The Stringy-Bark Cockatoo
I'm a broken-hearted miner, who loves his cup to drain,
Which often times has caused me to lie in frost and rain.
Roaming about the country, looking for some work to do,
I got a job of reaping off a stringy-bark cockatoo.
Oh, the stringy-bark cockatoo,
Oh, the stringy-bark cockatoo,
I got a job of reaping off a stringy-bark cockatoo.
Ten bob an acre was his price—with promise of fairish board.
He said his crops were very light, 'twas all he could afford.
He drove me out in a bullock dray, and his piggery met my view.
Oh, the pigs and geese were in the wheat of the stringy-bark cockatoo.
The hut was made of the surface mud, the roof of a reedy thatch.
The doors and windows open flew without a bolt or latch.
The pigs and geese were in the hut, the hen on the table flew,
And she laid an egg in the old tin plate for the stringy-bark cockatoo.
For breakfast we had pollard, boys, it tasted like cobbler's paste.
To help it down we had to eat brown bread with vinegar taste.
The tea was made of the native hops, which out on the ranges grew;
'Twas sweetened with honey bees and wax for the stringy-bark cockatoo.
For dinner we had goanna hash, we thought it mighty hard;
They wouldn't give us butter, so we forced down bread and lard.
Quondong duff, paddy-melon pie, and wallaby Irish stew
We used to eat while reaping for the stringy-bark cockatoo.
When we started to cut the rust and smut was just beginning to shed,
And all we had to sleep on was a dog and sheep-skin bed.
The bugs and fleas tormented me, they made me scratch and screw;
I lost my rest while reaping for the stringy-bark cockatoo.
At night when work was over I'd nurse the youngest child,
And when I'd say a joking word, the mother would laugh and smile.
The old cocky, he grew jealous, and he thumped me black and blue,
And he drove me off without a rap—the stringy-bark cockatoo.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Stringy-Bark Tree
There's the whitebox and pine on the ridges afar,
Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;
There is many another, but dearest to me,
And the king of them all was the stringy-bark tree.
Then of stringy-bark slabs were the walls of the hut,
And from stringy-bark saplings the rafters were cut;
And the roof that long sheltered my brothers and me
Was of broad sheets of bark from the stringy-bark tree.
And when sawn-timber homes were built out in the West,
Then for walls and for ceilings its wood was the best;
And for shingles and palings to last while men be,
There was nothing on earth like the stringy-bark tree.
Far up the long gullies the timber-trucks went,
Over tracks that seemed hopeless, by bark hut and tent;
And the gaunt timber-finder, who rode at his ease,
Led them on to a gully of stringy-bark trees.
Now still from the ridges, by ways that are dark,
Come the shingles and palings they call stringy-bark;
Though you ride through long gullies a twelve months you’ll see
But the old whitened stumps of the stringy-bark tree.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Cockatoo and the Kangaroo
The happy cockatoo asked the hopping kangaroo,
“Does everyone in your family have a purse like you? ”
The hopping kangaroo stopped and smiled at the bird,
Saying, “Calling it a pouch would be a better word.”
The happy cockatoo was interested in learning more
And asked, “A pouch? Please tell me what it’s for.
The kangaroo explained that she had become a mother.
This pouch was the home of this new precious other.
Out of the pouch the precious baby popped his head;
Looked at the cockatoo with a funny smile and said,
“You make me very nervous Mr. Happy Cockatoo.
Flying in the air with those arms on top of you.”
Mother kangaroo said, “Don’t be afraid of such things.
Since this cockatoo is a bird, those are called wings.
Just as we kangaroo hop on our legs to get around,
The cockatoo uses its wings to fly above the ground.”
The cockatoo said, “I guess it’s like my nest in the tree
Where I lay and hatch my eggs, then raise my family.”
Your ways seem strange. It’s different from what I see.
Though when I get to know you, you’re a lot like me.
We both have our babies and help them find their way
So they can love and raise their own families another day.
It’s this love we all share that shines brightly as a flame
Whether pouch, feather or wing, we’re all much the same.”
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Smile For Me!
Smile for me little cockatoo
Creamy feathers, so beautiful,
Look this way, cute cockatoo,
Let me take shot of you!
What Does The Donkey Bray About?
What does the donkey bray about?
What does the pig grunt through his snout?
What does the goose mean by a hiss?
Oh, Nurse, if you can tell me this,
I'll give you such a kiss.
