Perhaps I'll Never Again See Old Clara Mountain
I'm getting on in years and looking older even than my age of two years with three score
And perhaps I'll never again see old Clara Mountain and climb the high fields up through Claramore
In Claraghtalea I started my life's journey but I'm not to know where and when that journey will end
In sixty two years I've known a lot of people but not everyone I've known I'd call a friend
I often think about the Town of Millstreet where mine once was a fairly well known face
Though there today I well might be a stranger a stranger even in my old Homeplace
I am one of many migrants from Duhallow for to try my luck in the big World out there
Duhallow people are known to be travellers and one from there one could meet anywhere
I often think of those I went to school with many of them the grandparents of today
Perhaps the years have left them looking older even some of them with the departed lay
It has been many years since I've last seen them the years eventually do tell on all
On looking back our young years went so quickly and for everyone of us a final Fall
Perhaps I'll never again see old Clara Mountain or walk in the fields where the rank rushes grow
In Claraghatlea I began my life's journey but where and when that journey will end I'm not to know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Donal Hickey
We were in the same classroom in Millstreet Primary school
And Donal was a clever boy he never once sat on the dunce's stool
He still lives in the old home in Inchaleigh though I live far away
From Clara hill near Millstreet Town and the fields of Claraghatlea.
He has worked in the Cork Marts for many years three decades maybe more
And he is well into his fifties now and of years near the three score
A hunting man he knows the countryside for miles around
And he could tell you where the earth of fox or badger would be found.
I last met Donal Hickey almost two decades ago
On a November sunday cold and gray the stream bank high did flow
And Clara with the bracken face he wore a cloak of fog
Out hunting with his terriers in Jack the Master's bog.
One who lives close to Nature and of Nature much he know
On sunday he's out hunting rain, hail, sunshine or snow
He keep the best fox terriers the best for miles around
Brave and fearless little hunters for fox they go to ground.
One of the nicest people that one could wish to meet
He still lives in the old homeplace at Inchaleigh in Millstreet
In that green and fertile countryside where the Finnow waters flow
And we were in the same classroom more than forty years ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Though I've Done My Share Of Travel
Though I've done my share of travel I don't have much to show of Worldly gain
And 'tis been awhile and many Seasons since I've seen old Clara in the rain
And the fog crawl down the mountain on days cold enough to snow
And Finnow swollen by stormwater through the old fields bank high flow.
Though I've done my share of travel I cannot boast of Worldly success
And the judgemental social judges I have failed to impress
But worse for me than not knowing wealth and fame as I did crave for renown
Is to know I'd be a stranger now in Millstreet my Hometown.
I've done my share of travel beyond Duhallow's countryside
And I've mixed with many races people from places far and wide
And they still talk of their old Homelands many miles beyond the sea
The nostalgia for their old Hometowns in them as much as me.
For my travels and my years of life can't say I have much to show
And what success feels like I must admit I am not one who does know
And it has been more than twenty years since I've seen Finnow in flood of brown
Bank high flowing in the old fields just west of Millstreet Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Peggy O Deere
Sad am I so sad to hear
About the death of Mary O's daughter Peggy O Deere
From her old Hometown many miles away
Her remains in Dublin lay.
I knew her since I was a Primary school going boy
She was five or six years older than I
She was one I used to meet
On the road west of Millstreet.
Cycling to and from the Millstreet convent years ago
She always smiled and said hello,
Always in a happy mood
Never knew her to be sour or rude.
A beautiful teenager with shoulder length dark hair
Always happy and free of care
In my memory she did not age or gray
And I still see her as young today
In Claraghatlea by Clara hill
Memories of her living still
Always smiling and free of care
And people like her far too rare.
Sad am I so sad to hear
Of the death of Peggy O Deere
The lovely girl I used to know
In my school days years ago.
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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The Boys I Went To School With
We played football in the school yard and we swam in the Finnow
But the years go by so quickly and to father time we bow
And the boys I went to school with perhaps now looking gray
And many of them from the Homeland shore like me live far away.
Many of the boys I went to school with and that's going back more than four decades in time
Are now ageing grand fathers and years beyond their prime
And those legs that could move so quickly some forty years ago
Now feeling tired and heavy and their fastest pace is slow.
The boys I went to school with have known a better day
And that time takes care of everyone it would be fair to say
Our young years went too quickly and time just flitted by
And on looking back it seems like only yesterday when I was a school boy.
Some of the boys I went to school with to the grim reaper have gone
But life back in the old Hometown as usual carries on
And in the fields near Millstreet Town where the rank rushes grow
The Finnow on towards Drishane and the Blackwater flow.
