The Young Aussie
In the company of women he is not coy or shy
A real macho type is the young Aussie guy
And some young women like him though some young women say
A bit of a boofhead who pushes his way.
He likes to talk cricket with his mates drinking beer
But of God and of religion he does not wish to hear
He does not have a God for to which he can pray
And he is never seen in a church on sunday.
He is a great fan of Aussie Rules Football
To him the one true game and the best game of them all
On friday night he goes to the football and on saturday to the pub
And on sunday evening he drinks in the Sportsman's Club.
The young Aussie bloke he doesn't use words like date
His woman to him she is more of a mate
On saturday night at the disco for five hours or more
He parties and drinks till the small hours of four.
Though much his own man in him there is much good
And the young Aussie he would help you if he could
But don't mention God to him for he will only say
That only the impressionable to the unseen do pray.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The National Game Of Australia
The National game of Australia is Australian Rules Football
And the Aussies who love their game say 'tis the greatest game of all
Soccer, Rugby Union and Rugby League and Cricket have their roots elsewhere
But no truer Aussie sportsman than an Aussie Rules footy player,
A game born on Australian soil it surely is Australia's own
And the legend of great footy players in their deaths has even grown
In September at the famed M C G in Melbourne on A F L Grand Final Day
Close to one hundred thousand people flock to watch Australia's best teams play
Though many like both codes of rugby and cricket and soccer a game that is played Worldwide
Australia's National game is Aussie Rules to many that's a source of pride
The National Game of Australia and it's great claim to fame
Is that it was born and bred in Australia and is the only true Australian Game
And it surely is a true Aussie as Aussie as can be
And though some others may like introduced games far better with what I say many would agree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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A Regular Aussie Bloke
The woman that he married with her new lover having sex
But he does not feel angry in any way with her the one he calls his ex
Though to him she was unfaithful such is life he does say
The past is the past and life goes on and that was yesterday
The marriage only lasted one year she left him two years ago
He has had a few flings since then that to love did not grow
He is now happy in his single life at twenty five in his prime
Of life he feels that for marriage and children on his side he has time
With his mates at the local pub he talks about football
And Aussie Rules their favourite game to them the greatest sport of all
He works hard and enjoys his beer and he can laugh at a joke
And he is what one may describe as a regular Aussie bloke
He tried marriage it did not work out he may well try again
In life you win some and you lose some and one's loss is another's gain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Fellow Who Doesn't Fit In
He doesn't play sports drink alcohol or take dope and you might say he doesn't fit in
And he doesn't lust after young women and he's not seen as a man amongst men
He works hard to provide for his family and he leads a good and a clean life
And he is a nice man to talk to and he is faithful to his wife.
He's not a religious type person and he doesn't attend church on sunday
And he too in some ways a sinner the religious zealots might say
And some see him as a social outsider but to live clean should not be a sin
And he deserve respect not scorn the fellow who doesn't fit in.
He doesn't watch football on the t.v. or support any football team
And he's not part of any social club nor does he crave social esteem
Yet he has his many detractors in life it is so hard to win
And his type of man getting rarer the fellow who doesn't fit in.
He doesn't play cricket or football with his children as many a young father do
On sundays with his wife and his young son and daughter he's at the cinema, art gallery or zoo
And he is a man who loves Nature and is loving Nature a sin?
For he is looked on with suspicion the fellow who doesn't fit in.
Politics, women, money and work matters of such topics he tend to stay clear
And he's just your average type of person his children and his wife to him dear
Yet he is looked on as quite boring and his name is mentioned with a grin
And life isn't meant to be easy for the fellow who 'doesn't fit in'
poem by Francis Duggan
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Tis Football
'Tis football is the big World game of today
Grid Iron the big game of the U S of A,
Rugby League, Rugby Union and Aussie Rules Football
And soccer the biggest World game of them all
Gaelic Football a field game the Irish do play
Football in it's many codes the big World game of today
Football supporters Worldwide their team and their club colours wear
And in International games in their National colours they even dye their hair
Some men love their football team as much as their parents, children or wives
Yes football is one of the great loves of their lives
When their team does win the club song they do sing
But a loss to their weekend great sadness does bring
All over the World many codes of football
And to each their own code the best game of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Young Fellow Next Door
The young fellow next door barracks for Hawthorn
And after school he kicks the egg shaped ball
He wants to be as great as Jason Dunstall
And that his name football historians will recall.
