Memories Of Connie Tarrant's Wedding
If there's a hell then I am doomed and for hell I am heading
For I drove my car when I was drunk from Connie Tarrant's wedding,
I drove my car when I was drunk and lived to tell the story
Though I don't find no pride in that and that won't bring me glory.
Brian Sullivan in front passenger seat he wore the look of worry
As one mile west of Barraduff I swerved clear of a lorry
He shouted 'watch you driving man' and what's the point in hurry
And we'll reach Millstreet in time enough and better late than sorry.
But that apart we had good day we laughed drank and made merry
At Connie's wedding to Noreen in Killarney County Kerry,
The rock and roll the twist and shout, the reels and siege of Ennis,
The paddy and the brandy and the smithwicks and the guinness.
Curly haired Tadgh Sullivan from Kiskeam and Johnny Fox O Connor
And by four o clock the liquor told Jim Greaney seemed a gonner
And Brian Sullivan was talking much of Clint Eastwood and soccer
And I not one to handle drink felt like one off his rocker.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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On Hearing A Song For Christy Ring
Amazing how a song can stir up memories
And only lately heard a ballad singer sing
A famous song written by Brian McMahon
For Ireland's greatest hurler Christy Ring.
He was known as the Cork and Glen Rovers wizard
And he depicted the spirit of the Glen
And what set Ring apart from all the others
Was that he had in him this great desire to win.
Eighteen Railways cups and eight All Ireland medals
The record of his combined medal tally stand
He played for Cork when he was in his forties
And held his own with the best in Ireland
For the St Nicholas club Christy Ring played Gaelic Football
And at football many better one could name
But he only played because of club devotion
As hurling always was his preferred game.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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On The Wayne Carey Scandal
The captain of the Kangaroos Football Club known for his dash and flair
And in the game of Australian rules a football millionaire
But he quit the Club in disgrace when news broke of his affair
With the wife of a team mate his future now elsewhere.
He breached the trust of his mate and was unfaithful to his own wife
And he must now try to save his marriage and get on with his life
He went back home to Wagga to hide away in shame
And many feel Wayne Carey might have played his last game
Of Australian Rules Football but without him the game will go on
And the North Melbourne club is still around though their ex captain from them gone
The Club's bigger than the individual is that's always been the case
And as good a player though he may be there's one to take his place.
He should have gone to a brothel for his bit on the side
Instead he had sex with his best mate's wife and their friendship he destroyed
The Roos fans had him on a pedestal and they called him the king
But like a silly person he did the silly thing.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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On Receiving A Letter From Marie
I wrote to the Sullivan family on the death of family member Catherine it seemed for me the proper thing to do
They were my friends and neighbours when I lived in Millstreet and to our old friends we must remain true
I was not expecting a letter in return and it came as a big surprise to me
When I received a letter from Catherine's elder sister Marie she now is Mrs Cregan from Tralee.
Marie from Claraghatlea one I remember her shiny wavy hair was chestnut brown
A cheerful and a very friendly person one of the nicest west of Millstreet Town
A warm hearted and a charming lady she always greeted with a big smile and hello
And hearing from her in her time of sorrow brought back the memories of long ago.
When she and Catherine and their younger brother James were going to school in Millstreet all three I recall were younger than I
Those were the happiest days that I remember but on looking back the years just seemed to fly
And our youthful Seasons for us went too quickly and the lust for wander carried us away
From Duhallow and the meadows west of Millstreet where in Summer weather we made cocks of hay.
She told me in her letter how she grieves for her sister Catherine they always were a close knit family
Our crosses to bear can sometimes prove quite heavy and how sad so very sad this life can be?
But time as we know is the greatest healer and though the pain of loss to heal may seem quite slow
As time goes by from her grief she will recover and her ache of loss from her eventually will go.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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A Memory From 85
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.
'Twas Duhallow B league final on an evening in July
And with little to enthuse about for a neutral such as I
A scrappy game of football and the language it was crude
And both sets of supporters were mouthing loud and rude
And I watched on in silence and I could not feel amused
When a linesman by an old Rockchapel mentor was abused
And one could feel the tension rising and things were boiling to a brawl
And 'twould not be a night for sportsmanship or classical football.
