The Woman From Moorabbin
From her old homeplace of Moorabbin she lives far away
And though she feels that there she would be a stranger today
The memories of childhood with her does remain
And in fancy she visits the old suburb again.
Most of her childhood mentors in their long rest lay
Whilst most of those she grew up with hide their wrinkles and gray
That the passing of time bring the clock ticking on
And most of her school friends from Moorabbin have gone.
Though few in Moorabbin nowadays she would know
The past it goes with us to where-ever we go
In fancy her young friends she often does meet
And they play hide and seek in the park off the street.
'Tis now a shopping centre where she used to play
And the changes keep happening that's life as some do say
In Moorabbin today in the prime of the Spring
The golden billed blackbird on a wattle does sing.
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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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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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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What Happened To His Village
He was born just a short distance from Adelaide
And he could see the sea from his back door
And in his young days there were not many houses
But the years have brought great change to Semaphore.
His sea side Village has grown to a coastal suburb
And his old Homeplace has undergone great change
Where once were trees and paddocks now there's houses
A stranger to your old Homeplace seems strange.
What happened to the Village of his childhood
The paddock where he played in years ago
He only can refer now to his memories
Of peaceful place the Homeplace he once did know.
The cottage of his childhood gone forever
A doctor's surgery where once it stood
And not one know him he is now a stranger
In Semaphore the place of his boyhood.
But of the past he still has good old memories
Of his old Village how it used to be
And from the cottage by the wide brown paddock
Six hundred yards off he could see the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Old Doubting Thomas
The old doubting Thomas is living today
And most of his school friends long with the dead lay
To the war cry of the leader they took up the gun
And they paid with their young lives for the war to be won
The young doubting Thomas he was young back then
He did not march off to war with the other young men
And though in his honour never a parade
He feels no regret at the choice he had made.
The old doubting Thomas he feels rather sad
That in World war 1 he lost his young dad
To his widowed mother a devoted son
He promised her never to take up a gun.
He still talks of the father he never did know
A war hero almost nine decades ago
The only regret in life he's ever had
Is that he never did know the one who was his dad.
The old doubting Thomas from time looking gray
His grandchildren have school going children today
Many of his school friends died in World War 2
And the dreams that they had were not meant to come true.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Why Do Children Want To Grow
Why do Children
of now adays
Want to grow so fast
to look grown up
to think grown up
But still be a child at heart
I would live my childhood
OVER again just to be a child
to have pure heart
Pure minds, pure dreams
Instead of a childhood of distain
To play without a care
And see the magic of Mother Nature
And use imagination
To dance on rainbows
And white fluffy clouds
To play hide and seek
In the candy land of our dreams
To ride on unicorns
And sprinkle fair dust
To take a flight in
A midsummer dream
Why would children of today
Pass all this by
Just to be grown up
In a world like ours
Why lose the innocence
Of childhood sweet dreams
Just to rush into
The uncertainty of life
Why bypass your childhood
Just to be an adult of today
only to yearn the loss
of you childhood of yesterday
poem by Kaila George
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Never could you hide from...
1. Never could you hide from
Years, passed in turn.
Childhood is left for
Adult's life by all.
R.: But the school desk
I'm dreaming,
And the school books
I'm reading,
I remember all the teachers
One by one.
And the freckled girl is crying
From my childhood, when I'm
Trying to recall in mind the old time.
2. If you know, the childs
Try to grow fast,
Being in hurry
Turn to man, at last.
R.
3. We feel being tighted
In the golden age,
But we long for childhood,
When it comes to end.
R.
song, translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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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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At Six O'clock
I heard the Ave Maria at six o'clock,
Today hear crimes on the radio at six o'clock.
I watched The Little Princess on tv at six o'clock,
Today watch explicit sex at six o’clock.
I was playing catch-up with my friends at six o'clock,
Today lonely children play atari at six o'clock.
I drank hot soup at six o’clock,
Today guys smoke crack at six o'clock.
I prayed to the guardian angel at six o'clock,
Today they kill people at six o'clock.
I studied algebra at six o'clock,
Today are planned crimes at six o'clock.
I was happy at six o'clock,
Today are all scared at six o'clock.
