In Often Very Windy Warrnambool
In Warrnambool another gusty day
A freshening wind blow up from Lady Bay
Through the coastal City bathed in sunshine
Where the pale eyed crows caw on the norfolk pine
In old Warrnambool there's many a wind burnt face
It is indeed a very windy place
O'er Warrnambool the Goddess of the Wind blows in the sky
To the coastal City she must live nearby
The weather it is mostly warm to cool
In often very windy Warrnambool
Where the residents for their hospitality are well known
The natives there have a charm of their own
Where dead leaves on the sidewalks are blown up and down
By the curling winds that blow in the big Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I'd Love To Live In Warrnambool
I'd love to live in Warrnambool down by the Lady Bay
I would walk to the nearby beach in Summer every day
And walk along the shallows saltwater to my knees
And feel the coolness of the waves in the freshening ocean breeze
I'd like to live in Warrnambool at least of such I dream
But dreams seldom ever come true at least that's how 'twould seem
Old Warrnambool is a special place with a charm of it's own
As a beautiful Victorian Rural City it has become well known
Where the white waves of the Pacific by the breakwater roll
The rural City of Warrnambool is a City with a soul
Most of the people there are friendly they smile and say hello
With every visit to Warrnambool my love for the place does grow
I'd love to live in Warrnambool the City by the sea
And though there is no harm in wishing that well may never be.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Warrnambool City
In the coastal City known as Warrnambool
In the Winter you can swim in the heated swimming pool
And in Summer there's surfing and swimming and other good fun
As well as sunbathing in the lamp of the sun
Some beautiful beaches by the big coastal Town
But it is not for such Warrnambool knows of renown
But for it's friendly people on every street
Happy and smiling faces you are bound to meet
The population of Warrnambool in numbers has grown
And as a multicultural Rural City it is now well known
The Capital of south west Victoria Warrnambool by the sea
A welcoming Town for many a refugee
In it's parks and beaches Nature's beauty to behold
In a great City to live in for the young and the old.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Mid September In Warrnambool
An evening in September the weather dry though cool
And people out jogging, walking and cycling on the beach road at Warrnambool
And above the calm ocean in the west the sun going down
A mile or maybe even less from the famous sea-side Town
Of Warrnambool in Victoria it's beauty is well known
In size and population in a decade it has grown
As a major Victorian coastal City it has become known far and wide
And the people who live in the Bool in their Hometown take great pride.
On late Winter and early Spring off of Logan's beach the Southern Right whales come to breed
And to watch these marine giants with their huge babies is an amazing sight indeed
For Warrnambool a major tourist attraction and quite an amazing sight
To watch them breaching for air in the warm Spring sunlight.
Mid September in Warrnambool a lovely time of year
When in the coastal City one can sense Utopia near
The people are so friendly most of them say hello
A pleasant place to visit and a pleasant place to know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Warrnambool In January
Tis warm in the full sun but in the shade tis cool
And the magpies and the mudlarks are singing in the City of Warrnambool
Their music in the Summer air where the cars buzz up and down
On Lava Street in the heart of the busy seaside Town.
A pleasant day in January a high of twenty nine degrees
And there is a nice sort of coolness in the freshening coastal breeze
And the magpies and the mudlarks pipe their distinctive melodies
Near where the traffic it is buzzing on the sunlit street trees.
In Warrnambool in January in the holiday time of year
The accents of different races in the shopping malls one does hear
Quite a nice City to visit if you are driving that way
So many people there do smile at you and bid you a good day.
An old rural City in Victoria in the coastal countryside
The famed City of Warrnambool it is known far and wide
The magpies they are fluting and the mudlarks sing pee wee
And the Summer sun is shining on the City by the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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No Southern Right Whales
No southern right whales at Warrnambool last year
Due to oil exploration near Logan's Beach we hear
For to give birth the females went elsewhere
At Logan's Beach for them too noisy there.
Whether or not they do return next Spring
To Warrnambool when the nesting birds do sing
Or will they swim by Warrnambool and not decide to stay
Time can only tell as some are known to say.