And worse was to come later and an ugly sight to see
A young Rockchapel player assaulting the referee
And when he received his marching orders and refused to leave the field
The ref to intimidation rightly refused to yield.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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Song Of A Nature Loving Man
Were I a nature lyric poet my special gifts I'd share
With all who'd care to read my verse people from everywhere
But I don't have the gift of verse or so 'twould seem to me
So I can't share what I don't have with all humanity.
I'm just going back a few short months a pleasant memory
A koala with her baby on top branch of gum tree
On evening in mid april an evening bright though cool
At Tower hill just a short drive from the town of Warrnambool.
Were I a nature lyrist in words I'd celebrate
And my sense of joy at what I'd seen to all I would relate
A leaf eating nature mother with offspring on her back
Not unlike human mother with baby in knapsack.
To hear a yellow robin when spring is in her prime
On low down branch of wattle and shielded from sun shine
Sing his sad song of november his plaintive melody
Were I a bard I'd capture his song in poetry.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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Fanciful Dream
I left my love in the Fairy Glen
Home of the litte fairy men
I met her there on a July night
When a Summer moon was beaming bright.
For my love was the Fairy Queen
In Fairyland she reign supreme
She wore a glittering diamond cloak
Queen of the little fairy folk.
Though the night was bright it was bright as day
In a wooded vale I lost my way
Then I sat me down by a tall oak tree
And the Fairy Queen she came to me.
I gazed upon this fairy small
She stood scarcely more than two foot tall
Tiny shoes covered her tiny feet
And she bowed towards me in a fairy greet
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poem by Francis Duggan
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From A Happening At The Bayswater
Were I a bard or storyteller some great stories I could tell
Of the happenings at Bayswater in the Bayswater Hotel
You don't have to buy a ticket if you want to watch a fight
Just call to Hotel Bayswater there's one there most every night.
If you hate the sight of brawling Basy pub is not for you
Fellows disagree and fight there beat each other black and blue
They don't fight in there for purses not one half penny at stake
They just fight for love of fighting just for fight and fighting sake.
Last week's big fight was a ripper it turned out a super show
Hugh Murdoch and Jim 'Tiger' Ellis slugged it out hard toe to toe
Hughie Murdoch came out winning he laid Jimmy's colours low
But he failed to knockout Tiger the decision t.k.o.
Jimmy had a painful evening he was often on the floor
But he did not let his fans down he rose up and fought some more
He was cut his nose was bleeding 'next day he must have felt sore'
You can whip and cage a Tiger but you can't stop that tiger roar.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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March Horse Fair Day
The morning has a heavy winter chill
And dark rain clouds move over Clara hill
And the old man says that the rain will bucket down
As he stands holding his horse in the Square at Millstreet Town.
In Ireland on March the first the sun doesn't often shine
In fact the day is seldom ever fine
Old February till latter March remain
You take your hat and coat expecting rain.
Near 10 A.M. it makes a heavy shower
And it keeps on raining maybe for an hour
And horses and their owners soaked right to the skin
But rain doesn't worry tough horse loving men.
The deals were clinched with hand slap and hand shake
Your bond your word and your word you would not break
The Town Square packed with people young and old
And deals were done and many horses sold.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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It's The Conquerors Who Write The History
As they chased the wild bison on horse back they whooped and cheered loud
And they were great hunters so noble and proud
But now on the prairies the bison are rare
And the people who hunted them no longer there.
Of the great Northern Land the first people till the invaders came
And their tragic dispossession is a thing of great shame
Conquered and put into reservations for to grow old and die
The rights of Indigenous people to them did not apply.
It's the conquerors who write history as we have been told
And men they have murdered for Land and for Gold
But what matters most when history we trace
That a Country's first people must take pride of place.
You great country singers with your golden guitars,
You politicians and tycoons and billionaire movie stars
There once was a people far greater than you
And to Mother Nature they were far more true.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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