Further Afric Echoes
By gar! I tell-a you, t'ings don't stop
Since da war he come wit' a rush,
When Nicko, da boss at da fry-fish shop,
He sack-a Black Sam, da slush.
I tella you how Nick t'row Sam out
An' say for to notta come back;
An' I tella how Sam play turn about
An' launch-a da count' attack.
Well, t'ings dey move like da grease-a-da-light.
Nick speak-a to four, five friend,
An' he say: 'We make-a raid tonight
An' bringa dis war for end.'
So dey find-a where Sam an' his friends hang out,
An' dey snap-a da fing' at da law
When dey make-a da plan for da midnight rout
An' da dirty sock-a-da-jaw.
But Sammo he got da spy in da camp,
An' he catch-a da hint what drp,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
City of Dreams
Oh, we might have a marvellous city
Were we only less keen on cash
Less avid for things - more's the pity
That fade and are gone in a flash,
A city where duffers in my line
In wrapt adoration fall flat
To behold its superlative skyline
But there isn't much money in that.
Oh, we might have a city most splendid
Were sordid self-seeking denied.
Were good taste and culture attended
By pride that transcends money-pride.
Then, urged by more glorious dreaming
Than moved beneath Pericles' hat,
We would out-Athens Athens in scheming
But - there isn't much money in that.
So let's build our city according
To canons commercial and sane.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Bonds
Briggs
Joseph Briggs, of Yorkshire, England, blessed country of Freetrade,
Where the large importers' profits and fine sentiments are made,
Digs
Deep into his mine of wisdom, and, with British fervency,
Bids us mark the Bonds of Empire reaching out across the sea;
Binding us to one another
Us and our benign old mother
Patriotic apron-strings of Empire we would scorn to free.
Threads -
Crimson threads of kith and kinship - thin red lines of sentiment!
What a wave of fervid friendship over all the continent
Spreads,
When some speaker bids us ponder
On those threads that reach out yonder...
But alas, there are acute grumblers whom mere threads do not content !
Ties
Silken ties! O, who would venture to disturb a single thread?
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Gloomy Victorian
Where is this glum Victorian
This man of mien forlorn
Fit but for some historian
To heap with heavy scorn?
I've sought him up an down the street
Thro' labyrinthine ways,
Wherever men and maidens meet;
By road or rail, or on two feet
I've searched for him for days.
I've looked for him where business cares
Weigh down on every rank,
Seeking to catch him unawares
In tears upon the office stairs;
Yet ever drew a blank
I've sought him in the hinterland
On Sunny Saturdays.
He smiled a while and waved his hand
Amid his draughts and drays,
And said, 'Excuse me: I must catch
This bus to see a football match,'
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Bush Veteran
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:
Butcher's meat and groceries and all sorts of foods;
A bit of plug 'tobaker' and a tin of 'jelly Jam,'
'Termatter' sauce and yellow soap, a knuckle-end of ham,
And a little flask of 'special stuff' discreetly tucked away.
'I takes it for me rheumatiz,' says Peter Parraday.
Old Pete Parraday, he lives all on his own.
People say he's getting old and shouldn't be alone.
They talk of institutions where he'd have most kindly care.
'Wot? Me?' says Peter Parraday. 'An' wot would I do there?
Lose me independence, an' be 'umble when they scold,
Eat an' sleep an' dress an' smoke just when an' how I'm told?
Shove ME in an Old Man's 'Ome to rust me life away?
I'd like to see 'em try it on!' says Peter Parraday.
Old Pete Parraday has little time to spare
For a bush hut and a garden are a common source of care.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Conducted Tour
Walk up! Walk up to the Bureaucratic Fair!
All the tasters and the testers and the tallymen are there.
All the freaks and other fancies of the mighty tax machine.
A unique conglomeration not believed until it's seen.
Walk up! Walk up to the strangest show on earth!
And learn how the tax-collection costs near all a tax is worth;
Learn all about the latest departmental funny cracks.
Buy your tickets at the window. Two and six - plus tax.
Come and see the biscuit-biter. No performance could be brighter.
Learn how shortbread can affect the human girth.
Come and see the pastry chewer. Green complexioned, but a doer
Holds the cup for the most bilious bloke on earth!
