MaCarthur
Between Hamilton and Port Fairy in a scenic Countryside
Where on a bright and a sunny day one can see for far and wide
Is the Township of MaCarthur it is a quiet old place
But if you are a local there your's is a well known face
It seems more like a Village than a quiet old Country Town
And on the Hamilton - Port Fairy roadway few cars pass up and down
Surrounded by farming country and the people who live there
Must consider themselves lucky since they breathe clean country air
Just nine kilometres from Mt Eccles where marsupials abound
Where koalas, grey kangaroos and wallabies in large numbers are to be found
In MaCarthur in Victoria in the Springtime of the year
The grey shrike thrush and the magpie are birds one does often hear
And in the roadside paddocks in their earth stained feathers of white
The long billed corellas digging for their food are a fairly common sight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Out There In The Wide Country
Out there in the wide country like a small speck in the sky
The small brown skylark is carolling as upwards he does fly
On a warm day in October with a beautiful Spring breeze
With temperatures near perfect around 23 degrees,
October in Victoria in the woodland all the day
The gray shrike thrush is whistling in his cloak of brown and gray
And the white backed magpie is fluting upon the gray gum tree
And the magpie lark is singing pee wee pee wee pee wee
And the kookaburras laughter is ringing loud and clear
Out there in the wide country them one so often hear,
Out there in the wide country the wildflowers are in bloom
And the woods and paddocks scenting of Nature's sweet perfume
And the temperature is perfect days such as this are rare
And the nesting birds are singing and Spring is in the air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Port Fairy In Spring
In Port Fairy by the ocean nesting birds chirp and sing
On a sunny day in early September in the early Spring
In a lovely old place on a beautiful day
The Spring is in town for her annual three months stay
In the home gardens and parklands shrubs and trees and flower beds in their flowers
And the coastal lands green after recent Spring showers
In Victoria Spring is such a lovely time of the year
And with each passing day warmer weather is near
The mud nesting magpie larks call out pee wee all day
From Utopia Port Fairy does not seem far away
Near Griffith Island one can hear the ocean's loud din
As the big waves at high tide to the beach rumbles in
In the old coastal town for it's beauty well known
Port Fairy it does have a charm of it's own.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Beautiful Port Fairy
The air is so clean of pollution 'tis free
In Port Fairy the beautiful Town by the sea
With little development it's old charm it retain
You visit it once you will come back again.
They have a huge music festival there once a year
And to it music lovers come from far and near
Musicians from every Land entertain on every street
For three days Port Fairy the place where all cultures do meet.
From Britain and Ireland and Italy and France
The lovers of culture they sing and they dance
Musicians from Africa, Germany, Brazil and Spain
Arrive for the big weekend come sunshine or rain.
Of beautiful Port Fairy 'twould be fair to say
That Utopia from it cannot be far away
It's beautiful beaches the clean ocean air
So few places with it can hope to compare.
The Norfolk pine trees there five or six decades old
One might say a beautiful sight to behold
Just part of Port Fairy's charm and it does seem to me
That Utopia is near to this Town by the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Where The Wannon Waters Flow
To the flat and old brown Countryside the Seasons come and go
But she lives far so very far from where the Wannon waters flow
Through places to her familiar on it's journey to the sea
Through a Land that was even old in the Dreamtime of an ancient history.
Through the busy streets of London cars and trucks buzz up and down
And she now lives far so very far north of Hamilton Town
She left the Southern Grampians Shire some seven years ago
And her journeys have taken her far from where the Wannon waters flow.
Now in her twenty seventh year one can say in her life's prime
And seven years go quickly when one looks back in time
But to her parents home near Hamilton she will return next Spring
When the magpie flutes his finest and the grey shrike thrush does sing
On the gum trees by her old home at the dawning of the day
In the far southern Countryside from London far away
When the wild bush flowers are blooming and in the moonlit sky
The breeding spur wing plovers utter their territorial cry.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Little Country Town
The creek down to a trickle and the paddocks looking brown
And not much ever seems to happen in the Little Country Town
lived in by the descendants of the early settlers who settled here a century ago
Of the bigger World out there few of them wish to know.
