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
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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
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Our Nephew Thomas
Our nephew Thomas Duggan died at twenty three
And he is one I'll never meet or see
For he is one i never met before
And he is at rest now forever more
In distant Chicago in the U S A
From where i live a half a World away
His loss to his family time can only heal
My late brother John's son he has one brother Neil
I met his mother Nancy years ago
A lovely lady this for her a tragic blow
A devoted mother and to John a loving wife
She has a heavy cross to bear in life
He died in an accident in April of this year
Such sad news one would rather not to hear.
poem by Francis Duggan
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John Robinson
AIR -- "The Drunkard"
Come listen, friends, and hear a song,
It is a doleful one,
About a young man, dead and gone --
He died far away from home.
John Robinson this young man's name,
His age I cannot tell,
And he was loved by all his friends,
And he was known full well.
His father and mother being dead,
It left him an orphan boy,
When he was with his brother
His health failed him, poor boy.
Kind friends they thought 'twould do him good
To travel for his health;
To California he did go
With his Uncle Zera French.
He was not gone but a short time
When a letter his friends received;
It told how homesick Johnny was,
How he for home did grieve.
It said that he was getting worse,
And his money was nearly gone,
And if he did not soon return
Never more would he see home.
It said, "Dear Brother, will you please
Some money to me send,
For I fear I have not got enough
To bring me back again.
The doctor says I must soon return,
If I wish my home to see,
For if I stay my life is short,
For the air disagrees with me."
His brother Will the letter read,
It made his eyes grow dim.
"Dear brother, he shall soon return,
For I will go and fetch him."
This brother dear was very kind;
With money, he went with haste
For to bring him home again,
But Oh! he went too late.
For he was sick, and very bad --
Poor boy, he thought, no doubt,
If he came home in a smoking car
His money would hold out.
He started to come back alone --
He came one-third the way --
One evening in the car alone
His spirit fled away.
No friend was near to speak to him,
Or hear his dying moan;
How sad, how sad it must have been
To die there all alone;
No loving friends to soothe his brow,
Or ease his weary form;
Poor soul, poor soul is now at rest,
For his soul to heaven has gone.
Telegraph dispatch was sent his friends --
How sad were they to hear --
How their loved one died all alone,
In a car with no one near.
The brother brought his body home
To his friends that loved him best.
He's sleeping in their grave yard now
Let peace be e'er his rest.
poem by Julia A Moore
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The Day John Kennedy Died
I dreamed I was the president of these united states
I dreamed I replaced ignorance, stupidity and hate
I dreamed the perfect union and a perfect law, undenied
And most of all I dreamed I forgot the day john kennedy died
I dreamed that I could do the job that others hadnt done
I dreamed that I was uncorrupt and fair to everyone
I dreamed I wasnt gross or base, a criminal on the take
And most of all I dreamed I forgot the day john kennedy died
Oh, the day john kennedy died
Oh, the day john kennedy died
I remember where I was that day, I was upstate in a bar
The team from the university was playing football on tv
Then the screen want dead and the announcer said,
Theres been a tragedy
Theres are unconfirmed reports the presidents been shot
And he may be dead or dying.
Talking stopped, someone shouted, what!?
I ran out to the street
People were gathered everywhere saying,
Did you hear what they said on tv
And then a guy in a porsche with his radio hit his born
And told us the news
He said, the presidents dead, he was shot twice in the head
In dallas, and they dont know by whom.
I dreamed I was the president of these united states
I dreamed I was young and smart and it was not a waste
I dreamed that there was a point to life and to the human race
I dreamed that I could somehow comprehend that someone
Shot him in the face
Oh, the day john kennedy died
Oh, the day john kennedy died
Oh, the day john kennedy died
Oh, the day john kennedy died
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another Young Soldier
Another young soldier has died far away
An army representative will call on his mother today
For to tell her your son on the course of his duty has died
He served and died for his Country with his mates at his side.
Another war mother will grieve for her son
It will not matter to her if the battle was won
And it will not matter to her if her boy died brave
She will weep every time she will visit his grave.
Another young soldier to join the war dead
A bullet from a sniper hit him in the head
On his next birthday in June he would be twenty three
His loss a heavy cross to bear for his parents and members of his family.
Another young soldier may he rest in peace
At least from further suffering he has found release
Just one more to die in another man's war
On a bombed out back street in a city afar.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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
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To Debby On The Death Of Her Dad
To say sorry seems such an easy thing to say
But from you that won't take your sense of loss away
You have been burdened with a heavy cross
And time alone can only heal your sense of loss.
