Billy's Policeman
I knew a policeman once
And this is true as it ever could be
Who made me feel an awful dunce;
'Cos I lost my dad, and it frightened me.
He came and took me by the hand
'Well, now,' said he; 'young fella-me-lad,
No need to cry, I understand.
You'll soon be back with mummy and dad.'
I knew the big policeman well
Before he'd talked the teeniest while.
Such a lot of things he had to tell;
And he had the cheeriest, merriest smile.
I've got a nipper at home like you
So high, young fella-me-lad,' he said.
And all at once - as true as true
I forgot to cry, and I laughed instead.
And then the big policeman said:
'Ho, that's the stuff for the troops, old son!'
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Old Gunn's Gully Line
The ole train puffs in once a day
On the ole Gunn's Gully line;
In a lazy, leisurely kind o' way
She comes in, wet or fine.
Nobody wants her, nobody needs her,
Nobody likes her, nobody heeds; her
Usefulness is done.
But, wet or fine, or sun or shine,
That ole train's got to run.
A man an' a dog, they loaf about
To watch the train come in;
An' a man an' a boy an' a bag get out
With Bowyang's ole cream-tin.
An' all men say wot all men know:
That all things are as all things show,
An' the trip don't pay for grease.
But, come wot may, the Heads they say
Them trips must never cease.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Cup Couplets
Out of great wisdom, long stored up,
I would write me a rune of the Melbourne Cup.
Out of experience, grave and gay,
I would raise me a rhyme to the gala day.
With words of wisdom then let us begin;
For a many shall wager, but few shall win.
And first a warning: Go slow this trip,
For there's many a slip 'twixt the Cup and the tip.
And the sport of Kings, tho' it capture the town,
Is never for one with but half-a-crown.
For this oft is the tale of a Cup Day revel;
Dine with the gods and sup with the devil.
And this oft is the rule when the lucky man sups:
He is in on the Cup and he's on in his cups.
When the living is slow and the horse also
It doesn't much matter what pace you go.
When the living is slow and the horse is fast,
You may keep to a pace that is like to last.
When the living is fast and the horse is 'dead,'
There's the dickens to pay, and an aching head.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Fate of a Harpist
There is women, yer Worship, of various kinds:
An' some of 'em's fluffy a' foolish,
An' some is sispicious an' mean in their minds,
An' others fair set-like an' mulish.
There is some, as I owns, is real kind - tho' not many,
As maybe yer Worship 'as coped with - if any.
But wot can you do with a woman wot 'arps?
I am arskin' the Bench, as a man an' a male
Wot sticks to 'er subjeck an' cavils an' carps,
Wot won't be put orf it, but 'ammers an' 'arps
Till you rock like a ship in a gale.
I'm a plain, placid man, an' me patience is vast;
But the patience of angels gits wobbly at last.
For she 'arps on me 'abits, she 'arps in me ears,
She 'arps on me cricket an' listenin' in;
She 'arps an' she 'arps, till I'm full of strange fears;
For I knows there's no end once I 'ear 'er begin.
So, am I to be blamed if I rise in me passion
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Faith of Old George Jones [2]
Long faces, hangin' lips an' eyes without a smile,
Meegrims an' mulligrubs, mournfulness an' moans,
Faith in the future gone to glory for the while
I've seen it all a score o' times (said old George Jones).
I seen it all a year ago, if you will but recall:
I scoffed at it an' laughed at it while you was sittin' mum,
An' now a little twelve months has gone an' changed it all
Hard times is heavy, but the good times come.
See-saw, up an' down, life's like that,
Tho' memories is short like, an' men don't heed;
But have a bit of grey stuff beneath yer ole brown hat
An' sit a while an' think a bit - that's what men need.
Think a bit of yesterday an' what you used to be
Peerin' in the future with a sick, sad eye.
Well, here's a bit of future, it ain't such misery;
An' there's heaps more a'comin' in the sweet by-an'-by.
