Old Madge
Old Madge who is in her late eighties is suffering from failing sight
But her memory it is flawless and she remains lucid and bright
She has vivid memories of her childhood which she feels happy to recall
I've had a good life she will tell you but my childhood years were best of all,
Her two great grand daughters are in their mid teens she says them I often do see
They are kind and lovely young ladies they always have been good to me
Her husband Tom died ten years ago they were married for fifty years
His end it was so slow and painful and memories of him still move her to tears
But she has got on with living life she says we cannot dwell in the past
The present is all that does matter though nothing in life seems to last
She surely is an inspiration the Madges of this World are rare
And though her sight it is slowly fading she is one unburdened by care
She always is happy and cheerful and she looks younger than her age
And from her life experiences she has learned much she surely is a female sage.
poem by Francis Duggan
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She Was A Nice Old Lady
Does it really matter one little bit at all
If only her family and her few friends memories of her do recall
She was a nice old lady that much of her I did know
But she did not die easily her end painful and slow
I had not seen her for somewhile but sad am I to say
That this evening one who knew her told me she was buried yesterday
In the flesh she will not be seen walking in the park again
But fond memories of her in those who knew her are destined to remain
Pre-deceased by her husband he died ten years ago
Their only offspring a Granddad in his late fifties the years on him begin to show
To her son she was a good mother and to her husband she was a good wife
A kind and caring person and one who did love life
Since her husband life departed she had lived on her own
She did not have a public profile and she was not well known.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Happy Childhood Memories
Happy childhood memories the best memories of all
And my younger years in Millstreet I will always recall
On evenings in Summer up to the mid Fall
In the Townpark at the West End we played gaelic football
My friends of my youth where might they be today
Like me have the years left them balder and gray
Though some of them in the home Parish did stay
In life one might say we just went our own way
Since those days so many years have come and gone
And time does not wait it just ticks on and on
Many of the friends of my youth I may not see again
Though good memories of them with me does remain
And in fancy I chase the football up and down
With my happy young friends in the Park of the Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Young Zed Next Door
Patrick and Fleur have a baby daughter Arabella a little sister for young Zed next door
And he's so happy with his new born sibling and he himself still so young only four
And when you ask him how's his baby sister with a happy smile he answers she is good
These are the happiest days he will remember the foundation to a good life a happy childhood.
A fair haired boy with a cheerful disposition in years from now doubtless he will recall
His happy days in Watt street in Wonthaggi for good childhood memories are the best of all
His life journey may take him from Wonthaggi and he yet may live in a Land far away
But the miracle of the birth of Arabella through his life span with him destined to stay.
Young Zed next door is learning about Nature how birds and bees take nectar from the flowers
The honeyeaters sing in the back garden and magpie blows his flute in Spring's green hours
In Nature's garden natural growth is vibrant and blossoms bloom after the brief Spring showers
And childhood like Spring is such a time of beauty children's lives so spiritual when compared to ours.
I envy Zed his joy and innocence of childhood his young and happy soul full of sunshine
Long years ago and in a different country such joy and happiness was also mine
In Spring the World around me full of beauty and the lark was carolling in the clear blue sky
And wild brown bees out busy gathering nectar buzzing above the fields of Lisnaboy.
Young Zed next door is full of life and vigour he's such a cheerful and a happy boy
And the miracle of the birth of his young sister Arabella is
a thing he will look back on and enjoy
And in years from now these times he will remember though from Wonthaggi he may live far away
For happy childhood memories are the best of memories and through our life span with us tend to stay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Grieving Widow
From the cemetery in Cameron Street she's a short walk away
And often at her husband's grave for his soul she does pray
An old miner of the black coal two years ago he died
Soon she will go to join him to lay forever by his side.
Her husband in his mid seventies when the Reaper for him came
And without her one true soul mate life for her not the same
They migrated to Wonthaggi in their early twenties in nineteen fifty three
He was her childhood sweetheart back home in Italy.
The saddest time of her life has been the last two years
She still grieves for her husband for him she still shed tears
Even at the mention of his name the tears come to her eyes
The stonger the bond of love is the sadder the goodbyes
Her son and daughter in Wonthaggi to her they live quite near
And stories of her old Homeland her grand kids love to hear
She tells them of the happy times their grand dad and her did know
When they were young in Italy so many years ago.
