En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Jo Mountwinter

She may be in her eighties and the years have left her gray
But she sticks up for the underdog and of her one can only say
That she is one in a billion people like her are rare
There's only one Jo Mountwinter with her none to compare.

She is so very humorous so clever and so wise
And that woman has me laughing till tears come to my eyes
Her beautiful earthy accent is with her for to stay
Till the reaper will claim her the one who will claim us all one day.

For the sufferings of others she shows her empathy
And for poor asylum seekers in detention she has great sympathy
She dislikes the Conservative Government by the Aussie voters empowered
And she verbally attacks the hypocritical values of Amanda Vanstone and John Howard

Yet she criticizes the Government in such a humorous way
And one cannot help but to laugh aloud at some of the things she say
The woman deserves credit since credit she is due
To a fair go for all people she always will be true.

I know one of her daughter's Jessica a chip of the old block
Just like her marvellous mother of good old Socialist stock
If everyone thought like them a different World 'twould be
We would not have discrimination and crimes against Humanity.

The marvellous Jo Mountwinter is eighty I am told
But in her heart she is quite young and she does not look old
A fighter for worthy causes and a role model for the young
And her humour is contagious and her praises must be sung.

poem by Francis Duggan
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On The Passing Of Lizzie Hickey

I've heard of the passing of Lizzie Hickey a long life on this Earth she did enjoy
And she now lives on in another atmosphere for good people such as she will never die
Yes she lives on somewhere in the hereafter for the reaper never lays claim to the soul
And she is one I always will remember when back the lanes of memory I will stroll.

A Faithful wife to the late Johnny Hickey she raised four children Donal, Joan, John Francis and Jane
And she was a role model and a mentor and marvellous memories of her I retain
I felt saddened at the news of her passing but time 'twould seem for anyone doesn't wait
And we ought not to mourn Lizzie Hickey but her marvellous life we ought to celebrate.

There was so much to like about that woman a great role model to us school going boys
We admired her for her great depth of knowledge so down to earth and yet so very wise,
She was one of the most likeable people and in her kind heart there was so much good
And in her life she never made an enemy and she would only help you if she could.

I heard of the passing of Lizzie Hickey she now is living in a better place
At Inchaleigh close to the Town of Millstreet in our young years her's was a familiar face
She only left her soul elsewhere is living that part of her is never going to die
And in that Land that we know as the hereafter her new life she's beginning to enjoy.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Lisa Bellear

She was a marvellous woman and people like her are rare
The activist, poet and singer the great Lisa Bellear
Dead in her forty sixth year that seems so young to die
The reaper who claimed her life will claim the life of you and i.

In the aboriginal society of Melbourne her's was a well known name
And in greater Australia not a stranger to fame
A beautiful human being she had a heart of gold
The good die young true in her case she was not meant to grow old.

Gone from life but not forgotten yet none to take her place
With others she shared her gift of laughter and life she did embrace
The Melbourne indigenous community are in mourning the tears for her will flow
They have lost a friend and mentor one they did love and know.

I heard in the news this morning Lisa Bellear had died
An indigenous activist she was known far and wide
And may she rest in peace now back to Nature she has gone
But fond memories of the great one are destined to live on.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Father Joe Murphy

When i was a Schoolboy Father Joe Murphy was a young man
I recall him and his Brothers Doney and the late Johnny Dan
And though of my existence he hardly would know
One cannot help but remember the great Father Joe.

Fifty five years as a priest something to celebrate
The man has been blessed in his great gift of faith
To his own higher self and to his god true
We must give him credit since credit he is due.

Devoted to his god by good example he lead
At living a good life one who does succeed
A credit to Millstreet and the pride of his clan
The great Father Joe is a wonderful man.

In this age of the cheapening values in life
With warring and famines and poverty rife
A story like Father Joe's a great story to hear
There's still hope for humanity it does appear.

Fifty five years a priest is something well worth a boast
To Father Joe Murphy we will drink a toast
He was in his prime years when i was quite young
And surely his praises deserve to be sung.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Stand Aside John Howard

Stand aside John Howard and leave some one else take over you've had your go and you've failed to impress
For seven years you've been Prime Minister of Australia and without you there would be more happiness
The Country would be better off without you and you've clung to power in such a sneaky way
History will treat you less kind than did the Aussie voters
It's time perhaps that you called it a day.

As a leader you have only been divisive and you'll always be
seen as a lesser light
The Country now needs someone with more goodwill a leader whom the people behind can unite
You fought the last election on boat people and you've clung to power by preying on the voters fears
Move over John leave someone else take over you've only caused mistrust in seven years

If you feel the Country cannot do without you here's news for you John you have got it wrong
You are just an old style tory politician and back there in the fifties you belong
Australia will go on no matter who comes or goes and the Country will do nicely without you
Stand aside John and take your huge retirement packet a good
P.M. Aussies are overdue.