Hard times is heavy, but the good times come
See-saw, up an' down, life's like that.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Madman
'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;
Nothing to do; no life; no pep; no pace!
I'd die of melancholy.' I said 'Yes?'
'Why, yes,' said he. 'The suburbs can be bad.
But this? Why, heavens, man! I should go mad.'
'What do you do?' he said. 'How find a way
To pass the time? Of course, the country's great
For rest and that' (I wished he'd go away;
I had a hundred things to do that day).
'Oh, well,' I said, 'I think; I meditate
And - ' 'Think? A man can't always think
Not all the time. Good lord! I'd take to drink!
'I'd go stone mad,' he said. 'I know the trees
And birds and sky, and all that sort of stuff
Please for a while. But man can't live on these.
I've got my love of nature's harmonies;
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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When So Dispoged
Oh, foolish flapper, keen to be
Considered cute and up-to-date,
Sit down a while and hark to me,
And I shall truly read your fate
Not in a tea-cup, sweetling mine;
But in the leas of a gin-and-two,
Manhattans swigged before the wine,
Martinis guzzled ere you dine;
There shall I trace your fortune true.
What see we in the stickly smear
Where still the liquor lingers, damp?
A sorry group of hags are here -
Gin-eaters, such as Mistress Gamp.
Here lurks a warning, precious pet,
For those who walk the wobbly path.
That crystal fluid, don't forget,
Was ne'er ingurgitated yet
Without some awful aftermath.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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For The Defence
'This Cen-TEEN-ary,' sez 'e
Sez I, 'You'll pardon me.'
(Perlite, like that, first off, and 'arf in laughter).
'You'll pardon me, I'm sure,'
I sez: 'but, speakin' pure,
Cen-TEN-ary, I think's, the word you're after.'
'Cen-TEEN-ary!' sez 'e;
An' looks fair, bang at me
All sort of snakey-eyed an' irritated.
Sez I, 'Don't be absurd,
For the dictionary word
Is Cen-TEN-ary. It's much more edjacated.'
'Cen-TEEN-ary!!' sez 'e.
Some'ow, 'e seemed to be
The sorta bloke wot gits me back up proper.
'Aw, brush yer brains!' sez I,
Gettin' 'ot. (I dunno why.)
'Cen-TEN-ary!' I sez. 'You darn clod-'opper!'
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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War's End Armistice Day 1935
Greyer and older, still they stand
Wearier, quieter, still they pray;
Men who had offered their all to a land.
And their thoughts run back to an olden day
When Youth sailed gallantly, gaily forth
Romance for King, and faith to the fore
To the older, bitterer lands of the north,
To battle, that men might end all war.
Ageing Diggers, grown wiser now,
Again they are dreaming before their shrine
Of the long-gone day when they made the vow
With hearts uplifted, and eyes a-shine.
And thro' their dreaming there drifts to-day
A newer note and a sad refrain,
As their thoughts return to that bitter fray:
'Was it all in vain? Was it all in vain?'
Soberer, sterner, still they hear
Endless thunder of vengeful guns
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Gardeners Grouch
There's a looper caterpillar in my lupins,
There are weevils weaving strands about my stocks,
There are throngs of thieving thrips
On my seedlings and my slips,
And the hoppers hop around my hollyhocks.
While the aphis eats my early antirrhinums,
All oblivious to the dreadful damage done,
And the jassids, jazzing gaily
Round dead jonquils, jar me daily ....
Yet I'd thought to take up gardening 'just for fun.'
I have blown 'em with a bellows filled with sulphur;
I've assaulted 'em with arsenate of lead;
I have prayed a vengeful prayer
As I sprayed 'em with a sprayer;
But the cross-grained little cuses won't stay dead!
I have bathed 'em with enough benzole emulsion
And deadly drugs to dropp them in their tracks;
Then I vainly sought their slaughter
With a stong tobacco water ....
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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