Youth Revisited
Can this be the old town of wheat-teams and saddle-hacks,
Of Ted Toll's smithy, with the anvil ringing clear,
Of stacks in the station yard, and stockmen, and farming hands,
Of bow-legged bound'ry riders coming in for beer
This strange, new, brisk town of sweet-shops and petrol pumps
Petrol pumps with motor cars dashing up and down?
Yet there stands the old church, the bluestone baker's shop,
And the queer, shrunken houses of my old home town.
What has become of him - Little Johnny Parkinson?
Little Johnny Parkinson out upon a bust
The long red beard of him, the red-rimmed eyes of him;
Red from the harvest field and winnower dust.
Five foot two of him - Little Johnny Parkinson,
Driving in his wheat team, down the dusty street;
Red beard, red eyes, red bandana neckerchief
Little Johnny Parkinson, who took his whiskey neat.
What has become of him - Big Jack Herringford?
Big Jack Herringford, champion of the stacks,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Bill
'Gentle brother, answer truly,
Tell what you be.
But, I pray, tax not unduly
Your sagacitee.
Is your brand u-ni-fi-cation
Is't, or is your appellation
Something mild and shorter still?
Answer truly, Brother Bill.'
Gentle brother answered truly,
Though in language hot
For his temper was unruly:
'Don't talk blinded rot!
Blow u-ni-fi-blanky-cation!
If you want me name an' station
My true moniker is Bill,
An' I work at Johnson's mill.'
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Autumn Interlude
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
His gossamer net that fills frail Autumn's sky.
So I said goodbye to the bees; for I knew that soon
I should bask no more 'neath the trees on some high noon
And hark to the drowsy hum close overhead.
For the cold and rain must come, now Summer's dead.
So I wallowed a while in woe and wooed unease;
And I rather liked it so; for it seemed to please
Some clamoring inner urge - some need apart,
And I felt self-pity surge, here, in my heart
As I said goodbye to the bees, my tireless friends
Who toil mid the flowers and the trees till daylight ends
Who toil in the sun, yet seem to find no irk,
While I loll in the shade and dream; for I do love work.
Ah, fate and the falling leaf! How dear is woe.
How subtly sweet is grief (Synthetic). So
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Roamin' Free
The miser sits beside his hoard,
The lover tarries by his bride,
And he who neither may afford
Is free to roam the whole world wide.
Ye prate of cares, of plans amiss;
With voices grave and faces long;
While I - I ask of life but this
To drink, to kiss, to troll a song
And rove a-roamin', roamin' free
A-ringin' in the changes.
Why linger here to waste a tear
When joy awaits o'er the ranges?
Why tarry there to nurse a care
When golden days are over?
For far and wide, where men abide,
There's welcome for the rover.
Who seeks to earn a life of ease:
For honor, wealth, and fame exist;
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Galloping Days
Galloping, galloping, galloping horses
Weave thro' our dreaming in burgeoning Spring;
There's sun in our hearts and there's sun on the courses,
And paeans of hope Winter's threnody forces
Over the hill-tops; for joy is a-wing.
Joy is a-wing, and the galloping rhythm
Mingles, alack, with a ruefuller rune,
For winners may rug but the losers run with 'em,
On the galloping, galloping tune.
Galloping, galloping, galloping gladly
Round the white railing and on to the turn,
While keeping in time to it, urgently madly,
Pulses are racing, ecstatic'ly, sadly;
Eyes to the thundering eagerly yearn,
Voice, upraising, are praising, are pleading,
Mid rackets gay jackets flash by and are gone.
Then the field in the sunlight, retreating, receding,
Goes galloping, galloping, galloping on.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Hidden City
It was the schooner Desperate
That sailed the southern sea,
And the skipper had brought his little daughter
To our centenary.
Blue were her eyes and plucked her brow,
Where she wore a golden curl.
Yet, 'spite her looks, she was somehow
A shrewd, observant girl.
But and spake an old sailor
Who had been that way before
'I pray don't land at yonder port
Lest your girl count it a bore.
Last year the town had a handsome street,
This year no street we see.'
'Why?' asked the skipper. 'Poles,' said the tar.
And a sneering laugh laughed he.
For an alderman had spoken,
Who had known the ropes long since,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Fitzmickle Unbends
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Still with an iron hand
Rules house and home. Like a peevish gnome
He barks each curt command.
And he packs the family off to bed
Since a wireless 'fan' he's grown
And each obeys, while Papa stays
And harks to the Test alone.
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Sat, last Saturday night,
Glowing with pride as Australia's side
Rose to the loftiest height.
Then, just as the fun grew furious
And the batsmen forged ahead,
Came a horrible shriek, a click and a squeak;
And the speaker went stone dead!
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Fiddled, with urgent thumb,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Bottle-O Benny
Chuff! Chuff! Chuff! With a rumble and a rattle,
Waking every echo on the old bush road;
Waking, too, the wonder of the wayside cattle
With the clatter of his engine and his strange, mixed load;
With his front wheels a-wobble and his back brake squealing,
Skirting here the table-drain, grazing there a tree,
His hand upon the steering, but his mind upon his dealing,
Comes Bottle-o Benny in his old Model T.
'Any ole iron, sir? Fat, sir? Bottles, sir?
Cast-off clobber, or any ole rags?
(Pretty sticky patch that, down by the wattles, sir.)
Any ole machinery or secon'-and bags?
Charf bags, bran bags? Taken 'em orf yer 'an's, sir
Best city prices, spot cash. That's me!
This 'ere dealin' life's as 'ard as any man's, sir.'
Says Bottle-o Benny from his old Model T.
He pokes about the rubbish heap; he roots around the stable there;
He loiters in the lumber-shed and says, 'Times is lean.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Limitations
"Who are these blokes with bulging brows
I see all o'er the shop?"
The layman asked. "Them's scientists,"
Replied the courteous cop.
"They are the country's biggest brains;
There's nothing they don't know
The ways of stars, the eight of suns,
And why the winds do blow."
"Then think you they could cure this cold
That leaves me leaden-eyed?"
"Well - no; they ain't quite up to that,"
The constable replied.
"But they could take a man apart
And sew him up again
As good as new; they know how trees
Grow from a tiny grain.
And they can harness wireless waves
And make hem do their will,
Or split an atom bang in two,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Old Town Types No. 4 - Our Mr. Trim
Mr Trim, commercial traveller, is in town again,
'Our Mr Trim,' you know, debonair and neat;
Landed here this morning on the ten-thirty train;
Can't you hear him laughing there, half down the street?
A bland man, a breezy man, a man to take the eye;
With his trolly load of sample tins, his big leather bags.
Men say he's popular; ladies say, 'Oo, my!'
John George Augustus Trim, traveller in bags.
Mr Trim, the traveller, oh, very well-dressed,
Very much the lah-de-dah; handsome, too, at that;
Flowing, braided frock-coat (material the best)
Pantaloons of shepherd's plaid, tall shiny hat;
Curly set of 'sideboards,' big silk moustache,
Diamond on finger and a rolling eye of brown.
'Oo, such a one!' the ladies say. 'Such a shameless mash,'
And hearts are all a-flutter when our Mr Trim's in town.
Mr Trim, the traveller, drinking with the boys,
'Heard the latest yarn, lads? Got it at the club.'
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!