Ballarat
The digger's cultured daughter:
Her youth was wildly free.
Now by the placid water
Of tree-girt Wendouree
She walks, a gracious lady,
Where sculptured beauty gleams
By verdant paths and shady,
And dreams her golden dreams.
Her father was a digger,
Bearded and blunt and crude,
His hand quick to the trigger
Should tyranny intrude.
With lifts of sudden riches
He heaped his hoyden lass,
Whose flowering new bewitches
With beauty all who pass.
For she has sown her gardens
To hide the scars of greed,
And, where the old dump hardens,
Springs many a fruitful seed.
And, as she gathers graces
In loveliness to last,
Serenity replaces
A turbulence long past.
Her father was a miner,
Great in his day and age;
But here to ideals finer
She shapes her heritage.
Until it spreads in glamor,
A wonder to behold
Of peace come after clamor,
Of grace that followed gold.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Bendigo
A golden maid whose golden voice
Calls to the northern lands,
Of riches she has had her choice.
Twin treasures to make men rejoice
Came easy to her hands:
The golden harvest of broad fields,
Or that dark gift of sudden yields
Won from her golden sands.
But men have scorned her worthier pride
In rich and fruitful soil;
And, spreading desolation wide,
Ranged all her verdant countryside
To ravage and despoil.
And now grey wastes of tortured earth
Await the glory of rebirth
Thro' nature's patient toil.
She has the wish, she has the will
To gather beauty round.
Though gold's fierce lure stays with her still,
She lives to plan and strive until
Springs from this barren ground
Earth's only treasure, scorned of yore,
And smiling verdure clothes once more
Full many a bare, bleak mound.
She guards the gateway of the north
The broad lands of the sun.
Hospitably her hand goes forth,
Eager to vindicate the worth
Of happier tasks begun,
And in gay gardens to express
A newer urge to loveliness
And kinder virtues won.
A virile lass, in no wise strange,
Of true Australian breed:
Where drab days into sunlight charge
Across the Great Dividing Range
She scatters now the seed
That shall bring yields a thousandfold
When gardens count for more than gold
And peace outvalues greed.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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When I Want To See Beauty
When I want to see beauty I need not travel far
Not even for a short drive in a car
Outside my window on flowering callistemon tree
A natural thing of beauty there to see.
The new holland honeyeater in his dark and gold
A bird of beauty lovely to behold
He chirrups loud amongst the leafy bowers
And take his fill of nectar from the flowers.
When I want beauty all I have to do
Is walk near my home down shady avenue
Where white backed magpie on the tall gum sing
In Nature beauty is a natural thing.
For beauty money I don't have to pay
Or purchase flight ticket to far away
At night I see it in the starry sky
A thing of beauty is a thing of joy.
And the finest of beauty you don't pay to see
Like a red rosella on a sunlit tree
In Nature's garden living wild and free
And you won't see any prettier than he.
poem by Francis Duggan
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She Walks...
She walks in beauty in my Dreams
She dances across the shadows of my mind
As the moonlight beams
Upon two souls entwined
All through the day and into the night
She walks in beauty in my dreams
In my memory, I hold her tight
Safe in my arms, sheltered from the screams
In the shadows my mind does teem
My thoughts my dreams, she does invade
She walks in beauty in my dreams
Across my heart in an endless parade
Love cascading, exploding in a brilliant flare
Flowing like a mountain stream
Until I am left with my dreams and where
She walks in beauty in my dreams
JPM 2/11/2008
Camperdown
The dignity of Camperdown
Is not to be denied,
Where Leura looks upon the town
And that lush countryside
And comfortable, stout and sleek,
She wears the air of one who'd seek
To mind her manners rather much,
And cultivate the English touch.
A haughty lady prone to row
Her eyebrows, when the road
Brings in some traveller whose ways
Tend to offend her code.
The robust life of modern towns
Suits ill her verdant dells and downs.
She is particular, aloof;
As witness many a manor roof.
'Tis said that Leura, long ago,
Belched flames up to the sky,
And turbulently sought to throw
Stones at the passers-by.
And her rich ashes raining down,
Bequeathed great wealth to Camperdown;
But turbulence in youth begun,
Is now taboo. It 'isn't done'.
And Camperdown, of gracious mien,
Brings joy to him who views
The glamor of her peaceful scene
And placid avenues;
A proper town, that sets the pace,
And sets the scene for civic grace.
