The Music of your Voice
A vase upon the mantelpiece,
A ship upon the sea,
A goat upon a mountain-top
Are much the same to me;
But when you mention melon jam,
Or picnics by the creek,
Or apple pies, or pantomimes,
I love to hear you speak.
The date of Magna Charta or
The doings of the Dutch,
Or capes, or towns, or verbs, or nouns
Do not excite me much;
But when you mention motor rides -
Down by the sea for choice
Or chasing games, or chocolates,
I love to hear your voice.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Whales
The ways of the learned to me are 'Greek,'
And professors and such amaze me.
I know, without trying, the thing they seek,
Tho' I doubt if for that they'll praise me.
They want to discover why whales are big,
So they sail, at the risk of sinking,
In ships with elaborate, technical rig,
When the facts can be learned by thinking.
I can simply account for the size of a whale
And it doesn't seem much of a riddle
It's because he's so long from the nose to the tail
And in measurement round the middle.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Immune
When you're muffled to the chin and
You wear flannel next the skin and
'Spite of all, the frost creeps in and
Gets you, Winter's nearly due;
And, in snuffling citizens, a
Fierce attack of influenza
Wakes a wild, insane cadenza
With the burden 'Ar-tish-ooO!!'
Then a sight that sends me crazy
In these chilly days and hazy,
Is to see defiant Daisy
Tripping blithesomely and bold
In a blouse that's simply shocking
And a flimsy silken stocking,
All the ills of Winter mocking.
Does she ever catch a cold?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Glory!
Another milestone gained and passed,
Another 'rakkud' broken,
And this year's deaths exceed the last,
Which is a hopeful token.
America can ne'er look back;. . . .
She is the land progressive
She keeps along the onward track
With 'vim' and pep excessive.
For they who meet and meekly sing,
To mark a celebration,
Such trifles as 'God Save the King'
Make no real 'he-man' nation.
The U.S.A., from south to north,
Recounts the splendid story,
For it sure is one Glorious Fourth,
When hundreds go to glory.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A Fair Risk
Rashly I shot an arrow in the air,
And, as my shaft into the zenith sped,
I knew 'twas bound to fall some time, somewhere;
And wondered if 'twould dropp upon some head.
A certain friend of mine who loitered near
Remarked, 'Don't let the thing distress you, please.
'Twill hit a politician, never fear.'
And so, my tortured conscience was at ease.
Now, when I read of Party Government,
Its wrangles, lies, and methods most unfair,
I calmly step outside my tenement
And shoot another arrow in the air.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Modern Cherub
'Give me a dad who knows his place
And never gives me cheek,
And a mother mild who treats her child
In a docile way, and meek.
Give me a house where a little lad
Is recognised as head,
And home-life's not too beastly bad,'
The little darling said.
'Give me the right to rule to roost
And I'll stay in at night,
And seldom go to the picture show
Or patronise the fight.
But I'll treat complaints with a lordly sniff
If they humbly mention bed.
Precocious parents bore me stiff,'
The sweet young cherub said.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Futility
To gild refined gold, or to paint the lily,
Or seek by other means to overstress,
As Shakespeare has it, is not merely silly,
But 'wasteful and ridiculous excess.'
Yes, men still try it, for no other reason
Than that man ever would and ever will
Strive fatuously, in and out of season,
To paint perfection's cheek more perfect still.
Yet of all futile tasks, of all the foolish,
Absurd attempts that show of wit a lack,
The worst is his who, obstinate and mulish,
Insists that he should paint a collier black.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Jove's Opportunity
Thunder? Why, no. Some static, may have been
A far, faint rumble and a glimmering light.
This, and no more, John, have we heard and seen,
We watchers in the dark politic night.
Now we are waiting, John. With ear a-cock,
Expectant, and a little thrilled we are
To know that politicians still may stock,
These days, a weapon so spectacular.
Here is your chance. Arise! Unleash your might!
Send now, bolt after bolt, peal upon peal
While darting flashes stab the murky night
That Jovian thunder that he did not steal.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Good Friday
So we forget? The streets bloom gay
With festive garments, many hued;
And man and maid laugh down the way
With all the joy of life imbued.
Respite from toil, surcease from care
Lend gladness to a merry voice,
As brother cries to brother there,
'Let us rejoice.'
Do we forget? The garden blooms;
Joy beckons from the sunlit hill,
Where now no triple shadow looms
To cast o'er all the earth a chill.
This day is made for carefree souls!
For holiday! For Eastertide! ...
Yet, thro' it all a bell still tolls
For One Who died.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A Blind Man in the Street
'He's blind,' we say. Then turn aside
Upon our way, again to view
Familiar things - some prospect wide,
Some olden scene for ever new.
Heedless we pass along, and soon
The groping figure's out of mind,
Lost in the sunlit afternoon.
'Poor chap, he's blind.'
Slowly he taps along the street,
Pitch black beneath our smiling skies:
While ours the boon again to greet
New scenes with ever thoughtless eyes.
Thoughtless indeed if, passing, we
Grudge thanks for this most precious sense.
He asks of us - not sympathy
But recompence.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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