Farming implements are as cheap in Sydney as in England.
quote by Charles Sturt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sydney my Love
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
Pretty pretty place,
Plenty- plenty beauty.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
First rays of sun –
Spread here fun,
Splendour and majesty,
Nothing so beauty.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
Tidy beaches, green green trees,
Heavenly blowing cool cool breeze,
Kissing the shore waves sporty.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
Fort Dension, port Jackson,
Kings Cross, Opera attraction,
Harbour bridge, Bondi beach,
Place to find calm & peace,
Sydney is our identity.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
Kangaroo, emu, blue mountain,
Adventure, romance, 4x, fun.
Flora fauna, folk, fidelity.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Now You're Here
No, we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here
No, we don’t care where you come from
Have a beer
We don’t care if you are black or white or
Of another hue
Now you’re here in Western Sydney
Now you’re part of Western Sydney
Now all over Western Sydney
We love you.
We are very proud of our diversity
Out on the streets it’s very clear to see
We don’t care if you’re a Christian or a Jew
Or a Bhuddist or Islamic or Hindu
‘Cos we don’t care where you come from
We don’t care where you come from
We don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here.
We’re very proud of long history
And we pay respect to Aborigines
And there’s just one thing I’ll tell ya
Yes, to you and other fellas
That we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here.
No, we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here
No, we don’t care where you come from
Have a beer
We don’t care if you are black or white or
Of another hue
Now you’re here in Western Sydney
Now you’re part of Western Sydney
Now all over Western Sydney
We love you.
We’re proud of where we are going
You can see
We’re using all our creativity
To build a better future
And we’ll get there soon we betcha
‘Cos we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here.
No, we don’t care where you come from
Have a beer
We don’t care if you are black or white or
Another hue
Now you’re here in Western Sydney
Now you’re part of Western Sydney
Now all over Western Sydney
We love you.
Now you’re here in Western Sydney
Now you’re part of Western Sydney
Now all over Western Sydney
We love you.
poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don’t be cheap
Buy not a thing because it’s cheap.
Don’t let others make you cheap.
To be greedy is to be cheap.
To be selfish is to be cheap.
To poke your nose is a cheap thing.
Don’t be cheap; better be poor.
23.08.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I performed in Sydney some years ago for the Sydney Festival and I am just so pleased to be returning to the wonderful Sydney Opera House and also performing in Melbourne for the first time.
quote by Lesley Garrett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What a pity it is that we have no amusements in England but vice and religion!
quote by Sydney Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farming Is Fun
farming is fun...
when the stomach
is full
and when there is plenty
of water to drink
and when the radio
is loaded
with new batteries
and when the weather is fine
and when the leaves
are grown enough to give shade
and...
when we are together...
farming is fun.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bonny Port of Sydney
The lovely Port of Sydney
Lies laughing to the sky,
The bonny Port of Sydney,
Where the ships of nations lie.
You shall never see such beauty,
Though you sail the wide world o’er,
As the sunny Port of Sydney,
As we see it from the Shore.
The shades of night are falling
On many ports of call,
But the harbour lights of Sydney
Are the grandest of them all;
Such a city set in jewels
Has ne’er been seen before
As the harbour lights of Sydney
As we see them from the Shore.
I must sail for gloomy London,
Where there are no harbour lights,
Where no sun is seen in winter,
And there are no starry nights;
And the bonny port of Sydney—
I may never see it more,
But I’ll always dream about it
As we view it from North Shore.
poem by Henry Lawson
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There was still food rationing in England and life was difficult all through my 2 year stay in Oxford.
quote by Sydney Brenner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pro Rege Nostro
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ripoff
I don't wanna be no traitor to the cause
But England is a luxury - not many can afford
There's people going under - it's getting out of hand
Whatever happened to our - our green and pleasant land?
It turned into a wilderness; it turned into a third world country
Most people ain't getting what they pay for
Some people gettin' more than they should be
I know, I know - I'm an alien - but what are you gonna do
I wanna live in England - but it gets to you
It gets to you, it gets to you, it gets to you
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
I really don't know why - England wants to rip off you
England wants to rip off you, England wants to rip off you
What do you do when you find out?
Where do you go if you leave?
There's no place like home - that's what they say
And that's what you always believed
Someday you might win the Lottery
Someday you might win the Pools
But that's all you've got - that's all you've got
- to live for, to live for
That's all you've got - that's all you've got -
to live for, to live for (yeah)
To be or not to be - that's the question
Oh what's it gonna be?