Most of the boys I went to school with I have not seen for years
But for my fading memories I don't have any tears
We played football in the school yard and in Summer swam in the Finnow
But the years go by so quickly and to father time we bow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Wave From Jimmy Sullivan
A wave from Jimmy Sullivan in Millstreet far away
A nice and spontaneous gesture that did help to make my day
From Clara road one must presume in view of Clara hill
It brought back the old memories as if time had stood still.
When we played Soccer and Gaelic football some twenty years ago
Though our old legs ageing back then nowadays are far more slow
But Jimmy looking fit and well despite the march of time
He was a quick and elusive player when he was in his prime.
One of those lucky people who has a sense of place
In Millstreet Town and Parish his is a well known face
He never will leave Millstreet in Millstreet he will stay
And in his beloved Town of Millstreet he will grow old and gray.
From life i do feel hardened and i feel too old for tears
But that wave from Jimmy Sullivan it took me back the years
To when we were young and fitter and we chased the ball around
In the Inch field at Claraghatlea back then our football ground.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Wet August Day In Millstreet
From Claramore the rill in flood flow brown
Through Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
And dark to gray rain clouds across the sky
Tell that more heavy showers of rain are nigh.
You know that bird to whom the voice belong
When you hear the dipper sing his scratchy song
He pipe his loudest when the flood is high
And the wet conditions he seem to enjoy.
The last thing that the farmer needs is rain
A hungry Winter for his stock again
In August only four or five days dry
And half of his hay crop rotted in July.
And yet in all of his years he has not seen
His fields in August quite so lush and green
And he can only hope for a good Fall
And that September will be drier after all.
O'er rushy fields by where the rivers meet
Perhaps a mile from the Town of Millstreet
The little lark of Humankind quite shy
Above the rain clouds carolling as he fly.
The Winter months the Duhallow farmer fear
The very wet Summer has cost him dear
And from Claramore the rill in flood flow brown
Through Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Dying Ex Football Champion
Around his bed his friends and family but of them he's not aware
His life's journey about to end old Joe the ex footballer player
On his back his eyes closed to his surroundings the life from him ebbing away
Last month he celebrated his eightieth birthday and today his life's final day.
Pre-deceased by his wife Mel she died five years ago
The last two years of his life's journey for him painful and slow
Most of those he played with and against in his football years to the Reaper long gone
But like the battler that he is to the end he's battling on.
Fifty five years ago the Captain of the great Premiership team
By football fans from near and far he was held in high esteem
But time takes care of everyone and everyone means all
And time has also taken toll of the champion of football.
Around his bed his friends and family a silent vigil keep
The end of his life's journey no more than an hour away he is in his final sleep
'Tis a fact those who love life do find it hard to die
But 'tis also a fact that all human beings are mortals and facts do never lie.
poem by Francis Duggan
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When People Ask Me Where I Come From
I am just a peasant fellow without pretension to renown
But in some ways I feel lucky I was raised near Millstreet Town
And if anybody ask me where are you from anyway?
I tell them I come from Millstreet from a place called Claraghatlea.
Claraghatlea that sounds a strange name and where the hecks might Millstreet be?
I tell them a Town in North Cork inland distant from the sea
In green and fertile Duhallow with high mountains all around
Where you can view the finest scenery when you climb the higher ground.
Of Millstreet you paint a good picture but how do it compare to here?
We only read of wet Ireland where the skies are seldom clear
Not much point in pretty scenery if the weather's seldom fine
Give me Queensland and warm weather, golden beaches and sunshine.
With them I don't try to argue each to their own point of view
And what they read of Irish weather in some ways is partly true
But I have often been to Queensland and thought the climate hot and dry
And even in cooler Victoria risk of skin cancer is high.
When people ask me where I come from my heritage I don't deny
I tell them I come from Millstreet twelve thousand miles north as plane fly
Winter months were wet and frosty and in Spring some heavy showers
But from May onwards so much beauty, fields and gardens full of flowers.
It is Spring now in Victoria and today is such a pleasant day
And the grey shrike thrush is whistling in the wood across the way
it is almost perfect weather a high of twenty degrees
And the nestling birds are chirping in their nests high on the trees.
Wish today could last forever but wishing cannot make it be
In the Summer temperatures soar to a high of forty three
And this a cool part of Australia further north it's hot all year
And to some parts rain is a stranger and the drought can hit severe.
When people ask me where I come from west of Millstreet Town I say
In green and fertile Duhallow in a place called Claraghatlea
This Claraghatlea sounds such a strange name and where the hecks might Millstreet be?