Stand aside John Howard for you have had your innings and you've clung to power in your own cunning way
You won your last election at the expense of boat people on the fears of Aussie voters you seized your chance to prey
Your Government demonised misplaced people and as a P.M. you have been so small
And you have sullied an Australian icon the Aussie belief in a fair go for all.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Women Of The World

The women of the World as people they are great
They give birth to the children and in so doing life create
In every woman ever born a nurturing soul you'll find
The mothers and the aunties a credit to Humankind.

All mothers and non mothers we ought to celebrate
The women of the World we tend to under-rate
Get rid of Patriarchy as such we do not need
History tells us that only to war the male kind us do lead.

The women of the World their praises we should sing
They have the gift of dialogue and that's a marvellous thing
'Tis not to give his life in war a mother raises her son
You seldom hear a woman sing of battles fought and won.

To the women of the World the toasting glass we'll raise
As the glue that binds humanity they are worthy of our praise
They are the unsung heroines of our World of today
The respect to them that is overdue to them we ought to pay.

poem by Francis Duggan
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There Used To Be Days

There used to be days,
when i was a witty and humorous guy,
that i could make people laugh,
until they start to cry,
and i would often create stories
filled with such a humor and joy,
that everybody would ask me
how can u do it every time oh boy.
There used to be days....

Often i would tell things in such a way,
and often i would act in such a way,
that nobody could resist to laugh,
however hard they may try,
and even if it would be late for the day,
and even if i would be done for the day,
people used to hold me by hand,
and they wont let me say good bye.
There used to be days....

While i was cruising really very fast,
one day something happened that almost broke me apart,
and in those few hours of storm,
i lost whatever wit and humor i ever had,
i thought the things would improve,
but nothing happened as the days passed by,
and i the witty and humorous guy became a silent and shy guy.
but there used to be days...

now nobody laughs at my jokes,
however hard i may try,
and in such a despaired state i am,
that for myself often i cry,
But my heart says to me, keep on giving a try,
life would flip again someday,
and people would again start to laugh at my jokes,
whenever any i will say,
but till now only i can say
that there used to be days...

poem by Sunny Mittal
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Beauty Has Many Faces

To tell her she is beautiful is not that hard to say
And 'twill only make her feel good about herself and help to make her day
She may even blush a little and say that's not really true
But thank you for the compliment it is so sweet of you.

She may not be good looking and she may be getting old
But she is a marvellous person and she has a heart of gold
Beauty has many faces an old man once told me
And often the greatest beauty is the beauty one can't see.

A woman may look beautiful but visual beauty sometimes lie
And often the greatest beauty escapes the naked eye
When someone says she's a beautiful person he may not even mean
That she's attractive looking a nubile beauty queen.

Beauty has many faces her hair may be turning gray
But she is a beautiful person though her beauty hid away
She helps out other people and good causes she embrace
And there is more to beauty than a young and pretty face.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Boy Mimics The Father

The boy mimics the father he is his father's son
And he tells all of his young mates of the good things his dad has done
The mentors of tomorrow are the fathers of today
Through your good or bad example your child follows the way.

Since dad was his role model before he walked on his feet
The mistakes of the father the son he will repeat
The mentor of his young years is the mentor of his life
He watched dad beat his mother he too will beat his wife.

The boys mimics the father though you well may disagree
That us humans are impressionable but that's how 'twould seem to me
The main role model of our childhood through life points us the way
The young rogue of the future is the son of the rogue of today.

That the boy mimics the father in most cases does apply
And why this should be I cannot say though I can understand why
The boy mimics the father his role model is dad
And most times that is a good thing though on rare occasions it can be bad.

poem by Francis Duggan
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We Live In An Ageist Society

We live in an ageist society where ageing people are treated as second class
Where the ageing man and ageing woman are seen as inferior to the young man and the young lass
And the older you get life gets harder the future belong to the young
And so many on retirement pensions are lonely, forgotten and unsung.

They worked hard for to raise their children but they will end their days in a retirement home
And their children don't visit them often 'twould seem that their usefulness they have outgrown,
One might say they've had a good innings though nothing easy came their way
And I do not find it consoling to think their lot will be my lot one day.

I fear growing old more than I fear death their last few years so few enjoy
But I suppose that there is consolation to know that the wealthy too grow old and die
And life too will go on without them their money will not keep them alive
The Reaper one day he will claim them though to an old age they survive.

