Suburbia
O man with a Position, prithee tell,
How is't you mould your sal'ried life so well;
Holding in lofty scorn that lowly mob
Of 'Blokes' who earn mere 'wages' at a 'job'.
Knights of Suburbia, whose only care
Is to be counted 'mid the 'naicest' there,
Teach me how I, some day, may learn to be
Clothed in drab Respectability.
I cannot muster due respect for those
Who wear the very nicest kind of clothes;
Nor does the Upper House sufficiently
Impress the dull, 'right-thinking' part o' me.
Fain would I garb my meekness in a coat
Whose very blackness struck a pious note,
And crease my pants, and aye, with tender care,
Arrange becomingly my plebian hair.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Logic Of Anti-Sosh
Mister Chairman; - er - ah - when
We right-thinking business men
Are treated with much scant - um - er - civility,
I say the time has come
For us to - er - ah - um -
To defend our rights and - er - respectability.
We are right, sir, to defend
Our interests. And the trend
Of present legislation is - fantastic, sir.
That is - er - the only word
To describe it. It's absurd!
And calls for opposition - um - er - drastic, sir!
And - ah - sir. I think I can
Say this meeting to a man
Is distinctly Anti-Sosh and - er - and sensible;
And holds that Labor aims
And Socialistic claims
Are visionary and - um - reprehensible.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Hulk
Now, 'ere's my tip
Fer the Fusion ship,
An' I tells it straight an' square.
I'm a rare old tar
As nigh an' far
You'll not meet ev'rywhere.
I've seen 'er sail
In many a gale,
But she's done 'er final trip;
So I 'itches me breeches, an' a simple tale I pitches
O' this good ole Fusion ship.
'Twas Alf an' Joe,
Long years ago,
They built 'er any 'ow.
Twas a strange ole skiff
With 'er keel skew-wiff,
An' a double-ended bow.
Yus, a nose each end,
An' a grecian bend
Amidships, quaint an' queer.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Haw!
'Haw! Good fellow I'm not doubting
Your intentions are all right,
And your general appearance
Is intelligent and bright;
But the question you're discussing
Rather flicks me on the raw,
And it really doesn't matter;
So we'll close the subject. Haw!'
Since the every first reformer
Made suggestions in the trees
All the old earth's agitators
Meet with phrases such as these.
And it acts as brake and hobble
On the progress of mankind,
This superior aloofness
Of the static type of mind.
'Haw!' It rings throughout the ages
Since dim neolithic years,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Cherry
'Some I got with amber stems an' some with silver bands,
Bent ones an' straight ones an' all sorts o' brands.
A lot of pipes, sez you, for one old pensioner to own;
But, folks, as soon as Christmas comes, they won't leave me alone.
'We'll give old Pete a pipe,' they sez, forgetful in their way,
It's wot they gives me every year,' said old Pete Parraday.
'Bent ones an' straight ones, some must ha' cost real dear -
More than I'd smoke if I should live for two hundred year.
''We'll give ole Pete a pipe,' they sez. (People is awful good
Here in the bush! 'He sucks,' they sez, 'at that ole cherrywood
All bound with bits of wire an' stuff, an' cracked an' caked up too!'
But, lordy, none of 'em don't know that pipe the way I do.
I've had him over seven year, an' I just likes him fine;
For, cracked an' all, an' caked an' all, he's a good ole mate o' mine.
'Cherry,' I calls him, just for short. I own he smells no end,
But, if I was to lose him now, I'd feel I'd lost a friend.
'Yes, he knows me an' I knows him - a cranky coot some ways:
Got to be youmered, like a man; he has his sulky days.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Mountain Laboured
A patriot spake thus to an eager throng:
'Give me the power and I shall right each wrong.
And Fortune, smiling, on our land shall look'
His name was COOK.
Lo, I beheld, throughout a continent,
A nation wrestle with affairs of State,
And patriotic cries, wher'er I went,
Poured forth alike from groundlings and the great.
I heard man reason with his fellow man;
From shore to shore rang out one mighty screech,
As, daily, from a thousand platforms ran
Rivers of speech.
Consul and Senator keen combat waged.
Doctor and Saint joined hotly in the fray;
North, South and West and East the battle raged;
And ev'ry citizen had much to say;
Bland politicians talked incessantly
It seemed a very battle of the gods;
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Message: Armistice Day 1936
I got dreamin' that a message come in some mysterious way
From one ole pal of mine, gone West this many an' many a day,
A bloke the name of Ginger Mick, a fightin' cove I knoo.
(But 'e's Digger Corporal Mick Esquire, late A.I.F., to you)
'E got 'is on Gallipoli, an' sleeps there with the best,
Not leavin' very much be'ind, excep' one small request.
'Look after things,' was all 'e said, when 'e was mortal 'urt.
Dead sure 'is mates - that's me an' you - would never do 'im dirt.
(Think of it in the Silence, with yer 'eads bowed low:
Do we keep the unspoke compact with the men we used to know?)
For I dreams it in the silence of a dark Remembrance Eve;
An' the message seems to tell me it is gettin' late to grieve.
'But if you seem to miss us still, then get the sob-stuff o'er,
An' think about the things wot we went an' fought a war.
Send up a pray`r an' dropp a tear an' bend a reverent knee -
(Says Digger Corporal Ginger Mick, A.I.F., says 'e)
But is them things we fought for still the things most dear to you:
The honor an' the glory an' the mateship that we knew?'
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Mixed Crew
Tho' it sounds a trifle mystic,
Somewhat vague and cabbalistic,
When you come to analyse the inner side
Of political alliance
You will find it is a science
That embraces matters delicate and wide.
It involves the close cohesion of the faction or cabal,
And the very fleeting friendship of the temporary pal.
But pull for the shore, lads, pull for the shore.
Never mind wot boat yer in, struggle at yer oar.
Cook is on the gunwale, cursin' us fer cows;
Deakin's in stern-sheets. Mauger's at the bows;
The stormy winds are blowin' an' the enemy's at hand;
We must settle it among us when we're safely on the land.
There's the Temporary Fusion;
Which is mainly an illusion
When you view it in the light of ev'ry day.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Wonders of the One Pound Note
Brothers!
You .... with but a sixpence in your pocket, and you with half a 'quid,' and
you with a solid bank balance, and sundry others;
Let not the cares of money e'er oppress you.
Today I would address you
Upon the wonders of the one pound note
And in the words that someone one day wrote
Across its face,
I trust my words will not be out of place.
Have you e'er given our pound note a glance -
When you have had a chance?
Artistic, ain't it?
I wonder what aesthete they got to paint it?
Doesn't its face attract you, and its smile
Lure you to love and fondle it a while -
The brief while that 'tis with you? Don't you feel
It has a certain - shall we say - appeal?
And, have you ever
Marvelled at all that intricate and clever -
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Clerk
The unsoiled hand, the sleek, black coat,
The senile, ledger-haunted hours,
The knowledge that my freeman's vote
Is humbly cast to please 'the powers,'
A futile spite against the mass,
A small, weak hate of Labor's side,
These privileges of Our Class
I cherish with a puny pride.
The sycophancy of the snob,
The day-long cringe, the life-long fear
That I may lose a steady job
That 'job genteel' I hold so dear
These be the splendid attributes
Of one who yearns to emulate
His master; and all work-soiled brutes
Regards with mean, reflected hate.
Not mine the arrogance of wealth,
No pride in honest labor mine;
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!