I'd love to live in England - but it gets to me
it gets to me, it gets to me, yeah it gets to me
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
I really don't know why - England wants to rip off you
England wants to rip off you, England wants to rip off you
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
Oh I really don't know why - England wants to rip off
England wants to rip off , England wants to rip o
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Have I Done For You
What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh England My Lionheart
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Im in your garden, fading fast in your arms.
The soldiers soften, the war is over.
The air raid shelters are blooming clover.
Flapping umbrellas fill the lanes--
My london bridge in rain again.
Oh! england, my lionheart!
Peter pan steals the kids in kensington park.
You read me shakespeare on the rolling thames--
That old river poet that never, ever ends.
Our thumping hearts hold the ravens in,
And keep the tower from tumbling.
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
I dont want to go.
Oh! england, my lionheart!
Dropped from my black spitfire to my funeral barge.
Give me one kiss in apple-blossom.
Give me one wish, and Id be wassailing
In the orchard, my english rose,
Or with my shepherd, wholl bring me home.
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
I dont want to go.
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
I dont want to go.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.
And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England,
They have no graves as yet.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.
And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England,
They have no graves as yet.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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England, My England
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:--
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There 's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When We Get To England
When we get to england
Will we know when weve arrived?
When we get to england
Will we know if she has died?
Does the girl with the dogs
Still live in the big house
On the corner?
Are the boys collecting frogs
Still marching away
To die in war?
Like its all from a dream
Like its all from some history book
Didnt look too hard
Did I miss something that I should have seen?
When we get to england
Will it still be there?
When we get to england
Will we know where weve arrived?
When we get to england
Will a kiss bring her alive?
Once a farmer in the field
Had to grow enough
To feed his family
Now they pay him for his yield
Just to burn it down
And throw away
Like its all from a dream
Like its all in a crystal ball
Did it fall so hard?
Rest in pieces on a village green
When we get to england
Will it still be there?
When we get to england
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home Thoughts from Abroad
April in England–daffodils are growing
By every wayside, golden, tall and fair;
April–and all the little winds are blowing
The scents of springtime through the sunny air.
April in England–God, that we were there!
April in England–and her sons are lying
On these red fields, and dreaming of her shore;
April–we hear the thrushes' songs replying
Each unto each, above the cannons' roar;
April in England–shall we see it more?
April in England–there's the cuckoo calling
Down in her meadows where the cowslip gleams;
April–and little showers are softly falling,
Dimpling the surface of her babbling streams;
April in England–how the shrapnel screams!
April in England–blood and dust and smother,
Screaming of horses, men in agony.
April–full many of thy sons, O Mother,
Never again those dewy dawns shall see.
April in England–God, keep England free!
poem by Norah M. Holland
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Over Use
A quote goes cheap if over used.
A queen goes cheap if over seen.
A guest goes cheap if overstayed.
Otherwise also they’ll expire stale
(26.06.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Made In England
I was made in England
Out of cadillac muscle
I had a quit-me father
I had a quit-me mother
I had a little Richard
And that black piano
Oh that sweet Georgia peach
And the boy from Tupelo-
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
I was made in England
Out of cadillac muscle
Face down on the playground
Crying god send me a brother
Not a bloody nose
For Rock-┬┤n┬┤-Roll
Give me that sweet Georgian peach
And the boy from Tupelo
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
I was made in England
Like a blue Cortina
But a Yankee summer
Had a way about her
You had a scent for scandal
Well here┬┤s my middle finger
I had forty years of pain
And nothing to cling to
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
If you┬┤re made in England
You┬┤re biult to last
You can still say homo
And everybody laughs
But the joke┬┤s on you
You never read the song
They all think they know
But they┬┤ve all got wrong
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
song performed by by Elton John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old North Sydney
They're shifting old North Sydney—
Perhaps ’tis just as well—
They’re carting off the houses
Where the old folks used to dwell.
Where only ghosts inhabit
They lay the old shops low;
But the Spirit of North Sydney,
It vanished long ago.
The Spirit of North Sydney,
The good old time and style,
It camped, maybe, at Crow’s Nest,
But only for a while.
It left about the season,
Or at the time, perhaps,
When old Inspector Cotter
Transferred his jokes and traps.
A brand new crowd is thronging
The brand new streets aglow
Where the Spirit of North Sydney
Would gossip long ago.
They will not know to-morrow—
Tho’ ’twere but yesterday—
Exactly how McMahon’s Point
And its ferry used to lay.
The good old friendly spirit
Its sorrows would unfold,
When householders were neighbours
And shop-keeping was old;
But now we’re busy strangers,
Our feelings we restrain—
The Spirit of North Sydney
Shall never come again!
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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