July The First
The grey roos sheltering beneath the pine trees it is a wet and a wintery Winter's day
Yet in the rain the magpie he is piping on a high branch of a tall mountain gray
And yet the weather is not cold or chilly it does not seem a bad start to July
The Winter sun by the rain is hidden and overcast looking the morning sky
The Southern Winter I feel is far more pleasant than the Southern Summer at least the weather never gets too cold
That I do find mild Winter days a bit chilly has to be proof I must be getting old
On the Winter flowering trees the red wattlebirds are calling they have a certain hoarseness in their cry
And the pied currawongs the dark crow sized birds their karrawang notes are uttering as through the park from tree to tree they fly,
The white cockatoos in the drizzling rain are squawking from other birds them one cannot mistake
They are at their noisiest in the gloam of evening and in the early morning at daybreak
Three species of white cockatoo the sulphur crested and long billed and short billed corella by voice and appearance from each other not hard to identify
They live in large flocks and to each other nearby,
The rain drizzling down from a sky that's gloomy gray
But for July the first it is mild enough for a Winter's day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Rainy Day In Early June
The gray sky clouded over the rain is drizzling down
And the golf course is deserted by the river near the town
An early June day in early Winter in the Southern Hemisphere
The sun in the rain clouds hidden it is that time of year
From once you hear him singing his voice with you remain
The magpie he is piping in defiance of the rain
The gray and brown red wattlebird with a hoarseness in his cry
Is calling on a flowering gum that drips of rain nearby
To the vast expanse of dark water that crawls slowly to the sea
And in the calm dampness of the drizzling rain come the song of the pee wee
On this rainy day in early Winter it seems a long way from the Spring
When most of Nature's wildborn birds will build their nests and chirp and sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Hearing A White Backed Magpie Singing In The Rain
The white backed magpie singing and skies so gloomy gray
And magpie does sound happy on such a gloomy day
But why is magpie happy what reason for his joy
All in the depths of Winter this morning in July? .
The rain come down in torrents and dark clouds o'er the hill
And freshening winds blow colder the breath of winter chill
The raindrops freely running adown the window pane
And still the magpie singing and whistling in the rain.
Why is the magpie singing what reason for his cheer
On this cold day in winter the wettest of the year?
The wettest day of Winter the wind blow cold and strong
And merry magpie singing his distinct happy song.
The white backed magpie piping his happy melody
On wettest day in Winter on rain soaked blackwood tree
And I ponder the question the simple question why?
The magpie feel so happy on wet day in July.
poem by Francis Duggan
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When The Gray Fog Covers The Great Gums
When the gray fog covers the great gums and the pied currawongs they do call
You know heavy rain is approaching to Kalorama in late Fall
Across the high woodlands of Yarra Ranges the cool winds of early May blow
The mountain ash have seen many Seasons and with each Season taller they grow
The people who live near the high woods feel proud of their place of tall trees
The laughter of the kookaburras the mountain ash soughing in the breeze
When the gray fog covers the great gums you know that the Winter is near
The mountain air is a bit chilly in the Yarra Ranges in the Fall of the year,
The white cockatoos they are squawking their grating calls not a pleasant sound
Though quite pretty birds for to look at in the high woods their numbers abound
The king parrots and crimson rosellas quite beautiful birds to behold
In tree cavities they are born and 'tis said they live to be old
And the pied currawongs the big dark birds in the fog hidden woodland do call
And the rain clouds beginning to drizzle in Kalorama in the late Fall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Victoria's Weather
On fifth day of September five days into the Spring
The currawongs the birds of rain on the high gum trees sing
And weather back to Winter change and chill the breezes blow
And it's been hailing all the day and cold enough to snow.
In latter days of Winter the weather nice and fine
And morning paddocks gray with frost that melted in sunshine
And temperatures rose through the day to near twenty degrees
And warmth in the sunshine and warmth in the breeze.
Victoria's weather changes quick it's always been that way
And a heavy shower of cold Spring hail has left the garden gray
A high of five a low of two that's what the forecast say
In the only place that you will get four Seasons in one day.
The currawongs the birds of rain sing on the tall gum trees
On this the coldest day of Spring it's only five degrees
And through the wood on Selby hill the chilly breezes blow
And it's been hailing all the day and cold enough to snow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Rainy Morning In May
There is a distinct coolness in the late Autumn breeze
And it's chilly in the highlands though not cold enough to freeze
And a high today the forecast read of 17 degrees
And the currawongs are piping on the eucalyptus trees.
And the rain come down in drizzles and the rainy sky is gray
And the ravens they are cawing on the pines across the way
And even for the end of Autumn this is not a pleasant day
And the Winter is approaching as we near the end of May.
