Lines Written in Hospital
Upon a snowy bed I lie,
Too placid to complain,
And watch the mad world rushing by
Beyond my window-pane,
The traffic threading in and out
And wonder what it's all about.
I watch the loaded tramcars stream
By dozens into town,
With men, each thinking of some scheme
To take his neighbour down;
Each woman wond'ring what she'll buy
At Frill and Fluffum's bye and bye.
Down in the street I hear the talk
Of people passing by,
They chatter, chatter as they walk
Of all thins 'neath the sky
Of trade, of sport, of foolish things
That lack of clear reflection brings.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Leg Theory
Oh, what a pleasant game is life
When we are bravely batting
And glorying in skill and strife.
We scorn defensive patting
As Fate sends down the easy ones
We set the ball a-soaring
Straight to the fence and pile up runs
And go on scoring, scoring.
A week it lasts, a month, a year
Ten years if luck holds steady
No crafty trick may wake our fear,
For every move we're ready
No matter how the ball is bumped.
We are so sure, so clever
We can't be caught or bowled or stumped
We're set! We're in forever!
But comes a time, as I have found,
When in our carefree playing,
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Kid Around The Corner
There's a kid around the corner
Who is filled with half-formed fears;
He is growing rather wistful
As the Christmas season nears;
For a hint has reached him lately
That has made him wonder greatly
If the jovial old Santa
Is as kind as he appears.
But the kid around the corner
Has strong faith in Santa Claus
Notwithstanding dread depression
And all economic laws.
Could we run this sad old earth right
Such a faith were all youth's birthright.
If you asked him why he holds it
He would answer 'Just because.'
There's a kid around the corner
Who will wake on Christmas morn
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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January 2nd
How many have you broken up till now?
I know that yesterday you made a vow,
And most solemnly 'twas spoken;
But how many have you broken?
Oh, you kept 'em for an hour or two - But How?
You swore at twelve o'clock or thereabouts,
Most resolutely, scorning any doubts,
That the glad New Year would find you
With your vices all behind you.
And you'd be the very best of good boy scouts.
But you fell. And, oh, how quickly did you fall!
And now you're feeling low, and mean, and small;
For, despite all your devising,
You have come to realising
That you're really only human after all.
Ah, well, at least you had the will to try;
And you may reform some day before you die,
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Bronze-Wing Pigeon
They say I am a shy, wild thing,
That seeks the wild bush glade.
Quick to be gone on whirring wing,
Where stangers would invade;
But well I know what all birds know:
The voice of friend, the tread of foe;
And deem it wise to fear the worst
Till I have knowledge of the first.
Afar my muffled drumming sounds,
Where tangled dogwood grows;
But when you tread my feeding grounds
I am alert for foes.
A flash of iridescent wing,
And I am but a vanished thing.
Gone to be heard and seen no more,
In spite of all your forest lore.
But should you win me in the end
By dint of kindlier lore,
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Summer Sanctuary
Not upon the crowded beaches
Where the sun beats fierce and hot;
Not upon the river reaches
In a shady silvan spot;
But in some deep mountain valley,
'Mid the sassafras and fern,
Here's the place where I would dally
When the suns of Summer burn.
Here the sifted sunlight dappling
Carpets with translucent green,
Flecks and flirts on fern and sapling,
Where the cold stream peeps between.
'Here,' you muse, 'since time's beginning,
Foot of man has never known;
Mine the joy first to be winning
All this beauty for my own.'
'Here,' you muse, 'is safe seclusion
Known alone to bee and bird,
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Pallid Cuckoo
Dolefully and drearily
Come I with the spring;
Wearily and cerily
My threnody I sing.
Hear my drear, discordant note
Sobbing, sobbing in my throat,
Weaving, wailing thro' the wattles
Where the builders are a-wing.
Outcast and ostracized,
Miserable me!
By the feathered world despised,
Chased from tree to tree.
Nought to do the summer thro',
My woeful weird a dree;
Singing, 'Pity, ah, pity,
Miserable me!'
I'm the menace and the warning,
Loafing, labour-shy.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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John T
I think a great deal too much fuss
Has been aroused 'mid all of us
About this crude economist John T.
And fellows of his kidney now,
'Mid people up in Sydney now,
Are slipping in that city of the free.
He wooed them with high promises
And, 'spite the doubting Thomases,
Cupidity had urged them on to trust
Political cupidity,
Which, plus a strange stupidity,
Had lured them to a scheme of 'boom and bust.'
John T. has perspicacity;
He has a vast capacity
For measuring his moron passing well.
Tho' men of seniority,
When they're in a majority
They'll send him into office for a spell.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Me, A Sinner
Should it occasion much surprise
That criminals should deal in blame,
As all of us, and recognise
The full depth of another's shame.
The burglar blames the bigamist
As something partially insane,
And Bluebeards equally insist
That burglars are a sinful bane.
And, getting further up the scale,
To normal men, like you and I,
The rule is never known to fail,
While egotism throned on high,
Sets cunning traps for you and me,
Blind with the illusion of our worth,
To ape the smirking Pharisee,
And see sin stalking o'er the earth.
In a community of saints,
Where all sins save fault-finding die,
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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All Fools' Day
Now is the day when arrant fools
Play outworn tricks on sober men!
But, for the thoughtful soul that schools
His mind to conning o'er again
Past folly, that he may see clear
Faults of commission and neglect,
This is the day in all the year
For help-inducing retrospect!
Myself, when young and confident,
Walked ever proudly on my way;
With eyes set onward as I went
I gave small heed to yesterday.
But, growing old, the once bright star
Waned to a faint and sickly flame;
So faint I'd turn and gaze afar
For help along the way I came.
A chastening exercise for me
This yearly task of harking back;
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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