Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis Poems

  • 601.  
    Six o'clock. From the railway yard
    The engine toots; careering hard, A milk-cart rattles by and stops;
  • 602.  
    I've lived a rather careless life,
    And many a fault have I; But I'd have you not stress the strife
  • 603.  
    (I'm not trying to make this thing rhyme
    But, at the same time, A little interlude like this
  • 604.  
    You are much too big to dandle,
    And I will not leave the candle. Go to sleep.
  • 605.  
    'A woman's work is never done,'
    Said she. 'From dawn to setting of the sun,'
  • 606.  
    Look at 'em! Toffs with their big cigars,
    Drivin' along in their motor cars. Nothin' at all like the olden days
  • 607.  
    Why, 'ow's she goin', Bill, ole sport?
    I thort I knoo your dile! My oath! You look the proper sort!
  • 608.  
    In the neolithic age of our Australia, long ago,
    There dwelt a wise old chieftain, as you probably don't know; His royal tastes and habits I won't venture to describe,
  • 609.  
    A word out of season
    Of vapid unreason May seem mere political twaddle at best;
  • 610.  
    Singing morning has begun.
    Where the wooded ranges run To far summits, there the snow
  • 611.  
    Nay, Mr Speaker, let the ideal stay,
    The picture that voters have in mind Of Solons in debate far leagues away
  • 612.  
    'I should go mad,' he said, 'in such a place!
    The lack of company, the loneliness! Nothing but trees to stare you in the face;
  • 613.  
    I nearly fell fair in my tracks.
    I'm trudgin' homeward with my axe When I come on her suddenly.
  • 614.  
    So we forget? The streets bloom gay
    With festive garments, many hued; And man and maid laugh down the way
  • 615.  
    I'd like to be a porter, and always on the run,
    Calling out, 'Stand aside!' and asking leave of none. Shoving trucks on people's toes, and having splendid fun,
  • 616.  
    Alas, my dear, be you high-born,
    Or just a Sydney cutie, I fear you've earned a he-man's scorn
  • 617.  
    Old Pete Parraday, he toddles up the road,
    'Dangin'' things and 'darn in'' things and hefting of his load For yesterday was pension day, Peter has his goods:
  • 618.  
    Fierce on the wheat-sown Mallee plain
    The ruthless summer suns burned down, And dust-storms, heralding the rain,
  • 619.  
    I've crawled; I've eaten dirt; I've lied a treat;
    I've dodged the cops an' led a double life; I've readied up wild tales to tell me wife,
  • 620.  
    Said old George Jones: 'All in a hundred years.
    'Tis little time enough, and well may make This youthful country proud among its peers
  • 621.  
    Wot price ole Ginger Mick? 'E's done a break -
    Gone to the flamin' war to stoush the foe. Wus it fer glory, or a woman's sake?
  • 622.  
    Come mourn with me for the land of Gosh,
    Oh, weep with me for the luckless Glugs Of the land of Gosh, where the sad seas wash
  • 623.  
    (I address myself to that chosen few - which includes you, My dear reader - who
  • 624.  
    The Chinese are an old, old race,
    In mystic lore exceeding wise. Accustomed thro' the year to trace
  • 625.  
    I detest the Carrion Crow! (He's a raven, don't you know?)
  • 626.  
    Tho' I own I have no adequate proofs
    Of this queer tale of the quaint old Goophs The Goophs who dwelt in the land of Guph
  • 627.  
    Where Feathertop frowns thro' the winter scud,
    Where Buffalo broods on high, Dwells she, a lass of royal blood,
  • 628.  
    We mean to say, it never has been granted
    That anyone but England could decide, In the crease or at the wicket,
  • 629.  
    There's a bleak, black world without,
    And the rain falls fast; And the wind, with a whine and a shout,
  • 630.  
    Oh, I've got a lovely story that I've thought out all myself.
    It will make a gorgeous picture, I am sure. (Mind, it isn't for the money, for I am not keen on pelf,
  • 631.  
    Mr Jeremiah Jeffers
    Owned a pair of spotted heifers These he sold for two pounds ten
  • 632.  
    Son of our King: When yoemen sailed
    From Britain to expand her sway, The coward from High venture quailed,
  • 633.  
    We were cartin' lathes and palin's from the slopes of Mount St. Leonard,
    With our axles near the road-bed and the mud as stiff as glue; And our bullocks weren't precisely what you'd call conditioned nicely,
  • 634.  
    I must go down to the shops again, to the crowded shops go I
    And all I have is a long list of the gifts that I must buy, And a few bob in the old kick and a mere spot of credit;
  • 635.  
    Well, I don't know. Maybe it's quite all right,
    And maybe it is I who am perverse, Finding in this unedifying sight
  • 636.  
    Gimme the town an' its clamour an' clutter;
    I ain't very fond of the bush; For my cobbers are coves of the gardens and gutter-
  • 637.  
    A vase upon the mantelpiece,
    A ship upon the sea, A goat upon a mountain-top
  • 638.  
    Dear Boy
    As it appears to us old fogeys If you'll excuse the term that we adopt
  • 639.  
    Now is the day when arrant fools
    Play outworn tricks on sober men! But, for the thoughtful soul that schools
  • 640.  
    Out across the spinifex, out across the sand,
    Out across the saltbush to Never Never land That's the way the drovers go, jogging down the track -
  • 641.  
    The throstle now in English lanes
    Bids Summer strew her dear delights. . . . But we, intent on cricket gains,
  • 642.  
    'Peter the 'Ermit was a 'oly bloke,'
    The parson sez, 'wot chivvied coves to war.' 'Too right,' I chips. 'I've 'eard that yarn before.'
  • 643.  
    They fights their fights and they hunt their game,
    As they did before the white man came, Far in the unexplored Outback,
  • 644.  
    Today I met a happy man
    Greeting the glad new year. About his face the sunbeams ran
  • 645.  
    These English actors are too mild,
    Who seek to have their wrongs redressed. No manager may be beguiled
  • 646.  
    Hoping you will not deem it rude,
    I'd like to call an interlude In our remarkable array
  • 647.  
    Oh, we might have a marvellous city
    Were we only less keen on cash Less avid for things - more's the pity
  • 648.  
    The dignity of Camperdown
    Is not to be denied, Where Leura looks upon the town
  • 649.  
    Here my fancy finished; so,
    Dreaming, I could clearly see How he galloped. This was no
  • 650.  
    We have heard of the mythical lands of the East
    And of caliphs and sultans galore; Of Haroun al Raschid, of Abdul the beast,
Total 714 poems written by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

Poem of the day

 by Sara Teasdale

Dreamily over the roofs
The cold spring rain is falling,
Out in the lonely tree
A bird is calling, calling.

Slowly over the earth
The wings of night are falling;
My heart like the bird in the tree

Read complete poem

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