On A Moonlit Night In July
A full moon does silently creep it's way across the starlit sky
And the flute of the magpie I hear on this cool Winter night in July
He does not sing for the love of song he sings to defend territory
Whilst most others birds are asleep he pipes high on a wattle tree
With a wife and a nest to defend in his nesting time of the year
He pipes a warning to males of his kind that to us sounds melodious and clear,
The spur wing plovers in the park above their nesting grounds do fly
They scream at the dog, fox or cat who to their ground nest is prowling nearby
In the calm of a Winter night of such beauty a Nature Poet would write
A poem that lovers of Nature poetry would read and to others feel glad to recite
On a gum tree a brush tail possum calls for a mate his hoarse voice one cannot mistake
He will be in the dark ceiling of a nearby house before the sun rise at daybreak
And the boobook owl calls out mopoke a night predator of human kind shy
The nocturnal creatures out and about on a moonlit night in July.
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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The Black Feathered Songster
The black feathered songster with the golden bill
He sings on the tree by the babbling rill
The song of the blackbird melodious and clear
A familiar voice in the Spring of the year
In his song males of his own kind the message of warning does hear
To my borders you better not venture near
At this time of year his own kind not a friend
In his song a warning that his patch he'll defend
Concealed in her nest from predator eye
His partner sits on her eggs in a bush nearby
When she and her mate back to Nature have gone
Their genes in their young are destined to live on
Birdsong to us may seem a beautiful thing
But 'tis not out of joy that the songbird does sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Beauty Of Nature's Wonders
The beauty of Nature is all around me
And every day in Nature such wonders to see
Within view of land above the sea the gannets fly
For their small marine prey they plunge down from the sky.
On moonlit nights in late Winter coming up to the Spring
In the Townpark the male magpies warble and sing
With breeding territories to defend in their nesting time of the year
Their beautiful songs are melodious and clear.
The beauty of Nature's wonders by day and by night
A source of amazement and a source of delight
And our sheer awe of Nature as we age only grow
And so little of her ways we do seem to know.
Were I born a poet of Nature I would write
Poems at poetry readings that readers would recite
Of the creatures of night and the creatures of day
Who live as Nature means them to live in their natural way
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Night In Late Autumn
The sky is dark the countryside is quiet
But the spur winged plovers cry out in the night
Above their territory they call and fly
Perhaps the hunting fox is prowling by.
The possums hiss on gum tree in the park
And in a yard nearby a terrier bark
At wailing tom cats fighting on the street
For the right to mate with a female in heat.
The night is calm there's scarce a puff of breeze
And boobook owl hunting for small birds in the cypress trees
Repeat the same call over and again
And frogs are croaking in the pond and drain.
The countryside may seem quiet after dark
But in the sky above the nearby park
The spur winged plovers cry out in the night
Perhaps a fox has driven them to flight
poem by Francis Duggan
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Beauty Is All Around Me
A walk in the garden of Nature and for it such a beautiful day
And the white backed magpie is fluting on a high branch of an old mountain gray
The scrub wrens in the undergrowth chirping their nest must be somewhere nearby
On this warm morning in September with the sun shining in the clear sky.
A warm day in the wooded hills in September with the slightest hint of a breeze
The crimson rosellas are chirping amongst the gum and wattle trees
And kookaburras at their border calling their voices one cannot mistake
One of the first heard in the woodland they even call before daybreak.
The Asian myna not the finest songster is proclaiming his territory
And the red wattlebirds utter their hoarse calls their names from their fleshy jewellery
And the butcherbird pipes in the gully he has his borders to defend
At nesting time he becomes aggressive and his own kind not even his friend.
A warm sunny day in September in a place that to Nature belong
The wooded hill scent of flowers and blossoms and resound to the lilt of bird song
The golden billed blackbird is piping amongst the leafy greenery
And I have good cause to be happy for beauty is all around me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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From Early To Mid Spring
The weather changeable from early to mid Spring
But so nice to hear the nesting songbirds sing
In the town park in the gray dawn of the day
Song in their breeding season to defend territory a huge part seems to play
Yesterday we had some heavy showers of rain
But today the sun shines in the sky again
The cooler weather of the Winter all but gone
And the days will become warmer as the Spring goes on
The parks and paddocks looking lush and green
And Nature at her very finest seen
In early Spring the white backed magpie he pipes day and night
And the blackbird can be heard at dawn's first light
And magpie larks build their cup shaped nest on branch of tree
And all day long sing out pee wee pee wee.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Mopoke Mopoke Is All It Has To Say
In the still of night I hear the boobook cry
Mopoke mopoke in the parkland nearby
Mopoke mopoke is all it has to say
The bird that hides from the bright lamp of day
A voice quite unmelodiuos though clear
That in the night time one does often hear
An owl that the small songbirds greatly fear
They fly from their roosting perch when boobook's near
Small enough for to kill and delicious for to eat
To boobook's taste buds quite a tasty treat
With killer claws and a deadly hooked bill
The boobook owl is out hunting for to kill
Mopoke mopoke echoes in the night sky
The boobook owl hunts in the park nearby.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Breeding Season Of The Spur Winged Plovers
The spur winged plovers breed in depths of Winter
And in the night you often hear them cry
Perhaps they scream at fox who is out hunting
As in the darkness he goes prowling by?
To where their eggs are far too close for comfort
Their alarm calls re-echo in the sky
And their shrill voices can be heard for some distance
As above their territory they scream and fly.
They do not waste their energy on nest building
And on the ground their green blotched eggs they lay
And in the breeding season they are wary
You hear them every night and every day.
