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Poems By Poet Francis Duggan  7/24/2014 4:38:06 PM
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  FRANCIS DUGGAN
 
 
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  4397.     

Just An Incident I've Witnessed

I can't say how the brawl started though many claim that Dean was right
But it was over in two minutes it was not much of a fight
Jeff did not put up a battle Dean just pinned him to the ground
A bushman from Western Australia you don't try to push around.

Jeff lost his shirt in the brief scuffle his back was scratched and bloody red
And there was a few more scratches on the bald patch on his head
Many claim he had it coming and he deserved all he got
But on Jeff the lesson has been wasted since past lessons he has forgot.

When I see two grown men brawling to myself I think and say
Should I try to separate them or should I leave them have their way
I tried to drag Dean off of Jeff, wasted my energy and time
He was far too big and angry twenty five years in his prime.

The next time I see grown men brawling maybe I should walk away
Playing the role of the peacemaker more often than not doesn't pay
Often those playing the peacemaker end up beaten black and blue
And to ignore the brawl and brawlers might be wiser thing to do.

Angry Jeff got his come uppance and the brawl did not last long
He picked a fight with the wrong fellow Dean for him was far too strong
And picking a fight with a bush Sandgroper is not such a good idea
As they are tough these Western Australians and they don't surrender easily.

Just an incident I've witnessed such things happen every day
But next time I see grown men brawling maybe I should walk away
Though this one was over quickly Jeff got up off his backside
And he went home to nurse his scratches and the huge dent to his pride.
 
Francis Duggan
   
 

   
   
 

  4398.     

Just An Old Tree

On Nature and life scientists may disagree
But On our attitude to Nature our true selves we should see
Can you not see the beauty and value in a fully grown tree
That has lived in the Parkland for a century
In the cool of the morning in the greeness of Spring
On it's higher branches the blackbird does sing
An arboreal monarch of the higher ground
The oldest and tallest tree for miles around
Yet some people say that it should be cut down
That old trees lose their branches and are a danger to walkers in the park of the town
But in gale force winds people ought to realize
That to stay clear of such trees is quite prudent and wise
And to some sad to say it is just an old tree
The beauty in Nature they just cannot see.
 
Francis Duggan
   
 

   
   
 

  4399.     

Just An Ordinary Rhymer

For many years now I have been a rhyme buff
One might say I have written a whole heap of stuff
But to rhyme is so easy as easy can be
So easy to you and so easy to me.

I am living far south of my old Homeland Shore
And the field by the mountain in old Claramore
And my old Homeplace of Claraghatlea where I was born and raised
In rhymes I have written by me has been praised

I grew to love Nature from here far away
A love that will be with me until my dying day
When April came in with her myriads of flowers
And nesting birds sang in the mild Spring showers.

I am just an ordinary rhymer of that I won't lie
Though I will be penning stuff till the day that I die
But they puzzle me those who talk of writers drought
When in life and in Nature there's so much to write about.

I never refer to myself as a poet
Prefer to leave that title to those far more worthy of note
My best years in life to the forever gone
Addicted to rhyming I keep penning on.
 
Francis Duggan
   
 

   
   
 

  4400.     

Just Another Memory

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.

It's just a memory just another memory but Nature's memories with us seem to stay
The lapwings voices rang out in the stillnes when all other birds were silent and the fields looked gray
With cuck on head and darkish green wings and white breast feathers they searched for food in the old fields all day
Till by late March the urge to breed it came upon them and April found them many miles away.

From their old wintering fields in Duhallow they raise their broods and their survival insure
And the next Winter their young with them would return to the fields of Claraghatlea and Annagloor
In large flocks they always seemed rather restless and they flew off if man or dog came near
But on their breeding grounds they become more aggressive and to protect their young they lose all of their fear.

It's just a memory just another memory but Nature's memories are so dear to me
In the old field beside the babbling river they run about I fancy them I see
And though many years have passed since I've last seen them
the memories of the past with me remain
In February on a cold and a frosty morning I hear the lapwings calling out again.
 
Francis Duggan
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Francis Duggan