Back In Semaphore
I've not been in this Town for a year or maybe more
But some familiar faces here that I 've seen before
And people walk their dogs in park by the sea shore,
It is good to be back in Semaphore.
Off of the jetty in the bright sunshine
The old fishing fellow casts his fishing line
He hopes to catch a few good sized fish for tea
Though of such there is not a guarantee
Some Australian Aboriginals still live here
In the shade of norfolk pine they sit and drink their beer
They socialize as one big happy family
In Semaphore the old Town by the sea.
The silver gulls in large flocks congregate
By picnic tables in the sun they wait
Like hungry beggars crying to be fed
On scraps of uneaten fish and meat and bread.
On canvas an artist might capture the scene
Of sunlit park of shades of brown and green
Where the recreational cricket players cricket play
And enjoy themselves on their weekend holiday.
In the late afternoon a freshening sea breeze
And mynas chirping on the sunlit trees
And saltwater waves lap on the sandy shore,
It feels good to be back in Semaphore.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
On An April Evening In The Fall
With folded wings the fishing gannets plunge into the sea
And the nuggety old man with fishing rod was waiting patiently
For a fish to bite as the incoming waves splashed quite close to his feet
And each new wave it came surging in as each old wave did retreat.
Have you been catching many fish today? of the fisherman I inquired
Not been doing too well today mate the old fellow replied
I've yet to catch a fish today, sometimes in the rising tide
From cover they don't venture out between the rocks they hide.
I'll stay another hour he said at least until twilight
The wife would like a good sized fish to cook for tea tonight
Still I don't like my chances much it's a quarter after four
I'll stay till a quarter after five and not one second more
The silver gulls cry on the beach the angry ocean roar
The gannets fishing on the bay, the old man from the shore
And people walking on the beach before their evening tea
On a sunny evening in April in the Fall by the Pacific sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is A Lovely Day
The parks and paddocks lush and green wildflowers bloom by the roadway
And birds are singing in the wood it is a lovely day
A forecast low of nineteen and a high of twenty three
And pink flowers in large clusters on the rhododendron tree,
Were I a poet I'd write a sonnet for today that would live on in time
But good poets are few or so 'twould seem in blank verse or in rhyme
For to be able to pen a sonnet to this day joy to others would bring
When Mother Nature is in bloom in the prime of the Spring,
The wattle birds are calling on the sunlit banksia trees
And there is a cool freshness in the freshening coastal breeze
And dark winged welcome swallows chirping as above the park they fly
All through the day they circle to and fro across the sky
And willy wagtail with his wagging tail is chasing flies and bees
And the sunlit park sounds happy with the songs of the pee wees.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Inverloch In January
On the slated roof of the public toilet the silver gulls bask in the sun
And children in the sea side park are playing games and having fun
And the wattlebirds are calling on a flowering melaleuca tree
In Inverloch in South Gippsland the old village by the sea.
For those in the catering trade at Inverloch 'tis a busy time of year
The fish and chips and pizza shops at their busiest and the publican sells lots of beer
From the Melbourne eastern suburbs in January for the after Christmas holidays they throng
To Inverloch to camp for a few weeks where they party all night long.
Yet despite the presence of many human beings it is a common sight
To see beautiful eastern rosellas and galahs in the park in the sunlight
And to hear the migrant lories chirping on the coastal trees
And the white backed magpie piping in the freshening evening breeze.
