#AustralianWriters
I venerate economists As very learned blokes, But when in paradox they speak Their meaning oft I vainly seek, Suspecting subtle jokes.
I’d like to be a sailor - a sailor… Calling out, ‘Ship ahoy!’ in manl… I’d learn to box the compass, and… I’d sniff and snifff the briny bre… Perhaps I’d chew tobacco, or an o…
When he was quite a small boy, Fr… Was fond of useful playthings; So he was given a toy bank That he might learn the way things Were done in the financial world;
There’s a bleak, black world witho… And the rain falls fast; And the wind, with a whine and a s… Blows buffeting past To wail thro’ the tortured trees,
O ye women! WIMMIN! WEEMIN… See our tears repentant streamin’! See the pearly drops a-gleamin’, Streamin’ from our rheumy eye! Mark our weskits palpitatin’.
He gleaned all the gossip and he g… Mad Matt, the carrier, delivering… He knew the trooper’s tattle and h… The gossip at the station-yard, th… That high-pitched voice of his, th…
I’ve never met a man who hated dog… One meets with all sorts as throug… The mean ones, and the vain ones,… The foolish fellows who splash up… The brisk ‘live wires,’ the dull,…
Yarrawonga by herself Lived too long upon a shelf She a stolid farmer’s wife. Far remote from modern strife Drowsily beside her door
When Ned was a neophyte nobody he… No man could prophesy, none could… How, when the day came that the po… Quite a new Ned would emerge from… For he blithered and blathered and…
War raged around this troubled wor… When I was but a lad, And into battle men were hurled, As some ambition mad Moved kings on their unstable thro…
A duty done... What else was ther… A simple matter; and as simply sol… His straight young mind worked str… As ever youth’s clean mind. Here… And weighty pondering of faith or…
Because some unimportant man In politics talks loud and high, Or some wild, economic plan To lift depression takes his eye, The apathetic citizen
‘E sez to me, ’Wot’s orl this fla… The papers torks uv nothin’ else b… An’wot’s ole England got snake-'e… An’ wot’s the strength uv callin’… ‘E sez to me, ’Struth! Don’t she…
Let’s have a tiny little bush fire… It’s a cold, cold night tonight. We are sick of this long session Of the darkness of depression. And a fire would make things brigh…
Each poet that I know (he said) Has something funny in his head, Some wandering growth or queer dis… That gives to him strange unease. If such a thing he hasn’t got,