When their chicks are young the plovers are quite fearless
And from their borders chase others away
They mob the currawongs and kites and kookaburras
And other birds who on their young might prey.
It is the breeding season of the spur winged plovers
And in the night their shrill voices you hear
Perhaps at fox out hunting they are screaming
As to where their eggs are he is prowling near.
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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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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In Fancy I Hear
In fancy i hear the male snipe in his courtship display
O'er the rushy fields on a calm night in May
With his tail as he flies he makes a goat like bleating sound
That echoes in the sky above his breeding ground,
Above his breeding ground perhaps 'tis his territory he advertise
That the more sound he make the bigger his size
He sends out a warning across the night sky
To neighbouring snipes who are listening nearby
In the rank grass by the drain her blotched eggs warm neath her breast
His secretive brown wife she sits on her nest
Whilst her mate in the dark sky he flies to and fro
Making goat like bleating sounds to leave other snipes know
That this is his territory and all through the night
He sends out a warning in the dim moonlight.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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In Matty Owens Bog
The pipe of the curlew I fancy I hear
In Matty Owens bog many miles north of here
In the calm of a June evening melodious and clear
In Summer a beautiful time of year
By the watery bog hole with her blotched eggs neath her breast
Cloaked by the rank rushes his quiet wife sits on her nest
The curlews of the future to life she will bring
The beauty of Nature is an amazing thing.
The pink breasted bullfinch so lovely to see
Perched on a high branch of a silver birch tree
One that one could stand and admire all day long
The beautiful bird with an ordinary song.
In the river pool the moorhen utters her shrill warning cry
To her young to alert them of danger nearby
Three tiny dark chicks with red faces mum's warning does heed
And swim into cover to hide in the reed.
Above Matty Owens bog in the still of the night
The male snipe with his tail in the Summer moonlight
He proclaims his territory in the night sky
And drums out a warning to other male snipe as he fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On The Second Week Of September
Across the high green paddocks the freshening winds blow
In the sunshine of September near where the river waters crawl slow
Near the end of it's journey the deep salty sea
The river water like us fulfil their life's destiny.
A pair of crows are building their stick nest high on a gum tree
And the mud nesting magpie lark known to some as pee wee
Are singing out pee wee their familiar song
Some voices of Nature one cannot get wrong.
On the second week of September in the early Spring
The nesting songbirds chirp and whistle and sing
With young to be raised and borders to defend
The circle of Nature does not have an end.
I do feel quite grateful as the word can be
That another Spring I have lived for to see
For the natural beauty to look at that's free
Of Nature herself who is all around me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Spring's First Day
The sun shines in the sky of blue and gray
It is a cool and rather breezy day
The magpie lark in the Townpark does sing
Pee wee pee wee on the first day of Spring.
The Goddess of Spring she flew in overnight
And no one see her in her silent flight
She is in the South for her annual three months stay
The warmer weather soon will come our way.
In her stick nest on the blackwood the magpie her eggs incubate
Her territory is guarded by her mate
He warns the other magpies in his flute like song
That this patch of ground to her and him belong.
Were I a poet to read or to recite
A song of welcome to the Spring I'd write
To the Goddess of Spring who spreads around her green
No greater beauty than her's I have seen.
The day is windy, sunny, bright and clear
And Spring is in the Southern Hemisphere
And the wattle trees laden in their blooms of gold
Stirring in the breezes lovely to behold.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Into The Last Month Of Winter
Into the last month of Winter and the wattles cloaked in yellow flowers in bloom
And pink flowers on the camellias and yellow flowers on the broom
And all through the night the white backed magpies sing
On the third week of August coming up to the Spring
On the third week of August in the Southern Hemisphere
One does have a sense that Spring is quite near
The paddocks and parklands are looking quite green
And fragile pink flowers on the fruit trees are seen
Into the third week of August and birds sing in the rain
And all through the night frogs sing in pond and drain
And in the calm of the night in the parkland nearby
The breeding spur wing plovers in their territory cry
And all through the night on the moonlit gum trees
The songs of the magpies carry in the breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Such Beautiful Weather
The wattlebirds calling on the flowering gum trees
On a beautiful day in mid Winter of around eighteen degrees
Such beautiful weather for the time of year
Six weeks to September and Spring is drawing near
A pair of magpies with nesting material for their nest nearby
Make a whirring sound with their wings as they fly
Their young will be fully fledsged by early Spring
The wonders of Nature is a marvellous thing
With black, gold and gray feathers one cannot get wrong
The beautiful bird with the ordinary song
The new holland honeyeater searching for insects and nectar their chirpings one can hear
On a beautiful day for July of the year
September and Spring it is not far away
And we ought to feel glad for this beautiful day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Oh Sing Me A Song Of Nature
Oh sing me of Nature's great beauty of sunlight on flowering gum trees
And the sweet scents of Nature's own perfume that wafts in the freshening breeze
And sing of the wildborn creatures the call of the boobook owl at night
And the wild cry of the brushtail possum on the blackwood tree in the moonlight,
'Tis only of love that you sing of the bloke who yearns for the love of his life
The one who left him heavy hearted for to become another man's wife
I do grow tired of listening to love songs how come few of Nature do sing
The cold starry nights of the Winter the beautiful birdsong of Spring,
The warm balmy days of the Summer the cool breezy evenings of the Fall
Oh sing me a song of our Earth Mother since she is the greatest of all,
The beauty of Nature's great ocean the beach on a warm Summer's day
The coolness of a coastal evening and the freshness of the ocean spray,
Oh do sing me a song of Nature and brighten my day with good cheer
I've grown tired of meaningless love songs such stuff i do not wish to hear.
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
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