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Old

The Dead Starling

Posted Tuesday 8th September 2009 at 02:09 by Francis Duggan
With his large flock of friends he will never more sing
The starling dead by the roadway has seen his last Spring
The blow fly maggots eating his flesh away
And around where he lay is the stench of decay.

Perhaps by a truck or a motor car he was struck down
By a motorist who was speeding into town
And since large flocks of starlings to be seen every day
Good riddance to him then some even might say.

And though starlings like...
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Old

Belgrave Town

Posted Tuesday 8th September 2009 at 01:56 by Francis Duggan
Oh sing me the ballad of old Belgrave Town
The roads that lead to it they wind up and down
By huge mountain ash that dwarf all other trees
The giants on the high ground that sough in the breeze.

Belgrave east of Melbourne of Puffing Billy fame
The old Puffing steam engine who lives up to his name
From Belgrave to Gembrook and back at least twice a day
With his load of passengers he puffs all the way.

I lived in old Belgrave...
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Old

Yellow Tail Black Cockatoos

Posted Monday 7th September 2009 at 02:28 by Francis Duggan
You hear them once and the next time you will not get them wrong
The yellow tail black cockatoos familiar in their song
Weerloo weerloo you hear them sing as slowly they do fly
Big dark brown parrots larger than large crows across the evening sky,
With their powerful beaks they shred the tough pine cones and the hard hakea nuts for seed
One might say there are easier ways for to come by a feed
In a hole in an old tree they hatch their eggs two chicks just...
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Old

In A Small Country Township

Posted Monday 7th September 2009 at 02:25 by Francis Duggan
In a small Country Township one can feel all alone
Around me dry gray Countryside around me rock and stone
The day is warm and breezy the weather is so dry
And the sacred ibis on silent wings above the paddocks fly.

The ancient volcanic mountain it is as old as time
It has inspired the artists and the poets to song and rhyme
In this dry place no quagmires or loamy soil or clay
And quite sparse in trees for shelter on a warm and windy day....
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Old

Winged Terror

Posted Monday 7th September 2009 at 02:21 by Francis Duggan
On the table in my bedroom the mozzie coil burn
Yet I cannot get to sleep and I toss and I turn
Though the smell of the burning coil supposed to keep insects away
The tiny mosquitoes it cannot keep at bay.

These aggressive winged terrors buzz around my bed
They even attack the bald patch on my head
I madly wave my hands but they hover near
And in the dark bedroom their buzzings I hear.

For blood to lay her eggs the female has...
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