In Inverloch in January when the Summer's in her prime
For the caterers and traders there it is a busy time
And on the spacious beaches many sun bake and families beach cricket play
And children with their parents in the shallows swim and enjoy their holiday.
poem by Francis Duggan
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An Aussie Christmas Day
In the park after eating barbequed fry the family a game of cricket play
In the warmth of the sunshine of an Aussie Christmas Day
A perfect day for Christmas around 24 degrees
On an afternoon made pleasant by a cool and freshening breeze
On this day in the Land of plenty a thought we ought to spare
For the people who are doing it hard in the bigger world out there
The Homeless and the Stateless dying of hunger and disease
In the refugee camps of the World thirty million refugees
Yet even in the Land of plenty the faces of poverty one does meet
The Homeless and God forsaken who live their lives on the street
Amongst the many well to do the faces of poverty
The outcasts and fringe dwellers of human society
Still a happy Christmas to you on this Aussie Christmas Day
As the family in the sunshine a game of cricket play.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Local Park
When you want a good walk
Through day or the dark,
The place to go is our local park,
The park is a pride
The finest ever seen,
Tree's and grass always ever green..
There's swings for the kids
For all girls and boys,
Sea saw and paddling pool
To fill in their joys.
There's a path walk way all the way round
If you want a good walk
And summer seats to sit if you want a good talk,
The park has a lake and plenty good sport,
Bowling on the green and tennis on the court.
There's plenty of fun
Plenty to do,
Even at the park
Good swimming pool there to,
The pool has a cafe
If you want to call in
A wee cup of tea or have a good swim.
There's cricket and football
A horse riding track,
And even a good golf course
It's way round the back.
So here is our park
That's full of good pride,
Were ducks swim the water
And kids play the slide
poem by Gerald Follis Lurgan
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Is it really like fishing?
They say there is many fish in the sea to choose from.
But have you ever gone fishing?
They say do not worry they are like fish you lose one then get a fresh one.
But have you actually gone fishing?
They say you can be picky when fishing your fish.
But have you been in the sea and fished?
They even say some actually smell like fish.
But have you really smelled a fish?
They say there is plenty of fish in the sea.
But have you actually gone and counted the fish in the sea?
They say once you catch that perfect fish, you are bound for a good life.
But have you caught that perfect fish they all speak of?
They say some fish can be beautiful.
But have you seen any beautiful fish?
How can one compare a fish?
They are not alike.
How can one say it is as easy as finding a fish?
It is not a simple task.
How can they say there are so many fish in the sea?
When there are so many fishers who have yet to catch.
Can you really compare life and love to a fish?
The answer is of course not.
You can’t.
Impossible.
Unreal.
Not imaginable.
Unbelievable.
Unrealistic.
A fairy tale.
poem by ReubenJames Rodriguez
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Another Near To Perfect Day
In the sky the sun brightly shining the blue sky with some clouds of gray
On an afternoon in late October another near to perfect day
The white surf waves are gently rolling one reason no surfer in sight
And the silver gulls on the white beach search for food in the warm sunlight
An artist may well sketch such beauty and writers about it may write
By the coastal town on the surf beach there is beauty in peace and quiet
Today the ocean is not roaring no big waves for surfers to ride
The waves on the beach gently lapping so timid the sea at low tide
In the park the magpie larks calling the only notes they sing pee wee
And wattlebirds on the flowering coastal banksias their harsh calls familiar to me
On a beautiful day in the Springtime of around 24 degrees
And there is a cool sort of freshness in the cool freshening coastal breeze
Save for the silver gulls the beach is deserted and so clean is the fresh coastal air
A good memory to keep and to cherish and a good memory with others to share.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Fishing For A Friend
when you go to fish
go fishing for the finest kind
which good anglers always do.
if you're looking for a fine fish
you must choose the purest lake
in which good anglers fish.
if you catch a fine fish
try not to let it get away
good anglers real them in.
you must bring your fish home
a fine fish will quench your hunger
after a long day fishing.
