No Southern Right Whales
No southern right whales at Warrnambool last year
Due to oil exploration near Logan's Beach we hear
For to give birth the females went elsewhere
At Logan's Beach for them too noisy there.
Whether or not they do return next Spring
To Warrnambool when the nesting birds do sing
Or will they swim by Warrnambool and not decide to stay
Time can only tell as some are known to say.
For to give birth they need a quiet place
For to insure the survival of their dwindling race
Where they and their young can stay for a month or more
Where human beings for oil do not explore.
Will southern right whales give birth at Warrnambool again
Or will Warrnambool's loss be another coastal town's gain?
Breaching whale mothers and their calves an amazing sight to see
And of such I retain the memory.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Mid September In Warrnambool
An evening in September the weather dry though cool
And people out jogging, walking and cycling on the beach road at Warrnambool
And above the calm ocean in the west the sun going down
A mile or maybe even less from the famous sea-side Town
Of Warrnambool in Victoria it's beauty is well known
In size and population in a decade it has grown
As a major Victorian coastal City it has become known far and wide
And the people who live in the Bool in their Hometown take great pride.
On late Winter and early Spring off of Logan's beach the Southern Right whales come to breed
And to watch these marine giants with their huge babies is an amazing sight indeed
For Warrnambool a major tourist attraction and quite an amazing sight
To watch them breaching for air in the warm Spring sunlight.
Mid September in Warrnambool a lovely time of year
When in the coastal City one can sense Utopia near
The people are so friendly most of them say hello
A pleasant place to visit and a pleasant place to know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Warrnambool City
In the coastal City known as Warrnambool
In the Winter you can swim in the heated swimming pool
And in Summer there's surfing and swimming and other good fun
As well as sunbathing in the lamp of the sun
Some beautiful beaches by the big coastal Town
But it is not for such Warrnambool knows of renown
But for it's friendly people on every street
Happy and smiling faces you are bound to meet
The population of Warrnambool in numbers has grown
And as a multicultural Rural City it is now well known
The Capital of south west Victoria Warrnambool by the sea
A welcoming Town for many a refugee
In it's parks and beaches Nature's beauty to behold
In a great City to live in for the young and the old.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I'd Love To Live In Warrnambool
I'd love to live in Warrnambool down by the Lady Bay
I would walk to the nearby beach in Summer every day
And walk along the shallows saltwater to my knees
And feel the coolness of the waves in the freshening ocean breeze
I'd like to live in Warrnambool at least of such I dream
But dreams seldom ever come true at least that's how 'twould seem
Old Warrnambool is a special place with a charm of it's own
As a beautiful Victorian Rural City it has become well known
Where the white waves of the Pacific by the breakwater roll
The rural City of Warrnambool is a City with a soul
Most of the people there are friendly they smile and say hello
With every visit to Warrnambool my love for the place does grow
I'd love to live in Warrnambool the City by the sea
And though there is no harm in wishing that well may never be.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In Often Very Windy Warrnambool
In Warrnambool another gusty day
A freshening wind blow up from Lady Bay
Through the coastal City bathed in sunshine
Where the pale eyed crows caw on the norfolk pine
In old Warrnambool there's many a wind burnt face
It is indeed a very windy place
O'er Warrnambool the Goddess of the Wind blows in the sky
To the coastal City she must live nearby
The weather it is mostly warm to cool
In often very windy Warrnambool
Where the residents for their hospitality are well known
The natives there have a charm of their own
Where dead leaves on the sidewalks are blown up and down
By the curling winds that blow in the big Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Warrnambool In January
Tis warm in the full sun but in the shade tis cool
And the magpies and the mudlarks are singing in the City of Warrnambool
Their music in the Summer air where the cars buzz up and down
On Lava Street in the heart of the busy seaside Town.
A pleasant day in January a high of twenty nine degrees
And there is a nice sort of coolness in the freshening coastal breeze
And the magpies and the mudlarks pipe their distinctive melodies
Near where the traffic it is buzzing on the sunlit street trees.
In Warrnambool in January in the holiday time of year
The accents of different races in the shopping malls one does hear
Quite a nice City to visit if you are driving that way
So many people there do smile at you and bid you a good day.
An old rural City in Victoria in the coastal countryside
The famed City of Warrnambool it is known far and wide
The magpies they are fluting and the mudlarks sing pee wee
And the Summer sun is shining on the City by the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Koroit's 09 Football Premiership
They celebrate in the Commercial and Mickey Bourke's pub
The marvellous win of Koroit Saints Football Club
The Warrnambool Blues the pride of Warrnambool Town
In the Football Grand Final to the red and black went down
To the memory of such a victory Koroit fans will cling dear
They will celebrate well into next year
The Grand Final win to the Town has brought cheer
They do celebrate there in spirits and beer
From shop and house windows red and black balloons and bunters in the wind blow
Their great love of Koroit all koroitians do show
And well do they have reason to celebrate
Their present footballers with Koroit's best do rate
Their 09 Premiership for them a huge victory
Something that is destined to live in memory.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Great Merri River
Through the old brown paddocks it flows night and day
The great Merri river from here far away
Through the coastal lands of Warrnambool on it's way to the sea
Older than the age of the Dinosaurs it pre-dates history.
