Forgotten People
In Council Flats live the forgotten people
At the slum end the poorer side of town
They live on welfare like their dads before them
And from where they live a long hike to renown.
They always wear their football scarves and beanies
And take them with them everywhere they go
They worship their football teams and football heroes
The only sort of culture that they know.
Their addresses they find not to their advantage
For employees employers look elsewhere
They tend to think that those living in the slum parts
Unfit for work and softened from welfare.
With the Council Flats the cops are well acquainted
They know it as a breeding ground for crime
There are not many there without crime record
Who have not been in jail and served out time.
Those born there are born to disadvantage
The expectations of them is to fail
How can you expect to end up a winner
If all your role models have been to jail? .
How can you expect to soar like an eagle
If you don't have the powerful wings to fly
If you don't have role models to inspire you
To have success in life you may not try? .
The politicians only call to see them
To beg them for their votes on voting day
But when they are elected to high office
From council flats they tend to keep away.
By circumstance of birth forgotten people
Condemned to life of crime and poverty
Still they are less impure in ways than many
Who have climbed to highest branch of success tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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They Struggle Through Life
They struggle through life as they battle with stress
Those born and raised at an unfashionable address
It is a long hike to success and renown
For those who are born at the poor side of town.
Their parents in jail for serious crime
And they become hardened criminals before their life's prime
Homeless in their early teens life hardened and street wise
The wounded eagle from the ground cannot rise.
They are the poor souls on whom drug dealers prey
And from Poverty Street it does seem a long way
To the road to success from the pit of despair
From the poor side of town success stories are rare.
Like their parents of success they stand little chance
They are the poor victims of bad circumstance
Their sense of self esteem is damaged beyond repair
And you cannot tell me that all in life is fair.
poem by Francis Duggan
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To Live In A Poor Place Or Suburb
To live in a poor Place or Suburb as bad as a punishable crime
That's how it is and always will be 'tis something that won't change in time
On the road that leads from the poor Suburb it is a long hike to success
Condemned by the street that you live on and condemned by your postal address
Condemned by the judgements of the judgemental to spend their lives in Earthly Hell
Few very few from the poor Suburb in life ever seem to do well
The judgemental arrogant talk of life choices but never of birth circumstance
The homeless youth of Poverty Street of success have such a slim chance
For them life is such a hard battle a tough steep climb all of the way
Where many are doomed for to die young and few live to be old and gray
Where so many do become outlaws and spend most of their lives in jail
They follow in parental footsteps from birth they are doomed for to fail
Those born and raised in the poor Place or Suburb have little hope of happiness
Their life journey is such a tough road with so little chance of success.
poem by Francis Duggan
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This Is The Football Season
This is the football Season it is that time of year
When men in the pub talk football as they enjoy their beer
And look forward to September when one club will fly the winner's flag
The team that wins the Premiership gives their fans the right to brag.
Their wives nicknamed the footy widows their husbands at the football club
Or after work talking football with their mates down at the local pub
They take football so seriously 'tis their passion in life
The footy fan loves his football club as much as his children or his wife.
And if their team lose at the weekend they feel and look so sad
What's known as football addiction they seem to have it bad
They feel sad for their football team and the chance of four premiership points gone
But they cheer up and look forward to next weekend's game as the working week wears on.
This is the football Season football has gone to their head
And their football scarves and beanies they even wear to bed
About their team they feel so passionate as if to them it did belong
And 'tis with delight and pride in victory that they sing the club song.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Children Of Poverty Street
At least spare a thought for the children the children of Poverty Street
They are homeless as young teenagers and against the odds they must compete
Their parents serving time for robbery and narcotic offences and most of their role models in jail
Their circumstance of birth is a huge mark against them the poor young people destined to fail.
They steal for to buy food, drugs and alcohol on Poverty Street life is tough
Too young much too young to be homeless without shelter and sleeping rough
They are pushed to the social fringes the young people society disown
Ignored by the Government Bureaucracies and to the Police only known.