Come and see the lip-stick licker. Quick as lightning - even quicker
Picks the British from the foreign at a lick.
Come and help the politician patch the country's sad condition.
With the latest catch-a-penny parlor trick.
Come and see the cove so pure that he bans the literature
That all Britain may devour, and stays serene.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Old Town Types No. 29 - Miss Trapp, The Music Teacher
'One-and-two-and-three-and-four
You're playing it by ear, boy! Eyes upon the score!'
Miss Trapp, the music teacher, very prim and staid,
English and respectable, the town's old maid,
Sitting in her 'front room,' elderly and stern,
While a grubby urchin struggles with the notes he'll never learn.
'One-and-two-and-one-and-two
You're playing it at random! This will nevah, nevah do!'
No one knew her history or why she settled down
To 'Singing and Pianoforte' in our old town;
With her soft voice and grey dress, the folk called her 'The Dove;'
And the story somehow got about that she'd been 'crossed in love.'
And so, her fancied tragedy clothed her in vague romance
'So well-connected, too, my dear. You'd see that that a glance'
With her 'One-and-two-and - Oh, you stupid child!'
And the rap upon the knuckles was both lady-like and mild.
She sang at local concerts in a cultured voice and thin,
And the back seats applauded her with many a covert grin:
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Old Town Types No. 12 - Mrs Munn, The Nurse
Mrs Munn, the midwife - Mother Munn they called her
Wallowed in the world's woes; sickness ne'er appalled her.
She spared no grisly detail as she gossipped on apace,
When - 'Me an' Doctor Littlejohn, my dear, is on a case,'
For - 'Me an' Doctor Littlejohn has awful much to do;
An' some is doin' poorly, but we 'opes to pull 'em thro','
Says Mrs Munn, the town's nurse, short and gingham gowned,
Five feet two in height and four feet around.
Mrs Munn, the midwife toddles down the street,
Telling secrets, dropping hints to friends that she may meet.
'To see the state of 'er, my dear! You 'ardly would believe;
But me an' Doctor Littlejohn ain't easy to deceive.
Gets 'er likker unbeknownst! 'Usband? he don't see.
An' she says it's indigestion, but - you can't tell me!
I knows the signs,' says Mrs Munn, with nods and winks profound
Five feet two of her and four feet around.
Mrs Munn, the midwife no laundered cap;
A black, bugled bonnet and an old print wrap
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Ballad of Bopard Defied
As I came to a playing-field on happy summer day
Two strudy youths I did espy; at cricket they did play.
One had the ball, one had the bat, and, with a right good smack,
As one tossed up the crimson sphere, the other smote it back.
Now, as I reached the bowler's end, I saw the young man quail;
His hand they shook, his knees went crook, his face was ashen pale;
Then, with a gulty kind of look, he cast the ball away,
And in a weak and trembling voice these words to me did say:
(In a tearful, pleading voice, with plenty of temolo and shivering grass.)
'Don't tell them that you saw me,
Or that I misbehaved.
Their methods over-aw me;
But I would not be enslaved.
I love my freeders, msiter, as much as any man;
But, oh, I love my bit of cricket, too.
And I dearly love to bowl,
But the great Board of Control,
They would chain me to their chariot if they knoo.'
(Adopt severe judicial manner, frowning darkly.)
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Old Town Types No.17- Mr Bodge the Banker
Mr Bodge, the banker, was a power in the land;
His city bank had granted him an autocratic hand;
For our town was most remote from commerce centres then,
And only Mr Bodge could know who were our solid men.
So Mr Bodge within his bank reigned with a pride immense,
And rich men and poor men, they paid him deference;
For who could know when droughts would come to jeopardise some plan?
And one word from Mr Bodge might save or sink a man.
He shone among the 'silvertails,' a leading social light,
Well dressed, well groomed and painfully polite.
He entertained the Governor, when he was in our town,
Magistrates and M.P.'s and others of renown.
In full beards and top hats, with such a fancy spread
That the fat cook at Flynn's pub went nearly off her head
Cold collations, caviare, foods till then unknown,
And all were sure that Mr Bodge had money of his own.
He beamed on Peter Connor when he came into the bank,
For Connor was our squatter and a man of social rank.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!