The cockatoo calls ‘cockatoo,’
The magpie chatters ‘how d'ye do?’
The jackdaw bids me ‘go away,’
Cuckoo cries ‘cuckoo’ half the day:
What do the others say?
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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My dogs
bark at the neighbors,
bark at the UPS man,
bark at cars
and kids on bicycles.
they bark at the television,
the radio
and the stereo.
they bark at
the vacuum cleaner,
the dust mop
and the broom.
they bark at
anyone
who enters the house
uninvited.
and
when they’re not barking,
they’re sitting there
waiting
for something
to bark at.
good dogs.
poem by John Yamrus
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Cockatoo Twelve Years On '1995
It's been more than twelve years so they tell me since the flames of death passed through
Since the fire that caused destruction burnt it's way through Cockatoo
Lives were lost and houses burnt down blackened miles of countryside
And people wept for lost possessions for their life time work destroyed.
Tears for houses burnt to ashes, tears for lives lost in fierce flame
Tears for trees and paddocks blackened some say 'fire bug '
was to blame
Cockatoo a place of mourning only blackness to be seen
Only smell of smoke and burn out not one sign of Nature's green.
Twelve years on things seem so different Cockatoo looks green today
And who'd believe if you had not known that huge fire had burnt this way
Some still talk of their great losses and the hardships they'd been through
But they recovered built new houses and still live in Cockatoo.
Nature is her own best healer, Nature the true friend of man
Blackness caused by fire and burn out only last for a brief span
Cockatoo is one example what a change twelve years can bring
On green gum tree by the rail track i can hear the shrike thrush sing.
Here in cockatoo this morning fresh and pure the mountain air
Green the trees and green the paddocks green as i've seen anywhere
Twelve years back a blackened wasteland see how green she looks today
Nature is her own best healer and nature always has her way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Old Bark Hut
Oh, my name is Bob the Swagman, before you all I stand,
And I've had many ups and downs while travelling through the land.
I once was well-to-do, my boys, but now I am stumped up,
And I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
Ten pounds of flour, ten pounds of beef, some sugar and some tea,
That's all they give to a hungry man, until the Seventh Day.
If you don't be moighty sparing, you'll go with a hungry gut
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
The bucket you boil your beef in has to carry water, too,
And they'll say you're getting mighty flash if you should ask for two.
I've a billy, and a pint pot, and a broken-handled cup,
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
Faith, the table is not made of wood, as many you have seen
For if I had one half so good, I'd think myself serene
'Tis only an old sheet of bark—God knows when it was cut
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
And of furniture, there's no such thing, 'twas never in the place,
Except the stool I sit upon—and that's an old gin case.
It does us for a safe as well, but you must keep it shut,
Or the flies would make it canter round the old hark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Or the flies would make it canter round the old bark hut.
If you should leave it open, and the flies should find your meat,
They'll scarcely leave a single piece that's fit for man to eat.
But you mustn't curse, nor grumble—what won't fatten will fill up
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In the summer time, when the weather's warm, this hut is nice and cool,
And you'll find the gentle breezes blowing in through every hole.
You can leave the old door open, or you can leave it shut,
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.
In the winter time—preserve us all—to live in there's a treat
Especially when it's raining hard, and blowing wind and sleet.
The rain comes down the chimney, and your meat is black with soot
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
I've seen the rain come in this hut just like a perfect flood,
Especially through that great big hole where once the table stood.
There's not a blessed spot, me boys, where you could lay your nut,
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
So beside the fire I make me bed, and there I lay me down,
And think myself as happy as the king that wears a crown.
But as you'd be dozing off to sleep a flea will wake you up,
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hu
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.
Faith, such flocks of fleas you never saw, they are so plump and fat,
And if you make a grab at one, he'll spit just like a cat.
Last night they got my pack of cards, and were fighting for the cut
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.
So now, my friends, I've sung my song, and that as well as I could,
And I hope the ladies present won't think my language rude,
And all ye younger people, in the days when you grow up,
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Old Bullock Dray
Oh! the shearing is all over,
And the wool is coming down,
And I mean to get a wife, boys,
When I go up to town.
Everything that has two legs
Represents itself in view,
From the little paddy-melon
To the bucking kangaroo.
So it's roll up your blankets,
And let's make a push,
I'll take you up the country,
And show you the bush.
I'll be bound you won't get
Such a chance another day,
So come and take possession
Of my old bullock dray.