At night the recent happenings discussed in the local pub
News of the local cricketers or the local football club
Where the personal lives of those they know to them never taboo
What is happenning in the town of late who is having sex with who?
The visual or the literary arts never discussed at all
It has to be a local scandal that or bowls cricket or football
In little country towns one might say that creative types are rare
They are looked on with suspicion the culturally aware.
The creek down to a trickle and bone dry every drain
And in the local church on sunday the Reverend prays for rain
In the Main Street all is so quiet and few cars pass up and down
And life goes on as usual in the Little Country Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The White Waves At Port Fairy
The white waves at Port Fairy they make a loud din
As on to the long beach the tide does roll in
And the dainty looking silver gulls mew as they fly
As the sun disappears in the gray evening sky
Thousands of centuries before the first Humans came to this great Land
The tide at Port Fairy rolled up the gray sand
Long before the first dinosaurs from their eggs pecked their way free
The huge white waves rolled in the Southern Sea
Though to the Port Fairy locals mine is a strange face
I do feel at home in this beautiful place
The artists have sketched it, the writers of it write
Their stories and poems for to read and recite
A special place to many and a special place to me
Port Fairy where the land does meet with the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Norfolk Pine Of Port Fairy
'Tis said they grow more than a metre each year
And they do seem to have grown since I was last here
The Norfolk Island pine of Port fairy they tower over all
Beside them most other trees look rather small.
Though not quite as tall as the mountain ash tree
They seem to grow well in the Towns by the sea
On either side of the streets by Griffith Island tall and evergreen
These beautiful trees in their dozens are seen.
As a feature of the Town in the Coastal Countryside
The norfolk pine of Port Fairy have become known far and wide
They do look quite graceful for want of a better name
And without them Port Fairy would not look the same.
A feature of Port Fairy for visitors to recall
The evergreen norfolk pine trees stand graceful and tall
Nature's beauty at her finest for Nature lovers to see
On either side of the streets that lead down to the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Port Fairy By The Sea
For culture and hospitality it has won renown
Port Fairy by the ocean a famous old Town
To it's famous music festival that is held once a year
People from all Nations they come from far and near
Those who visit there for a seaside holiday
Of beautiful Port fairy have only nice things to say
The locals so friendly, warm and free of care
And with coastal views where beauty has never been rare
Nature's coastal beauty is everywhere to see
In beautiful Port Fairy where the land meets the sea
Most of the people who live there are hospitable and kind
As near a place to an Earthly Utopia as one would wish to find
With no signs of pollution in the clear ocean sky
And the oystercatchers above the beach sing as they fly
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The Wide Brown Country
To the wide brown country the Seasons come and go
South in South Australia where the Murray flow
Through the wide brown country where the brown dust fly
When the gales are rushing down the southern sky.
In the wide brown country woods not there to see
Where the mighty Murray crawls on towards the sea
Through the bone dry paddocks that are never green
Mother Nature in this landscape in her brown only seen.
Where the black tribes fished and hunted centuries ago
Little of their culture others seem to know
Through the wide brown country they travelled far and wide
And theirs was a great culture but their culture with them died.
In the wide brown country wildering flowers are rare
And the sun parched paddocks always looking bare
And where only the hardiest can hope to survive
Emu, wombat and wallaby and grey roo seem to thrive.
In the wide brown country where the Murray flow
Onwards towards the ocean onwards ever slow
And the grass is growing brown even where the rains have been
In that brown old country that man has failed to green.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Festival Port Fairy Town
In the music World it is a place of renown
For it's huge annual musical festival Port Fairy Town
And for it's coastal beauty it is also well known
One might say it does have a charm of it's own
A gem of Victoria's coastal south west
Where the muttonbirds in Spring come to mate and nest
On Griffith Island by the Pacific sea
In an Earthly Utopia it does seem to me
Port fairy is known as a touristy place
Though life is lived there at a leisurely pace
The locals there friendly as friendly can be
I've never met anyone there rude to me
And though homes to buy it does seem are much cheaper elsewhere
If I had plenty money I would like to live there.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Killarney In Victoria
Killarney in Victoria a place that has a soul
The white waves on the sunlit beach how beautifully they roll
October at it's finest the sunshine in the sky
And the silver gulls are calling as above the waves they fly.
