The Bridge Across the Crick
Joseph Jones and Peter Dawking
Strove in an election fight;
And you'd think, to hear them talking,
Each upheld the people's right.
Each declared he stood for Progress and against his country's foes
When he sought their votes at Wombat, where the Muddy River flows.
Peter Dawking, scorning party,
As an Independent ran;
Joseph Jones, loud, blatant, hearty,
Was a solid party man.
But the electors up at Wombat vowed to him alone they'd stick
Who would give his sacred promise for the 'bridge across the crick'.
Bland, unfaithful politicians
Long had said this bridge should be.
Some soared on to high positions,
Some sank to obscurity;
Still the bridge had been denied it by its unrelenting foes -
By the foes of patient Wombat, where the Muddy River flows.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Doreen
'I wish't yeh menat it, Bill.' Oh, 'ow me 'eart
Went out to 'er that evnin' on the beach.
I knew she weren't no ordinary tart,
My little peach!
To 'ear 'er voice! Its gentle sorter tone,
Like soft dream-music of some Dago band.
An' me all out; an' 'oldin' in me own
'Er little 'and.
An' 'ow she blushed! O, strike! it was divine
The way she raised 'er shinin' eyes to mine.
'Er eyes! Soft in the moon; such BOSHTER eyes!
An' when they sight a bloke…O, spare me days!
'E goes all loose inside; such glamour lies
In 'er sweet gaze.
It makes 'im all ashamed uv wot 'e's been
To look inter the eyes of my Doreen.
The wet sands glistened, an' the gleamin' moon
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Cheek
When PHARAOH chased the chosen Jew, and perished in the sea,
Things seemed to hint at failure in the PHARAOH policy.
For 'tis written that the Opposition leader had his way;
But we've never been enlightened on what PHARAOH had to say.
But probably before the wave came over him he swore:
'This is the naval policy I've always battled for!'
And continued to enlarge upon his policy's success,
Till a mouthful of the salt Red Sea cut short his brief address.
For there's nothing like a cool, calm cheek;
And there's wisdom in a big bold bluff.
If you find you've made a blunder,
And your policy goes under,
You've a chance if you can bellow loud enough.
That's the time you need a brass-bound cheek;
When your theory to smithereens is blown,
Seize the other fellow's notion
In the subsequent commotion
And declare, by all the gods, it is your own.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The I'd like to be........ series
The Sailor
I'd like to be a sailor - a sailor bold and bluff -
Calling out, "Ship ahoy!" in manly tones and gruff.
I'd learn to box the compass, and to reef and tack and luff;
I'd sniff and sniff the briny breeze and never get enough.
Perhaps I'd chew tobacco, or an old black pipe I'd puff,
But I wouldn't be a sailor if ...
The sea was very rough.
Would you?
The Porter
I'd like to be a porter, and always on the run,
Calling out, "Stand aside!" and asking leave of none.
Shoving trucks on people's toes, and having splendid fun,
Slamming all the carriage doors and locking every one -
And, when they asked to be let in, I'd say, "It can't be done."
But I wouldn't be a porter if ...
The luggage weighed a ton.
Would you?
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Little Homes
We have heard the cheering, brothers,
We have heard the martial peal;
We have seen the soldiers marching
And the glint of sun and steel.
We have heard the songs, the shouting;
But, while forth the soldier roams,
Who has heard the weeping, brothers,
In the Little Homes?
We have seen the gay processions
And the careless, laughing crowds.;
We have seen the banners waving
Out against the peaceful clouds;
Yet, while colors proudly flutter
Over noble spires and domes,
Who has seen the mourning, brothers,
In the Little Homes?
From the Little Homes that nestle
Where the smiling fields sweep wide,
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Dad's Philanthropic Plan
I knew an old philanthropist, a farming man was he,
Shrewd at a deal, but still withal a man of charity.
He had three sons - three hefty lads - Josiah, Jim and Joe,
And each of these had his own land, and made a goodly show.
But still the farming methods of Josiah, Joe and Jim
Distressed their good old parent and disturbed the mind of him.
'These sons o' mine appear to be a sight too slow,' thought he
'They need a better class o' stock and more machinery.'
Wherefore this old philanthropist, this shrewd old farming man,
He sat him down and pondered long, and thus evolved a plan
A simple scheme, beneficent, and calculated so
That it would guard the interests of Josiah, Jim and Joe.
'I have acquired,' reflected he, 'a lot of tillage land
Much more than I can work; and my affairs get out of hand.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Candid Candidate
Alfred Ebenezer Jackson was a very earnest man,
Who aspired to be a statesman, and he consequently ran
At a general election as the Candid Candidate,
Sworn to tell the truth ungarbled, leaving all the rest to Fate.
Jackson had a firm conviction that the average M.P.
Was not prefectly straightforward as a member ought to be.
'They disguise their actual motives,' Jackson said, 'and so they fail.
I shall leave no false suspicion that I'm sitting on a rail.'
'Fellow men,' quoth Ebenezer, in his first campaign address.
'My desire to gain election is most eager, I confess:
True, some patriotic ardor fills me with its holy fire;
But to get a safe and steady billet is my main desire.
'Now, to put the matter plainly, I've no wish to twist or hedge,
And I'm quite prepared to stand to all the things that I allege.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A Song Of Anzac
'When I'm sittin' in me dug-out, with me rifle on me knees,
An' a yowlin', 'owlin' chorus comes a-floatin' up the breeze
Just a bit o' 'Bonnie Mary'
Or 'Long Way to Tipperary'
Then I know I'm in Australia took an' planted overseas...'
So we sang in days remembered - fateful days of pain and war
When the young lads went forth singing, ship-bound for an unknown shore.
They were singing, ever singing, careless lads in careworn days,
Sturdy youths, but yet unblooded to red war's unholy ways.
From a land untouched by slaughter
Fared they forth across the water:
Some to Destiny's grim gateway where the scarlet poppy sways.
* * * *
'They were singin' on the troopship, they were singin' in the train;
When they left their land behind them they were shoutin' a refrain.
An' I'll bet they have a chorus
Gay an' glad in greetin' for us
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Disagreeable Musician
'E wouldn't play the flute; the sulky cow.
An', after all the trouble that we took
To try an' cheer,'is spirits up some'ow,
'E jes' sat there an' slung a glarsy look
To orl the crowd. The diserbligin' coot!
'E wouldn't play the flute.
After we'd done our gilt in on the spread
Fish from the Dago joint, an' bottled beer,
An' froot, an' 'am, an' saverloys an' bread
'E wouldn't eat. Jes' shook 'is silly 'ead.
An' though we begged 'im for some choonful toot,
'E wouldn't play the flute.
I puts it to yeh: Wuz we actin' fair?
Wot more could neighbors do to cheer a bloke?
We knoo they 'e 'ad troubles fer to bear,
An' jes called in to 'ave a friendly joke.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Reaper in the Bush
He was lyin' on his bunk,
In the hut behind the mill,
Ravin' like a man wild drunk,
Never silent, never still,
'Best go in an' say Good bye,'
Says old Blair. 'He's got to die.'
God! I never want to see
Any face so wrung with pain,
Nor to hear such blasphemy
Ever in my life again.
White he was, an' starey-eyed,
With his hand pressed to his side.
'Now he raves,' says Daddy Pike.
'He ain't wise to what he says
Never have I heard the like
All me wicked livin' days.'
'Raise him up a bit,' says Blair.
'Put that pillow under there.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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