And will might many another town
Adopt the air of Camperdown.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Father You a Daughter
Sweetie, you know you are all I want in a mate,
Every time that I had ever needed in a lady;
No other can compare to your mystique so great,
So I want you to have my very next baby.
Bear my child, sweetheart...
Your beauty, strength, your grace, and intellect,
Brilliance beyond anyone I have ever known;
The spirit you have inspires me to pay respect
Every good woman and I want raise one of my own.
Bear my child, sweetheart...
Let me father you a daughter,
Knock you up and make us a baby girl;
Let me father you a daughter,
Go every night to bring her to the world.
I cannot resist you,
So bear my daughter, boo.
This child will be our legacy, but another you,
With your very enticing smile, sexy eyes;
I cannot wait to go all night making love to you
For a baby, sharing your joy between your thighs.
Carry my seed, baby...
Never will I part from you, keep it in overnight,
Ready to accept the amazing paternity of two;
A daughter with your way of thinking and life,
If tomorrow ends tonight, I must impregnate you.
Carry my seed, baby...
Let me father you a daughter,
Knock you up and make us a baby girl;
Let me father you a daughter,
Go every night to bring her to the world.
I cannot resist you,
So bear my daughter, boo.
They say the man must do all the work
If we really want to have a pretty little princess;
Baby, just lay back and let me work
Starting with your mind to all five senses.
Knock you up, sweetie...
Passion marks over spots I already licked,
Kisses trace each place my fingertips ran;
Battlefield Bedroom is the place to get some...
If love is war, then I will declare it much as I can.
Knock you up, sweetie...
Let me father you a daughter,
Knock you up and make us a baby girl;
Let me father you a daughter,
Go every night to bring her to the world.
I cannot resist you,
So bear my daughter, boo.
Bear my child, carry my seed, baby
To not knock you up would be crazy;
Such a dream of mine come true,
And I long to savor moments with you.
By far the finest from sole to crown,
I truly love to please you up and down;
To have you walking around with my child,
Makes the obstacles we faced worthwhile.
Let me father you a daughter,
Knock you up and make us a baby girl;
Let me father you a daughter,
Go every night to bring her to the world.
I cannot resist you,
So bear my daughter, boo.
poem by Sr. Lamar Ingraham
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Dreams Dreams Dreams
I dream of you, dreaming of me
In thy imagination, lovely and free
Astray on a unimaginable path
Where me and you are all we hath
Dreaming of dreams that should be
The mind of you to bind with me
In my dreams its thou I see
I see thou with my harmony
Dreams, Dreams, Dreams
Gleams, Gleams, Gleams
Gleams of you and gleams of me
In dreams of you in dreams of me
The gleams that hope
The gleams that elope
You to me and me to you
In dreams, dreams come true!
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Shantelles Poem
Days come and go the sun sets to grace the night with its everlasting peace. The beauty of the earth graces the night only for the many people to spoil it. The unspoiled dreams of children running through the minds of others around. But has this world turned to the point of a simple thought? As I look around to see the shimmering beauty of this world begin to fade I turn to see a vision, a beautiful flower standing behind me. I see this beauty unspoiled by the world around and blooming as to be a dream. This beauty i wonder where it comes from as i melt at this divine beauty as to only feel unworthy to glimpse it i wounder where is this beauty and i remember this beauty is the person that is reading this gift the person who inspired this poem.
poem by Twisted Dreams
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Bright
Where Feathertop frowns thro' the winter scud,
Where Buffalo broods on high,
Dwells she, a lass of royal blood,
And a sparkle lights her eye
The clear, clean glint of the sun on snow,
Where the small streams, singing down,
Into the golden Ovens flow,
To decorate her town.
Wild was she on an olden day
And a wilful lass, forsooth,
When the rough, tough diggers came her way
Ere she emerged from youth.
From her river flats they dredged the gold
And laid sad waste to these,
While they drove in thousands from their fold
The thrifty, scared Chinese.
Waxing in beauty, she has grown
To a maid of wide renown;
For the wild, swift days have long since flown.
Now, by her tree-girt town,
Where her plaited river murmuring flows
Thro' sylvan scenes and rare,
A maiden clad in beauty goes
To her hop-fields gleaming there.
Yet men still scheme to dredge these fields,
And filch their loveliness,
All for the sake of bigger yields
In gold, that count far less
Than the rare, rich harvests won today
In calm security.