He wants to don the brown and gold of Hawthorn
And star in a grand final winning team
But the road ahead won't be easy for Tony
If one day he's to realize his dream.
If he is to be a great footy player
He must train hard for twelve months every year
He must impress the coaches and football scouts
And stay well clear of narcotics and beer.
The young fellow next door says he'll be famous
And that for the Hawthorn Football club he'll Play
And that he will be the talk of all Australia
Ten years from now on the grand final day.
A nine year old with big dreams is the schoolboy Tony
He says i'll be an Aussie sporting great
And i will lead Hawthorn back to glory
And the footy fans my name will celebrate.
On every street there is one like young Tony
Who has this dream of an enduring fame
Who is the hero of the great Grand Final
And kicks the famous goal that wins the game.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Big match tomorrow
Really big game on Saturday
playing a team at the top
told my mates to be there
let the women go to the shops.
The club is having a bad season
losing more games than we win
so we need to get really behind them
and they need to play out of their skin.
Being at the bottom is depressing
that's why fans are staying away
but we love our football club
that's why we'll be there on Saturday.
The away fans will be full of themselves
and to them it will be a great day out
because their team will be favourites
and they'll think it will be easy no doubt.
So we'll make lots of noise and never shut up
and keep on singing till our throats are sore
because that's what a true football fan does
they keep on going even when the team is poor.
So I'll keep my fingers crossed that we win
if we do I'll be really happy on Saturday night
not only because my team was victorious
but I'll be leaving the pub as high as a kite!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Big Mal
This saturday his team were defeated and after the game in the pub
Big Mal was not in the mood for talking or singing the anthem of his club
Beaten by a point in a thriller but he does not take pride in an honourable defeat
To him victory only matter and winning to him always sweet.
Big Mal he has never played football though football plays a huge part in his life
The football team he supports to him as important as his young son or his beautiful wife
When his team as he calls them win he feels happy but losses he finds hard to take
But after each win he feels happy what a difference a victory can make.
Big Mal is a likeable fellow and so much about him to like
He does not drive his car when he's drinking he cycles to and from the pub on his pushbike
He says I need my driver's licence for work and at the weekend to watch my team play
My wife and son and my football team to me most important he say.
This saturday his team were the losers and Big Mal not happy at all
He feels sad on such an occasion and he never talks of football
But he has next weekend to look forward to and next saturday and sunday night
A win in the pub he may be celebrating and laughing aloud in delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Setanta O Hailpin
He played hurling for Cork just a few years ago
And as an an Aussie Rules footballer his legend now grow
He now plays full back for Carlton for him a remarkable feat
Young Setanta O Hailpin is an amazing athlete,
Truth is stranger than fiction some are known to say
And in Setanta's case it does seem that way
A top hurler who has become a top player in Australian rules football
What did seem impossible not impossible at all,
The hurler who made it playing Australian Rules Football
In decades from now sports writers will recall
To the young man from Cork credit is only due
He followed his dream and his dream did come true
And though such a fairy tale story may not happen again
A huge loss to Cork hurling is the Carlton's Blues gain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Wonderful Aussie Waler
When Allenby's Army smashed the Turk
Who was the bloke who did all the work
The Aussie knows and he'll tell you straight
That most of the job was done by his mate
The wonderful Aussie Waler
It was umpty-nine in the shade each day
And the wells were spoiled in the Turkish way
But with nothing to eat and plenty to do
The heart of the Waler carried him through
The wonderful, wonderful Waler
For ten long weeks through the desert hot
He plugged along and all that he got
Was a drink, or not a drink a day
But did the stamina once give way
Of the wonderful Aussie Waler?
Was he the one to desert his mate?
