The Little Country Town
The creek down to a trickle and the paddocks looking brown
And not much ever seems to happen in the Little Country Town
lived in by the descendants of the early settlers who settled here a century ago
Of the bigger World out there few of them wish to know.
At night the recent happenings discussed in the local pub
News of the local cricketers or the local football club
Where the personal lives of those they know to them never taboo
What is happenning in the town of late who is having sex with who?
The visual or the literary arts never discussed at all
It has to be a local scandal that or bowls cricket or football
In little country towns one might say that creative types are rare
They are looked on with suspicion the culturally aware.
The creek down to a trickle and bone dry every drain
And in the local church on sunday the Reverend prays for rain
In the Main Street all is so quiet and few cars pass up and down
And life goes on as usual in the Little Country Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He Feels The Time Is Ripe
Where many do live for local renown
The ageing fringe dweller in the old country town
Has never played football with the local club
And always drinks on his own when he is in the pub.
Since he does not talk about the local club's latest loss or win
He remains an outsider and does not fit in
Though he has lived here for ten years as an outsider he remain
The status of a local he has yet to attain.
He feels a decade of his life enough to have spent here
He will move to the bigger town early next year
This not a town for one such as he an artist and a talented man
More suited to a footballer or a football fan.
In the old country town he does not have a friend
And his stay in the place is coming to an end
In his early to mid fifties his best days long gone
And he feels the time is ripe for him to move on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Just An Ordinary Fellow
His life revolves around work his mates and football
But his wife and children he seldom does talk of at all
Each evening after work he calls to the pub
Or else to the bar-room of the Football Club.
In his early to mid thirties he is well liked in the town
To have kicked five goals in the local Grand Final is his one claim to renown
And though his team did not win the flag he earned his local fame
With a best on ground display on a beaten side he made for himself a name.
His wife takes care of the children a boy of four and a girl of three
She is not well known in the town few as down to earth as she
So different from her husband she's never seen at the pub
And she is not a member of any local club.
He is a well liked character and in the town well known
And the local people say of him he is one of our own
Not a bad husband and father though better than him not hard to find
Just an ordinary fellow in his own way he is kind.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Town Poets
They have the ticket draw for the football club
But never a poets hour at the local pub
'Twould seem that cricket and football are the in thing
And horse racing at the back end of the Spring
But of course the Town poets have their own poetry night
On saturday evenings at the bowling club rooms their poems they recite
The local lovers of poetry their night out enjoy
To watch local favourite poets such as Rina, Kate and Roy
Reciting their poetry and strutting their stuff
It cannot be said of them not quite good enough
Quite talented poets the tops of the Town
Young poets in their thirties who dream of renown
And recite their poems in the rooms of the bowling club
Whilst it's a different scene at the Town's biggest pub.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The Far Away Town
The cold northern winds blowing and the rain bucketing down
And the storm-water drains overflowing in the far away town
On the dimly lit main street on a wet Autumn night
Few cars or trucks pass up and down and not a person in sight
But in the local pub there is music, dance and song
And with the ballad singer the patrons happily sing along
In the rural town on a wet saturday night far inland from the sea
The local pub where the locals are does seem the place to be
For any form of socializing for those who enjoy such a thing
Some men when drunk they like to fight some like to dance and sing
The chilly wind of late Autumn has Winter in it's cry
And the thundery rain is pouring down from the moonless night sky
But in the local pub 'tis standing room only and not a vacant seat
And the music and pub din from there echoes down the quiet street.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Locals Are The Premiers
Above the Local oval for twelve months will fly the Premiership flag
The Locals are the Premiers they can afford to brag
Down at the Footy Club they are celebrating and singing the Club song
The fans are in a party mood they will sing all night long.
The Locals are the Premiers the champion team this year
Their fans are celebrating they will drink heaps of beer
Since the final siren was blown today the fans have sung long and loud
The Local team have won the day and have done themselves proud.
Lets hear it for the Premiers a mighty hip hooray
The local football fans are cheering in this their greatest day
For the winners joy and the losers heartache that's life as some would say
Life has it's good and bad times and it has always been this way.
The local football team are Premiers and their fans celebrate
Two decades since the last flag was won but it was a worth the wait
The town pubs are in a festive mood they will party on all night
And down at the Football Club Rooms the fans whoop in delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Ghost Town
This town is becoming like a ghost town;
Many of our local shops are closing down.
Once upon a time, this town was really hopping,
But now people go elsewhere for their shopping.
The life from our town has been sucked out,
And nowadays there is hardly anyone about.
Local people go to other towns and cities:
That it has ended up this way, is a real pity.
The town's population is rapidly growing,
But trade in our shops is rapidly slowing.
Many units stand empty for years and years:
Owners found the rents were just way too dear.