On the golf links looking green now people play golf in the rain
And for the eastern suburbs golfers it's umbrella time again
Doesn't matter about the weather they will play rain, hail or shine
And they have been playing all morning since the gates opened at nine.
When you hear the spur winged plover calling o'er his breediong ground
In the darkness of the morning o'er the paddock flying around
You know what time of year it is as they breed in the late Fall
And they raise their chicks in winter in the dampest days of all.
It's been drizzling all the morning and the sky is looking gray
And the weather is not pleasant even though it is late May
And the golfers on the golf links practice their swings in the rain
And for the outdoor lover it's umbrella time again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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An August Morning At Upper Gully
The smoke from the chimneys curled down in the sky
And it's colder and wetter than 'twas in July
And fog o'er the forest a blanket of gray
And darkening rain clouds more showers on the way.
The currawongs calling the dark birds of rain
And into the station roars the city bound train
And cars on the highway racing to and fro
And down the high woodlands the chilly winds blow.
At 7 a.m. and the temperatures low
And it's cold in upper Gully cold enough to snow
Yet on this bleak morning great beauty i see
Bright yellow flowers blooming on the wattle tree.
Their loud cackling laughter one could not mistake
And they call through the morning just after daybreak
On the higher branches of old mountain gray
The kookaburras herald a cold Winter's day.
Three weeks left in August and Spring is so near
On this perhaps the coldest day of the year
And dark rain clouds gather in bleak morning sky
And it's colder and wetter than 'twas in July.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Wintery Day
The sun hidden in dark gray clouds Winter wears her shroud of gloom
But on the camellias and the magnolias the pink and white flowers bloom
And though the wind with a damp cold chill is blowing from north to south
Even in the depths of Winter Nature's beauty is about
The soft chirpings of the crimson rosellas so pleasant for to hear
Their notes do not seem to vary at any time of year
And the flute like notes of the magpie in the wooded hillside ring
In this their breeding Season at night his kind does sing
The harsh calls of the white sulphur crested cockatoos one never could mistake
One does often hear them in the wood at nightfall and daybreak
And the bubbling song of the grey butcherbird melodious and clear
Brings to the gloomy Winter's day the joy of Nature's cheer
The rain it falls in drizzles and the breeze has a cool chill
And the dampness of the Winter hangs around the wooded hill.
poem by Francis Duggan
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One Day Nearer Spring
The weather cold this morning it is only two degrees
And a thick fog through the woodland, I can hardly see the trees
And the wildborn birds are silent there is scarcely any breeze
It's a day for woolly jumper though not cold enough to freeze.
For Winter in Victoria the weather seems quite dry
And the mornings foggy and quite cold allowing for July
And the fog doesn't lift till mid morning and the sun shines through the gray
And you see the grayness of your breath on a chilly Winter
day.
But only yesterday I saw male blackbird searching for a nesting site
On the ivy along galvanize fence in mid afternoon sunlight
And from there he flew to camellia tree as he pondered on where best
Might be the safest place for him and his mate to build their year's first nest.
The last leaves off of deciduous tree lay scattered on the ground
And in the grayness of the dawn the silence is profound,
The ghost like trees shrouded in gray and the birds refuse to sing
But every Winter day that dawns is one day nearer Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Bright And Sunny Day
A bright and sunny day in the Winter it makes one happy to be alive
A nice day to go out the Country if one had a car for to drive
Or to have a walk in the parkland and enjoy the Winter sunshine
Last night it was windy and raining this sort of weather suits me fine,
It is said of Victoria's weather that you get four Seasons in a day
It rains and becomes chilly and windy and skies become clouded and gray
And then the sun burns through the cumulus making everywhere warm and bright
And sparrows in the sunlit hedgerows are chirping in the Winter sunlight,
A bright and sunny day in the Winter and not a rain cloud in the sky
A typical Winter's day in Victoria what one might expect of July
The State of four Seasons in one day of chilly wind and of sunshine and rain
The magpie he pipes in all weather and the breeding frogs sing in the drain,
A bright and sunny day in the Winter and not a rain cloud in the sky
In the State of four Seasons in one day quite typical one might say for July.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Hearing A Grey Shrike Thrush Singing In The Rain
The grey thrush sing on branch of mountain gray
At twilight of a most Unspring like day
On October evening made damp by drizzling rain
And grey bird sing his same song o'er again.
And freshening wind has breath of winter sting
Seems more like Winter now than middle Spring
And wind driven rain fall from the darkening sky
And still the grey thrush pipes his notes of joy.
I wonder why he sing so merrily
On low down branch of noble gray gum tree
Could it be that he can tell from inner eye
That tomorrow's weather will be warm and dry?