It has flowed for millions of centuries of time
The river that has inspired story and rhyme
In Nature's four Seasons Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring
Through old coastal lands where the brown bushlark sing.
The great Merri river will flow forever more
To Warrnambool on to the Pacific shore
From it's dark deep pools the sea trout jump for fly
It has flowed through all Seasons and weather warm and dry.
In the long gone Dreamtime in the shade of the trees
The Indigenous people danced their corroborees
On the banks of the Merri in a corroboree ring
By the river they loved as they danced they did sing.
They had lived here for centuries before Europeans came
And for their beloved river they had their own name
The river known to all as the Merri of today
On towards the Pacific it babbles it's way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Tommy Carty The Musician
Tommy Carty the musician a marvel of guitar
From his Homecity of Dublin he is living far
In South West Victoria in the City Of Warrnambool
One honoured as a Legend of the Koroit Lake School.
Not into self promotion of such he seems shy
But true talent of him one could never deny
His music says more of him than words can say
One of the best living guitarists of today.
In a Human World of self promotion and so much self conceit
One as humble as he is such a pleasure to meet
Yet when it comes to playing of guitar few with him to compare
The Tommy Cartys of this World to say the least rare.
Amongst the musicians of South West Victoria one famed and well known
One might say of him in a class of his own
So self effacing and down to earth in his own humble way
The masterful guitarist he just loves to play.
In South West Victoria a legendary name
Yet his is far greater than a local fame
The high standard of guitar playing he sets for himself he does attain
And Dublin's loss is surely Warrnambool's gain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Hopkins River
Centuries before the black people to this Land came
An unknown Country that did not have a name
The river now known as the Hopkins through the scrublands did flow
And that is going back many centuries ago.
The dinosaurs came at the twilight of the day
For to slake their thirst at the quiet water-way
And though the dinosaurs from the World are forever gone
The old Hopkins river keeps babbling on.
Through the flat brown Countryside to Warrnambool to the sea
The Hopkins has flowed for century on century
Through places dry and stony and places remote
The river has inspired the artist and poet.
For to sketch and sing of it in decades gone by
The river that has never stopped flowing through Summer's warm and dry
And though the artist and poet now with the deceased lay
The Hopkins keeps babbling on night after day.
Through places dry and stony and places remote and brown
On down to the ocean near Warrnambool Town
And the Seasons may come and the Seasons may go
But the old Hopkins river forever will flow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Archie Roach, Ruby Hunter and Shane Howard
He is as near to his old home in Framlingham as he might wish to be
In Killarney between Warrnambool and Port Fairy by the Pacific sea
With the renowned Ruby Hunter his long time soul mate
The legendary Archie Roach an Aussie music great.
Their neighbour and friend is Shane Howard the singer songwriter supreme
Those three together what a musical team
Together great music and songs they will compose
Great talents are born to be great one would have to suppose.
They do not come any greater it does seem to me
Than Archie Roach, Ruby Hunter and Shane Howard old Killarney's big three
For their talents and achievements them one can only admire
And to even greater things each other they will inspire.
Between Warrnambool City and Port Fairy Town
In Beautiful Killarney of scenic renown
Live three Australian entertainers each in their own right a great name
As singer songwriters they enjoy Worldwide fame.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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The Merri In Flood
The old Merri River in flood waters of brown
Is flowing on bank high on by Warrnambool Town
In and out of Lake Pertobe on it's sea going way
To join the Pacific at famed Lady Bay
The old river that is old even in time
That has inspired the poets and songwriters to rhyme
In the age of the dinosaurs the Merri was old
In full flood the river a sight to behold
In Summer by the banks of the river in the shade of the trees
The Indigenous tribes had their corroborees
Like the Seasons of Nature the people come and go
But the river on down through the flat country flow
In and out of Lake Pertobe and on to the sea
The Merri in flood is a great sight to see.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Song Of A Nature Loving Man
Were I a nature lyric poet my special gifts I'd share
With all who'd care to read my verse people from everywhere
But I don't have the gift of verse or so 'twould seem to me
So I can't share what I don't have with all humanity.
I'm just going back a few short months a pleasant memory
A koala with her baby on top branch of gum tree
On evening in mid april an evening bright though cool
At Tower hill just a short drive from the town of Warrnambool.
Were I a nature lyrist in words I'd celebrate
And my sense of joy at what I'd seen to all I would relate
A leaf eating nature mother with offspring on her back
Not unlike human mother with baby in knapsack.
To hear a yellow robin when spring is in her prime
On low down branch of wattle and shielded from sun shine
Sing his sad song of november his plaintive melody
Were I a bard I'd capture his song in poetry.