Old 98 for you it ended bad
The grim reaper from you he took your dad
I only can imagine how you must feel
But time the scars of sorrow always heal.
You've lost the hero of your childhood years
And he was one well worthy of your tears
But Debby your tears will bring to you relief
And help to heal your mental scars of grief.
Your father was a man I never knew
But he was one who meant so much to you
The life breath from his body may be gone
But his soul alive and well and living on.
I'm one of those with words who like to play
And to say sorry such an easy thing to say
And I can't feel the sense of loss you feel
And time itself the only thing that heal.
poem by Francis Duggan
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HIV/ AIDS Anecdotal Poems
She loved a man and he was young;
He loved her back and had some fun;
They married too and some years passed;
They both died young, left child orphan!
He was a trucker working hard;
He used to come home twice a month;
He was a wayward, smoker, drunk;
He died of AIDS, infecting wife!
A police husband’s wife was nurse;
The man gave HIV to her;
When he died, she took ART;
She died too when she stopped her drugs!
It was a jolly trip for boys;
They enjoyed well, sang, drank and danced;
Some strayed into the red-light zone;
All of them developed AIDS sometime!
Young boys and girls do venture young
To know what love-making’s about;
Adults have sex outside marriage;
And when AIDS strikes, they are soon dead!
Even the rich and literate
Succumb to pleasures that can kill;
Homosexuality, IDU
Can turn you sero-positive!
Why risk your one life precious most?
God wants the human race stay pure;
You cannot live by whims, fancies;
You are duty-bound till you die!
‘Avoid all risks of HIV exposure
Keep your mind, body’s composure’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-12-2011
poem by John Celes
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Eddie O Mahony
He never more will walk in the Town of Millstreet in St Mary's cemetery at peace he lay
Perhaps in his mid forties to his early fifties he did die young and it would be fair to say
Of him that he was really a nice person he made so many friends along life's way
And one day his lot it will be our lot as for each of us there is a final day.
In his younger years Eddie O Mahony played Soccer and Gaelic Football in Brian Sullivan's Mal Paso pub he was well known
His family and his many friends will mourn him and Murphy's Terrace and Millstreet Town has lost one of it's own
He seemed so young for to go to the reaper but suppose he was not meant for to grow old
But in the Mal Paso pub his old mates will recall him when stories of the good days will be told.
A youngish man he had so much to live for he did not live for to die as an old man
The reaper takes the young and old and ageing though short in time is the longest life span
One can only hope for Eddie that his end was peaceful that at his end he did not suffer pain
He was well known and well liked around Millstreet and with those who knew him good memories of him will remain.
Pre-deceased by his beloved father Dan O, Eddie is one his friends always will recall
In his younger years as i can well remember he played Sports, Soccer and Gaelic Football
He died as a young enough man that seems so sad of years he did not even reach three score
And he will be sadly missed from the Mal Paso and may he rest in peace forever more.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Pope John Paul II (A Biography Poem Sequence)
Karol Josef Wojtyla was
Born in Poland’s town, Wadowice,
On May,18th,1920,
Grew up to be remarkably!
The son of Pole army father,
And loving school-teacher mother,
He was athlete, soccer-player,
A dare-devil river-swimmer!
He loved to be a good actor;
Love for literature, a factor;
He worked part-time as stone-cutter,
As Nazis downed every shutter!
When eight-years’ old, his mother died;
When still quite young, his brother died;
When twenty years old, father died;
The loss of dear lives, he couldn’t hide!
His mother, brother, father died;
Nation was Nazi-occupied!
A quarry work, gave him the buck
The war deprived Karol good luck!
His mother’s death affected his
Life on earth that had turned amiss;
The violent blows opened up new
Spiritual depths of heart to view.
His father fell upon his knees
In prayer, asking God for peace;
This man had taught him what’s duty,
And explained things of mystery.
He saw the frenzied Nazis kill;
Yet, it was also holy will;
He drew from God his strength while ill;
His faith gave him a hearty fill!
He helped the Jews from Nazis’ hands;
He loved to travel across lands;
When call to priest-hood came one day,
From accident, in bed, he lay.
Ordained as priest in ’46,
Became Bishop in ’58,
Vicar capitular, even,
Cardinal in ’67.
He rose to be a good leader;
He was a poet and writer;
Communism was his one hate!
He was made Pope in ’78!
He was the first pope from Poland;
And shot in Peter’s Square, his land!
He prayed to Mother Mary and
Recovered through her divine hand!