(January,2010, Omar Ibrahim)
(revised by MR.Ronald Peat)
poem by Omar Ibrahim
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It Is So Good To Be Outdoors
On a sunny day like this day tis just great to be alive
Just to walk out in the sunshine or to go off on a drive
To the mountain or the coastal town or to the park nearby
It is nice for to be outdoors when the sun is in the sky
A sunny day in September of around 20 degrees
And the scents of flowers and blossoms wafting in the freshening breeze
And the young lambs in the paddocks around their mothers play
It is good for to be outdoors on a warm day like today,
The familiar song of the blackbird a feathered minstrel of the Spring
And the honeyeaters chirping and the shrike thrush pipe and sing
And October days are looming and September all but gone
And the Spring is passing quickly and father time keeps ticking on
And the welcome swallows chirping they are so graceful in flight
It is so good to be outdoors in the September sunlight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Outcast
Costa Rica (outcast)
When going ashore in Puerto Lemon (Costa Rica) we had to walk
through a park were the town’s people sat or walked enjoying
the evening breeze. They didn’t like us, we’re uncouth seamen
up to no good. We felt their odium and it made us noisier that we
otherwise would have been. We were on our way to the seedy
part of town where we were welcomed because we had money.
One evening I sat in the park enjoying the peace and sea breeze…
after some time I was approached by a police officer who told me
to move on, he never said way, but the good people felt offended.
As I left I was filled with sadness and I had only one place to go.
Late at night when the good people had gone home the park was
a whore house, just raucous noise and the sea breeze had died.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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My First Fishing Trip
Went with dad to Port Isabel to learn to fish,
‘Cause to catch a fish I told him that I did wish.
So to Purdy’s Court fishing pier,
We went with all our fishing-gear.
Yes, that fishing trip with dad I’ll always cherish!
There we were, him giving me casting instruction,
Then he baited my hook with a live crustacean,
I cast out high in the sky.
To catch a big fish to fry,
But instead, caught a sea gull - as consolation!
poem by Bobby Beddoe
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South Gippsland In April
The leaves on the deciduous trees are turning brown
Yet in the Parks and gardens of Wonthaggi Town
The mynas are singing their songs tell of rain
And the frogs they are calling in the roadside drain.
Though into mid April and the Winter quite near
The weather quite warm for the time of year
On the beach at Cape Paterson the sun lovers lay
It may rain tomorrow but the sun shines today.
Only six weeks left of Autumn the time ticking on
And quite Summery weather though Summer is long gone
The old coastal hills overlooking the sea shore
Have seldom looked this dry or this brown before.
South Gippsland in April a fresh coastal breeze
In the woodland is soughing in the sunlit trees
Utopia on Earth the South Gippslanders say
That from where they live Heaven is not far away.
The birds in the Parkland they whistle and sing
It is more like weather in Summer or late Spring
The sun shining brightly but those brown hills nearby
A few hours of rain now would surely enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Happy Dog 3
I’m a happy dog at the park
I yelp and woof and bark
Along with the sound
Us dogs run around
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
You may think me off the mark
But I’m not by mistake
In the mud by the lake
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I hunt like a big hairy shark
When the bunnies trail
Puts a spring in my tail
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m glad that some bright spark
Brought a ball to throw
Now off I go
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’ll be wagging well into the dark
Enjoy fresh air and fun
Is my tip everyone
I’m a happy dog at the park
poem by Flying Lemming
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The 'Poem A Day' Project ~ Day 257
I’m a happy dog at the park
I yelp and woof and bark
Along with the sound
Us dogs run around
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
You may think me off the mark
But I’m not by mistake
In the mud by the lake
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I hunt like a big hairy shark
When the bunnies trail
Puts a spring in my tail
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m glad that some bright spark
Brought a ball to throw
Now off I go
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’ll be wagging well into the dark
Enjoy fresh air and fun
Is my tip everyone
I’m a happy dog at the park
poem by Flying Lemming
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Evening In October
An evening in October the second month of Spring
And in the Town of Emerald the common mynas sing
And gold billed blackbird whistling on sunlit wattle tree
And whoever coined the phrase was right 'the best things in life are free'.
The best things in life are always free and we don't have to pay
For the air we breathe and the water we drink and the sun that warms the day
And most of us do not appreciate what Mother Earth supply
We worry about little things and life we don't enjoy.