In killarney in Victoria by the Pacific sea
The grey shrike thrush is whistling on a coastal banksia tree
On the second week of October in the prime of the Spring
The rumblings of the ocean near where wild birds chirp and sing.
Killarney in Victoria has a beauty all of it's own
And though I've been to many places tis as fine as I've seen or known
Above the flat green paddocks the skylark is in song
Through Spring and early Summer he carols all day long.
Killarney in Victoria even old in the Dreamtime
Has been sketched by famous artists and has inspired the bards to rhyme
Where the white waves of saltwater roll up the sandy shore
In a place that has been forever and will be forever more.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Red-crested crane
Hello brother Red-crested. Ah! Fairy crane
Why you are so good luck freed no more pain?
In the passed few years you’re mistakenly killed.
You’re mistakenly poisoned together with the other birds.
How different we are without red crown?
We’re still searching food wadding around
There is good news here for you in brain.
You’re selected as the supreme represent birds.
All you have born with red crow on heads.
You will live under safety protected plane.
You have been quietly living hard a long time.
A better living will start from hereafter onward.
Your lonely hard living is now noticed.
Our country people begin to love you.
We are still living poorly in the lakes.
Please don’t forget us while you’re in palace.
Why you are so good lucky being selected?
Were you born with a silver spoon?
We like mandarin duck, phony and eagle.
Why they are same as poor as we are?
There is no other better being selectable.
Hello Red-Crested Crane, I love you.
From now on you’re really the fairy birds.
You’ll become more freely enjoy flying.
I don’t know who will dare to hurt you again!
Oh, Fairy bird my dear fairy crane!
Do you know how I love you in the pass?
I always treat you as the fairy birds.
It was no mistake that I've treated you nice.
poem by Albert Wong
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The 2010 Port Fairy Music Festival
We are another year older and time is ticking on
And another Music Festival at Port Fairy has come and has gone
Great entertainment for young and for old and for those in their life's prime
And everyone there seemed to have a good time.
In the 2010 Port Fairy Festival some heavy showers of rain
And after an hour the sun shone out again
But this did not dampen the good fun and cheer
Of the Festival with such a great atmosphere.
In port Fairy close to the great City of Warrnambool
The weather it is mostly warm to cool
It is held on the Labor Day Weekend of the Fall
Where a good time is generally had by all.
It brings to people from far and near such great happiness
The 2010 Port Fairy Music Festival another great success
There's music in the festival arenas and music on the street
Where once a year lovers of music do meet.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Whose Country Is This?
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land with the biggest cemetery in the wolrd!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of desert;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of trees;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant teenagers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of timber;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hatred;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of love;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of care;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of peace;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of smokers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of businesses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of harlots;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of wise people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of idiots!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of gold;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of cocoa;
Whose country is this?
It is a alnd full of crabs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of evil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of rainfalls;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ants;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of horses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pigs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of statues;
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of birds;
And so on, and so forth!
