What The Future Holds For Us
What the future holds for us we are not to know
But our past it goes with us to where-ever we go
Your best years in life to the forever gone
But your past in your memory it is living on
Many friends of your past you may never more see
But they do remain young in your memory
And for as long as the gift of memory you retain
Mental pictures of them with you will remain
But the present is what matter as some are known to say
And only in memory we have yesterday
And tomorrow at dawn the songbirds will sing
But who knows what tomorrow for us will bring
But we will live till we die like the sheep or the cow
And we only can live in the here and the now.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On My Worth As A Writer
On my worth as a writer I do cast great doubt
Though one could never run out of things to write about
And poetasters are many and poets they are rare
Yet so much to write on of the big World out there
One can say I've written a whole heap of stuff
Yet out of millions of writers few are good enough
To make a success out of the wordsmith trade
So many there are and so few make the grade
Not many writers the literary critics impress
And so few out of writing become a success
For every literary success of which we do read
So many are destined to never succeed
And only a tiny minority do make writing pay
But then such is life as some are known to say.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Since That Is Nature's Way
By their deciduous mother tree on the grass they do lay
The brown leaves of the Autumn have gone to decay
The magpie is piping in the dawn cool and gray
And life it goes on since that is Nature's way
Like her Seasons her life forms to Nature come and go
Yet so little of her ways we can claim to know
I marvel at the wonders in Nature I see
But Nature remains as a mystery to me
The beauty in Nature is ours to enjoy
I first fell in love with her as a young boy
And though the father of time mercy for us don't show
My wonderment of her only seems to grow
The brown leaves of Autumn lay near their mother tree
And the fate that befell them is also for me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Merri In Flood
The old Merri River in flood waters of brown
Is flowing on bank high on by Warrnambool Town
In and out of Lake Pertobe on it's sea going way
To join the Pacific at famed Lady Bay
The old river that is old even in time
That has inspired the poets and songwriters to rhyme
In the age of the dinosaurs the Merri was old
In full flood the river a sight to behold
In Summer by the banks of the river in the shade of the trees
The Indigenous tribes had their corroborees
Like the Seasons of Nature the people come and go
But the river on down through the flat country flow
In and out of Lake Pertobe and on to the sea
The Merri in flood is a great sight to see.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On What Is Success So Few Do Agree
On what is success so few do agree
The successful one to you may not be so to me
No two see things exactly the same as some like to say
We all look at life in a different way
Some people are not very hard to impress
They associate money and material things with success
Such as the value of your house and the value of your car
They never see you for the person you are,
The company you work for and your take home pay
Many look at success in this sort of a way
To them compassion and kindness to little amount
Though these things should be taken into account
When talking of success though it seems to me
That most of us look at things quite differently.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Hero To You Not A Hero To Me
Suppose we all do look at things differently
The hero to you not a hero to me
Your hero renowned for his skills at football
Yet the hero to some not a hero to all
If on everything we did happen to agree
How utterly boring indeed we would be
Our different ways makes us more interesting as some like to say
No two look at life in exactly in the same way
You have your own hero and that suits me fine
But your sort of hero could never be mine
Of our different views on life I am all too aware
And so little in common we do have to share
We don't share common friends or we don't share common foes
Which makes us seem more interesting one would have to suppose.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Nomadic Jim
The people nice to me in case you get me wrong
But I must be off been around here too long
Nomadic Jim said to me in a farewell good day
As to the railway station he hurried on his way
One in his late forties showing his years in gray
And clearly he has known a far better day
But it matters little to him if his best days are gone
He was born to travel and he will travel on
One who has seen much of the big World out there
His thoughts often lure him to places elsewhere
The lust of the wander is an addictive thing
Who knows where he will be for the birth of next Spring
He may be in Capetown or Berlin or Rome
To Nomadic Jim there is no place called home.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Goldfinch Is Singing
The beauty of Nature the joys of the Spring
In that scrubby place where the goldfinches sing
Their songs of November on the sapling trees
That sway to and fro in the freshening breeze
The wildborn goldfinches lovely to behold
With red around their bills and fawn, dark brown and gold
Their twittering low notes like fairy bells ring
The wonders of Nature a magical thing
With brown spots on their fragile wings white butterflies
So effortlessly off of the wildflowers they rise
Few of them live longer than 48 hours
Their lives even shorter than Nature's wildflowers
Where-ever i turn to look Nature's beauty i see
And a goldfinch is singing on a sapling tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Frog's Just A Frog
Of the complexities of Nature how can one explain
Who can tell of the workings of the amphibian's brain
Why he often does sing in the wind and the rain
His song more like a croak in the watery drain
A frog's just a frog as many do say
Those who dismiss Nature in their arrogant way
Our connection to Nature they do seem to miss
But I envy them their ignorance since ignorance is bliss
About Nature as me as much they do know
I have lived many Seasons but with little to show
In knowledge of Nature others I lag behind
But an expert on Nature perhaps one could not find
A frog's just a frog you will hear many say
But frogs are so complex in their secretive way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Hero Is Dead
Many people the praises of warriors do sing
And they talk of war as if war is a good thing
There are tears in their eyes when the last post is played
And proudly they march in every war parade
Every day in war zones more people do die
And the war supposed to end all wars was based on a lie
And more wars are waged now than ever before
The lessons of history we tend to ignore
The coward from the battle turned and ran away
But the hero is dead and the coward lives today
They talk of the heroes in battles lost and won
But in war there's no winner when all is said and done
From the heat of the battle the coward ran away
But he is a very proud grand-dad today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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