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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Message Failed
INDIGENOUS: Our lands are here to welcome
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: As long, as long ago we offer welcome
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: An offering from within deep within
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: Who are your people?
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: Our custom, begins like this
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do no come in peace
INDIGENOUS: From the tops of the gum trees, too
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: Beneath the earth our mother
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: If you share with our traditions
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
We do not come in peace
Die just be gone
poem by Lisa Bellear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Conversations (AKA Unfinished Business)
Conversations through the phone
raises issues that still impact
on indigenous Australians. There
is also a message of hope!
Imagination, creativity, art, dance,
music, and inventive conversations.
Positive expressions of Indigenous
survival.
Mr Prime Minister, The Mayor,
young folk, warriors without
treaties, the wider community . . .
The message as always,
even though we smile.
Land Rights, sovereignty, no more
crap, ignorance and unabated racism.
poem by Lisa Bellear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If I Should Die Tomorrow Say Only This Of Me
If I should die tomorrow say only this of me
In Nature's marvellous creations great beauty he did see
He found some joy in writing reams of stuff he did write
Though none of it is memorable or worthy to recite
The Reaper has claimed the life from him and if his name we should recall
We can say of him that he loved Nature the most important one of all
For Nature is the greatest the one not destined to die
Immortality for human beings has been based on a lie
If I should die tomorrow and today is my last day
I will return to Nature for that is Nature's way
Of dealing with her life forms on all living things a use by date
Nature's Reaper claims the life from every life form she create
If I should die tomorrow leave me to rest in peace
From life's many cares and worries I will have found release
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ron
He has lost the inspiration of his life
And he must grow old without Annie his wife
They had been married for twenty two years
And memories of her still has him near to tears.
She was forty six when she passed on two years ago
And she did not live to see their grandchildren grow
Into young adults it was her wish to see
Her first great grandchild baptized but it wasn't meant to be.
Without his beloved Annie who had the 'heart of gold'
Ron in his early fifties must grow old
She was his soul mate and to him remained true
And together love and happiness they knew
Theirs was a true love that lasted till the end
She was his heroine and his dearest friend
And one as good as her he could not wish for to meet again
And the memories with him always will remain
Of the beautiful woman with brown eyes and nut brown hair
To laugh to her came easy she was always free of care
Their wedding photograph hangs on his bedroom wall
And she will remain as his greatest love of all.
Life will never again be the same for Ron
But without his beloved Annie he must carry on
She was the inspiration of his life
His lover and his soul mate and his wife
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Hearing Of The Death Of Kevin Hickey
Sad news a news that travels far and wide
And I was told of how young Kevin Hickey died
On the Shannaknock road of his car he lost control
And the reaper claimed his body not his soul.
He was pre-deceased by his Mother Kathleen
And his better days in life he had not seen
And his father John is left to bear sorrow's cross
And grieve the tragedy of his heart-breaking loss.
And though the accident that claimed young Kevin's life happened a few years ago
The scars of grief to heal are always slow
And the pain at the loss of his son in such a tragic way
With John Hickey till his own end will stay.
At the spot where Kevin died John erected a grotto as a memorial to his son
And it would seem that is as much as anyone could have done
To honour some one that they loved so dear
Such stories of love are heartening to hear.
I have heard of how young Kevin Hickey died
And such sad news does travel far and wide
And his remains will rest in peace forever more
But his soul lives on the soul has wings to soar.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Gift Of Laughter
The gift of laughter is a rare gift it is such a wonderful thing
And laughter can create more laughter to it there is such a beautiful ring
The people who laugh seem to make friends quite easily and in numbers their friends seem to grow
But the people who take life too seriously are the people few wish to know.
The woman next door is a laugher she has with her a winning way
She is one who makes friends quite easily she always smiles and says good day
A person like her is worth knowing she spreads around her gift of cheer
For to stimulate laughter in her heart she doesn't need spirits or beer.
Compared to her the bloke three doors down is so different a smile never does cross his face
He is always so serious looking perhaps laughter he cannot embrace
A good laugh would be so good for him since none look more serious than he
If everyone took life so serious how boring a thing life would be.
The gift of laughter is a great gift and with it there's none to compare
And the people with it are invaluable since they spread it around everywhere
Life seems far too short to be grumpy since we will be forever dead
And feel grateful for people who can laugh their happiness they seem to spread.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jack Davis
A mentor to his race and the pride of his tribe
Jack Davis the poet and Indigenous scribe
The ex stockman from Yarloop in his lifetime knew fame
And in Australian literature his lives as a legendary name
An honourable man as well as a very fine poet
Jack Davis was one who is worthy of note
To natural genius his poems testify
And greatness of him none could ever deny
He passed on in his early eighties some eight years ago
And his legend in death only does seem to grow
Honoured in Australia his and his people's Homeland
The Nature of his Country he did understand
A credit to Australia and his Indigenous Race
In his Country's literature he commands a high place.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
They Make Them Tough In Beech Forest
They make them tough in Beech Forest it has become a well known place
As the former home of Cliff Young the ageing man who won the great race
From Sydney all of the way to Melbourne some two decades ago
Even in death the great man's legend does seem to grow and grow.
