Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis Poems

  • 151.  
    Let him who is minded to meet with a Glug
    Pluck three hardy hairs from a rabbit-skin rug; Blow one to the South, and one to the West,
  • 152.  
    As first I remember him: A red man, and tall,
    Great Toll, the blacksmith, filled my childish eye. At its first crisp, clamorous stroke,
  • 153.  
    Nay, why do foolish politicians strive
    To win a fleeting popularity? In vain, in vain, they jealously contrive
  • 154.  
    War raged around this troubled world,
    When I was but a lad, And into battle men were hurled,
  • 155.  
    'Could you give me a bite to eat?' said he,
    As he tarried by my back door. And I thought of the dull, lean days that be
  • 156.  
    Romance goes out of everything in these days of ill grace,
    And even old John Barleycorn grows 'standardised' apace; Once henchman of gay gallantry, a kindlier part he played.
  • 157.  
    Born to the sun and smiling skies,
    And bird-songs to the morning flung, To joyousness that never dies
  • 158.  
    Albert, King of the Belgians,
    Lived for his whole reign thro' The father and friend of his people,
  • 159.  
    'Mother, may I go in to swim?'
    'My dear, you didn't oughter. I've heard of baths filled to the brim
  • 160.  
    I got so down to it last night,
    With longin' for what could not be, That nothin' in the world seemed right
  • 161.  
    Have you, too, noticed that calm which descends Upon affairs today?
  • 162.  
    Government muddles, departments dazed,
    Fear and confusion wherever he gazed; Order insulted, authority spurned,
  • 163.  
    ''Er pore dear Par.' she sez, ''e kept a store';
    An' then she weeps an' stares 'ard at the floor. ''Twas thro' 'is death,' she sez, 'we wus rejuiced
  • 164.  
    What (said the poet) should we care
    For all this mad world's phantasies, For rumours rife upon the air
  • 165.  
    Boss Oberseer, Dat BULLUMTIN! Goo' day, boss Plurry 'ot!
    Bloke tell me writum BULLUMTIN, bin plenty bacca got. 'You Billy, makum writin'-yabber,' bloke he say to me;
  • 166.  
    The unsoiled hand, the sleek, black coat,
    The senile, ledger-haunted hours, The knowledge that my freeman's vote
  • 167.  
    The ways of the learned to me are 'Greek,'
    And professors and such amaze me. I know, without trying, the thing they seek,
  • 168.  
    Men knew and loved my calling in old days
    Days ere a bitter wisdom taught me fear. Trusting and unafraid, I went my ways
  • 169.  
    Chuff! Chuff! Chuff! With a rumble and a rattle,
    Waking every echo on the old bush road; Waking, too, the wonder of the wayside cattle
  • 170.  
    I detest the Carrion Crow! (He's a raven, don't you know?)
  • 171.  
    'Ho! the sky's as blue as blazes an' the sun is shinin' bright,
    An' the dicky birds is singin' over'ead, An' I'm 'ummin', softly 'ummin', w'ile I'm achin' fer a fight,
  • 172.  
    Hey, there! Listen awhile! Listen awhile, and come.
    Down in the street there are marching feet, and I hear the beat of a drum. Bim! Boom!! Out of the room! Pick up your hat and fly!
  • 173.  
    When the Laborites and Liberals are bickering,
    Are a-calling and a-bawling in the House, And the strangers in the gallery are snickering,
  • 174.  
    I dance upon the wash-house roof,
    And fill my hair with straws, And from my fellows keep aloof.
  • 175.  
    A sight that gives me much distress
    Is George without his trousers, Garbed, scantily, in bathing dress
  • 176.  
    At the meeting of the waters
    Where the dark tree shadows play Wangaratta's sons and daughters
  • 177.  
    Surely must you know me,
    Friendly and content; All my actions show me
  • 178.  
    Upon a snowy bed I lie,
    Too placid to complain, And watch the mad world rushing by
  • 179.  
    He was obviously English, in his Harris tweeds and stockings.
    And his accent was of Oxford, and his swagger and his style Seemed to hint at halls baronial. He despised the 'demned Colonial';
  • 180.  
    Not guilty, yer Honers! I talks to yer straight!
    An' I calls it a pretty crook game An' an 'og of a thing, if the coppers should bring
  • 181.  
    I've thought o'er this until my brain has blisters. Are you, indeed, such valiant resisters
  • 182.  
    I can not recall his heyday; for I knew him in the day
    When his curly hair had thinned a bit, his waxed moustache grown grey. That he kept the local fruit shop was a trifle in life's plan;
  • 183.  
    Of things that roam about the bush I ain't got many fears,
    For I knows their ways an' habits, and I've chummed with them for years. For man or beast or gully ghost I've pluck enough to spare;
  • 184.  
    I knew a policeman once
    And this is true as it ever could be Who made me feel an awful dunce;
  • 185.  
    Gin you're gangin' doon the city
    Come next Sabbath afternoon, An' you'll catch a glimpse o' Tartan
  • 186.  
    He dreaded not dark, nor the lonely road,
    For the world, as he knew it, was kind. Nor threat of the risk, nor necessity's goad
  • 187.  
    With a sprig in my beak, I repeatedly seek
    For a spot where a poor bird may rest, While tumultuous man strives in vain for a plan
  • 188.  
    He was a man of the union clan
    And a Labor secre-tary. He fell unwell and beneath the spell
  • 189.  
    I met a lonely Labor man,
    Forlorn and pessimistic: Who'd not yet fallen 'neath the ban
  • 190.  
    Now Sym was a Glug; and 'tis mentioned so
    That the tale reads perfectly plain as we go. In his veins ran blood of that stupid race
  • 191.  
    Now, here is a tale of the Glugs of Gosh,
    In the end of the year umteen; Of the Glugs of Gosh and their great King Splosh,
  • 192.  
    Dargo is a dark-haired lass
    Prone to independent ways; Few men know her, fewer pass,
  • 193.  
    'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, where go you to-day?'
    I go to Cuppacumalomga, fifty miles away; Over plains where Summer rains have sung a song of glee,
  • 194.  
    So, brother, I am out and yu are in. Farewell, farewell, to all my splendor bright!
  • 195.  
    Have you heard the magniloquent, eloquent Jim?
    The yogi of Yarra, whose silvery tongue, In days of his promise won many votes from us,
  • 196.  
    He prospered in an olden day
    When down the rutted waggon track, Thro' scenes that seem a world away,
  • 197.  
    See, I'm writin' to Mick as a bloke to a bloke
    To a cobber o' mine at the front An' I'm gittin' full up uv the mullock they poke
  • 198.  
    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,
  • 199.  
    I think I should suit, for I've knowledge minute
    Of all tickets, time-tables, and trains; All speedings and slowings and comings and goings
  • 200.  
    'E passes by, each day, at ten
    A bottle-shouldered yid Wot looks as if 'e pushed a pen
Total 714 poems written by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

Poem of the day

 by Nicolaj Frederik Severin Grundtvig


Read complete poem

Popular Poets