The birds sing for the joy of Spring in sun and wind and rain
They sing as if the Winter days will never come again
They do not have mortgage to pay their roof the open sky
They come and go at their own whim and they have their wings
to fly.
In sunlit park in Emerald just off of the busy street
The mynas and the blackbirds in song seem to compete
On an evening in October a warm and balmy day
And for the better things in life we do not have to pay.
poem by by unknown author
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The Fishers
The chill of late Autumn is in the morning
And before the sun comes out the sky looks gray
And Jack Iversen and Kenny are off fishing
They left quite early at the break of day.
They tow their boat to the ramp at San Remo
But only on a calm and windless day
And within sight of land they dropp their anchor
Where the fish might be schooling on the quiet bay.
For them a pleasant way to spend their morning
To fish with rods and lines from boat for three hours or four
Especially when the hungry fish are biting
A good morning's catch some twenty fish or more.
The gentle waves against the boat keep lapping
And the sun breaks through the clouds just after nine
It must be soothing for the nerves and pleasant
To sit and relax and fish in the sun shine.
The chill of late Autumn is in the morning
And the sun at nine shines through the clouds of gray
And Jack Iversen and Kenny are out fishing
In their boat anchored on San Remo bay
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Non Swimming Man Of The Sea
He had his own fishing boat for many years though he never ventured far out to sea
And from fishing he made a good living enough to upkeep his family
He was born and he still lives near the ocean and the ocean holds no fears for him
But to many it may seem a bit strange that he's never learned how to swim.
Though he left school young for to fish with his father he's a bright man and nobody's fool
And his son and daughter live in the big city their children in Primary school
Two years ago his wife she died suddenly they had been married for thirty five years
And though for her his grieving is over thoughts of her still move him to tears.
A year younger than him she felt quite well till a massive heart attack struck her down
And one day he too will go to join her in the grave yard in the sea side Town
He had a wish to be cremated and his ashes spread on the sea shore
But to his wife he must remain true and with her he will lay forever more.
He sold his fishing boat when his wife died his great zest for life with her died
He now lives on the old age pension and from his cottage he can hear the tide
Rage against the rocks on the fore shore the huge waves they rumble and roll
The immortal voice of the ocean is ever soothing to his soul.
Last February he turned seventy and the years have left him gray and slow
Still he finds comfort in his good memories of his better days decades ago
Of his beautiful wife and their children but life part of mortality
And the Reaper is now quietly waiting for the non swimming man of the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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What Happened To His Village
He was born just a short distance from Adelaide
And he could see the sea from his back door
And in his young days there were not many houses
But the years have brought great change to Semaphore.
His sea side Village has grown to a coastal suburb
And his old Homeplace has undergone great change
Where once were trees and paddocks now there's houses
A stranger to your old Homeplace seems strange.
What happened to the Village of his childhood
The paddock where he played in years ago
He only can refer now to his memories
Of peaceful place the Homeplace he once did know.
The cottage of his childhood gone forever
A doctor's surgery where once it stood
And not one know him he is now a stranger
In Semaphore the place of his boyhood.
But of the past he still has good old memories
Of his old Village how it used to be
And from the cottage by the wide brown paddock
Six hundred yards off he could see the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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England dear old England
Fish and Chips
cup of tea
bucket and spade
a dip in the sea.
Walking the dog
a pint and a pie
Cricket in the park
a kite in the sky.
Reading the paper
sat on a bench
fishing in the canal
for Carp and Tench.
Castles and palaces
Dickens and Shakespeare
walking through the fields
country pubs and beer.
This is my England
the place of my birth
and I couldn't live anywhere else
as England is the best place on Earth!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Let us do something else
Harbor tug gongs and the sound of hungry gulls
A salty breeze burns dry lips
the sweaty sun stings bare shoulders
and the glare tears sunglasses
but this toil here on the jetty makes me smile
determination keeps me on the fishing line
today I catch the biggest one
with ample amounts of whiskey
declare unto all
I’m on god damn holiday
poem by Martin Lochner
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