Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis Poems

  • 201.  
    A man was Peter Myloh, strong-browed and black of face,
    Australian Aboriginal, son of a dark doomed race. And even I, an urchin then, read grief in his soft eye
  • 202.  
    Charity, Charity - parson and priest
    Ever in church and in chapel have taught 'Give ye in charity e'en to the least,
  • 203.  
    Charity, Charity - parson and priest
    Ever in church and in chapel have taught 'Give ye in charity e'en to the least,
  • 204.  
    Charity, Charity - parson and priest
    Ever in church and in chapel have taught 'Give ye in charity e'en to the least,
  • 205.  
    Charity, Charity - parson and priest
    Ever in church and in chapel have taught 'Give ye in charity e'en to the least,
  • 206.  
    Greyer and older, still they stand
    Wearier, quieter, still they pray; Men who had offered their all to a land.
  • 207.  
    'There must be some way out,' they say.
    'There must be some way out! We've fallen on an evil day;
  • 208.  
    My natal day was yesterday;
    And so I said to Fate, 'What gifts bring you, by one, by two,
  • 209.  
    Jones is a man exceeding meek
    And henpecked, so his neighbours say, Who, one glad evening every week,
  • 210.  
    I am fit and I am well (so said Obadiah Bell.)
    I take life as it come from day to day, I have never been a scorner
  • 211.  
    The digger's cultured daughter:
    Her youth was wildly free. Now by the placid water
  • 212.  
    Now, I always have preserved a certain attitude
    Quite definite in reference to Work ('Tis futility concealing
  • 213.  
    "Who are these blokes with bulging brows
    I see all o'er the shop?" The layman asked. "Them's scientists,"
  • 214.  
    My Aunt Evangeline has come
    To visit Melbourne town, Garbed for its Glad Centenary
  • 215.  
    Dear Comrade: In the game of politics
    A Senator gits quite enough of kicks Without 'is photer sittin' in the press
  • 216.  
    Child of a myriad varied voices calling
    O'er countless leagues of space in divers tongues, Tho' captious critics view your ways appalling
  • 217.  
    Since Stanley felt the icy blast
    Jack leads the Opposition. A mild, scholastic man to cast
  • 218.  
    You are growing convalescent
    As pain's fingers are withdrawn; And you waken in a strange, white room at last;
  • 219.  
    The Honourable TORYPHAT addressed the meeting: 'Hem!
    (Prolonged applause.) Ah - Mistah Chairman, gentlemen. To stem The tide of Socialism - rabid Socialism, sir
  • 220.  
    Mr Woolin-Wister was assistant at the store,
    He had an air of breeding, and the kind of clothes he wore Were very, very natty and exceedingly correct;
  • 221.  
    In our street, the main street
    Running thro' the town, You see a lot of busy folk
  • 222.  
    Now, who in the world can understand?
    Since Tyranny, Freedom's whittler, And the strong-arm band of the Iron Hand
  • 223.  
    Luke Gale, the larrikin lad, dwelt in Larrikin Lane,
    A low street, a by-street, right at the edge of the town; King of the boys and hobbledehoys - a vulgar youth, and vain,
  • 224.  
    Another milestone gained and passed,
    Another 'rakkud' broken, And this year's deaths exceed the last,
  • 225.  
    They climbed the trees . . . As was told before,
    The Glugs climbed trees in the days of yore, When the oldes tree in the land to-day
  • 226.  
    The bushmen call me 'Cranky Fan,'
    Because my strange erratic flight Seems to uncomprehending man
  • 227.  
    Ar, wimmin! Wot a blinded fool I've been!
    I arsts meself, wot else could I ixpeck? I done me block complete on this Doreen,
  • 228.  
    Ben Bowyang spluttered with rage suppressed, 'Hi, there!' And his brow was black,
    As two by two and three by three the tourists left the track, Climbing the fence to his 'tater' patch, and down thro' his orchard land,
  • 229.  
    The ole train puffs in once a day
    On the ole Gunn's Gully line; In a lazy, leisurely kind o' way
  • 230.  
    The winds that blow about the world
    (Said Old George Jones) See here all hope to ruin hurled,
  • 231.  
    'My sort,' she sez, 'don't meet no fairy prince.'
    I can't 'elp 'earin' part uv wot was said While I am sortin' taters in the shed.
  • 232.  
    The Glugs abide in a far, far land
    That is partly pebbles and stones and sand, But mainly earth of a chocolate hue,
  • 233.  
    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
  • 234.  
    'Why stone the crows!' 'e sez. 'I like 'er style,
    But alwiz, some'ow, women 'ave appeared Set fer to 'old me orf a 'arf a mile.
  • 235.  
    MA-A-AMMY! Ma-a-ammy!
    The sun's gone east And he's left out west
  • 236.  
    Candidly, I do not hug a
    Wish to go to Mugga Mugga; To the Mugga Mugga Mountain by Yassberra's desert place,
  • 237.  
    As I went down a forest place
    At the closing of the year To find me peace, and gather grace
  • 238.  
    When I rode with young Sid Kidman out across the Yarrowie Plain
    In that year the Long Drought ended, and the northlands smiled again As we took the old Tarcowie track and on to Booleroo,
  • 239.  
    To gild refined gold, or to paint the lily,
    Or seek by other means to overstress, As Shakespeare has it, is not merely silly,
  • 240.  
    'Why do they do it? I dunno,'
    Sez Digger Smith. 'Yeh got me beat. Some uv the yarns yeh 'ear is true,
  • 241.  
    They say I am a shy, wild thing,
    That seeks the wild bush glade. Quick to be gone on whirring wing,
  • 242.  
    Winter comes; and our complaints
    Grow apace as summer faints, Waning days grow dull and drear,
  • 243.  
    At any other time of year
    It might have passed, but Spring is queer. He says somethin' - I dunno
  • 244.  
    Said the Digger: 'Soon forgot! Soon forgot, the deeds of war.
    Better so, may be. . . Why not? Beauty fades and laurels rot;
  • 245.  
    Down by the slipralls stands our cow
    Chewing, chewing, chewing, She does not care what folks out there
  • 246.  
    It was an actor, seedy, sad,
    Who stood within the gate; Long weary marches he had had
  • 247.  
    Far in the forest depths I dwell,
    The master mimic of them all, To pour from out my secret dell
  • 248.  
    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.
  • 249.  
    Now, 'ere's my tip
    Fer the Fusion ship, An' I tells it straight an' square.
  • 250.  
    The Lion and the Unicorn
    Of England's Coat-of-Arms Seldom make bold, so we are told,
Total 714 poems written by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

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