Parody in honor of Llorca
poem by Aschelminto Da Silva
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The Good Memories Of What Was
I was not any use at Gaelic Football or Soccer though I played in Millstreet Townpark in the rain
And I played Soccer in Neily Duggan's Inch Field but these things I will never do again
With my young friends for us it was enjoyment but few things in life stay the same
The fire of youth in us was burning but it now is a flickering flame
We never thought about growing older the gift of youth is a great thing
Though of the past we have our memories and till death to them we will cling
The thought that we age with the Seasons does seldom enter the young mind
But the years leave us frailer and older eternal youth not for air breathing kind
But for as long as we have the gift of memory of our prime years good memories we retain
And often in our flights of fancy the past we do visit again
I still recall the joy and laughter as we chased the football up and down
On Summer evenings often wet and windy in the Townpark of old Millstreet Town
The years leave us all looking older and the clock on our lives ticking on
But the good memories of what was bring us comfort of the past to the forever gone.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Memories Of Childhood Are Fading
My memories of childhood are fading as I grow older and more gray
Yet in my wild flights of fancy I get the sweet scent of hay
In the mown meadows of Summer in the far northern July
And upwards above the rank rushes the brown lark carols as he fly.
I'm not what you would call a poet I only pen doggerel
Yet I can relate to my memories and I too have stories to tell
Of my childhood close to Nature in the fields and groves by the Town
Where the deciduous green leaves of Summer in late Autumn faded to brown.
Where male bullfinch the quiet sort of a fellow in his cloak of pink, black and slate blue
A beautiful bird of rare beauty to his wife till death he is true
At dawn at the edge of his borders his quiet though familiar song sing
The orchardists they do not like them they eat their fruit tree buds in the Spring.
In my childhood I grew to love Nature and like every other country boy
To me the voice of the cuckoo in late Spring was always a thing of great joy
But I grew to manhood too quickly and time for me too did not wait
And each day I live sees me closer and closer to my use by date.
I fancy I still hear the dipper his voice is not distant 'twould seem
On a black river rock in the shallows in the heart of the babbling stream
His snow white breast to me familiar his wings and his back darkish brown
And as he pipes forth his scratchy notes his head always bobs up and down.
My memories of childhood are fading suppose nothing ever does last
And 'tis said we should live for tomorrow still we all remember the past
And still in my wild flights of fancy the robin sings on the hedgerow
And in the rank grass in the headland the shy pheasant out of sight crow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lady Luck Has Been So Kind To Me
Some like to think that your past is gone forever
But your memories good or bad won't fade away
And green of Spring to the young eyes look greener
And our sense of wonderment grow less with every day.
And memories of a childhood close to Nature
Despite time's passage with me still remain
I hear the dunnock chirping on the hedgerow
And the skylark piping o'er the hill again.
I grew up west of Millstreet in Duhallow
And Summer days the happiest days of all
Free of the classroom and it's many restrictions
Such happy memories one tend to recall.
I often roamed by Nature's streams and rivers
And I grew to love the dipper's scratchy song
And I only feel now I might be a stranger
In Claraghatlea North where I once belong.
I could have been born to a ghetto mother
An Urban child condemned to poverty
Away from Mother Nature's joys and beauty
But lady luck has been so kind to me.
Male robin with the reddish breast is singing
In leafy grove just out of Millstreet Town
And greenfinch on a bay tree softly piping
In Quiet Mountleader as the sun goes down.
The country lad will always learn from Nature
The sparrows nest an untidy ball of hay
But they always line it with the softest feathers
And in Spring you hear their nestlings chirp all day.
The happy childhood memories will stay young forever
Though our sense of wonder ebbs as we grow old
And it's true each person to tell has a story
Though many stories must remain untold.
And my untold story is of my childhood close to Nature
A country boy is never ever poor
And I retain the memories of Spring mornings
When thrush and blackbird piped in Annagloor.
The cows from Wintering indoors out on pasture
And Duhallow flushed with wildflowers looking green
And I feel happy for my childhood memories
And happy for the beauty I have seen.
The moorhen chirp in tall reeds by the river
To warn her chicks when she sense danger near
And her dark and tiny offsprings swim to cover
And their cheepings I fancy I still can hear.
The horned sheep are high on Clara Mountain
The old man say a few fine days ahead
When sheep are grazing on or near the summit
The weather on the mend it has been said.
By circumstance of birth I have been lucky
And from childhood happy memories I retain
And I hear the dipper singing in the river
And the skylark piping o'er the hill again.
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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I miss my childhood
I miss my childhood everyday
This missing increases day by day
I miss those days of happiness
which were full of joy and naughtiness
I miss my grandpa's magnificent love
I miss my grandma's food serve
I miss my village and my darling home
Now I am sad and alone
I was used to go garden daily evening
where I see the day changing
I play their with my friends
who were perfect in that and were legends
I miss stealing of mango from trees
I miss those mountainy friendly trees
I miss play of hide and seek
we hide on guava's great peak
I miss my fields and ponds
I miss that sweet smell of my lands
I miss the scolds of elders
I miss my village builders
I miss my grandpa's old shoulders
I miss my village's brave soldiers
I miss my cow's sweet milk
I miss my cranky and playful tricks
No one can return my childhood
And that hunt for fruits in woods
I have left my childhood very far
But I need life like that with no bar
I am hungry for that love of village
my hunger becomes more with age
In this world of stress and worries
I want back my childhood glories
Life is such a name
That plays with everyone, a different game
But in every game there is some hopeful ray
I miss my childhood everyday.
