Francis Duggan
+194As long as she or he to make their millions has not dragged others down
Then good luck to them in their financial renown
They have amassed their monetary pile in an honest way
One can only respect them for that is all one can say
But if they exploit others for their financial gain
Then as targets of Karma they are destined to remain
Till their very last breath of life they do draw
Since what goes around comes around is Karma’s Law
To every honest millionaire and billionaire respect one must pay
But those who come by vast amounts of money in a dishonest way
If human made laws do not catch up with them Karma will one day
What goes around comes around as some like to say
Though little in common they do seem to share
The pauper a much better person than the fraudulent billionaire.
This poem was written/submitted by Francis Duggan.
+4So sad to hear that the old poetess has died
She was a credit to her countryside
So much of Nature’s ways that she did know
In death her legend it will only grow
On saying so I’m not saying what is new
That as a Nature Poet her equals only few
Her bird and animal poems in them have beauty rare
A Nature Poet with any to compare
A natural poet one who was born to write
Her lyrical verses easy to read and recite
A humble person in her own quiet way
Respect to Nature and Nature’s creatures in her poems she did pay
And in Nature’s earthy bosom her remains now lay
The great poetess was buried yesterday.
This poem was written/submitted by Francis Duggan.
+5Doesn’t matter if they are religious or atheist a God you will find
In everyone loving and honest and kind
And though you may not find one who is free of sin
Every good human being does have their God within
You well may go to your place of worship to your God for to pray
But if you look at others in a judgemental way
Then you are not true to what in you do believe
And ’tis only your own flawed self you do deceive
Those with the God within never put others down
Or wish to be the best known and the wealthiest in their side of the town
But the frailties of others they do understand
And to those in need of it are willing to lend a helping hand
In every good person God resides it does seem to me
Though with my sort of thinking many may not agree.
This poem was written/submitted by Francis Duggan.
+8 Out of the breeding Season to moult on shallow lakes they congregate
The female though pretty not so as her handsome mate
With dark brown on chest and mostly darkish and with white ring around either eye
With her ever devoted mate to her nearby,
The handsome male with white ring around neck, dark head and uppers and breast of chestnut brown
Birds I’ve yet to see on lake in a park of a town
Australian shelduck or mountain duck or chestnut breasted shelduck are names they are known by
Waterbirds familiar in appearance and in their honking cry
At nesting time from June to October the female she does lay
Five to fourteen cream coloured eggs high on hollow branch from view hidden away
Of human kind they display a very healthy fear
And they will quickly take to the sky if to them you venture near
They pair until one of them do die the experts on their behaviour say
Birds who frequent lakes and water dams that I do not see every day.
This poem was written/submitted by Francis Duggan.
+33She doesn’t ask much of life poor Lily Palmer
Just a small cabin by the Gippsland sea
Where she might sleep and from the weather shelter
‘Your dreams are small when you’re in poverty’.
Her life’s belongings in a shopping trolley
She push it up through Bourke street mall each day
A tattered figure amongst the wealthy shoppers
She show her years in wrinkles and in gray.
Some look at her with looks of human pity
Whilst some with looks of scorn ask who is she?
But she has learnt to cope with disapproval
Nor does she welcome looks of sympathy.
The Salvation Army give her food and clothing
Without their help by now she may be dead
And she sleep on hard bench at Spencer Street Station
I do not envy Lily her cold bed.
She’s sixty six too old for the rough lifestyle
And far too old for sleeping in the damp and cold
Life’s never easy for the poor and needy
And so much harder for the poor and old.
It has been said she has a son and daughter
And that she has not laid eyes on them for years
She raised them on her own when times were better
But for her past she doesn’t shed any tears.
Faces of wealth and affluence all around me
And amongst them the face of poverty I see
Through Bourke Street Mall poor Lily slowly shuffles
Indifferent to both scorn and sympathy.
Still she has her dream and her dream seem quite modest
A small cabin in Gippsland somewhere by the sea
Where she might sleep and shelter from the weather
Your dreams are small when you’re in poverty.
This poem was written/submitted by Francis Duggan.
+48 The World Heavyweight Champion when he was in his prime
The one called ‘The Brown Bomber’ the greatest of his time
The mighty Joseph Louis Barrow his legend lives today
It’s true old warriors never die they merely fade away
Perhaps excepting Paul Robeson the great Joe Louis did more
For all African Americans than any did before
For eleven years the World Heavyweight Champion he boxed his way to fame
When I was just a toddler his was a household name.
In the thirties and the forties his was a well known face
The famous Joseph Louis Barrow the darling of his race
When Joe was in his heyday none with him could compete
For eleven years undefeated the World’s best he beat.
Joe Louis the peoples champion was loved by black and white
And people came from far and wide to watch the great man fight
Few went the distance with him he fought like a man inspired
Yet a gentleman out of the ring and by everyone admired.
With the dead of America the bones of Joe Louis lay
And though he rests in peace forever his legend lives today
For eleven years the World Champion and the greatest of his time
He fought his way to glory when he was in his prime.
This poem was written/submitted by Francis Duggan.
+10 Some childhood memories with us seem to linger
And I recall when I was nine or so
Of seeing blue tit fly from hole in standing tree stump
One April day more than forty years ago.
I stood on tip toes and tried to look inside the tree stump
But all seemed dark in there I needed light
I hurried back home for to fetch a flash lamp
And what I saw a memorable sight.
A little nest of moss and hay and lined with feathers
And nine pale eggs with freckles brown to red
Laid by the little bird with yellow unders
Blue wings and tail and tiny blue cap on head.
I marvelled at this wondrous sight of nature
How one small bird so many eggs could lay
The memory all those years has remained with me
And I still can picture what I see today.
I still can picture forty five years later
Nine speckled eggs in nest of moss and hay
Some things from childhood always remain with us
And from the memory never fade away.
This poem was written/submitted by Francis Duggan.