For to give birth they need a quiet place
For to insure the survival of their dwindling race
Where they and their young can stay for a month or more
Where human beings for oil do not explore.
Will southern right whales give birth at Warrnambool again
Or will Warrnambool's loss be another coastal town's gain?
Breaching whale mothers and their calves an amazing sight to see
And of such I retain the memory.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Koroit's 09 Football Premiership
They celebrate in the Commercial and Mickey Bourke's pub
The marvellous win of Koroit Saints Football Club
The Warrnambool Blues the pride of Warrnambool Town
In the Football Grand Final to the red and black went down
To the memory of such a victory Koroit fans will cling dear
They will celebrate well into next year
The Grand Final win to the Town has brought cheer
They do celebrate there in spirits and beer
From shop and house windows red and black balloons and bunters in the wind blow
Their great love of Koroit all koroitians do show
And well do they have reason to celebrate
Their present footballers with Koroit's best do rate
Their 09 Premiership for them a huge victory
Something that is destined to live in memory.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Great Merri River
Through the old brown paddocks it flows night and day
The great Merri river from here far away
Through the coastal lands of Warrnambool on it's way to the sea
Older than the age of the Dinosaurs it pre-dates history.
It has flowed for millions of centuries of time
The river that has inspired story and rhyme
In Nature's four Seasons Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring
Through old coastal lands where the brown bushlark sing.
The great Merri river will flow forever more
To Warrnambool on to the Pacific shore
From it's dark deep pools the sea trout jump for fly
It has flowed through all Seasons and weather warm and dry.
In the long gone Dreamtime in the shade of the trees
The Indigenous people danced their corroborees
On the banks of the Merri in a corroboree ring
By the river they loved as they danced they did sing.
They had lived here for centuries before Europeans came
And for their beloved river they had their own name
The river known to all as the Merri of today
On towards the Pacific it babbles it's way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Archie Roach, Ruby Hunter and Shane Howard
He is as near to his old home in Framlingham as he might wish to be
In Killarney between Warrnambool and Port Fairy by the Pacific sea
With the renowned Ruby Hunter his long time soul mate
The legendary Archie Roach an Aussie music great.
Their neighbour and friend is Shane Howard the singer songwriter supreme
Those three together what a musical team
Together great music and songs they will compose
Great talents are born to be great one would have to suppose.
They do not come any greater it does seem to me
Than Archie Roach, Ruby Hunter and Shane Howard old Killarney's big three
For their talents and achievements them one can only admire
And to even greater things each other they will inspire.
Between Warrnambool City and Port Fairy Town
In Beautiful Killarney of scenic renown
Live three Australian entertainers each in their own right a great name
As singer songwriters they enjoy Worldwide fame.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Windy Town
Theres gotta be something more to this life were given
Gotta be peace o mind and a piece o living
When the losers have won
And the damage is done
Only then will you be saved.
She dancing on thin ice while her mind is skating
Hes building on the dust that is suffocating
And a baby that cries
In a city of lies
For a freedom that is craved
And high will you fly tonight
In dreams you can hold this tight
But when will love blow round
When will love blow through windy town.
Sunny had a street that she couldnt live in
Sunny had a room that she couldnt breath in
But a heart that could feel
And a hand that could heal
And a passion filled with rage.
I never felt the air with a wind of change
I only felt a storm with a wind and rain
A city so deep
A soul without sleep
And a heart thats filled with pain
And high will you fly tonight
In dreams you can hold this tight
But when will love blow round
When will love blow through windy town.
Look out on a million dreams
Theres fire in all those schemes
Feel the burn of investigation
Love will be your inspiration.
Baby lets go again
On me and you it all depends
The power of love is a powerful friend
And I will love you till the end.
And high will you fly tonight
In dreams you can hold this tight
But when will love blow round
When will love blow around
When will love blow through windy town.
Baby through windy town
When will love blow.
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Wind From... Elsewhere
The wind blows here... the wind blows there
The wind seems to blow from... everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair...
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! Can you see its graceful fingers... playing in your hair?