Who could envy them their existence those born into cruel circumstance
The Gods are completely against them of success they do not stand a chance
For them life is such a great battle they must battle their ghosts of despair
They don't even dream of the good life to them life is very unfair.
You who waffle on of life's choices with you talk is always so cheap
Bet you were not homeless at thirteen and on a park bench had to sleep
You would not talk of life's choices if you had to steal for to eat
If you felt alone and abandoned like the children of Poverty Street.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Many Say Our Life's Journey
Many say our life's journey is fashioned from the life choices we make
That due to poor decisions the wrong road we do take
But assumptions to make to some people do come easily
The people who discount what is known as life's destiny,
The child born of parents living in poverty
Disadvantaged from birth what life choice has she or he?
Homeless as teenagers with little to eat
On the dingy sidewalks of Poverty Street
Life choices not for those of the poor streets of town
For most from there life's journey never leads to renown
Homeless as teenagers they turn to drugs and crime
And like their parents before them serve many years of jail time
Life choices are not for everyone it does seem to me
Though with me on this one many would disagree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Human Life Can Be Much
Human life can be much like a game of football
The winners we only do wish to recall
The hero as usual kicks the winning score
Tell us something new we have heard it before
For the winner the glory and that says it all
The winner the proud one the winner walks tall
The taste of success it is always so sweet
Whilst only bitterness in the taste of defeat
Even the gallant loser we tend to ignore
For him or her there is never an encore
The winners have earned their right for to boast
And 'tis only to them that we do drink a toast
Human life can be much like a game of football
For those known as losers life's not good at all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sameness They Only Embrace
The wealthiest person in the place far from financial renown
And the poorest one is very poor in the poor Country Town
Where everyone knows everyone your business not your own
And even family secrets by everyone else known.
This not a Town for migrants not many migrants live here
The locals do not embrace difference that's how it does appear
But of course there are exceptions though their type in the minority
Who speak out for the fair go in a place of cultural poverty.
Not a place of great commerce and few evolved thinkers live here
In the pubs they talk of work and football between spells of guzzling beer
They feel happy in their sameness it is difference they do fear
Though quite knowledgeable in football and their football heroes they revere.
A small rural Town in the country a few hours drive from anywhere
A place of a small population where many things in common they do share
The people with a fondness for sameness and sameness they only embrace
And if to them you have different interests amongst them you feel out of place.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Poverty Street
On Poverty Street and Refugee camps far away
The struggles of life it goes on every day
The struggles to live in the face of despair
The have nots of the World have never been rare
The homeless and hungry obliged to sleep rough
And many far too many are doing it tough
And thousands are growing poorer for each new millionaire
No such a thing as equality in the big World out there
On the people of Poverty Street the drug dealers prey
For their own gain they treat their fellow human beings in a disrespectful way
For money to feed their addictions the poor sinned against turn to crime
And they end up in jail for a considerable time
On Poverty Street there is no cause for cheer
And of success stories from there one seldom does hear.
poem by Francis Duggan
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You Feel Sad And Down
You feel sad and down life is not always fair
And of hope for the future you are in despair
In that you are not alone people like you everywhere
But when the going gets tough the tough hang in there
'Life is not meant to be easy' according to George Bernard Shaw
Though on life your own conclusions you can draw
Life is never easy for those on the poor side of the town
Where many do only know of ill renown
The victims of poverty due to birth circumstance
At any success in life they do stand little chance
Out of work and the economy at present doing quite bad
But at least you were born to a good mum and dad
And you've never once been to Poverty Street
Where many are Homeless without food to eat.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Football Fan
They love their football team
their loyalty is never in doubt
they rarely ever miss a match
from the stands they scream and shout.
Even when the teams playing poor
and their favourite player is off key
that will never stop them from going
as the ground is where they want to be.
Football is always on their minds
they think about it night and day
non football fans think they must be crazy
watching men kicking a ball home and away.
Relationships can become strained and tense
as football takes the leading role
partners can become irritable and even jealous
when the fan talks for hours about a wonder goal.