Now, I've saved up a good cheque,
I mean to buy a team,
And when I get a wife, boys,
I'll be all-serene
For calling at the depôt.
They say there's no delay
To get an off-sider
For the old bullock dray.
Oh! we'll live like fighting cocks,
For good living, I'm your man.
We'll have leather jacks, johnny cakes,
And fritters in the pan;
Or if you'd like some fish
I'll catch you some soon,
For we'll bob for barramundies
Round the banks of a lagoon.
Oh! yes, of beef and damper
I take care we have enough,
And we'll boil in the bucket
Such a whopper of a duff,
And our friends will dance
To the honour of the day,
To the music of the bells,
Around the old bullock dray.
Oh! we'll have plenty girls,
We must mind that.
There'll be flash little Maggie,
And buckjumping Pat.
There'll be Stringy bark Joe,
And Green-hide Mike.
Yes, my Colonials, just
As many as you like.
Now we'll stop all immigration,
We won't need it any more;
We'll be having young natives,
Twins by the score.
And I wonder what the devil
Jack Robertson would say
If he saw us promenading
Round the old bullock dray.
Oh! it's time I had an answer,
If there's one to be had,
I wouldn't treat that steer
In the body half as bad;
But he takes as much notice
Of me, upon my soul,
As that old blue stag
Off-side in the pole.
Oh! to tell a lot of lies,
You know, it is a sin,
But I'll go up country
And marry a black gin.
Oh! "Baal gammon white feller,"
This is what she'll say,
"Budgery you
And your old bullock dray."
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Ballad of Cockatoo Dock
Of all the docks upon the blue
There was no dockyard, old or new,
To touch the dock at Cockatoo.
Of all the ministerial clan
There was no nicer, worthier man
Than Admiral O'Sullivan.
Of course, we mean E. W.
O'Sullivan, the hero who
Controlled the dock at Cockatoo.
To workmen he explained his views --
"You need not toil unless you choose,
Your only work is drawing screws."
And sometimes to their great surprise
When votes of censure filled the skies
He used to give them all a rise.
"What odds about a pound or two?"
Exclaimed the great E. W.
O'Sullivan at Cockatoo.
The dockyard superintendent, he
Was not at all what he should be --
He sneered at all this sympathy.
So when he gave a man the sack
O'Sullivan got on his track
And straightway went and fetched him back.
And with a sympathetic tear
He'd say, "How dare you interfere,
You most misguided engineer?
"Your sordid manners please amend --
No man can possibly offend
Who has a Member for a friend.
"With euchre, or a friendly rub,
And whisky, from the nearest 'pub',
We'll make the dockyard like a club.
"Heave ho, my hearties, play away,
We'll do no weary work today.
What odds -- the public has to pay!
"And if the public should complain
I'll go to Broken Hill by train
To watch McCarthy making rain."
And there, with nothing else to do
No doubt the great E. W.
Will straightway raise McCarthy's screw.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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A writer is like a bean plant - he has his little day, and then gets stringy.
quote by E.B. White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Doggy Style
1-My dog
my lovely dog
that sees everything
listen everything
knows everything
and can't tell me
nothing!
Feels sorry for me.
2-My dog
doesn't bark
bullshit
My dog
doesn't bark
about others
My dog
doesn't bark
curses
My dog
barks
only the truth.
cK
poem by Arian Llalla
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Bark At The Moon
Screams break the silence
Waking from the dead of night
Vengence is boiling
He's returned to kill the light
Then when he's found who he's looking for
Listen in awe and you'll hear him
Bark at the moon
Ha ha ha ha ha...
Years spent in torment
Buried in a nameless grave
Now he has risen
Miracles would have to save
Those that the beast is looking for
Listen in awe and you'll hear him
Bark at the moon
Hey yeah
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne from Bark At The Moon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In a cage at Saskatchewan Zoo
lived a cranky old cockatoo,
he was talking all day
and had something to say
to the resident kangaroo.
quote by by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Counting-Out Rhyme
Silver bark of beech, and sallow
Bark of yellow birch and yellow
Twig of willow.
Stripe of green in moosewood maple,
Colour seen in leaf of apple,
Bark of popple.
Wood of popple pale as moonbeam,
Wood of oak for yoke and barn-beam,
Wood of hornbeam.