We live in an ageist society and ageism is on the increase
One can feel happy for the dear departed at least they can now rest in peace
Rejected in their old age and lonely with only their good memories left to recall
And only the Reaper awaits them the Reaper who waits for us all.

poem by Francis Duggan
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No Woman No Cry

Original version 1975 by bob marley & the wailers
No woman no cry
No woman no cry
No woman no cry
No woman no cry
Cause I remember when we used to sit
In a government yard in trenchtown
Observing the hypocrites
Mingle with the good people we meet
Good friends we have, now
Good friends we have lost
Along the way
In this great future,
You cant forget your past
So dry your tears, I say
No woman no cry
No woman no cry
Oh little darling, dont shed no tears
No woman no cry
Cause I remember when we used to sit
In the government yard in trenchtown
When georgie would make the fire lights
I say, log would burnin through the nights
Then we would cook cornmeal porridge
Of which Ill share with you
My feet is my only carriage
So Ive got to push on thru,
And while Im gone
Everything s gonna be alright
Everything s gonna be alright
Everything s gonna be alright now
Everything s gonna be alright
Everything s gonna be alright now
Everything s gonna be alright
No woman no cry
No woman no cry
No woman no cry
No woman no cry
No woman no cry
Oh little darlin dont shed no tears
No woman no cry
Oh little darlin dont shed no tears
No woman no cry
Said I re, said I re, said I remember
No woman no cry
You and I and you and I and you and i
No woman no cry
Cause I remember when we used to sit there
No woman no cry
In a government yard
No woman no cry
No woman no cry
No woman no cry, yeah
No woman no cry
No woman no cry (you sweet darling)
No woman no cry
No woman no cry, yeah
No woman no cry
No woman no cry, yeah
No woman no cry
No woman no cry

song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Young Aussie

In the company of women he is not coy or shy
A real macho type is the young Aussie guy
And some young women like him though some young women say
A bit of a boofhead who pushes his way.

He likes to talk cricket with his mates drinking beer
But of God and of religion he does not wish to hear
He does not have a God for to which he can pray
And he is never seen in a church on sunday.

He is a great fan of Aussie Rules Football
To him the one true game and the best game of them all
On friday night he goes to the football and on saturday to the pub
And on sunday evening he drinks in the Sportsman's Club.

The young Aussie bloke he doesn't use words like date
His woman to him she is more of a mate
On saturday night at the disco for five hours or more
He parties and drinks till the small hours of four.

Though much his own man in him there is much good
And the young Aussie he would help you if he could
But don't mention God to him for he will only say
That only the impressionable to the unseen do pray.

poem by Francis Duggan
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If This Is What Freedom Is About

If this is what freedom is about who would wish to be free
When only of war dead we read and hear about and pictures of death we see
Mothers grieving for their dead children in Iraq their heartbreak with them will stay
Until the Reaper claim them though for them 'twill be a happy day.

Is this what freedom is about when some talk of liberty
For the suffering of others they cannot show empathy
They say to rid you of your tyrant some of your children had to die
But that's the price you pay for democracy so your freedom now enjoy.

If this is what freedom is about then tyranny sounds sweet
A young woman murdered by a suicide bomber bits of her scattered around the Street
For how many years must this go on how many more must die in this way
If this is what freedom is about the price is too much too pay.

Is this what freedom is about a young man without feet
And some even say he is lucky that the Reaper he did cheat
The victim of a roadside bomb now in his mother's care
Do not talk of freedom to the one who sits in his wheelchair.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Smirking Peter Costello

Smirking Peter Costello wee Johnny Howard's heir
What his views are on others I do not much care
Since he is only courting the Conservative right
I would not trust him with my life though he is cunning and bright.

On what it takes to be a good Aussie he likes to have his say
But I for one respect to his views does not pay
As his views do have racial undertones it does seem seem to me
Though with my opinion many would disagree.

Smirking Peter Costello he is so full of guile
He is one of those people who smirk when they smile
Johnny Howard's job he craves and he secretly pursue
Yet he is a good Politician to give him his due.

On Howard's retirement he patiently wait
But wee Johnny the top job may never vacate
Till at the polls he's defeated or of old age he die
And that might be for two decades between you and I.

On the Government benches as they sit side by side
Their contempt for each other they struggle to hide
Sneaky wee John as P M is determined to stay
And Costello like a bad smell will just not go away.

And what of opposition leader Kim Beazley known as runner up Kim
There is very little to enthuse about him
Post next Election the next Australian Prime Minister perhaps one of these three
And of the job none of them worthy it does seem to me.

Smirking Peter Costello a man who craves power
But he may never know of his glorious hour
For Howard like a leech to the top job does cling
One must suppose the human lust for power is a natural thing.

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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On The Tiger Woods Affair

In the sporting World his is the most photographed face
And in golf he is the one who does take pride of place
His marriage in trouble not an unusual case
But he is not the first male to have fallen from grace.

The man with many mistresses in his life
Tiger Woods the World's number one golfer unfaithful to his wife
But before rushing to condemn him it may be best to recall
That all humans are flawed and he's human after all.