We need some life breathed back into town;
We need to turn this situation back around.
Of help for new businesses, we need much more,
So that our town can be the place it was before.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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If you take the more general role of going to local stations around the country in Montana or South Carolina or wherever, and start in the local news, it's a lot more difficult to get to the stories that you want to really cover.
quote by Maria Menounos
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Local Outsider
To the local community he is not one of their own
And apart from them in every way he has grown
He does not share their interests of work, sports, small talk, drinking and football
In fact with them in common he has nothing at all.
He works in the big town some twenty miles away
But he returns to his home in the small town every day
Single in his mid twenties in the peak of his prime
And he does feel happy at least most of the time.
A spiritual person and an artist at heart
In community meetings and projects he never takes part
He draws and sketches at night and his art readily sell
And as a hobby artist he is doing well.
He was born in the small town but it does seem sad to say
That as a local outsider he is destined to stay
Even with those he grew up with little in common he share
He is an endangered species and his type are rare.
He is not a student of sports or football
And who won last year's Grand Final he does not recall
And though his praises none of the other locals do sing
He is his own man and he does his own thing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Local television and local TV news isn't telling the voters about local candidates.
quote by Reed Hundt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One of my beliefs is that there are certain institutions within a community which stand for the spirit and heart of that community, there's the church, the local football team, the local pub and the theatre.
quote by David Soul
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Hero Is A Well Known Local
The one who is hailed by the masses will never be a hero to you
Your hero is a quiet achiever to his dedications he's true
An honest and a hard working person and one of high integrity
You have placed him on a pedestal to you there's none greater than he.
Your hero is a well known local and in his work he takes great pride
He is admired and respected by many but he'll never be known far and wide
He's one who leads by good example one to help you out if he could
And for the local community he is one who has done so much good.
He is such a down to earth person and none more hard working than he
One who derives much satisfaction in each sporting local victory
A generous and a likeable fellow and a familiar face of the Town
He's happy to be a well known local and he does not yearn for World-wide renown.
I do like your sort of a hero a person that you do know well
Of any huge business adventures he does not have stories to tell
When you say you'll follow in his footsteps you are walking on solid ground
Why look up to a World renowned hero when there's a local hero to be found.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Local Hero
I was driving through my hometown
I was just kinda killin time
When I seen a face staring out of a black velvet painting
From the window of the five and dime
I couldnt quite recall the name
But the pose looked familiar to me
So I asked the salesgirl who was that man
Between the doberman and bruce lee?
She said just a local hero
Local hero she said with a smile
Yeah a local hero he used to live here for a while
I met a stranger dressed in black
At the train station
He said son your soul can be saved
Theres a beautiful women nights of low livin
And some dangerous money to be made
Theres a big town cross the whiskey line
And if we turn the right card up
They make us boss the devil pays off
And them folks that are real hard up
They get their local hero
Somebody with the right style
They get their local hero
Somebody with just the right smile
Well I learned my job I learned it well
Fit myself with religion and a story to tell
First they made me the king then they made me pope
Then they brought the rope
I woke to a gypsy girl sayin drink this
Well my hands had lost all sensation
These days Im feeling all right
cept I cant tell my courage from my desperation
From the tainted chalice
Well I drunk some heady wine
Tonight Im layin here
But theres something in my ear
Sayin theres a little town just beneath the floodline
Needs a local hero
Somebody with the right style
Lookin for a local hero
Someone with the right smile
Local hero local hero she said with a smile
Local hero he used to live here for a while
Lisa lowell, backing vocals
Patti scialfa, backing vocals
Soozie tyrell, backing vocals
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Woman Of Rhyme
She is not what you'd call beautiful though still in her prime
And to those who know her she is known as The Woman of Rhyme
In Local Literary circles not even one of note
As she does not fit the bill of the Modern Poet.
But the rhyme from her gushes and it races along
And in five minutes flat she can pen you a song
And though not classified as a poet her verse is not doggerel
And with her gift of rhyme one might say she does well.
Some fifty years ago she would have known fame
And her's would have been a great Literary name
But rhyme it would seem has passed it's use by date
And what's now seen as old fashioned was once seen as great.
Even the best of the Local modern poets seem strangers to renown
But then such is life in a football mad Town
In the pubs the names of famed poets and artists they never recall
Their small talk mostly of sports, footballers and football.