At her husband's grave in Cameron Street she says a silent prayer
A woman in her mid seventies with a silvery head of hair
And tears are welling in her eyes at her memories of the past
But no one lives forever and nothing ever last.
poem by Francis Duggan
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For Many Life Is A Hard Battle
For many life is a hard battle but most rise again after a fall
And from life babies do begin learning long before they learn how to crawl
It would be nice to stay innocent for a lifetime but the innocence of childhood doesn't last
The years seem to go by so quickly and time as we know ticks on fast
'Tis sad to think some children have their innocence from them stolen and are exploited in the worst possible way
That they cannot look back on a happy childhood does seem so sad to have to say
The crimes committed against children are not easy crimes to forgive
Those guilty of such terrible atrocities with their shame must find it hard to live
I consider myself to be lucky my childhood years I did enjoy
Compared to many I feel privileged I did enjoy life as a boy
In the green countryside west of Millstreet where I grew into a young man
I learned about life from my mentors and my enduring love of Nature began
For so many life is a hard battle and they've never known of happy years
And they must live with their haunting memories of their unhappy childhood years.
poem by Francis Duggan
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When Children Lose Their Innocence
The innocence of childhood it is a marvellous thing
And all children are untainted in their life's early Spring
But by the time they've reached their teens their innocence they've lost
And the experience that we gain from age always comes at a cost.
When children lose their innocence they lose their gift of joy
The joy that comes from innocence in every young girl and boy
Compared to us young children see life quite differently
Of the guilt of corruption they are completely free.
I have such happy memories of when I was a boy
My childhood years were happy years but time just seemed to fly
And the experience that I've gained from life it came at a great cost
For I lost something beautiful when innocence I lost.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Those That I Went To School With
Some of them with the departed and the others growing old and gray
Those that I went to school with in the long gone yesterday
From the boys and girls I went to school with many years before I reached my prime
I am separated by distance and by long years of time.
Some of them live far distant from Hibernia's windswept shore
And from the Town in View of Clara hill overlooking Claramore
And some of them remained in Duhallow married and there raised their family
And some of them remained unattached single and fancy free.
Most of those I went to school with I have not seen for years
And for the past and for what has been I've shed nostalgic tears
Like every other migrant for the past forever gone
But the present is what matters and we keep on keeping on.
Of those I went to school with good memories I retain
Though most of them I realize I will never meet again
We've gone our separate ways in life but memories of them I do recall
And happy memories of what was the best memories of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Memories Of The Roeside
Scenes of a childhood,
Long years ago,
Surface in memory as vivid as snow:
The Mullagh, the Dogleap,
The Wet Wood and the Dry…
Memories of the Roeside
Bringing tears to each eye.
And where are the friends
Of those days before?
Do they share the fond memories
Which I have in store?
Do they think of the Marshfield,
The old Wireless Lane,
Nicholl’s Brae, The Flat,
And the high Rock of Kane?
Do they recall the summers
By the Wee Rock at the Mill,
Or the sports in the Avenue
With many a thrill?
And what of the ‘characters’-
Ah, too many to relate;
It being good fortune
To share partly their fate…
Oh these memories of childhood,
Of school- days, of youth,
I cling to like life, as precious as truth.
And to those still living, my friends of the Roe
I drink you a toast to times long ago.
poem by Liam ó Comáin
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My Dear Sister Mary
It has been a few years since her I did see
Yet none quite so kind or as lovely as she
A grandmother to John Gregory son of Melissa and her son John
The years ticking by but she keeps keeping on.
As good a person would be so hard to find
As my dear sister Mary so honest and kind
About her she has such a beautiful way
The truth of her here is all that I can say.
Though she lives in New York in the U S of A
A mentor of my childhood and she still is today
I have always looked up to her and her I admire
And of singing her praises I could never tire.
Her deceased husband John was a good man and to him she was a good wife
And together they had such a wonderful life
But fond memories of him her and her son John will always retain
And in the life of John Gregory he lives again
My mentor and sibling much to her I do owe
The seeds of good karma for herself she does sow
She is one who believes on a fair go for all
And only good things about her I have to recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Ell Briddley
Ell Briddley she knows of the hard side of life
For many years she has been a battered wife
Her late husband Jake often bashed her and their only child Joe
He succumbed to cancer some five years ago.
