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

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