Because nature had made them so as we see them around us,
But the wise and fool live together on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Former Rose Of Port Fairy
She was a former Rose of Port Fairy where the white waves of Pacific roll
But the years have left their mark upon her the years on us all do take toll
Though for one in her mid to late fifties she certainly does look okay
With anti ageing cream she hides time wrinkles and with brown dye she covers her gray
With primary school going grandsons and granddaughters her biological clock ticking away
Back in the late sixties to the mid seventies I heard one who knew her then say
That she was Port Fairy's finest though since then many a yesterday
And beauty of youth does not last long and prime beauty with one does not stay
In her fifties a two time divorcee she may give marriage one more try
The old saying of the third time lucky in her case who knows might apply
Love in her life once more has blossomed the joy of love is a marvellous thing
Her new love she met in October in the prime of Victoria's Spring
A former Rose of Port Fairy with brown dye she covers her gray
But time does take care of all beauty and time it keeps ticking away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A September Night In The Countryside
Out there in the quiet countryside in the still of the night
The unmistakeable cry of a hunting fox in the moonlight
And perhaps at the threat of a predator to their ground nest nearby
The wary spur wing plovers are calling as they fly
Like the fox the predatory night birds have young to feed this time of year
And the loud screech of a barn owl not a pleasant sound to hear
And to the boobook calls of mopoke on the nearby trees
The brooding small bird in her nest does listen with a sense of unease
On the quiet rural roadway few cars pass up and down
On a September night in the countryside miles from the nearest town
And the calls of the male ringtail possum one never could mistake
He will be back in his leafy nest before sunrise at daybreak
The predatory birds and animals who hide from the lamp of day
In the still of a September night are out hunting for prey.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The South Western Grampians
In the South Western Grampians of Victoria the Summer hills are brown
And from Casterton to Hamilton the roadway winds up and down
The creeks are barely flowing the roadside drains are dry
And the sun is brightly shining in the clear afternoon sky.
In the South Western Grampians the weather mostly fine
And many days of warm weather and beautiful sun shine
An undulating Countryside and hardly any green
With so few groves and woodlands and few trees to be seen.
Through the South Western Grampians one may travel far and wide
But one won't see many houses in that brown old Countryside
A farming population and few people one see
In the South Western Grampians far Inland from the sea.
On the hills of the South Western Grampians there once were many trees
Where the Indigenous tribes in the Dreamtime lived and had their Coroborees
But now open to the weather those old hills look brown and bare
And the only sound the buzzing of the bush flies in the warm Summer air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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This Is The Lucky Country
This is the lucky Country but not for everyone
Not for the grieving mother who has buried her young son
Left to die on the roadway in a case of hit and run
Not for her the lucky Country when all is said and done.
This is the lucky Country for the new tattslotto millionaire
For to scoop the big jackpot such luck indeed seems rare
And though others they may tell you for to win you must be in
So many have to lose out for one to have a win.
This is the lucky Country a well known politician said
And on his huge retirement pension he won't go short of bread
He also said in future decades no Aussie child would know of poverty
His prophesy is off the mark how very wrong is he.
This is the lucky Country or so we have been told
But not every gold prospector finds a big nugget of gold
And like the big tattslotto winners and their type are quite rare
So many must grow poorer for each new millionaire.
poem by Francis Duggan
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He Feels The Time Is Ripe
Where many do live for local renown
The ageing fringe dweller in the old country town
Has never played football with the local club
And always drinks on his own when he is in the pub.
Since he does not talk about the local club's latest loss or win
He remains an outsider and does not fit in
Though he has lived here for ten years as an outsider he remain
The status of a local he has yet to attain.
He feels a decade of his life enough to have spent here
He will move to the bigger town early next year
This not a town for one such as he an artist and a talented man
More suited to a footballer or a football fan.
In the old country town he does not have a friend
And his stay in the place is coming to an end
In his early to mid fifties his best days long gone
And he feels the time is ripe for him to move on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It Is A Warm Day For September
It is a warm day for September around the 25 degrees
The nesting birds chirping and singing with only a very faint breeze
The Goddess of Spring in her glory the pittosporums in their grey flowers
The paddocks looking lush and greener as a result of the early Spring showers
On a blackwood tree the grey shrike thrush is whistling his voice so melodious and clear
And wildflowers bloom in woods and in paddocks Spring is such a nice time of year
A very warm day for September the sun shining in the clear sky
In the wooded park by the mountain the rosellas chirp as they fly
Such beautiful parrots to look at of mottled brown and bright crimson and blue
Better known as crimson rosellas to their given names they are true
The white backed magpies and blackbirds are piping it is such a beautiful day
And the first butterflies of the Season with brown spots on their wings white to gray
Are flying in the sunlit parkland around the blossoming trees
On this warm day for September of a high of 25 degrees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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