Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis Poems

  • 551.  
    What (said the poet) should we care
    For all this mad world's phantasies, For rumours rife upon the air
  • 552.  
    ''Er pore dear Par.' she sez, ''e kept a store';
    An' then she weeps an' stares 'ard at the floor. ''Twas thro' 'is death,' she sez, 'we wus rejuiced
  • 553.  
    Government muddles, departments dazed,
    Fear and confusion wherever he gazed; Order insulted, authority spurned,
  • 554.  
    Have you, too, noticed that calm which descends Upon affairs today?
  • 555.  
    I got so down to it last night,
    With longin' for what could not be, That nothin' in the world seemed right
  • 556.  
    'Mother, may I go in to swim?'
    'My dear, you didn't oughter. I've heard of baths filled to the brim
  • 557.  
    Albert, King of the Belgians,
    Lived for his whole reign thro' The father and friend of his people,
  • 558.  
    Born to the sun and smiling skies,
    And bird-songs to the morning flung, To joyousness that never dies
  • 559.  
    Romance goes out of everything in these days of ill grace,
    And even old John Barleycorn grows 'standardised' apace; Once henchman of gay gallantry, a kindlier part he played.
  • 560.  
    'Could you give me a bite to eat?' said he,
    As he tarried by my back door. And I thought of the dull, lean days that be
  • 561.  
    War raged around this troubled world,
    When I was but a lad, And into battle men were hurled,
  • 562.  
    Nay, why do foolish politicians strive
    To win a fleeting popularity? In vain, in vain, they jealously contrive
  • 563.  
    As first I remember him: A red man, and tall,
    Great Toll, the blacksmith, filled my childish eye. At its first crisp, clamorous stroke,
  • 564.  
    Let him who is minded to meet with a Glug
    Pluck three hardy hairs from a rabbit-skin rug; Blow one to the South, and one to the West,
  • 565.  
    At Slumberton-on-Slow,
    When the rustics gather round To quaff their ale, they hear a tale
  • 566.  
    Mr Bodge, the banker, was a power in the land;
    His city bank had granted him an autocratic hand; For our town was most remote from commerce centres then,
  • 567.  
    There ain't enough of strikes an' things,
    There ain't enough of strife, There ain't enough dislikes an' things
  • 568.  
    Smith is a very stupid man;
    He lives next door to me; He has no settled scheme or plan
  • 569.  
    Sing me to sleep when I go West;
    But sing you, soft and low, No song from the olden masters'
  • 570.  
    When muddled mentors take the stage
    To gird against our erring, They simulate an awful rage,
  • 571.  
    Oh, he was old and he was spare;
    His bushy whiskers and his hair Were all fussed up and very grey
  • 572.  
    By gar! I tell-a you, t'ings don't stop
    Since da war he come wit' a rush, When Nicko, da boss at da fry-fish shop,
  • 573.  
    Yarrawonga by herself
    Lived too long upon a shelf She a stolid farmer's wife.
  • 574.  
    Nobody knew why it should be so;
    Nobody knew or wanted to know. It might have been checked had but someone dared
  • 575.  
    How many have you broken up till now?
    I know that yesterday you made a vow, And most solemnly 'twas spoken;
  • 576.  
    First I tried a Dry Martini;
    But found not one teeny-weeny Semblance of a kick in any kind of this.
  • 577.  
    Brothers; even those of you who are already in the sear and yellow leaf, and full of years and iniquity,
    Sometimes, I doubt not, let your thoughts go back to those days of antiquity When mother tucked you into your little bed.
  • 578.  
    Now, children, in this Lesson Two,
    Briefly we'll make some mention Of party, just in case that you
  • 579.  
    'This is the life!' said Dusty Dan
    'This is the life to hand a man! My happy way is strewn with flowers;
  • 580.  
    She danced thro' life as light as thistledown,
    The grace of Columbine, charm of Pierette, These, and that blithesome quality of thistledown,
  • 581.  
    I t'inkin' da war now go for stop
    Between Black Sammo, da slush, An' Nicko, da boss of da fry-fish shop.
  • 582.  
    Dolefully and drearily
    Come I with the spring; Wearily and cerily
  • 583.  
    Oh, loyal Orange breth-er-en.
    I pray you act as Christlan men, And, should your spleen arise, count ten
  • 584.  
    'Unless you 'ide that axe,' she sez, ''E'll 'urt 'imself reel bad.
    An' after all - Now, Bill, don't cry! - that trouble that I've 'ad, Wiv 'im thro' croop an' whoopin' corf, 'e goes an' cuts 'imself!
  • 585.  
    Where the little river gleaming
    Thro' its shadows green and cool Broadens to the quiet dreaming
  • 586.  
    His Honor walked into the shop
    For of shopping his Honor was fond. Did she blush? Did her eyes indicate shy surprise
  • 587.  
    'I got no time fer wasters, lad,' sez 'e,
    'Give me a man wiv grit,' sez Uncle Jim. 'E bores 'is cute ole eyes right into me,
  • 588.  
    Listen, Elaine. Tho' I'm not mad on racing,
    I like a little flutter now and then; But I maintain you would not be disgracing
  • 589.  
    I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week,
    To blooms, and to things like these, for Winter bleak Was shouting loud from the hills, and flinging high
  • 590.  
    You're playing it by ear, boy! Eyes upon the score!' Miss Trapp, the music teacher, very prim and staid,
  • 591.  
    I sing of the hat, of the human lid,
    The cadev, the tile, or whatever you please, The thing that we wear - or our fathers did
  • 592.  
    Jist to intraj'uice me cobber, an 'is name is Ginger Mick
    A rorty boy, a naughty boy, wiv rude impressions thick In 'is casu'l conversation, an' the wicked sort o' face
  • 593.  
    Now comes to an end all our dolorous drifting;
    Clouds pass away and depression is lifting. Because we were wise in our planning and sought
  • 594.  
    When artists wore a flowing mane,
    Then, in a sentimental vein, With pastorals they lured the eye,
  • 595.  
    A civic lady, peerly proud
    Of excellences that here crowd About her trim, well-ordered streets:
  • 596.  
    What do they dream about standing there
    In the windows facing the street? Eyes transfixed in a strange, far stare,
  • 597.  
    Look 'ere. I'll bet a 'arf-a-crown
    To anythink you like to name (said Bushy Bill), If country fellers went to town,
  • 598.  
    Once on this historic site
    Wild men of a dusky shade, In defiance of all right,
  • 599.  
    Mr Blenkinsop and I
    Are much concerned to learn That, somewhere in the further sky,
  • 600.  
    My dear, I'm awful shorry
    'Bout gettin' home sho late. I orra been in hoursh ago;
Total 714 poems written by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

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The Pond
 by Amy Lowell

Cold, wet leaves
Floatingon moss-coloured water,
And the croaking of frogs-
Cracked bell-notes in the twilight.


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