The fan even dreams of football in their sleep
shouting out and butting the pillow with their head
they jump up and down as if they've scored a goal
and kick their partner out of the bed.
Yes the football fan is a breed apart
slightly eccentric and a thick skinned soul
when all that matters to them in life
is seeing their favourite player score a winning goal!
poem by Kevin Halls
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In The Local Football Oval
In the floodlight lit football oval each weeknight after tea
I hear the young men shouting as they train diligently
As their coach puts them through their training drills their exuberance I hear
They sprint about in the chill night air in the coldest time of year.
Some of the young players under twenty they have their dreams of fame
That they yet may become famous in Australia's only indigenous game
To play in an Australian Football League Grand final would be a dream come true
A dream that's dreamt by many and realized by only a few.
In the well lit football oval they kick ball and sprint around
And in their endeavour to become match fit they cover miles of ground
And they perform push ups and pull ups and natural muscle in this way they gain
For one cannot expect sporting success if for success you do not train.
In the local football oval where dreams are born and die
The shoutings of the young men echoes to the starry sky
In the chill evening air of late Autumn you hear them cheer and shout
As they race through the oval and chase the ball about.
I hear them every evening from six thirty till after eight
In the local football oval five hundred metres from my front gate
The town's young budding football stars not quite yet in their prime
And they dream of sporting greatness that will withstand the test of time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Winners Are Always The Heroes
The winners are always the heroes in life it is always this way
The losers are quickly forgotten though a fine and sporting
game they did play
'Tis only a sport it may well seem where people chase after a ball
But many take football quite seriously though 'tis only a game after all,
The winners are always the heroes and that's how it always will be
The fans of the winners are singing rejoicing in their victory
Life and sports are akin in many ways though some may say 'tis only a game
The winners get all of the applause and the winners can bask in their fame,
The winners are always the heroes and the winners get all of the praise
And always only to the winners the toasters their toasting glasses raise
The losers are quickly forgotten though some must lose for some to win
Yet some look on losing as shameful to them there is no greater sin,
In life as in sport the poor losers are the people the masses ignore
And in football the really big hero is the one who kicks the winning score.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Life Choices
Only one can be president and only one can be pope
And for every millionaire many struggle to cope
With the business of living, poor people are not rare
There are billions of them in the big World out there.
For many life is a battle uphill all of the way
The people who do survive from day to day
To stay out of jail for them a remarkable feat
For many the road to prison starts on Poverty Street.
In the refugee camps of the World thirty million mostly war refugees
And in drought ravaged Countries people dying of hunger and disease
We do have life choices some are known to say
Those who look at life in a simplistic way.
To some people life choices only apply
Most born into poverty though hard they try
Will never be wealthy or know of happiness
Their crime to be born at the wrong address.
poem by Francis Duggan
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This be the last time we use the phrase 'Slumdog
We, as Indians, have reasons
To be proud of having
Created history by the film
“Slumdog Millionaire”
At the same time, we, as human beings,
Have to have hung our heads for
Having created slums
Slum, as it means
An overcrowded area of a city,
Where the housing is in a very bad condition
And people live in unhygienic conditions
With no basic facilities
And who created slums,
Not the people residing there
But those whose greed has brought
These slum dwellers into these
Unfit-for-living conditions
The technicalities employed in
Filming this movie deserve all praise
While the different ways of living
Of the slum dwellers equally deserve attention
Of the entire human race
For correction and improvement
The film was declared to be
The best-directed
While the slum tribes have no directions
And they have no one to direct
The film was declared to be
The best film
While the slum where the film was shot
Is the worst place
For any human being
Let the recognition of the film
Bring to light the plight of slumdogs
To the fore
And let the human race do everything
Possible to move these people
Out of the slums, wherever they are,
And to help them live a decent, if not better, living
We shall be doing a great service
If this becomes the last ever time
We use this phrase “Slumdog”
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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For Many Life's Road
For many life's road is uphill all of the way
From the moment they are born till their very last day
They know what it is like to know of poverty
To make do on little their life's destiny
I feel that good luck in life has been with me
I never was homeless or a refugee
I never did go to bed hungry at night
For many life it is a much tougher fight
You do not have to go far poor people to meet
There are so many of them on Poverty Street
From where they live 'tis a long road to renown
Their ill luck to be born on the poor side of the town
For to live as a pauper is something most would not choose
Yet in life for one to win many have to lose.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Not Your Type Of Town
It will never be known as a cultural town
Where footballers and macho men vie for renown
In the pub one once spoke of Rembrandt someone asked who is he
If he does play football his name is strange to me.