He met assassin in prison,
Forgiving him, his murder-sin;
His talk to him was kept secret;
To youngsters, he opened his heart!
First World Youth Day was held in Rome;
With people young, he was at home;
They were to live by Bible’s Word,
And spread the message of Christ Lord.
He went to see the Holy Land!
His life was linked home Poland,
That gave him his Christian vision,
And on earth, his papal mission!
His heart had roots in Polish soil;
His antecedence, made him toil;
He was a modern global pope,
Who gave mankind, a special hope!
He was an intellectual man,
Who came out of the Vatican,
And founded churches everywhere;
And breathed for long, a friendly air!
He worked to make peace with all Jews;
He was a pope always in news;
He was the most popular pope;
Despite all darkness, he didn’t grope!
He raised his voice against evils;
He cautioned all against devils;
He listed out the mortal sins
That filled the modern man’s soul-bins!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-01-2009
poem by John Celes
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He Is That Man
He is that man who sent young men to die
In battle underneath a foreign sky
And wars are never won if lives are lost
In human life how can one count the cost.
He is that man who led the big parade
And to him went the victory accolade
The men who died for him are now forgot
And he the hero never fired one shot.
He is that man with hair of silvery gray
A hero then a hero still today
He took the fame the honour and the pride
And many young men for his ego died.
He is that man who with his wife on sunday
Go to the house of God to kneel and pray
But still the taint of sin with him will stay
Of young lives lost for him so far away.
The hurt of loss with mothers will remain
Due to this man who caused such grief and pain
He sent their sons beyond the sea to die
In battle underneath a foreign sky.
He is that man with hair of silvery gray
A hero then a hero still today
The men who died for him are now forgot
And he the hero never fired one shot.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On the Demise of Your Beloved Spouse…
Today, a suffering soul is free
From pain and strife of every kind;
God heard her prayers finally,
And freed her body, soul and mind!
The world doesn't know of your lady,
But you spent time and cared for her;
Today your world may look empty,
As your heart feels love lost forev'r!
A marriage is in heaven made;
What God had joined had long well stayed;
The love ‘midst spouses cannot fade,
As plans of God's are too well laid!
Now is the time to pray a lot
For your wife's soul to rest in peace;
In life, her war was quite well fought,
To free herself from her disease.
The separation means one thing:
‘Our earthly life will cease some day! '
The good times with her, you must sing,
And keep your grief and loss at bay.
All good or bad things see their end;
The good we do rescues our soul;
To God's decrees, we must all bend,
And in His ways, we play our role!
Though death is just a parting phase,
As we prepare to see God's face,
Let's do our duty to our race,
And find our way out of life's maze!
A much loved one is lost today;
The loss is great, leaving a void;
But with each one, God has His way;
We gotta live well in this world!
We got to live as per His code;
We must obey Him, young or old;
We must do all that God has told;
We must face death though weary, bold:
Like sheep with shepherd, join the fold!
Fondly dedicated to a doctor friend's
beloved wife's demise
Copyright by Dr John Celes 20-04-12
poem by John Celes
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Twenty Seven
Poor old Amy Winehouse
she has died far too young
a talented and gifted star
but addictive and highly strung.
She now joins those others
who left their fans in pain
like the great Jimi Hendrix
and Nirvanas Kurt Kobain.
They were so creative
but with minds not at rest
they hit the drink and drugs
when life put them to the test.
Janis Joplin was a great singer
who could really sing the Blues
but her life ended at twenty seven
from too much drugs and booze.
Jim Morrison from the Doors
died at that very same age
he drank himself into oblivion
to cope with his inner rage.
All these great artists gone
all died at the age of twenty seven
they struggled with their demons on earth
let's hope their at peace now in Heaven.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Yesterday's Hero
The news became big news and travelled far and wide
That the great sporting hero had suddenly died
He was buried with honours and at his graveside
The club President spoke of one who brought honour and pride
As Captain of the club some five decades ago
When he was the one everyone wished to know
In the football final he inspired the team
To bring to reality what had been a dream
He served up a marvellous footballing display
And in the Club's greatest victory he was man of the day
But time left him gray and the years left him slow
The one who was hero five decades ago
And on leaving the graveyard a young boy to his father did say
It was yesterday's hero they buried today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Our Brother John
He left Ireland in nineteen fifty two
Our brother John the man I barely knew
He was the eldest of the family
And the Homeland he was never more to see.
In life our brother John he journeyed far
He lived through peace time and he lived through war
In Korea with the Air Force of the U.S.A.
Far distant from the fields of Claraghatlea.