(27 march 2010, Lucknow)
poem by Shashank Dwivedi
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Today...
Today I will embrace the little things that make life worthwhile,
Today I will accept what I cannot change and change what I can,
Today I will have a meeting with myself and decide that I can do it,
I can do it for my family, my friends, I can do it for that stranger,
Today I will look at myself and thank God for what I have,
Today I will leave the past to be past,
Today, I will appreciate that smile and that hug,
I can bring someone's dream to reality today,
Today will be my turning point,
I might not have everything,
But content I shall be...
Today has given birth,
To a new me!
poem by Lilian Wanjira
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Childhood Is...
Childhood is hanging your pictures on the refrigerator, and tea parties you always have to cater.
Childhood is chasing butterflies and picking flowers,
playing with blocks and making towers.
Childhood is hating nap time,
and thinking everything is always MINE
Childhood is crayons and coloring books,
Playing hide and go seek in all the right nooks.
Childhood is falling asleep to your favorite lullaby,
wishing you had wings so you could soar into the sky.
Childhood is only crying over a scrapped knee,
or being stung by a bumble bee
Childhood is thinking boys have cooties,
or your mom making you wear itchy booties.
Childhood is ruining mommy's new leather,
and making friends and keeping them forever.
Childhood finally ends,
When you start to grow up,
And not having to drink out of a sippy cup
poem by Shenika Vermaak
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The Joy Of Their Laughter
The children are playing football in the park off of the street
The joy in their laughter it does sound so sweet
'Tis true youth is such a marvellous thing
Like the flowers of the fields that bloom lovely in Spring.
The joy of their laughter bring back memories to me
Of happy boyhood days of any cares free
In the Town park on Summer evenings we kicked the football
Such wonderful memories are good to recall
The years went so quickly and time did not wait
And I've grown grayer and slower and I'm putting on weight
The future belongs to the youth of today
Though they too will grow to learn that time quickly ticks away.
Some of those I went to school with now with the dead lay
And some are grand parents and their grand children play
The games they themselves played they run up and down
In pursuit of the football in the park by the Town.
As I walk to the bottle shop for to buy beer
The laughter of the children playing football I hear
Their best days approaching and mine in the past
But time keeps on ticking and nothing does last.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Far North In The Green Fields
Far north in the green fields of old Lisnaboy
Just learning of Nature I used to enjoy
The warm winds of Summer from the south did blow
And young birds chirped on bushes and trees and hedgerow
And the meadows scented sweet of the newly mown hay
In July in Duhallow in a place far away
From this Southern Land that I live in today
Where the father of time has left me looking gray
Fond memories of a happy boyhood I retain
And in fancy I visit the old fields again
But the mentors of my young years with the dead do now lay
And all of those I grew up with walking slower today
But in memory the swallows above the fields fly
And the cuckoo he sings in the warmth of July.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It Is So Good To Be Outdoors
On a sunny day like this day tis just great to be alive
Just to walk out in the sunshine or to go off on a drive
To the mountain or the coastal town or to the park nearby
It is nice for to be outdoors when the sun is in the sky
A sunny day in September of around 20 degrees
And the scents of flowers and blossoms wafting in the freshening breeze
And the young lambs in the paddocks around their mothers play
It is good for to be outdoors on a warm day like today,
The familiar song of the blackbird a feathered minstrel of the Spring
And the honeyeaters chirping and the shrike thrush pipe and sing
And October days are looming and September all but gone
And the Spring is passing quickly and father time keeps ticking on
And the welcome swallows chirping they are so graceful in flight
It is so good to be outdoors in the September sunlight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Jingles From My Childhood
I still remember the jingles of my childhood
Run, run, run there is a fire on the mountain
Such sweat melodies that never brought bad mood
As my mum would always send me to the fountain
I still remember the jingle of my childhood
Pampanaaaa, were I used to run and hide
In those pitiful dark places in my neighborhood
Before my dad calls me out to wine and dine
I still remember the jingles of my childhood
An hwe weytsere oo obi ba oo, as my head feels drowsy
As if the drunkard's pot was the only thing I lived on as my food
Though when I return from such voyage my mum would show no mercy
I still remember the jingles of my childhood
Were I meet my sweetest love
We used to play mum and dad
On those very hot afternoon
poem by Samuel Donkor
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