Nay! You cannot see the wind... e'en though you know it's there.
It's flitting... it's flirting... it's prancing everywhere
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! It blows unexpectedly... with a gentle breeze... it blows...
The Great Hand of Miracles... brings it... then it goes
To greet the early morning sun... to dance to and fro
From the highest, loftiest mountain heights... to valleys... far below. 'Who is He that sitteth upon the circle of the earth...
Who gathereth the winds in his fists—Who maketh a wind to pass over...
Thou hearest the sound thereof...
But canst not tell whence it cometh... and wither it goeth.' The wind blows here... the wind blows there...
The wind seems to blow... from everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair—
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE!
poem by Elga Haymon White
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Tommy Carty The Musician
Tommy Carty the musician a marvel of guitar
From his Homecity of Dublin he is living far
In South West Victoria in the City Of Warrnambool
One honoured as a Legend of the Koroit Lake School.
Not into self promotion of such he seems shy
But true talent of him one could never deny
His music says more of him than words can say
One of the best living guitarists of today.
In a Human World of self promotion and so much self conceit
One as humble as he is such a pleasure to meet
Yet when it comes to playing of guitar few with him to compare
The Tommy Cartys of this World to say the least rare.
Amongst the musicians of South West Victoria one famed and well known
One might say of him in a class of his own
So self effacing and down to earth in his own humble way
The masterful guitarist he just loves to play.
In South West Victoria a legendary name
Yet his is far greater than a local fame
The high standard of guitar playing he sets for himself he does attain
And Dublin's loss is surely Warrnambool's gain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Hopkins River
Centuries before the black people to this Land came
An unknown Country that did not have a name
The river now known as the Hopkins through the scrublands did flow
And that is going back many centuries ago.
The dinosaurs came at the twilight of the day
For to slake their thirst at the quiet water-way
And though the dinosaurs from the World are forever gone
The old Hopkins river keeps babbling on.
Through the flat brown Countryside to Warrnambool to the sea
The Hopkins has flowed for century on century
Through places dry and stony and places remote
The river has inspired the artist and poet.
For to sketch and sing of it in decades gone by
The river that has never stopped flowing through Summer's warm and dry
And though the artist and poet now with the deceased lay
The Hopkins keeps babbling on night after day.
Through places dry and stony and places remote and brown
On down to the ocean near Warrnambool Town
And the Seasons may come and the Seasons may go
But the old Hopkins river forever will flow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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When The Wind Blows
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
In a part of this once-great city
Stands a child crying out in pity.
Gone is hope in the heart of each hungry hour.
Every year in this land of plenty
There are millions of starving children
What will i say if they look my way?
This is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Bow your heads to the lost generation
Scars so deep, bringing god's damnation.
Businessmen sip wine while congress argue.
But for grace we enjoy our pleasures
What we face will be our salvation
Go build your towns, but remember time will not forget
That this is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Think of what the wise men said.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer's Wind
Be weary, Lord of the summer wind,
Lord of the heat that you blow in,
Away with flowers, land and trees,
To stay them not, least all the trees.
Listen to this, all that I say,
Our land does die, and drift away.
Our living born upon the wind,
All of ours, and those of friends.
So we called upon the leave-filled wind,
The autumn one, of which were friends.
This wind of cool and gentle hand,
Not like the wind that stole our land.
And the heat did melt into the leaves,
And turned them colors from the trees.
Then the leave-filled wind bore them away,
And upon the land, they came to stay.
And stayed them there, till land-hard cold,
And then the land, the leaves they stole.
And after the harsh cold wind had blown,
And living soil again was sown,
Summer's wind came again to prey,
Upon our lands, most every day.
But our living land, the leaves did save,
And the summer's wind did blow away,
Never to re-live, the seasons day.
The cool soft wind now blows so free,
Upon the land, and through the trees.
All through the people, and over me.
poem by Sandra Osborne
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Malediction
I am walking in the last rays of the setting sun.
Whistling a hangmans tune with head held high swinging my gun.
