Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis Poems

  • 251.  
    Oh, I dance upon the lawn in the cold, white dawn,
    And I gloat upon the corpses of a countless million slain; Where the frost about my feet spreads its winter winding sheet
  • 252.  
    Not in our public parks, for private gain.
    This centuries-old precursor of all dramas That lured babes in old Italy and Spain
  • 253.  
    At the beginning of the week
    A strictly rigid path I seek, And vow the only state for me,
  • 254.  
    I'm only just a common racing dog,
    Simple in habit, and my diet's plain. I have never had a longing for the grog
  • 255.  
    When grandma wished to keep her fruit
    Her apples she would take And put them on a bed of straw
  • 256.  
    'Mornin',' I sez to 'im,
    Gloomy, 'e seemed to be. Glum an' unsociable. Comes in the shop
  • 257.  
    One idle hour she sought to see
    Whose image 'twas he cherished so (All fondly certain whose 'twould be),
  • 258.  
    Ah Gawd! It makes me sick to think
    Of what I 'eard an' seen; Poor 'Arry like a wet rag flung
  • 259.  
    Bill Barcoo was a station 'and - 'e was a station 'and,
    And grafted all the year like Pharaoh's Jews. But all 'is pay, I grieve ter say, 'e blewed - you understand
  • 260.  
    'The backbone of the country and the salt of all the earth'
    That was how they styled us when the farmer had his worth. But what's his valuation now, when times are pretty thin?
  • 261.  
    Now Mr. Jeremiah Bane
    He owned a warehouse in The Lane, An edifice of goodly size,
  • 262.  
    When Willie gets a penny piece
    Straight to the lollie-shop he flies, And, heartened by his wealth's increase,
  • 263.  
    So nice it is of you to call . . .
    Yes; Monday week we done it; Right 'igh-clarse weddin' - church an' all.
  • 264.  
    Out of great wisdom, long stored up,
    I would write me a rune of the Melbourne Cup. Out of experience, grave and gay,
  • 265.  
    Dark lady of the laggard dawn,
    Hiding within her gully deep; Long have night's curtains been withdrawn
  • 266.  
    Long faces, hangin' lips an' eyes without a smile,
    Meegrims an' mulligrubs, mournfulness an' moans, Faith in the future gone to glory for the while
  • 267.  
    There was once a man who made a weird machine,
    Employing dynamite and kerosene. His subsequent destruction
  • 268.  
    '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;
  • 269.  
    I venerate economists
    As very learned blokes, But when in paradox they speak
  • 270.  
    I nigh drops dead (the bo'sun said)
    When the gist of things I grip In the land by these 'ere Southern seas
  • 271.  
    Once have we bashed him on the head;
    Twice have we stabbed him deep; Thrice have we left him there for dead
  • 272.  
    Mrs Felix Donnett was a lady of renown,
    For ten years her husband was mayor of the town; For ten years she queened it as our local social light;
  • 273.  
    Listening (said the old, grey Digger) . . .
    With my finger on the trigger I was listening in the trenches on a dark night long ago,
  • 274.  
    He was lyin' on his bunk,
    In the hut behind the mill, Ravin' like a man wild drunk,
  • 275.  
    Noo, ye ken, we'll see 'em agen,
    Waggling doon the street, While the baton twirls an' the piper skirls
  • 276.  
    Brother, who on some near morrow
    Makes a pledge conceived in sorrow Makes a New Year resolution
  • 277.  
    Here's a ridiculous riddle for you:
    How many o's are there in Woolloomooloo? Two for the W, two for the m,
  • 278.  
    Be-wigged and gowned, the Speaker frowned,
    And his frown was ill to see. 'Oddsfish!' he spake, 'Do I mistake?
  • 279.  
    The bad boy of Europe,
    He stands in dire disgrace, Crying too loud his innocence
  • 280.  
    He lived in Mundaloo, and Bill McClosky was his name,
    But folks that knew him well had little knowledge of that same; For he some'ow lost his surname, and he had so much to say รข??-
  • 281.  
    A fool and a bag in a belt of scrub,
    Cloudless skies and the still hot days, And the countryside's in a mad hubbub;
  • 282.  
    'Heirlums,' 'e sez. 'I've 'ad the trousiz pressed.
    Me father married in 'em, that 'e did. See this 'ere fancy vest?
  • 283.  
    In every little country place, all up and down the land,
    From ageing cradles of the race to Never-Never Land From the towns about the cities to the little towns out back,
  • 284.  
    They were forthright days when Jim was born,
    When they called a spade a spade. And statesmen held in lofty scorn
  • 285.  
    Here she hides, an aged dame.
    Here she dreams beside the waves. Ever baulked of modern fame
  • 286.  
    Day after day, week after burning week,
    A ruthless sun has sucked the forest dry. Morn after anxious morn men's glances seek
  • 287.  
    A man's a mug. I've worked the 'ole thing out
    To-day, down in the orchard where I sat Runnin' the wheels red-'ot beneath me 'at,
  • 288.  
    Ah, well, the thing that lived lives on,
    And who are we to say it nay? When Vandal and when Goth had gone,
  • 289.  
    I don't know what's come to the summer
    In these dull and decadent years; But a fellow grows glummer and glummer
  • 290.  
    Yes!!! So we will
    Throw care away, If for no other reason than that 'twill
  • 291.  
    'The flamin' cows!' 'e ses; 'e did, an' worse;
    'Twas 'orrible the langwidge that 'e used. It made me blood run cold to 'ear 'im curse;
  • 292.  
    He sat upon a fallen log
    And heaved a long, deep sigh. His gnarled hand fondling his old dog
  • 293.  
    Once on a time, a party by the name of Mr. BULL
    Discovered that with many schemes his hands were pretty full. His cares of family were great. Four fine young sons he'd got;
  • 294.  
    But when the war-worn, knowing all
    Of glory, horror and hate, Abandons all for the heart's sure call
  • 295.  
    Is youth not less pedantic, less absurd,
    Less prone to value things of little worth In failing to wax wrath about a word
  • 296.  
    'Sure thing,' said the grocer; 'as far as I know, sir,
    This horse, Peter Pan, is the safest of certs.' 'I see by the paper,' commanded the draper,
  • 297.  
    By the Mediterranean shore,
    In the days of the cohorts and legions, When oodles of rain used to pour
  • 298.  
    'Arry an' me is bits of sports;
    When the summer comes around We gits our sweaters an' guns an' shorts
  • 299.  
    It chanced one day, in the middle of May,
    There came to the great King Splosh A policeman, who said, while scratching his head,
  • 300.  
    Old Pete Paraday, his mind works very slow;
    But, when it fastens on a thoughts, he will not let it go. He measures it and mumbles it until an answer comes,
Total 714 poems written by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

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