Her twenty years of marriage one might say tough
And of marriage she feels she's had more than enough
The reason is not hard to understand why
That she will not give marriage another try.
At her husband's passing she did not shed tears
She feels her life with him were sad wasted years
Her son Joe is married in a distant town with a one year old son
And she feels quite proud of how well he has done.
Ell Briddley she is fifty seven years old
And for her years she is attractive to behold
To a few proposals of marriage she has said no
She is one who will not give marriage another go.
Ell Briddley is a happy woman today
And the single life seems to suit her okay
For falling for Jake she paid the bitter price
And now she will remain as single by choice.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Nora Sullivan
In their cottage in Claraghatlea she lived with her only brother Dan
And she was way beyond mid life when i was a young man
Her name was Nora Sullivan one who was good and kind
And people of her type are rare and always hard to find.
She lived to a fairly good age and though her I'm never more to see
The mental pictures of her are etched in my memory
A mentor of my childhood years and a privilege to know
I spoke to her for the last time some twenty years ago.
She was a devout lady and religious in a good way
And of any other person she never had bad to say
When I return to Millstreet I will not see her again
But good and fond memories of her till my own end I'll retain.
I always will remember her for her warm smile and kind eyes
And she was an honest person so honourable and wise
The pathway to a moral life she always did pursue
And to her God and her higher self she always was so true.
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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The Non Swimming Man Of The Sea
He had his own fishing boat for many years though he never ventured far out to sea
And from fishing he made a good living enough to upkeep his family
He was born and he still lives near the ocean and the ocean holds no fears for him
But to many it may seem a bit strange that he's never learned how to swim.
Though he left school young for to fish with his father he's a bright man and nobody's fool
And his son and daughter live in the big city their children in Primary school
Two years ago his wife she died suddenly they had been married for thirty five years
And though for her his grieving is over thoughts of her still move him to tears.
A year younger than him she felt quite well till a massive heart attack struck her down
And one day he too will go to join her in the grave yard in the sea side Town
He had a wish to be cremated and his ashes spread on the sea shore
But to his wife he must remain true and with her he will lay forever more.
He sold his fishing boat when his wife died his great zest for life with her died
He now lives on the old age pension and from his cottage he can hear the tide
Rage against the rocks on the fore shore the huge waves they rumble and roll
The immortal voice of the ocean is ever soothing to his soul.
Last February he turned seventy and the years have left him gray and slow
Still he finds comfort in his good memories of his better days decades ago
Of his beautiful wife and their children but life part of mortality
And the Reaper is now quietly waiting for the non swimming man of the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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She Wrote About Our Mother.
She wrote about our mother and it took me far away
And many, many years in time back home to Claraghatlea
And as I read her letter I fought to choke the tears
For Millstreet, Cork and Ireland and happy childhood years.
She wrote about our mother long under Tanyard soil
And memories flooded back to me of one with ready smile
Of woman who worked hard for us for no reward or pay
The heroine of our childhood years of happy by gone day.
She wrote about our mother with sense of love and pride
And memories flooded back to me and tears welled up inside
For one who done her best for us her very best she tried
And I still feel she is with us her spirit never died.
A letter from my sister in east Rockaway in New York
Reminding me of childhood years in Millstreet County Cork
She wrote about our mother whose passing left a void
And memories flooded back to me and tears welled up inside.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Man For The Ladies
He was the young dad of the sixties he is the old man of today
Married and divorced for the third time that's life as some are known to say
He is seven times a great grandfather one might say his flock multiply
And he is not yet finished with women he says he will give marriage at least one more try,
He is now with one twenty years younger a divorcees of forty one
At the wooing of far younger women he surely is second to none
Some women like their men much older for the father figure they do fall
When it comes to understanding people I know that I know little at all
He was sixty one on his last birthday with brown hair dye he covers his gray
And when it comes to dress and appearance attention to detail he pay
one might say a man for the ladies at wooing them he has known success
His chat up lines seem to be flawless all of the right buttons he seems to press
Yes surely a man for the ladies younger women fall for him in a big way
Yet in love he likes a new challenge and with one he does not seem to stay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Mary O
She went to Dublin in the late sixties off hand can't say what year
For to live with her only child her daughter Peg O Deere
And still her happy laughter comes to me from long ago
The heart and soul of Claraghatlea kindhearted Mary O.
