the old country town
Has never played football with the local club
And always drinks on his own when he is in the pub.
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Each time I pass a cemetery the thoughts come back to me
That such places do remind us of our own mortality
'Tis said that they do rest in peace though in death they had no choice
The dead for themselves cannot speak death robbed them of a voice.
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The longest human life in time is not a long span
On average a few years more for a woman than 'tis for a man
Three score and ten years the average lifetime time span we are told
The World's oldest human being in time not very old
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Each time he bends his bones do creak the years on him now tell
Yet for one in his early seventies he physically looks well
Yet even the fittest of ageing men they show life's wear and tear
A dark toupe to hide his baldness upon his head he wear
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The familiar song of the goldfinch takes me to places far away
To leafy groves and hedgerows scenting of the blooms of May
Though not the finest songster in the northern or southern Spring
One never could mistake him in the song he has to sing.
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They are the greats of Human History and their names to this day we recall
And though great time than them is far greater and time does take care of all
In time they too will be forgotten for time keeps on ticking away
For Time like Nature is forever and human bones to dust decay
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In time it only takes two decades for a babe to an adult to grow
And the prime of life years last a decade till time on the body does show
The Seasons seem to pass too quickly and too soon we grow old and gray
Though some with cosmetics and hair dyes try to cloak the signs of time's decay
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In my own lifetime I won't live for to see
A World that's free of war and poverty
There will be the haves and have nots and us against they
Long after my remains will have gone to decay.
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He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
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Times were tough in Mangan's time
And many did not live beyond their prime
At forty people looked frail and old
The hard life on them at a young age told
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Each time I hear a chainsaw in my mind's eye I can see
The felling and dismembering of yet another tree
One less tree for birds to perch and sing on and sleep and build a nest
And one less tree for climbing animals to feed upon and rest
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Time brings about the changes and all things come to pass
Though times are getting harder for the hard working under class
They work hard for small wages and cannot feel financially secure
And the future is not looking rosy for the hard working poor.
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The cold winds of November blew with a heavy chill
On the last time I saw Cullen the Village on the hill
'Twas early in the morning from pub opening some three hours
And a heavily overcast sky was threatening sleety showers.
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On the last time I saw old Ballydaly the weather it was cold enough to snow
And the river from Kippagh along by Feirm bank high on down towards Annagloor did flow
It was an overcast November morning and on a naked birch a lone gray crow
Was cawing his voice echoed in the silence of an empty landscape all of those years ago.
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On the last time I saw Caherbarnagh the weather was windy and cold
In the early days of December and the old year was getting quite old
Dark clouds hung above Gortavehy it looked like more rain on the way
And frost overnight on the high ground had left the old fields looking gray.
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Even the boxing champion who has never been knocked off of his feet
If he stays boxing long enough he will meet up with defeat
For time is all our master and of everyone takes care
It even rust out iron and leave everything worse for wear.
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There was a time if politicians were caught cheating or to the public lied that was the end of their political career
But nowadays things are different our values have changed or at least that's how 'twould appear
We say that all politicians are crooks from them that's what we expect and their great job and salary they keep
But one day their past it will catch up on them what we sow one day we must reap,
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On the last time that I was in Birdsland the Butcherbird piped on a wattle tree
And a warm wind blew downhill from South Belgrave when Spring was in her infancy
On a day in early September it was such a beautiful day
And memories of such peace and beauty in a few months does not fade away.
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The last time I saw Clara he wore a hat of snow
And across the fields of Claraghatlea the wintery winds did blow
And the swollen stream in flood of brown through Claramore did flow
And close to seventy seasons since have passed for that was long ago.
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I've spent fifteen years out here how time does fly
And here in Australia bird nesting season nigh
But in Ireland since another Spring gone by
And a flight ticket back home I could not afford to buy.
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on the last time I see old Claramore
Bare were the fields and the trees and hedgerows
And chilly winds were blowing from the north
The winds that bring the sleety rains and snows.
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Our span of time one well might say is brief like all things of life that swim or walk or crawl
And stress and worry only hurries on our end so why not count our blessings though they may be small
And why feel self pity when self pity isn't good and it doesn't get us anywhere at all
The rose that in the Summer sunshine bloom will be long gone even before the Fall.
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It has been some while since I've seen Caherbarnagh or those twin peaks known as the Paps of Shrone
Or climbed up to the lake of Gortavehy in the shadows of that hill of het and stone
Or stood on the high field by Clara mountain and viewed the lush green country side for miles around
But I will be far south of old Duhallow when the swallows will return to their home ground.
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Their lives are brief so very brief or so it has been said
And the butterflies you see today tomorrow may be dead
So little time for making love or pleasure to enjoy
An hour to them three years to us they soon grow old and die.
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If you climb six steps of eighteen step ladder you don't have that far to fall
And you won't know great disappointment if your dreams are only small
And those who scaled the heights of success had to climb up all of the way
And many who have reached the summit at the summit could not stay.
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When I was young I witnessed many changes
In the wide by-road side margins where the travellers parked before
The grass grow rank and the briers have taken over
And somethings gone and lost for evermore.
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He say there's beauty in South Gippsland's coast
And as beautiful as anywhere he boast
And with his views I most certainly agree
So why do he waste his time convincing me? .
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A morning in September in early early Spring
Above the lush green paddock the air borne skylark sing
Four hundred feet above the ground a small speck in the sky
He soars up to the cloud world to sing he has to fly.
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