Known throughout the World in every village, city and town
To be a marvellous golfer his claim to renown
A golfing billionaire millions his praises do sing
And that women should fall for him a natural thing.

People created their false image of him as one morally clean
But he is only human you know what I mean
When beautiful young women offer themselves to you it is hard to say no
That all humans make mistakes is something we all know.

Tiger Woods the World's number one golfer is not a public foe
And like everyone else he deserves a fair go
The marriage infidelities of many famous people by the media made known
But peoples personal lives should remain as their own.

poem by Francis Duggan
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John Howard In Retirement

John Howard in retirement he lives the good life
With Janette one can say his devoted wife
His term as Australian Prime Minister by the voters was brought to an end
But with fame and money he won't go short of a friend
Howard's Government policies did not unite but divide
Their Work Choices did get the Trade Unions offside
But the Government defeated and their Work Choices with them gone
A win for the Workers and the Unions live on
Kevin Ruud who dethroned him may well celebrate
But on him there too is an unseen use by date
By the Australian voters as Prime Minister empowered
But will his fate be that any different to Howard?
The one who divided and could not unite
He failed when he took on the Trade Union's might.

poem by Francis Duggan
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My Inspiration.

My Inspiration growing up would have to be my very own mom Thelma Ligons. She not only taught me how to be a young lady but she showed me in her actions, as she carried herself around other people. People are probably wondering why I didn’t pick someone else well it’s because. My Mother well my mommy has always giving me advice on how to carry myself around people, how to carry myself around strangers. If it wasn’t for this lady then I would’ve not have turn out into this nice young lady that you have before you today. She is my pick for inspiration for being the example of how to be a soldier for the Lord, she is my inspiration on how to be a prayer warrior, she is my inspiration on how stick up for my religion when I am faced in battle against it.
My mom has been my inspiration for eighteen years and may it be longer Lord willing. I can’t imagine her not inspiring to do things right, she has inspired me to go to college to make something of myself; she has inspired me to do things that I thought I couldn’t. Her inspiration has carried on through me like if she had put sewn it on me. I really appreciate my Mother’s Inspiration and what it has done for me. Praise God for her cause her inspiring has lead to great miracles and many good deeds.
Inspiration you ask well I just gave you my inspiration. My best friend and she will always be my mommy till the day that I die.
A mother is...A role model, someone who you can look up to, and someone that will give great advice. A mother is...A comedian, someone that's always there to make you laugh, someone that can always make you smile. My mother is...Sugar and spice, everything nice. Creative, fun, special. Artistic, jazzy, surprising. Goofy, crazy, smiley. She’s my mother, and I love her.

poem by Natasha Ligons
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On Money

The praises of moneyed people many like to sing
And though money is quite important it cannot buy everything
Those with very poor health money cannot enjoy
That is something I learned as a very young boy
The great lure of money so many pursue
And that money speaks every language happens to be true
But the Reaper with his scythe any life does not spare
The Reaper of lives does claim the life of the billionaire
And though money can buy one friends as well as esteem
Money cannot buy one happiness or so it does seem
Though lack of money too can make one unhappy and as everyone know
That money on bushes and trees does not grow
And though money of course can buy one a good time
Lack of it can lead one to jail the price of serious crime.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Now that august is gone

Now that august is gone
And we all know that all augusts come and go
Is this woman? a woman of vertue,
Is this woman? a super woman
Is this woman? a woman of mission and vision
Is this woman? classy and stylish
Is this woman? preffesional or house wife
And the woman of action and motion

A woman of courage and resilence
A woman of liberation and liberty
A woman of passion and compassion
A woman of thoughts and opinions
A woman of empathy and sympathy
A woman of concerns and kindness
.
A woman of confrontation or insecurity
A woman of altracation or tranquility
A woman of ambition or armunition
A woman of redeemtion or detention
A woman of power or affection
Is this woman a woman

I am not questining you, woman!
I was questioning this woman

poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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He Will Always Be Loved By One Person

He will always be loved by one person despite what some of him might say
His mother will surely grieve for him the man they are hanging today
His mother for his life she pleaded and she must live with the heartache
That will live with her till the reaper claims her since her son is to die at daybreak,
Her son he is not a bad person he just made an awful mistake
He was carrying drugs for a drug dealer not for his own but for his brother's sake
His brother was in financial difficulties that story too long to tell here
His mistake for the love of his brother and for his mistake he will pay dear
For the hangman will hang him at daybreak the minutes on his life are ticking down
He will die in the gray of the dawning long miles away from his Hometown
Without a last hug from his mother and brother in such a way none deserves to die
The Government leaders who condemned him to his fate they surely are living a lie
When they proclaim themselves as good people despite the foul things they have done
By condemning a young man to the gallows and robbing a mum of her son.

poem by Francis Duggan
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