Or could he sing that in some nearby tree
His wife on nest shelter new family?
And he tell his neighbours this my territory
And I'm now a dad 'oh lucky happy me'.
And why he sing should it matter anyway
His song at close of wet October day?
The weather dreary for the time of year
But grey thrush's notes sweet music to my ears.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Hearing A Grey Shrike Thrush
The grey shrike thrush on branch of mountain gray
At twilight of a most Unspring like day
On October eve made damp by drizzling rain
And grey bird sing his same song o'er again
And freshening wind has breath of winter sting
Seems more like Winter now than middle Spring
And wind driven rain fall from the darkening sky
And still the gray thrush pipes his notes of joy.
I wonder why he sing so merrily
On low down branch of noble gray gum tree
Could it be that he can tell from inner eye
That tomorrow's weather will be warm and dry? .
Or could he sing that in some nearby tree
His wife on nest shelter new family
And he tell his neighbours this my territory
And I'm now a dad 'oh lucky happy me'? .
And why he sing should it matter anyway
His song at close of wet October day
The weather dreary for the time of year
But grey thrush's notes sweet music to the ear.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Pleasant Day For July
In the cool sun of mid Winter a gentle northern breeze
Is whispering in the parkland on the gum and wattle trees
The leaves are quietly stirring as the branches gently sway
And the sparrows are chirping on a pleasant Winter's day.
Going by the weather forecast heavy rain is on the way
The calm before the storm as some are known to say
But we won't be complaining as we do need lots of rain
To add to the Town reservoir and bring life to the creek and drain.
A pleasant day for July in the Southern Winter of the year
The sweet flute of the magpie is a joyful thing to hear
The blackbirds in the garden gathering material for their nest
And Spring is not that distant the Season many love best.
A pleasant day for July with just a slight chill in the air
And even in the southern Winter days such as this are rare
The first of September the calendar Spring's first day
In time does not seem distant barely six weeks away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Cold Winter's Day
The weather cold and overcast in the middle of July
And cold jack frost blows with his chilly breath across the Winter sky
And in Kyneton, Trentham and Daylesford they have had a fall of snow
And the temperatures at zero and the weather glass is low
From Spring through Summer to late Fall the weather warm and dry
And for days on end the sun was burning in the clear blue sky
But the rain and snow is needed now and people pray for more
For the paddocks at this time of year never dry as this before
Yet today I saw a magpie despite the Wintery chill
Fly from the ground to a tall gum tree with a twig in his bill
For to build a nest an early sign of the approach of Spring
Of late in the darkness of the night I hear his kin bird sing
In parts of Central Victoria it is snowing, cattle bellowing for hay
And the cold breath of jack frost in the wind it has been a chilly day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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For July A Rare Sunny Day
For July a rare sunny day
The sun peep through the clouds of gray
And the nest building magpie does sing
Five weeks from the first day of Spring.
Tiny frogs sing in the watery drain
Swollen by recent heavy rain
And the song of the blackbird I hear
Familiar, melodious and clear.
Late Winter a nice time of year
One knows that the Spring it is near
The birds know it is time to breed
And the call of Nature they do heed.
Mild sunshine with a gentle breeze
And magpies piping on the gum trees
And the magpie larks calling pee wee
In the sunlit park by the sea.
The sun shining in the gray sky
Such a pleasant day for July
The birds sense the coming of Spring
Nature is such an amazing thing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Seventh Of June
The tiny frogs singing in the roadside drain
And the sky overcast it is looking like rain
And though not in any way cold enough for to snow
The wind from the hill with a chilly breath blow.
The bird who does sing every day of the year
The silvery billed magpie so pleasant to hear
Once heard him one never could hope to get wrong
Familiar to all is his beautiful song.
For the seventh day of June it is not a bad day
And Spring after all is not that far away
In the nearby park I can hear the pee wee
And the sparrows are chirping on the garden tree.
The Autumn is over and Summer long gone
And on the first week of Winter the clock ticking on
The magpie is fluting his beautiful tune
It is not a bad day for the seventh of June.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Wonky Weather
Never in my life before, can I ever remember,
Such mild weather, at the start of a November.
The grey squirrels, in the park, are still running wild,
As the weather, for this time of year, is warm and mild.
At the popular pub, a way along the seafront,
Some people sit outside, to enjoy their lunch.
Some brave souls, have rented themselves a beach hut,
While, along the shore, dog owners exercise their mutts.
Girls wear dresses, which leave their arms and legs bare;
That it’s now winter time, they don’t seem to really care.
On the crazy golf course, players are still having much fun;
All so eager to try and score that, often elusive, hole in one.