I tell them by Clara mountain inland distant from the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Boys And Girls I Went To School With
The boys and girls I went to school with from me now far away
And even some of them not living now where the dead are they lay
And in distant flights of fancy I fancy I see them yet
And them I still remember and them I won't forget.
The boys and girls I went to school with the years have left them slow
And were I to meet them on the street perhaps them I''d not know
For the years they leave us looking older and there''s no turning back the hands of time
And those I went to school with like me now long past their prime.
Many of the boys and girls I went to school with live distant from Millstreet
And we well might be strangers now if by chance we did meet
In my mental pictures of them they have not aged a day
But reality is different and 'tis always been that way.
Many of the boys and girls I went to school with in Millstreet our Home -town
Have left that green old countryside where Finnow babbles down
For to join with the great Blackwater on it''s journey to the sea
Still their innocence and youthfulness will always be with me.
The changes keep on happening and nothing seems to last
Still we cling on to our memories and we can''t deny our past
And though we may now be strangers were we to meet again
The boys and girls I went to school with young in my thoughts remain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Now A Memory Of The Past
The travellers parked their romany horse drawn vans at the Shannaknock Cross when when frosted fields were bare
But despite the cold and damp weather they did not seem to have a care
Their pinto horses with ropes tied to trees munched on bunches of hay
And old Clara Hill wore his hat of snow on a cold February day
The coldness of the Winter chill was in the frosty air
A week before the first of March and Millstreet Town Horse Fair
The by roads of Duhallow they had travelled up and down
On their way to the big horse fair that was held in Millstreet Town
Time does not wait for anyone and leaves us looking older and gray
But the good memories of our childhood years till death with us will stay
I loved them for their love of poetry, song and music and life they did enjoy
But the sixties brought great change to Duhallow where I lived as a boy
The late twentieth century to Ireland brought great changes and few things seem to last
And their romany vans and pinto horses now a memory of the past.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Just Old Memories
On Clara's slopes in mid July i ate the whortleberry
And the splendid views i do recall towards the hills of East Kerry
The whortleberry small blue fruits that ripened on the heather
From late June until late July in changeable Summer weather.
With Pudsy our brown cattle dog where i went she did follow
The canine friend of my young years back there in old Duhallow
The family pets though decades dead we always do remember
Memories of them live on in us to our life's last December.
Just memories of what used to be though the past has gone forever
Though nostalgic links for many seem impossible to sever
In flights of fancy in the high wood at Claramore i hear the song birds singing
And the carolling lark above the hill up to the clouds is winging.
To climb Clara hill in June and July there was a special reason
The whortleberries ripe to eat their's is not a long Season
Just memories of what used to be when i was a young fellow
A wild one with the flush of youth but the years have left me mellow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Had A Dream 2
I had a dream many years ago;
countless people would know my name
and many would appreciate
all the things I did.
As the years turned into a score,
I wondered if my dream
was only just a dream
and reality had something else in store for me.
Another score of years went by,
my dream began to lose its glow,
and the dark fringes of reality
slowly began to step in.
My dream seem to be an outcast now
something you didn’t associate with,
but it left among the embers
hot coals to ignite the flame again.
More years now went by
totalling to almost half a century
when the dream began to ignite
and become reality again.
The stars don’t seem so far out of reach
and the mountains not so hard to climb,
but was the journey worth it
now questions linger on my mind.
In the wastelands of my past
lie things I will never get back.
The bitter pill of payment for whatever
I may receive from my dream.
6 August 2010
poem by David Harris
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For Everyone The Life Journey
For everyone the life journey is different though a journey that for all of us must end
Along the way we meet some who do not like us But we also do make many a good friend
And on the journey we learn many lessons we've been learning from life since before we did crawl
And every day we live in life for us a lesson and that applies to you and me and all
And on our life journey we make many mistakes and for every one of them some price to pay
But we must struggle onwards towards the finish and every dawning for us a new day
For many life's road more uphill than downhill it is a hard journey to undertake
We have the good days and we have the bad days and every dawn to a new challenge we wake
Tomorrow is another day they will tell you and tomorrow in it's own good time will come
But tomorrow will not be for everybody today's will be the last sunset for some
For every one of us life's journey is different so different for you as it is for me
And our thinking on most things are quite different we all look at life so very differently
For everyone the life journey has to end sometime but where or when we are not meant to know
For some it will end before they reach their prime years and for some when they are walking slow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sean Radley Is To Millstreet
What Pele was to Brazil or Caesar was to Rome
Sean Radley is to Millstreet the place I still call home
And he's not been a warrior or been known for football
But in that Town by Clara hill he's best loved one of all.
Sean Radley is a hero for kindness he has shown
And all around Duhallow by everyone he's known
And about him those who know him have no bad word to say
And to help out other people he go out of his way.