Forty five kilometres south of Colac the nearest big country Town
And though Beech Forest has a small population 'tis a place that has won renown
For it's hardy breed of people who possess great pride of place
A pride and courage that Cliff Young displayed in his greatest ever race.
They make them tough in Beech Forest in the potato growing countryside
The achievements of Cliff Young their most famous athlete to them a source of pride
A stranger there made to feel welcome of which many do testify
Of their friendly and hospitable nature of them none can deny.
They make them tough in Beech Forest the once home of the great Cliff Young
For his Sydney to Melbourne ultra Marathon winning run
His praises have been sung
One of the hardy breed of men from that famous place south of old Colac Town
Who from Sydney all of the way to Melbourne jogged his way to renown.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Just One More Dead Hero
So much about his courage we have heard of and read
So sad about the brave man so sad to hear he's dead
A decorated soldier from a war far away
The Reaper claimed the life from him suppose he had his day
One the nationalists and patriots used to celebrate
But with the coward and the traitor he shared a common fate
Not one to respect money or bravery or fame
To the Reaper the life of the coward and the hero are equal and the same
Though memories of the man he was will take some time to fade
Next year he won't be around to march in the war veterans parade
Ninety two when he died his best days long gone
Just one more dead hero and life does go on
The coward and the hero and those of wealth and fame
Are made equal by the Reaper he treats them as the same.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Like His Mother Nature
Despite advanced medical technology people still age and die
And though people on an average live longer now one fact we can't deny
Is that the Reaper who claims every life will one day claim your's and mine
Each day we live we draw closer to our lives finish line.
If wealthy people could live forever more how awful that would be
'Twould seem that Nature would be punishing all of those in poverty
But Nature can't be bribed or bought she is beyond reproach
She does not differentiate between the life of a Human Being or the water dwelling Roach.
Yes nature is beyond reproach she treats as equal all
From the World's most influential Human Being to the wood louse in garden wall
And the Reaper the son of Nature for all of us he wait
He claims the life of each living thing and he does not differentiate
Between the life of a Human Being and a Cockroach whom he does treat the same
He will not spare you just because you have great wealth and fame
And like his Mother Nature he is beyond reproach
He will claim the life of the great Monarch and the water dwelling Roach.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It's The Conquerors Who Write The History
As they chased the wild bison on horse back they whooped and cheered loud
And they were great hunters so noble and proud
But now on the prairies the bison are rare
And the people who hunted them no longer there.
Of the great Northern Land the first people till the invaders came
And their tragic dispossession is a thing of great shame
Conquered and put into reservations for to grow old and die
The rights of Indigenous people to them did not apply.
It's the conquerors who write history as we have been told
And men they have murdered for Land and for Gold
But what matters most when history we trace
That a Country's first people must take pride of place.
You great country singers with your golden guitars,
You politicians and tycoons and billionaire movie stars
There once was a people far greater than you
And to Mother Nature they were far more true.
And the workings of Nature they did understand
And they were the people who cared for the Land
And they were displaced and oppressed and down trod
By those who believed in a different God.
They once were great warriors, wise, noble and proud
And they gave us Chief Seattle and wise Chief White Cloud
And their profound words of wisdom still living today
And such things of great beauty will never decay.
The truth may seem bitter but the truth we must face
That a Country's first people should take pride of place
And around the World Indigenous people are not treated well
Though they have such marvellous stories to tell.
The conquerors write the history as conquerors do
But to the true history they never are true
And the conquered the history never will write
And we are conditioned to believe that might is always right.
The changes keep happening and nothing seem to last
And the great herds of bison a thing of the past
And those who once hunted them were locked away
And in reservations were forced for to stay.
Out on the lone prairie their ghosts still reside
At midnight the hunters their spotted horses ride
As they chase the wild bison across the great plain
The past in the moonlight comes to life again.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Leave Me To Mother Nature
I don't want to live for to be frail and old and kept alive by pills
And taking the most unnatural drugs for to combat my many ills
Leave me to Mother Nature my fate she will decide
Since the Reaper will find us all one day from him we cannot hide.
The greatest people we know of their fame was known World wide
They loved life, their achievements great but they grew old and died
The longest human life seems brief in the eternity of time
And time outlives the artist's fame and the great poet's greatest rhyme.
With pills do not prolong my suffering of suffering set me free
Leave me to Mother Nature she knows what's best for me
Human bodily parts like an old car engine with age slowly decay
Leave me to Mother Nature when I've known my better day.