Silver bark of beech, and hollow
Stem of elder, tall and yellow
Twig of willow.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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the way I feel right now
I feel funny
parts of me are squishy like bread dough
and others hard like a fence post
some are stringy and taught
some loosely dangle.
my middle area swells
like a balloon and hangs
off me as if it weren’t a part of
me or maybe as if it doesn’t want
to be
I feel funny
poem by Jon Edward Walker
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A Change of Menu
Now the new chum loaded his three-nought-three,
It's a small-bore gun, but his hopes were big.
"I am fed to the teeth with old ewe," said he,
"And I might be able to shoot a pig."
And he trusted more to his nose than ear
To give him warning when pigs were near.
Out of his lair in the lignum dark.
Where the wild duck nests and the bilbie digs,
With a whoof and a snort and a kind of bark
There rose the father of all the pigs:
And a tiger would have walked wide of him
As he stropped his tusks on a leaning limb.
Then the new chum's three-nought-three gave tongue
Like a popgun fired in an opera bouffe:
But a pig that was old when the world was young
Is near as possible bullet-proof.
(The more you shoot him the less he dies,
Unless you catch him between the eyes.)
So the new chum saw it was up to him
To become extinct if he stopped to shoot;
So he made a leap for a gidgee limb
While the tusker narrowly missed his boot.
Then he found a fork, where he swayed in air
As he gripped the boughs like a native bear.
The pig sat silent and gaunt and grim
To wait and wait till his foe should fall:
For night and day were the same to him,
And home was any old place at all.
"I must wait," said he, "till this sportsman drops;
I could use his boots for a pair of strops."
The crows that watch from the distant blue
Came down to see what it all might mean;
An eaglehawk and a cockatoo
Bestowed their patronage on the scene.
Till a far-off boundary rider said
"I must have a look -- there is something dead."
Now the new chum sits at his Christmas fare
Of a dried-up chop from a tough old ewe.
Says he, "It's better than native bear
And nearly as tender as kangaroo.
An emu's egg I can masticate,
But pork," says he, "is the thing I hate."
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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White Cockatoos
Now the autumn maize is growing,
Now the corn-cob fills,
Where the Little River flowing
Winds among the hills.
Over mountain peaks outlying
Clear against the blue
Comes a scout in silence flying,
One white cockatoo.
Back he goes to where the meeting
Waits among the trees.
Says, "The corn is fit for eating;
Hurry, if you please."
Skirmishers, their line extendiing,
Shout the joyful news;
Down they drop like snow descending,
Clouds of cockatoos.
At their husking competition
Hear them screech and yell.
On a gum tree's high position
Sits a sentinel.
Soon the boss goes boundary riding;
But the wise old bird,
Mute among the branches hiding,
Never says a word.
Then you hear the strident squalling:
"Here's the boss's son,
Through the garden bushes crawling,
Crawling with a gun.
May the shiny cactus bristles
Fill his soul with woe;
May his knees get full of thistles.
Brothers, let us go."
Old Black Harry sees them going,
Sketches Nature's plan:
"That one cocky too much knowing,
All same Chinaman.
One eye shut and one eye winkin' --
Never shut the two;
Chinaman go dead, me thinkin',
Jump up cockatoo."
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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A Jack Russell was heard in the dark.
He would bark on the beach at a shark.
When he ventured too close
he was grabbed by the nose
in the end there was just one more bark.
quote by by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Laddy The Protector
Bark, bark is what you would hear,
from Laddy the Sheltie who would bark off your ear.
He was the protector who wasn’t afraid,
he would make sure mother Jean was o.k.
He rescued her in the her swimming pool,
she fell in and he pulled on her robe so very smooth.
Photos of Laddy and Shieka my Pom-Shelty pup,
They both sat on chairs, sitting straight up.
They both played and played all day,
Shieka made Laddy happy when Jean passed away.
Now Laddy is with mother Jean,
I hope they are happy once again.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 20,2011
www.suechevalier.com www.puppetpoems.com
www.christinasunrise.com www.purplepoems.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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He had his Dream
He had his dream, and all through life,
Worked up to it through toil and strife.
Afloat fore'er before his eyes,
It colored for him all his skies:
The storm-cloud dark
Above his bark,
The calm and listless vault of blue
Took on its hopeful hue,
It tinctured every passing beam -
He had his dream.
He labored hard and failed at last,
His sails too weak to bear the blast,
The raging tempests tore away
And sent his beating bark astray.
But what cared he
For wind or sea!
He said, 'The tempest will be short,
My bark will come to port.'
He saw through every cloud a gleam -
He had his dream.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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