If you cannot talk of work, farming, politics or sports and join your pub mates in a beer
This not your sort of town what business have you here
Though if you like line dancing and Country music that might be your saving grace
For these are the most cultural things that are known to the place.
If you talk of Beethoven or Handel they might ask who are they
For they must not be famous never heard of them anyway
Those we most admire play cricket or football
These are the people that we wish to recall.
If you are literary minded or a poet at heart
Or if you are one who is interested in art
Then this is a town you ought not to live in
For here you may not meet with similar kin.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Port Adelaide
It is the great City of Port Adelaide
Where heroes are born and legends are made
In the Australian Football League they have their own football team
For to play for Port Adelaide many Port teens do dream.
A place where Indigenous and white Australia meet
And different races live on every street
The Indigenous tribes had their corroborees long ago
By the trees near the banks where the Port waters flow.
Many nineteenth century buildings in Port Adelaide remain
Which one does suppose goes in part to explain
Why so many visitors come to that Town
Port's history is far more than football renown.
The Port river dolphins are famed far and wide
One can see them surface from the harbour side
A tourist attraction and it would be fair to say
That seeing them has made many a vistor's day.
Where the cultures meet Indigenous and European
Port Adelaide a Town where all races are seen
When in South Australia I feel at home there
Few Towns with Port Adelaide can hope to compare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Why Tell Me About It I know All Too Well
Why tell me about It I know all too well
That many are living in their Earthly Hell
The hungry the homeless the poor and downtrod
They must be the children of some Lesser God.
Why tell me about it I know for the have nots life must seem unfair
So many grow poorer for every new millionaire
The scourge of poverty rife in every Race
In a fair Human World this would not be the case.
Even in so called wealthy Nations poverty does abound
Not too far from where the rich live the homeless to be found
The streets of the poor suburb a breeding ground for crime
Where many don't live to enjoy their life's prime.
Why tell me about it of course I'm aware
That the poor of the World have never been rare
And millions are living in dire poverty
In a fair Human World this would never be.
poem by Francis Duggan
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One Of Johnny Howard's Forgotten
Like a piece of driftwood by the tide left on the beach to rot
She walks the streets of the slum end the one who is forgot
By the bureaucrats of Government they see those in poverty
As the people of the dead end who create their own reality.
The Government has been re-elected yesterday was voting day
And Johnny Howard remains as Prime Minister the voters had their say
To the middle class and to the wealthy class a hero Nationwide
And one who has greatly benefited out of the great social divide.
One of Johnny Howard's forgotten her tousled hair is gray
A woman in her sixties she has known a better day
Her Landlord raised the rent on her and now she must sleep rough
And life already on her it would seem quite hard enough.
The Government supporters are dancing in the street
As they wave their flags and buntings and victory is sweet
Yet in the World thousands are in poverty to every millionaire
And what have they to celebrate when life is so unfair.
Like a piece of driftwood on the beach that was washed in by the tide
She walks the street of the slum end her collie at her side
One of Johnny Howard's forgotten she knows of poverty
And there are many others just as pauperized as she.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Slum Dance
I go out of my way today
Just so I can dance the slum dance
With the poor people that live in the slum
Because they love to dance the slum dance
With other people
And they get very excited when they have other people
To dance the slum dance with
There is a fine weather in the sky
Where the slum is
Also in the slum there is no clean water to drink
But they have no choice rather than to drink the dirty water full of flies And mosquitoes
poem by Aldo Kraas
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