To the Millstreet Museum Society some of his spare time he devote
And about the history of Millstreet some fine articles he's wrote
As a humanitarian and historian Sean Radley earned his fame
And all around Duhallow his is a well known name.
What Caesar was to Italy or Pele was to Brazil
Sean Radley is to Millstreet that Town by Clara hill
And he's not been a warrior or been known for football
But in Millstreet in Duhallow the best loved one of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I fancy I Can See You Old Duhallow
I fancy I can see you old Duhallow
The swallows o'er your fields wing to and fro
And cows from wintering houses out on pasture
And birds are whistling on the green hedgerow.
I lay upon the bracken slopes of Clara
I see the Kerry hills beyond Rathmore
A skylark sing above the silent mountain
His song bring back to me the joys of yore.
You wear your green cloak of the Spring Duhallow
And your beauty from the mountain side I see
From Millstreet to Kanturk on towards Newmarket
Kiskeam to Cullen and up to Knocknagree.
I often think about you green Duhallow
You were the first great love I ever knew
But many others loved you better than I
And they feel quite content to live with you.
I fancy I can see you old Duhallow
In your green groves the wild birds nest and sing
And swallows fly above your fields and meadows
And cuckoo pipes his fanfare of the Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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William Leary
William Leary is one of the famed Learys of Millstreet a Cork and Duhallow legend of the Gaelic Football game
He played football for Cork and his Club Millstreet and is now in the Duhallow sporting Hall of Fame
He once scored two goals in a Munster Final in Killarney a feat that is still talked of today
In his Gaelic Football career a remembered highlight though many great games the great one did play.
William Leary in his prime a dashing forward one of the great footballers of Millstreet
He proved a headache for opposing defenders with his ball skills he was so quick on his feet
And off of the field of play a successful business person beyond Millstreet known and liked far and wide
To his family and his many friends around Duhallow his many achievements are a sense of pride.
William Leary is now in his early seventies it has been some time since he has played football
One of the great Gaelic Footballers of Millstreet as those who watched him play can well recall
It has been four decades and a few years and that is looking back in time
When he cheered Millstreet hearts with his marvellous ball skills he was a speedy fellow in his prime.
Good to see him with his wife and family on the Millstreet web site on his induction into Duhallow's Hall of Fame
With honour he wore the Cork and Millstreet Jerseys and with honour he carries the famous Leary name
I watched him play when i was a young fellow and that is going back many years ago
He was a dashing forward in his prime years the one who left speedy defenders looking slow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Ceiling of Life
I want so many years, fifty, sixty;
More than death, more than life;
When we have an unexpected ceiling
Tumble down on us.
I want to see your hair after so many years,
In the glow after lands have passed
My forever journey has kept a sin
So well until half-light turns to darkness.
I want to learn like a trance,
An exit to heaven is the desirability,
The only dear journey,
The one flight I have hair for.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Millstreet's Ageing Heroes
I never was a Millstreet sporting icon or in any field of sport knew of renown
But I'm the one who is left to sing the praises of the sporting greats of Millstreet my Hometown
Many of Duhallow's finest sports people are from Millstreet they did the green and gold of their Club proud
In every Public Bar around Duhallow the poets and singers sung their praises loud
Nowadays not many sporting greats in Millstreet in Athletics or Gaelic Football
Of late so very few sporting successes for future generations to recall
Of sporting greats Millstreet had it's golden era but nothing lasts forever as they say
The youth in sports perhaps not interested and the former heroes have grown old and gray
In Gaelic Football as well as in Athletics Millstreet has produced many a famous name
The ageing heroes have grown stiffer and slower they had their time and they enjoyed their fame
We can only remember them with fondness lets hear it for the heroes of the past
But life goes on and only Nature is forever and nothing else does ever seem to last
Back there by the old mountains of Duhallow the people like the Seasons come and go
The heroes of past decades getting older the years have left them feeling stiff and slow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Makes you one completely
Makes you one completely.
Happy Anniversary To A Wonderful Couple
Lorna Layman and Dough de zilwa
44 years...almost half a century of glorious days
where stars did not struggle to shine....all the way
The special joys of sharing life's long journey together...
Braving its ups and downs with a love that was forever
...with the warm sweetness that touched your young heart
Many years ago when the journey you did boldy start
Today, May it replay gentle memroies that brought you together
Of the sweetest fragrance that dominated your lives forever.
Kids for the flavor with sweet memories made of bliss
A journey that started honorably and with a tender kiss!
Happy Wedding Anniversary and may you r journey be filled with more sweet fraagrance of love
from all of us in Riaydh
poem by Shirani Ibrahim
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