The only daughter of Mary and Jack the Master her only brother Jack
Died in England many years ago of a major heart attack
And Mary O outlived them all and 'tis said she's still going strong
And may she live to be over one hundred years and may her life be long.
I've known her since I was young lad since I was knee high tall
A mentor of my childhood years and one I still recall
She must have been over forty years when I was a schoolgoing boy
And with her happy hearty laugh she spread the gifty of joy.
In my memory she is still quite young she never did grow old
In her mid life when I was a boy she has a heart of gold
And I still hear her hearty laugh across the miles away
And I'll remember Mary O till my own final day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Our Past Lives On With Us
We may not be in prison yet we are not truly free
For of our past we are prisoners that's how 'twould seem to me
Bad memories always haunt us they never go away
Until the Reaper claims us they are with us to stay.
For many childhood memories are full of mental pain
Their heavy cross of sorrows through their lives with them remain
Children of war and famines they cannot forget their past
Their living nightmares with them linger though few other things seem to last.
Children of abusive parents bad old memories in them stay young
They live remembering their traumas and die as the unsung
Their innocence stolen from them in their childhood of tears
Bad memories still with them undimmed by the passing years.
We may not be in prison though it would seem to me
That we prisoners of our memories of our past we can't be free
Until the Reaper claims us good and bad memories with us stay
Our past seems to live on with us and it never goes away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Farewell To
Farewell to the young women I used to know
When I was a younger man decades ago
Some of them are ageing grandmothers today
And some of them childless and single did stay.
Farewell to the first feelings of love I knew
Though the one that I loved to another was true
She did not know I loved her 'twas better that way
Since I've always found words like 'I love you' so hard for to say.
Farewell to my childhood friends the girls and the boys
We had fun together and we played with our toys
We grew up too quickly and got to know care
And we found out about life in the big World out there.
Farewell to the Town Park where we played football
An old memory fading that's nice to recall
Still in my flights of fancy the old Town I see
Though life in the old Town goes on without me.
To the old stream that flowed by my old home a tearful farewell
And those old fields that will long outlive my doggerel
And on the leafy hedgerows in the prime of Spring
The songbirds of Nature did whistle and sing.
Farewell to the past since the past is long gone
And without me life in the old Townland goes on
But fond memories of my boyhood years with me remain
And I often go back down memory lane.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Fifty Years Of Marriage
With dye and hair colouring they cover their gray
Their fifty years of marriage they celebrate today
Through fifty years of marriage they have argued their way
In their love hate relationship one well might say.
Their better days one can say for them are long gone
And they age without grace though time is ticking on
Their children are grand-parents and the years on them show
Since they too are ageing and their fastest pace slow.
Fifty happy years together by some we are told
But others who know them well and with their words more bold
Will tell you they never did see eye to eye
But why they stay together one must wonder why.
They have stayed together for so many years
One can hardly say of them the lovely old dears
Since they both are quite quarrelsome and grumpy as well
Perhaps without quarrels life for them would be hell.
Fifty years together and the same bed they share
Yet even in public places at each other they swear
Such marriages as their's suppose never were rare
They are not the World's only dysfunctional pair.
Today their descendants will celebrate the marriage of their Pop and Gran
And applaud this wonderful woman and man
But the truth of their marriage they will never tell
How they seem to enjoy giving each other hell.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Christmas In Lisnaboy
Memories of a childhood Christmas for a lifetime we enjoy
And I often recall Christmas as a child in Lisnaboy
Santa left his bag of presents by the porch door in the moonlight
When the air was damp and frosty on the eve of Christmas Night
In Uncle Dan and Aunty Mary's house of here far north and far away
We enjoyed the ham and turkey and pudding on Christmas Day
But the years went by so quickly and time has left me looking gray
And the biological clock on my life silently ticking away
Weeks before Christmas we wondered what toys Santa to us would bring
The innocence of childhood it is a marvellous thing,
The Seasons go so quickly and the past forever gone
But the happy times from childhood in the memory living on
Uncle Dan and Aunty Mary in eternal rest now lay
But they come into my memory on the eve of Christmas Day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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