For what she is good at she is not recognized
But having said that I am not really surprised
since rhyme verse has long passed it's glorious time
And none to applaud the young Woman of Rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The capacity of the commonwealth government created under the local constitution to exercise governmental powers in local affairs is like that of local government in the states of the union in regard to non-federal affairs at the local level.
quote by Dick Thornburgh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Town And Country
Touched by a butterfly on my way home
Flying who knows where
Walking down that dusty road
Without a care
The sun was shining up in the country
And bells were ringing downtown
Clouds were moving slow and lazy
While I was kicking around
And feeling out the town and the country
Feeling out the town and the country
Up on the hill I got a better look
I watched the river run brown (watched the river run brown)
And then I heard those songbirds singing
The country sound
When I got home I sat in my kitchen
And turned the television on (turned the TV on)
The news wasn't good so I didn't listen
I started clicking around
Thinking of the town and the country
I was thinking of the town and the country
Thinking of the town and the country
In the morning everything will be the same
Open up your world (watch the children play)
In the sun or rain
Thinking of the town and the country
A thinking of the town and the country
I was thinking of the town and the country (fade)
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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MaCarthur
Between Hamilton and Port Fairy in a scenic Countryside
Where on a bright and a sunny day one can see for far and wide
Is the Township of MaCarthur it is a quiet old place
But if you are a local there your's is a well known face
It seems more like a Village than a quiet old Country Town
And on the Hamilton - Port Fairy roadway few cars pass up and down
Surrounded by farming country and the people who live there
Must consider themselves lucky since they breathe clean country air
Just nine kilometres from Mt Eccles where marsupials abound
Where koalas, grey kangaroos and wallabies in large numbers are to be found
In MaCarthur in Victoria in the Springtime of the year
The grey shrike thrush and the magpie are birds one does often hear
And in the roadside paddocks in their earth stained feathers of white
The long billed corellas digging for their food are a fairly common sight.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Sports As In Life
The town decorated in the colours of the local football club for the weekend's big game
Suppose in sports as in life it is all about winning and fame
The local footballers are playing for renown
For the fans and love of self glory and love of the Hometown
And for love of the club colours they proudly do wear
The very thought of losing even seems hard to bear
To the uninterested 'tis just another game of football
But in sports as in life the winners seem to take all
Of the admiration and fame and of singing their praises their fans never tire
And even gallant losers so few seem to admire
To be graceful in defeat to little does amount
In sports as in life only winners seem to count
At the weekend they play for the trophy and their self glory and sporting renown
And for their sporting succes hungry fans and for love of their Hometown.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Young David The Under Fourteen
With the local football club he plays under fourteen
In their football colours the black, brown and green
He dreams in the A F L he will star one day
Against Australia's finest he will be picked to play.
Everytime I see young David he's with the egg shaped ball
Playing by himself or with other boys in the park for his age he is tall
His dream is to play as number one ruckman for his favourite team Geelong
Enjoying a great victory as he sings the Club song.
Most boys of his age have a wish or a dream
To win a gold medal or play with a top football team
But not all dreams do come true everyone can't know fame
Still it is nice to dream of great things just the same.
He is the top ruckboy in his football team
And as a player of promise he knows local esteem
But few good juvenile players into great players grow
And young David he still has a long way to go.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Our Small Town
Love going for walks around town
A small town a holler from the big city
The many old building lining the main street
Which by the way isn't main street that's a block away
From the small library to the high school a jot to get to
The sidewalks resemble the old boardwalks from yesteryear
The shops vary as the street winds to the highway
The country air blows thru the street full of manure
Good ole air, they say around here
The small diner with the local farmers dwell at
Talking of this year's events from farming to politics
The ladies at the sew shop talking gossip
It's amazing how time don't change as years pass
Every year the town picnic to the 4th July jamboree
To the harvest dance and everything in between
Small town people living the old time ways
Wishing every town was as good as it
Walking thru saying hey to neighbors all around
Can make everyday a good day
Seeing people in the park enjoying the kids play
The banner welcoming you to our small town
Small town America, loving it, living it
poem by Michael Peterson
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Greg
Greg a man of medium height and build is in his late sixties with the silver of time in his hair
In the early sixties he left his old Hometown in England for to experience life in the big World out there
He never did return to Scunthorpe or again set foot on his old Homeland shore
He grows old in this southern Country where one day his bones will rest forever more.
His only child a daughter has a teenage son and daughter and as for Bella his ex wife
Three years ago she married her lover since he is the great love of her life
And Greg lives alone in a Melbourne eastern Suburb in a two room flat he reside
A kind hearted and honest fellow of far off old England with nothing in his life for to hide.
But his English accent is still with him to his heritage a give away
The tongue of his old Mother Country until his end with him will stay
He lives off of his retirement pension his main interests greyhound racing and Aussie Rules football
With a great memory for names and faces past happenings he can readily recall.
On Saturday evening Greg goes to the Local Pub for a few drinks and a chat with his mates
And the main topic is Aussie Rules football the great games and the footballing greats
He seldom ever talks of England I'm a naturalized Aussie he say
I will live out my years in this Country and in Aussie soil my bones will lay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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