I say this little boy is angry, I say this little boy is mad!
This little boy comes to destroy, stone-eyed, cold-faced in swathes of vengeance clad.
And the black cock crows. and a dead wind blows.
In my wake are seven men who tried to steal my soul.
In my belly six wild wolves curse and howl from their foul hole.
I say no earthly will may stop me, I say no earthly will may try.
No earthly will may halt the spill of blood from wounds and tears from craving eyes.
And the black cock crows. and a dead wind blows.
Below me burn the city lights like fires of pearls and jewels.
Im climbling down the city walls, unseen, unfussed - the sentries must be fools.
I say all pleasantries are over, I say all pleasantries are past.
My enemies, you pimps and thieves, prepare to meet your nemesis at last.
And the black cock crows. and the dead wind blows.
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When the wind blows
When the wind blows in autumn
Falling leaves are the outcome
As the trees become lonesome
Naked without leaves
But with the believe
Again to become wholesome
When the wind blows in winter
It welcomes a chilling breeze
With it comes the familiar freeze
Everything becomes cheaper
Activities decrease, the only increase
Are the utility bills
When the wind blows in spring
Plants spring back to life
All natural life awakens and sings
With the honeybees buzzing and cheering
The wind begins to show signs of caring
For it is awaiting summer and preparing
Whilst gently airing
When the wind blows in summer
Its power is less fierce and dimmer
Like a beginner of a swimmer
The winds touch is a lot calmer
As it turns on its gentle charmer
Allowing us to get carried away
On the hot beaches as dreamers
To a winters wind
They say no, no, no
To a summers wind
They say blow, blow, blow
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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As the cold wind blows
As the cold wind blows
I smile and laugh
As the cold wind blows
Im warm and safe
As the cold wind blows
The fire inside is hot
As the cold wind blows
My love is not for naught
As the cold wind blows
My love keeps me warm
As the cold wind blows
I feel only this love
Warming me making me
The man I am today
As the cold wind blows
I know soon this cold wind will blow away.
poem by Troy Nichols
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Windy Town
Driving home from the highland line
We done some gigs on the clyde and the tyne
They flew us in from a hamburg strip
The taste of dusseldorf still on our lips
And on the bus there is a friend of mine
We go way back to the scene of the crime
We sit up front and share a cigarette
And try to remember what we tried to forget
He say do you remember?
He say do you recall?
I say yeah I remember, oh, I remember it all
Every time that cold wind blows
Every time I hear that sound
Late night trains shunting down by the river
I remember windy town
We come so far and we move so fast
Making hay see it all go past
Round the world and round again
Up and down on that gravy train
But every time that cold wind blows
Every time I hear that sound
The east coast cross winds on the cold wet stone
I remember windy town
The freezing corners and the empty streets
The burning passion and the cold wet feet
Three tricky miles home every night
Dodging from the shadows underneath those amber light
No car for kissing and nowhere to go
Except inside each other and I loved you so
I held your face as you shivered in the rain
Girl Ill always love you and Ill love you again
Oh everytime, everytime
Every time that cold wind blows
Every time I hear that sound
Late night trains shunting down by the river
I remember windy town
Every time that cold wind blows
Every time I hear that sound
The east coast cross winds on the cold wet stone
I remember windy town
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kansa
People of the Wind:
a fitting name
for those who lived
on the windy plains.
People of the wind
live in Oklahoma now
but their name was claimed
by the center state.
Flying with the wind
when horses came
they roamed
the hills and valleys
of the place
that took their name:
The People of the Wind
on the windy plains.
poem by Duane L. Herrmann
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Who has seen the wind
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor i.
But we can feel the windy breeze.
As it hits between our knees.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither i nor you.
But we can feel the windy air.
As it hits and gives a flare.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither i nor you.Neither you, nor i.
But we can still appreciate it, just as easily as we can hate it!
Who has heard the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when we feel a windy breeze,
the wind is passing by.
Who has heard the wind?
neither I nor you.
But, as you feel the windy air,
you know that the wind is there.
poem by Chloe Clooless
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