Francis Duggan Poems

He still feels like a stranger in the small Country Town
And people he meet on the street they look him up and down
Though he greets them with a cheery good day as he goes walking by
To him they do show little warmth in their hello reply.
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She grew into a young woman some forty years ago
In Macroom a mid Cork Town where the Sullane waters flow
She left there in her early twenties in her life's youthful bloom
And she is known to everyone as Mary from Macroom.
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You've heard of a thing called writer's block and you've heard of writer's drought
But writers are never short of things on which they can write about
It's just at times their inspiration well does seem to run dry
And they cannot seem to pen a line though hard enough they try.
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She speaks in a beautiful accent one could listen to her all day
The dark haired brown one in her twenties a beauty from distant Bombay
So friendly and so unconceited of her beauty she does not seem aware
A good wife for some lucky fellow for people like her are so rare
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No love between them though they live together for nowadays each of them does their own thing
She dances in the Bowling Club room with her lover and at the pub with his mates he does sing
In their early fifties and officially still married but love between them it would seem long dead
Under the one roof but not as mates and lovers for many years they have not shared a bed.
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The love poetess pens her pretty love verses she makes the world seem such a loving place
At local poetry readings and gatherings her's has become a very well known face
She is still young only in her mid twenties and as a poet her reputation grow
And as a wordsmith she keeps on improving so much in life there is to learn and know
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He says me like Australia but me from far away
From Java in Indonesia tis there me first saw light of day
Me cannot be an Aussie though me can say 'good day mate'
And when Aussies win at cricket me too does celebrate
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He never more again will drink, laugh and make merry at his old favourite pub the Rhyme and Song
And he never grew foul mouthed or abusive even though he had been drinking all night long
He was the same old Peter drunk or sober a gentle soul and always nice to meet
He will be missed by his mates at the Local and by everyone who knew him on his street
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If i were a good writer of many things I'd write
And on mysterious stories i could help to shed some light
But i am not that clever though i try the best i can
Do for to meet the standard of a true poetic man
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'Twould seem that the Polar Winters are becoming far less cold
And of the consequences of global warming by climate experts we've been told
And with the meltdown of the polar ice caps the over swollen seas
Will flood across the coastal lands creating millions of refugees
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