Just watch him coming up the straight
With twenty stone of harness and man
No wonder the Turk was an also ran
With the wonderful, wonderful Waler
When drinks were not and feeds were few
There still was his harness that he could chew
With a nibble or two at another's mane
He plucked up heart to march again
The wonderful Aussie Waler
And when everything edible seemed to be stale
A hair or two from a neighbour's tail
Makes a pleasant meal and there's no doubt
They took it turn and turn about
The wonderful, wonderful Waler
A great Australian through and through
There's a good time coming old horse for you
There's a paddock green with grass to your knees
And there you shall roll at your lordly ease
My wonderful Aussie Waler
With a gallop or two to keep you fit
And won't it bring back the thrill of it!
There 're no more hardships and little work
For the cobber who broke the heathen Turk
My wonderful, wonderful Waler
But what is that the orders tell?
This mate of mine they're going to sell
To the old home paddock you'll never come back
They are selling you as a local's hack
My wonderful, wonderful Waler
The times together that we've been through
When all that I had in the world was you
Out there! Out there in a world of men
You were more than wife or sweetheart then
My wonderful, wonderful Waler
There was trust and mateship in your eyes
A horse has no soul - All lies I All lies!
And more than a kiss or soft eyes that speak
Was your muzzling nose against my cheek
You wonderful Aussie Waler
A life long slavery is your fate
Not while a mate can still shoot straight
Your eyes - I need a steady hand -
Good bye old chap - you understand
You wonderful, wonderful Waler.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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A poem for Football lovers
Football can make you cry
it can also bring you joy
I've played and watched it
as a man and a small boy.
Football has great players
like the one and only Messi
the Argentinian is a genius
I wished he played for Coventry.
Football is the favourite sport
no other game comes anywhere near
in the U.K.it's the number one pastime
just beating fishing and drinking beer.
Football though can be an addiction
it can be on your mind all of the day
your thinking about goals, shots, and saves,
and even talking about it to God when you pray.
So long may Football be played on our planet
even though it has trouble along the way
but just think if there was no Football at all
us fans would have nothing to do on a Saturday!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Bill's Son Joe
Bill wishes his son had been a well known Sportsman
My son's a poet you never hear him say
As if that is something to be ashamed of
'Tis a strange World that we live in today.
Young Joe has no interest in sports or football
He'd rather go to the park by the bay
And watch the seagulls by the park bench tables
Squabble for scraps of food the picknickers throw away.
Joe is nineteen he doesn't have sisters or brothers
A fine young poet with words he has a way
His Nature poems original and special
That's what the poetry critics of him say.
The other fathers talk of their sons sporting prowess
My son ran well, my son played a fine game
But Bill he never talks about his son Joe
As if writing poetry is a thing of shame.
As if writing poetry is for women only
The redneck father has a cultured son
He doesn't feel proud that his son is a good poet
And that a prestigious poetry prize he's won.
Bill son Joe is a poet of rare talent
With which the father he is not impressed at all
He'd much prefer that he were a good sportsman
Good at athletics, boxing or football
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sport Just A Diversion
The anthem of Australian Rules Football the song known as 'We'll be there'
And Aussie Rules fans who do not know this song by heart to say the least quite rare
On Saturday after the game at the M C G in groups as they walk along the street
A song sung by the winning fans since victory is sweet.
They sing 'We were there when the boys became the men' their religion is football
And they tell all of those who wish to hear 'the greatest game of all'
But sport is just a diversion from the big problems out there
In the World where the haves make more and the have nots live in despair
Of ever getting anywhere in life they live in poverty
They live their dreams through the success of celebrities that they see on t.v.
And sport is a diversion for them from the reality
Of ever knowing success themselves suppose what is to be will be.
Sport just a diversion from reality for the have nots to enjoy
Poor teenagers dream of sporting fame a dream for most that die
Before they reach their forties when they come to realize
That life is very different when seen through ageing eyes
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Knowledgeable One
They are not the brightest for to give them their due
And on his subject matter they did not have a clue
He seems a bit clever the older bloke said
To which his younger mate answered not right in the head.
Since he did seem a clever young person to me
With the older bloke's assumption I could only agree
And though I too not the brightest I was duly impressed
With one in his mid twenties who with knowledge is blessed.
The bloke in his thirties to the barmaid for another beer did call
With the knowledgeable one he did not seem impressed at all
And when the knowledgeable one had left the pub he turned to me to say
This bloke Socrates he was talking of who is he anyway?
