#AustralianWriters
’Twas a long bush night; and the o… Shone out thro’ the open door To flood the knees of the great bu… And the scrub that grew before. And, as I dreamed where the firel…
Lang syne I penned a mickle rhyme That muckle grief brocht to my sou… For critics said ’twas aye a crime Nae Scottish patriot could thole Whit way I ca’ed their honored ba…
If the cricket critics’ nagging Merits stern official gagging Which I doubt How would critical ascetics, With their prosy homiletics,
Are we so flabby, and are we so so… I have pondered the question long… And happy-go-lucky we may appear When the fat and easy days are her… When it’s easy come and it’s easy…
Trouble brews along the border for… That blokes an’ coves an’ coots mu… Out about the long dry stages Where the willie-willie rages Strange sounds are issuing from le…
The conq’rin’ 'ero! Me? Yes, I… This mornin’ when I catch the tra… It’s far more like a walloped pup… To kennel, with resolves no more t… Crusades is orf. I’m fer the sim…
On one fine but fatal morning in t… Lo, a brawny Bloke set out to dig… First of men to put a puncture in… Was this early, neolithic, human m… Gladsomely the toiler hefted his u…
The thing’s all wrong (I sez to '… Now look, there’s this 'ere Mon… Comes before Christmas. Be a tof… An’ lest us 'ave the Monday off… ‘E 'ums an’ 'ars. An’ then…
Within the wooded avenue I stood, And I was proud. I looked upon the scene and found… For here, I vowed, Reigned Beauty rare. Sweet prais…
No longer wilful woman hides Behind a law that over-rides The dicta of her lawful lord and m… And, they who fain would lift a ha… To erring wives, now understand
‘E wears perjarmer soots an’ clean… That’s wot I reads. It fairly kn… ‘Me soljer cobber, be the name o’… Well, if that ain’t the limit, str… The sort that Ginger Mick would t…
Singing morning has begun. Where the wooded ranges run To far summits, there the snow Lingers yet. But down below In the quiet, green-girt places,
Sometimes I risk a faltering step To meet these –steins, both Ein–… But hesitate and halt at last, Finding the works of each too vast For such a finite brain as mine.
Well I remember him - Big Jack H… Big Jack, the lumper, tanned and… The clean, straight limbs of him, The strength in those limbs of him Strength that was the end of him,…
We know those little country pubs, By cross-road and by creek, Where faithfully the landlord scru… His counter once a week, And stands before his shining bar