I find nature fascinating just look at simple honey bee
Whose ways are not so simple as they appear to be
Had I the gift of lyric of honeybees I'd write
A simple song of nature a song to give delight.
I see my God in Nature his creatures everywhere
The kangaroo with babe in pouch, the swallows of the air
The platypus and echidna, the wombat and emu
The lorikeet and rosella, the galah and cockatoo.
The laughing kookaburra whose laughter pierce quiet morn
A gold billed blackbird whistling at twilight on whitethorn
The noisy miner's cheerful song and wattlebird's hoarse like call
And bell magpie fluting notes of joy the sweetest sound of all.
A wallaby at forest edge in fading light of day
Standing almost statue like by quiet bush roadway
Were I a bard I'd capture this and on paper write it down
And bring the bush to living rooms of people in the town
And though I'm no bard I'm realist and I do know what I am
I'm one who comes from distant hills a 'Nature loving man'
And I feel happier of late happy and worry free
For I've found god after long search and nature's god to me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Im A Southern Man
Tony joe white
Send me a pan of corn bread with some turnip greens on the side
And if you really want to mess with my head give me anything southern fried
Give me some faded blue jeans and a pair of old cowboy boots
And Im gonna tell you where I come from tell you somethin about my roots
Im a southern man, Im a southern man,
Im a southern man, (spoken) Im a southern man
Send me a woman to love me with a lot of meat on her bones
Theres something about a big lady I just cant leave em alone
Id like to take her down to the river go skinny dippin in the night
Aint nothin like being with my lady and makin love in the pale moon light
Cause Im a southern man, a hah ah Im a southern man, Im a southern
Man, southern man, Im a southern man
Give me that soulful music it sure makes me feel so nice
So I can do the alligator and get it on every saturday night
Give me that southern comfort, give me annie greensprings wine
Take me on down to the bayou and Ill sure have a real good time
Im a southern man repeated many times to end
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Return Of The Curlews
At Mcloughlins beach in the Spring of the year
The beautiful flute of the curlews one hear
The eastern curlews they sing as they fly
Their music echo through Gippsland's coastal sky
From the colder northlands they journey on down
Above coastal City and Village and Town
Above beaches and foreshores in September they reach
The mudflats on the foreshore of Mcloughlins beach,
In fancy i can hear them fluting today
Above the white mudflats from here far away
The wild voice of Nature is a beautiful thing
The eastern curlews how lovely they sing
Their unmistakeable song in my memory remain
And in fancy i visit South Gippsland again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Another Near To Perfect Day
In the sky the sun brightly shining the blue sky with some clouds of gray
On an afternoon in late October another near to perfect day
The white surf waves are gently rolling one reason no surfer in sight
And the silver gulls on the white beach search for food in the warm sunlight
An artist may well sketch such beauty and writers about it may write
By the coastal town on the surf beach there is beauty in peace and quiet
Today the ocean is not roaring no big waves for surfers to ride
The waves on the beach gently lapping so timid the sea at low tide
In the park the magpie larks calling the only notes they sing pee wee
And wattlebirds on the flowering coastal banksias their harsh calls familiar to me
On a beautiful day in the Springtime of around 24 degrees
And there is a cool sort of freshness in the cool freshening coastal breeze
Save for the silver gulls the beach is deserted and so clean is the fresh coastal air
A good memory to keep and to cherish and a good memory with others to share.
poem by Francis Duggan
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What Profanity?
Hey you! Son of a beach.
Come here, get off your sheet.
That beach of yours, how many years?
Since you were born by your.
Mother, father yeah where are they?
In the dam? Dam! You say!
Let us go there you son of a beach!
Leave the beach alone.
They won't touch your beach.
Oh so you want to protect your beach?
Wait where is the dam!
Ill give you pen and paper...Give the dam address.
Wait my pen is lacking its liquids
Give me another pen because my pen is small
In ink level, i need a good pen.
There nice, now give me the dam address.
Thanks boy! Now go back to your sheet and
Guard the beach.
poem by Ben Henry Baang
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Prophets at Home
Prophets have honour all over the Earth,
Except in the village where they were born,
Where such as knew them boys from birth
Nature-ally hold 'em in scorn.
When Prophets are naughty and young and vain,
They make a won'erful grievance of it;
(You can see by their writings how they complain),
But 0, 'tis won'erful good for the Prophet!
There's nothing Nineveh Town can give
(Nor being swallowed by whales between),
Makes up for the place where a man's folk live,
Which don't care nothing what he has been.
He might ha' been that, or he might ha' been this,
But they love and they hate him for what he is.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Why Birds Mock MY bull
My giant bull has colours
Has this colour
Has that colour
Have teeth of wolf
Has own moon
They have their months
The months of birds
The months of animals
Why birds mock you
Of your colours
It's God who give you
This colours
The birds mock you
That's why the bat
Swear before God
That the sun can't give
Birth to calves
And the moon shall
Gives birth to stars
The sun got angry with bat
God put red line between
Bat and sun
By separating day and night
Sun moves in day time
Bat moves at night time
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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