The weather in November is traditionally cold and grey,
But we’ve really enjoyed a most warm and pleasant day.
I would guess, this is all to do with global warming;
That a whole new pattern of weather is now forming.
Despite the pleasant day, it still gets dark extremely early;
Even in the daylight, I spot the moon, all white and pearly.
Over the town, a veil of darkness, slowly, begins to creep,
But, it is still too early in the day, for people to fall asleep.
But, when to the summertime, I now think back,
Of pleasant days, I recall, there being a real lack.
Our patterns of weather have now gone all weird,
But, by the weather, today, my soul felt cheered.
There was no rain today: all day, it stayed dry,
And the temperatures reached a seasonal high.
In July, I can recall one particular, rain soaked, day,
When the wild winds, almost blew me clean away.
When I was a child, the impression, which I got,
Was that summer was hot, and winter was not.
But now, the seasons have all gone rather awry,
And the weathermen now tell us a different story.
I remember early one April, not so very long ago,
I awoke in the morning, to a thick layer of snow.
This phenomenon, they refer to as ‘climate change, ’
Is, indeed, making the weather turn extremely strange.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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An August Day In South West Gippsland
The weather rather chilly it is cold enough to snow
And the flat paddocks under water where the Powlett river overflow
And even in the distance one can hear the ocean roar
As the tide up the beach races and splash on rocks along the shore.
Yet the magpie he is fluting on this gray August day
He and his wife are nest building Spring cannot be far away
And though rain is in the forecast and in the freshening breeze
The wattlebirds are cackling on the flowering banksia trees.
Between Dalyston and Kilcunda flooded paddocks all around
And sheep and cattle from the flooding have moved to the higher ground
And though the weather not that pleasant Spring with every day draws near
And September is so lovely in the Southern Hemisphere.
An August day in South West Gippsland the air has a wintery chill
And a flooded Powlett river it flows bank high down the hill
And though the sky looks gray and gloomy and the rain in drizzle fall
The magpie he is singing and the spur winged plover call.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Winter Rainy Day
It is still raining
It is pouring rain
It is chilly and windy
It is winter day
The thick dark clouds
hanging over the sky
The gloom fills the air
You hear the humming sound
of falling rain
It is winter day
The sun behind the clouds
have shied and disappeared
The blue sky have been
painted gray
It is winter day
Winter is magical time of the year
When nature sheds it’s tears
Filling us with emotions
Bringing water
to the land and lakes
Just a reason we thank
The winter rainy day
poem by Sherif Monem
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August The Thirtieth
The sky overcast the rain comes down in drizzle August the thirtieth the date of today
This time tomorrow yes this time tomorrow Spring will be just a few hours away
Some birds are nest building others on their eggs sitting male magpie is piping on the stringybark tree
At this time of year he attacks without warning even humans who venture near his territory.
The clock on the Winter is ticking and ticking time on anyone or anything does not wait
Fragile pink blossoms on the fruit trees in the garden such things of beauty that Nature create
Spring brings her youth to this Southern Country spreading her greenery everywhere she goes
Wildflowers by the creek are coming to bloom now pink on the buds amongst the thorns of the rose
August the thirtieth the Winter is dying Spring is a beautiful time of the year
White flowers in clusters amongst the pittosporums the flute of the butcherbird pleasant to hear
Everyday nearer to bloom and to sunshine the year one might say fast aproaching it's prime
Winter is dying the year's coldest Season Spring brings her green with her fresh and warm clime.
August the thirtieth the second last day of the Winter rain fall in drizzle from an overcast sky
Pink flowers are fading upon the camellias blooms of the Winter in early Spring die
The Goddess of Spring she is quickly approaching over the cliffs of the southern bay
On this time tomorrow from this Southern Country she will be only a few hours away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Late Winter
Why is winter late this year?
Will it come or not, I fear?
Sometime it’s cloudy, sometimes sunny,
They play hide & seek, how funny!
All of sudden it is drizzling,
Then raining, then pouring,
Rain in Winter?
The seasons are in a scatter,
Its mid winter, what happens thereafter?
I feel little bit of cold
Is winter at the threshold?
Christmas is fast approaching,
but no sign of winter,
no festive feeling,
Can’t dream of a Christmas without winter,
Or a winter without Christmas.
Can’t dream of a hot Christmas night,
Or of a Christmas that is not white
If so, no shepherd will shiver out in cold,
No Angel will sing carols new or old
Baby Jesus will not be cold in the manger
No cattle will be in the shed for warmth any longer
No winter fairy tale will be sung,
No Silver Bells will be rung,
No Santa will come on his sleigh,
No Jingle Bells will be heard on the way
Christmas and Winter both go together
They are truly made for each other.