The Listener
Why, certainly. Let's listen to the cricket.
Oh, I'm quite keen. Test match, I understand.
At... What's that? Oh, Australia's at the wicket.
South Africa - a most intriguing land.
Yes, I was there in - nineteen - let me see
In nineteen - Dear me! Memory is so tricky.
Met Cecil Rhodes, you know. He said to me,
I recollect - eh? Oh. The wicket's sticky.
Great Cecil Rhodes. There was a master mind,
A dreamer, yet so practical, creative.
South Africa, Well, well. Today I find
Their urgent problem doubtless is the native,
Zulus, you know. Basutos. In the war
With Kruger - Eh? Oh, sorry. Are they playing?
Really? What's all the caterwauling for?
Eagleton out? Pity... What was I saying?
Of course, yes, Africa. I've seen it all,
From Jo'burg up thro' Kenya to Fashoda.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Call
Don't yeh hear them callin, to yeh, callin' to yeh, lad?
Where the skyline's smeared an' grey with cannon smoke,
There's a crowd o' chaps that knew yeh;
Don't yeh hear them callin' to yeh
Mates o' yours with 'oom yeh used to drink an' joke?
An' they trust yeh, lad; they trust yeh for the friendship that yeh had.
Don't yeh bear them callin',
Callin' to yeh, lad?
Can't you see them beck'nin' to yeh, beck'nin' to yeh, boy ?
There's a pal o' yours that fell at Sari Bair;
An' yeh cheered 'im when yeh parted,
An' yeh felt a bit down-'earted;
Now 'e's passed the game to you, to do yer share.
Oh, the job is reel dead earnest, an' a gun is not a toy;
Can't yeh see them beck'nin',
Beck'nin' to yeh, boy?
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Hundredth Year
Not that I'd quarrel with the way
They celebrates their hundredth year
In town (said old Pete Parraday),
But that don't suit us bush blokes here.
So let bells ring and whistles blare
And fill the town with mighty sound,
Let motor noises tear the air
An' bonfires light the hills around.
When I'm five score I want some say
In things (said old Peter Parraday).
I've lived me life here in the bush
(Said Pete) since I was but a boy;
An' all this city noise an' push
Ain't my idea of showin' joy.
Me ears ain't tooned to sich like noise,
And fire is like to wake our fear.
Them ain't the things that we enjoys
When celebratin' birthdays here;
So, if I live so long, I pray
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Renascence
World war had come - and gone. It seemed the end.
Spent, broken, by the last despair oppressed,
Unfitted to attack or yet defend,
The nations' panting remnants skulked to rest
A listless, brutish rest, where no hope gleamed,
Where earth's last glory had been thrown away
With all the splendid dreams man ever dreamed;
And his proud world a stricken shambles lay.
Grief only stayed. Great cities in the dust
Littered the path of ruin absolute,
Where sapient man, in that last mad bloodlust;
Surrendered all his birthright to the Brute;
And now the Brute triumphant claimed an earth
Where love or life or death mattered no more;
And faith and friendship, every shred of worth,
Dishonored utterly, were trampled o'er.
With a field where, lately, countless dead
Had lain till deeper, kindlier rest they found,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Expert and The Apricot
The orchardist, with hope aglow,
Sets out a crop of fruit to grow
And sell it wisely where he can,
Like any other business man;
And he strives to make a contract fair and free.
But, 'Fie!' exclaims the Government,
'Have we not experts heaven-sent
Who, by their schemes an shrewd advice,
Will win you twice the market price?'
(And the bloom begins to burgeon on the tree.)
Then, lo, with docket and with file,
The studious experts toy the while.
With rain and sun, the season goes,
The blossom falls, the fruit it grows
As bureaucrats debate and disagree.
They look up section forty-two
And regulation Seven Q
All eagerly upon the scent
Of written rule and precedent.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
One Dull Man
Why did you play your spade in there? (said she).
I can't think why you don't take care (said she).
You fuss and fiddle with every card
As tho' you found the game too hard
You hung on to your trumps until
They caught you napping. Really, Will,
You think and hesitate so long;
Then in the end you play it wrong.
Why, you can't even call your hand.
You men! I cannot understand.
You are so stupid, dull and dense.
The game requires just common-sense.
But Bridge for you holds little gain:
Yet you're supposed to have a brain (said she).
Tired? You? I hope I am no cat (said she)
But I must say I do like that (said she)
What about me? You go to town,
And gossip there with Smith and Brown.
And go to lunch and have a drink,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Earth's Oldest Show
Not in our public parks, for private gain.
This centuries-old precursor of all dramas
That lured babes in old Italy and Spain
To plague for pence their medieval mamas.
Not for the modern child: this crude display
Of brutal bouts with staves, or battles fictic;
So wise and reverend city elders say.
But we might get lighted fountains .... 'Ow hartistic!
Not in our playgrounds may the showman pitch
His box of tricks that, from our great-gand-daddies
And their great-great-grand-daddies, drew those rich,
Fat chuckles of pure joy, when they were laddies.
Not for our bairns: that vulgar figure, Punch
With his hypocrisy and moods plenetic,
His Mammoth nose, his ugly, malformed hunch.
But we might have colored fountains .... 'Ow hesthetic!
Not Punch: that wicked well-loved reprobate,
Beneath false jocularity concealing
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Mugga Mugga
Candidly, I do not hug a
Wish to go to Mugga Mugga;
To the Mugga Mugga Mountain by Yassberra's desert place,
Where they're planning - more's the pity
To erect Australia's city,
To upraise a drouthy city - monument to our disgrace.
'Tis proposed that we shall lug a
Myriad pipes to Mugga Mugga -
Water-pipes to get the wetness to the city's thirsty crowd
Water to ablute and bathe in?
Nay! The language will be scathin'
When the Mugga mugs discover: 'NOTICE - BATHING NOT ALLOWED.'
Wearily, with jar or jug, a
Citizen at Mugga Mugga
Will await his turn for water - wait with bucket, billy-can,
Kerosene-tin - any vessel
That the Cotter's muddy mess'll
Safely keep in - 0, the weepin' of the Mugga Mugga man!
I can see a future Mugg
Resident arise and tug a
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Few Lines to Beauty
Girls!
You with the bobbed hair or Mary Pickford curls,
Likewise you others
Who still adopt the hair-dressing style,
That makes the moderns smile.
But was undoubtedly the dearest attribute of your mothers.
And, by the by,
You with the glad-eye -
We've seen you in the street
Looking particularly sweet.
And we ask you
Do you think that those girls in the city that is reputed to possess a harbor
can overtask you?
In the matter of looking nice -
We do not seek to give advice;
And, frankly, we don't know.
We have seen both types and so,
Being diplomatic,
We refrain from expressing an opinion that is too emphatic.
We'll leave it to the vote,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Likely Lad
Child of a myriad varied voices calling
O'er countless leagues of space in divers tongues,
Tho' captious critics view your ways appalling
And fain would quiet your all too strident lungs,
Raw youth must have its fling; and ten brief summers
Hardly suffice to make you a sage;
So, ‘spite your crooners, clowns and jazz-drunk strummers,
You have not done so badly for your age.
Much water has flowed down many a river
(The McIntyre at Yetman, let us say)
Since first you set ethereal waves a-quiver
With that crude babbling of your natal day.
You're growing up, my lad, and waxing wiser;
Tho' still the crabbed, impatient censors rage.
As entertainer and as advertiser
You have not done so badly for your age.
And many lonely men in lonely places,
Have hailed you as a blessing and a joy,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!