His name is a name that I cannot recall
He cannot be famous he does not play football
I informed him the one of whom the clever one did speak
Is a long dead philosopher a legendary Greek.
He and his mate in his forties began to discuss Sunday's big game
Every player taking part they know them by name
Of football between them little they would not have known
Suppose like it is said of people to each their own.
poem by Francis Duggan
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04. Beautiful Women
young women, old women
in their heart
despite the years
the yearning to be beautiful
young women, old women
they look at each other
one with envy
the other with fear and contempt (of the wrinkles, old age)
young women, old women
they look into each other
one for a mother
the other for a daughter
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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He Is Such A Joyful Winner
He is such a joyful winner but he does not like to lose
His favourite team won at the weekend so he went on the booze
He could not go to work today he feels fuzzy in the head
And nursing his hangover he lay at home in bed.
A football mad young person he surely loves the game
To be the Club's best barracker is his great claim to fame
At every goal his team kicks he whoops aloud in joy
The man in his late twenties at heart remains a boy.
His beanie in his Club Football colours to bed he even wear
His Club as important to him as his wife and children his type no longer rare
In the pub with his drinking mates their main topic is football
The great players and the winners and the losers of the weekend games they recall.
His team won at the weekend but he is in bed today
For too much celebrating his price he has to pay
He proudly wears the Club colours of his favourite football team
And every victory that they have good for his self esteem.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The Local Football Oval
In the floodlight lit football oval each weeknight after tea
I hear the young men shouting as they train diligently
As their coach puts them through their training drills their exuberance I hear
They sprint about in the chill night air in the coldest time of year.
Some of the young players under twenty they have their dreams of fame
That they yet may become famous in Australia's only indigenous game
To play in an Australian Football League Grand final would be a dream come true
A dream that's dreamt by many and realized by only a few.
In the well lit football oval they kick ball and sprint around
And in their endeavour to become match fit they cover miles of ground
And they perform push ups and pull ups and natural muscle in this way they gain
For one cannot expect sporting success if for success you do not train.
In the local football oval where dreams are born and die
The shoutings of the young men echoes to the starry sky
In the chill evening air of late Autumn you hear them cheer and shout
As they race through the oval and chase the ball about.
I hear them every evening from six thirty till after eight
In the local football oval five hundred metres from my front gate
The town's young budding football stars not quite yet in their prime
And they dream of sporting greatness that will withstand the test of time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Paper An Aussie
On paper an Aussie I thought I Might be
But that hardly would make an Aussie of me
I don't have the accent as most would agree
So I've decided to become an Aussie on paper not a good idea
A strong North Cork accent I do retain
So an Irishman on paper I will remain
A migrant in Australia and sad for to say
I might feel an outsider in Ireland today
Though my accent some struggle for to understand
I do love Australia this great Southern Land
The land of the World's oldest Indigenous Race
Where them and their culture by right ought to take pride of place
The home of koala and wombat and roo
Of emu, possum, rosella, lyrebird and cockatoo
poem by Francis Duggan
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Only Woman Bleed
Man's got his woman to take his seed
He's got the power - oh
She's got the need
She spends her life through pleasing up her man
She feeds him dinner or anything she can
She cries alone at night too often
He smokes and drinks and don't come home at all
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Man makes your hair gray
He's your life's mistake
All you're really lookin' for is an even break
He lies right at you
You know you hate this game
He slaps you once in a while and you live and love in pain
She cries alone at night too often
He smokes and drinks and don't come home at all
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Black eyes all of the time
Don't spend a dime
Clean up this grime
And you there down on your knees begging me please come
Watch me bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
Only women bleed
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Pray
Each day we thank the good lord
for everything he gives us
from the birth of each new day,
to the young who enjoy a game to play.
The food on our table
that keeps our stomachs full,
to the love we are blessed with
within our chosen partner.
We pray each night to see another day
and always hoping for it to be better than today.
We pray for all our friends
to enjoy all the happiness they deserve.
We pray for all those we do not know
to have a little of what we have.
We pray for our health and safety
and that everyone be free.
On Sunday when we go to church
and on our knees we get
and for all these things,
we pray.
17 May 2009
poem by David Harris
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