One of my sisters Mary wrote to me
She said our brother died with dignity
In death as in his life he showed his bravery
And at least now of his sufferings he's free.
Our brother John left two sons and a wife
And he worked hard all of his working life
Only in his sixties he seemed young to die
He was my hero when I was a boy.
From Millstreet thousands of sea miles away
Our brother John in a distant graveyard lay
And though I'd not seen him for more than thirty years
The news of his passing reduced me to tears.
He was the quiet man never spoke too loud
And of our brother John we felt so proud
In his death from his sufferings he found his release
And may he rest forevermore in peace.
poem by Francis Duggan
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William Upson
Air -- "The Major's Only Son"
Come all good people, far and near,
Oh, come and see what you can hear,
It's of a young man, true and brave,
Who is now sleeping in his grave.
Now, William Upson was his name --
If it's not that it's all the same --
He did enlist in the cruel strife,
And it caused him to lose his life.
He was Jesse Upson's eldest son,
His father loved his noble son;
This son was nineteen years of age,
In the rebellion he engaged.
His father said that he might go,
But his dear mother she said no.
"Stay at home, dear Billy," she said,
But oh, she could not turn his head.
For go he would, and go he did --
He would not do as his mother bid,
For he went away down South, there
Where he could not have his mother's care.
He went to Nashville, Tennessee,
There his kind friends he could not see;
He died among strangers, far away,
They knew not where his body lay.
He was taken sick and lived four weeks,
And oh, how his parents weep,
But now they must in sorrow mourn,
Billy has gone to his heaven home.
If his mother could have seen her son,
For she loved him, her darling one,
If she could heard his dying prayer,
It would ease her heart till she met him there.
It would relieved his mother's heart,
To have seen her son from this world depart,
And hear his noble words of love,
As he left this world for that above.
It will relieve his mother's heart,
That her son is laid in our grave yard;
Now she knows that his grave is near,
She will not shed so many tears.
She knows not that it was her son,
His coffin could not be opened --
It might be some one in his place,
For she could not see his noble face.
He enrolled in eighteen sixty-three,
The next day after Christmas eve;
He died in eighteen sixty-four,
Twenty-third of March, as I was told.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Loss
So, what do you
Expect?
Now that he's died
I write another
Poetry on him
As I've done
On all others
Like him…
Do you think
Another poetry
Would suffice
In expressing
The grief
I've been
Feeling…
In grieving him?
Let it be silent
Let it be sombre
Let it be as intense
As intensity can be
Yes, I'm mourning
His loss, for he has
Always been
My all time favourite,
And so I'm at a loss
How to express….
My sense of loss!
Maybe, you've
Guessed it
By now…
As you may have
Heard it
By now…
It's all over there
In the news…
People thronging in queues
To pay their last respects…
To the evergreen, enchanting
Ubiquitous enigma - the one and only
'King of Hearts' - Rajesh Khanna
(written yesterday evening after my husband broke the news to me that ‘Kaka' Ji is no more....I loved him as much as I loved Kishore)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Jean Hickey
Jean Hickey than me is a few years older I knew her long before she met and married Ted O Shea
And she went to live in Finnanefield in Kilcorney from Inchaleigh in Millstreet five or six miles away
I have not seen her for years but her I will remember until the reaper gives the call to me
Good people like her one does not wish to forget and she did not fade from my memory.
Jean Hickey always is the quiet achiever the quiet achiever in her own quiet way
She has helped so many people in their times of illness though of her good deeds she never has much to say
A nurse who is devoted to her calling and in her kind heart there is only good
And people like her invaluable to society for she would only help you if she could.
In the year 06 she will retire as a District Nurse and from the call of duty she will have earned her rest
And it will take a special person to replace her for at her job she is one of the best
But as we know people do not last forever and retirement one day comes to one and all
Though Jean she played her part and in no small way and she was there to answer every call.
In the year 06 from Nursing she's retiring one well might say a rest she is overdue
Jean Hickey always is the quiet achiever and to the corporal works of mercy she is true
In her years as district nurse she has cared for many ill people and the story of her life ought to be told
And of this marvellous woman it can be said that she is truly worth her weight in gold.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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
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Forever Young (Death Poem)
Adrenaline invincible speed empty road 3am,
Invisible tree stops speed & time forever.
Loved one’s anguish howl from 5am knock,
“Your baby died in a wreck on the highway”,
His 30 seconds of fame on the 8am news.
Life must go on for those not forever young,
Empty chair, empty life and broken hearts,
Missing him every second now forever old,
Anger at the waste of young life cut short.
poem by Ian Beckett
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