Leave me to Mother Nature of me she will take care
An ageing body as we know is beyond human repair
Us Humans like Nature's Seasons to life we come and go
But Mother Nature lives forever the only God I know.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Eucalyptus
A tree grows in Australia and I heard the leaves that yield strong smelling oil.
My poet friend Jerry.Hughes lives there like a huge tree.
I have a message for you my dear friend.
My wife was informed me two days ago
Our eldest daughter & the family will migrate to Australia soon
For better prospects and they were given a promise
To drag us to the city of Melbourne once they touched the soil.
I wrote to my wife' Hey! My darling pain killer
If it's not a dream at least we can rest in peace in an aboriginal's graveyard as 'True Lovers' under the Eucalyptus tree.
To my poet friend Jerry.Hughes
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Little Sister
Lisa says that it's allright
When she needs to be alone at night
Lisa says that she has a fun
And she'll do it with just about anyone.
Lisa says, Lisa says, Lisa says, Lisa says
Lisa says that she's on the run
Looking for a special one
Lisa says that every time she makes his trip
She knows her heart will beat
Lisa says, Lisa says, Lisa says, Lisa says
Looking for a part and some action
Going to make it feel okay
But what do you find
When the time has come on, now
Look at it run
Lisa says, Lisa says, Lisa says, Lisa says
Lisa says, Lisa says, Lisa says...
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Down South In South Australia
Down south in South Australia in old Port Adelaide
A place of Indigenous history where history has often been made
Home of renowned Australian Rules Footballers men who are known Worldwide
They wore the magpie colours with a certain sense of pride.
In the beautiful Port River the dolphins sport and play
In fancy I can see them in the sunlight of the day
From the pier at Port Adelaide one them often does see
Marvellous memories of such beauty keep on coming back to me.
Those grand old Towns of South Australia by the far southern shore
Port Adelaide and West Lakes, Largs Bay and Semaphore
Fond memories of such beauty one always does retain
And in my flights of fancy I visit there again.
One can only imagine in the warm sunshine and breeze
The very first Australians had their corroborees
Long before the coming of the Europeans many centuries ago
Though little of their history or their ways we do know.
Down south in South Australia in old Port Adelaide
Of there I have great memories and great memories never fade
Of an old place that's full of history and the friendly people who live there
It's famous Football Club and renowned Australian Rules Players are well known everywhere.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Losers Never Write The War History
The losers never write the war history that's something we already know
Yet for the many wars fought through the ages we do not have the wisdom to show
That victory too comes at a huge cost for war the price is huge to pay
For families who grieve for their dead members their sense of loss with them will stay
Until they themselves go to the reaper the reaper who claims one and all
The loved one war had taken from them with great sadness they will recall
But the dead to life cannot be returned better to live as a coward than die brave
For none has yet come back for to tell us that there is a life beyond the grave,
They died for their God and their Country of dead war heroes some well may brag
Those who place too much worth on the unknowable and the colour of their Nation's flag
I for one find religion and patriotism confusing of god and war heroes hymns and songs are sung
But surely it is a misnomer that only the good do die young
And yet from war we have not learned young lives are lost for wars to be won
And if lasting peace ever does come it won't be through the barrel of a gun
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Amongst Wealth And Fame
Amongst wealth and fame there is great poverty
With such things should not happen here most would agree
A poor homeless bloke with only a mattress for a bed
On the embankment under a railway underpass for six months lay dead.
Under the railway underpass he died where he lay
For months undiscoverd that seems sad to say
A man in his forties one without a friend
He lived a sad life and his was a sad end.
In Melbourne Victoria this must be a lie
In such a wealthy City people of neglect never die?
But the facts tell us differently and i must make it clear
That it is not of fiction i am writing of here.
Some of the less kind will tell you we live and die as we choose
That he was one of those blokes destined to lose
And though they are entitled for to air their views
They seem to make light of what is quite sad news.
Six months he was dead when his remains were found
Amongst wealth and fame poverty does abound
It is not for one like him that you should pray
For if there is a heaven he is there today.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
He Often Thinks Of Rosie
He often thinks of Rosie where might she be today?
Is she still back home in Derry from here long miles away
For three years they were an item but for them things did not work out
As often can happen in love affairs between one from a Northern Land and one from a Land in the far South.
He did not wish to live over there and in Melbourne she would not stay
Nostalgia won out over love or so 'twould seem that way
She went back home to Derry though he had asked her to become his wife
Young Rosie she was homesick a natural thing in life.
His wife and he have parted ways they have a year old son
The love died in their marriage he is not the first or he won't be the last one
To know of marriage failure such is life I do suppose
Yet his greatest love will always be the lovely brown haired Derry Rose.
He often thinks of Rosie they parted ways six years ago
He loved her and he always will though apart they did grow
Nostalgia won out over love in their case anyway
She went back home to Derry and home in Melbourne he did stay.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!