Leaving but ruin and decay
To sad posterity.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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My Father's Eulogy
Ladies and Gentlemen,
You are all gathered here today
To pay your respects to someone you knew.
However,
I come today not to bury my father
But set him free.
You see
The man who was my father died
Along with his dreams
Many years back.
He was slowly crushed by disappointments
Until he no longer wished to fight
This shell was not the father of my childhood
Who stood straight as the redwoods
He is not the man who knew how to laugh and play.
My father bartered his pride for too small a price
And became a pauper.
His self esteem slipped away long before his last breath.
He had been trying to suffocate himself
Under his own weight.
I knew him when he still had a twinkle in his eyes.
So,
Do not cry for this body before you
Because you never met the actual soul
That so long ago was housed in his body.
He deformed himself to the extent
That even he no longer recognized himself in his reflection.
Perhaps it was easier not remembering
Who he use to be.
I inherited my sense of humor, my love of music,
My quickness and speed from my father,
Even my biting sarcasm.
My spirit seems to be my mother's.
For those of you who knew him in his youth
You knew him better than me
For those of you who knew him with a young family
You knew him as well as me.
For those of you who met him once he was broken
You may have seen a glimmer of who he use to be,
And, that, on a good day.
I will say again,
Thank you for your presence
I will ask you kindly,
Not to weep.
My father left this life long ago
Because in his dreams
He could hide from the world and find his peace.
Let him sleep a last long slumber
And,
I wish him beautiful dreams.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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True Beauty
When a pretty girl walks down the street,
All the people want to meet.
This girl with slim hips and golden hair,
This girl that everybody wants to stare.
But I sit and ask myself, what is beauty?
Is true beauty not found in stealth?
Because this golden girl has no manners,
When she curses she never stammers.
The golden girl, who at the flick of her hand,
Would make sure all knew where they stand.
Yet when I came across a shy lady,
Who seemed a tad too shady;
She politely said hello and smiled keen,
And was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
poem by Lenore Lee
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Beauty Beyond Belief!
Behold the beauty of her face, the twinkles in her eyes,
Her smile, her style, her noble grace, her countenance so wise.
Behold the beauty of her hair cascading left and right,
The way it shines beyond compare, so debonair and bright.
Behold the beauty of her lips like effervescent wine
And how genteel the lady sips when she decides to dine.
Behold the beauty of her neck, the pendants that she wears,
The choicest gems we're meant to check as she attracts our stares.
Behold the beauty of her form that stands out from the crowd...
Defiantly beyond the norm, she holds her head up proud...
For she's no timid little miss content that she's called cute...
For she's aware of all she is and seeks to stay astute.
In this old world, where youth excels, opportunity knocks...
It has been said that beauty sells as fast as diamond rocks.
To me, she's sweet, as good as gold, as fine as filigree.
When God made her, He broke the mould, for she's a sight to see...
From head-to-toe, beauty above and beauty underneath...
She's the reason I fell in love... Beauty beyond belief!
poem by Denis Martindale
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In an Old Town Garden
Shut from the clamor of the street
By an old wall with lichen grown,
It holds apart from jar and fret
A peace and beauty all its own.
The freshness of the springtime rains
And dews of morning linger here;
It holds the glow of summer noons
And ripest twilights of the year.
Above its bloom the evening stars
Look down at closing of the day,
And in its sweet and shady walks
Winds spent with roaming love to stray,
Upgathering to themselves the breath
Of wide-blown roses white and red,
The spice of musk and lavender
Along its winding alleys shed.
Outside are shadeless, troubled streets
And souls that quest for gold and gain,
Lips that have long forgot to smile
And hearts that burn and ache with pain.
But here is all the sweet of dreams,
The grace of prayer, the boon of rest,
The spirit of old songs and loves
Dwells in this garden blossom-blest.
Here would I linger for a space,
And walk herein with memory;
The world will pass me as it may
And hope will minister to me.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Anzac Square: What The Digger Said
Said the Digger: 'Soon forgot! Soon forgot, the deeds of war.
Better so, may be. . . Why not?
Beauty fades and laurels rot;
Last year's roses are no more.
Fame?' the one-armed Digger said,
'What of glory when you're dead?'
'Stone and brass,' the Digger said. 'Stone and brass: tho' these endure,
Marble flaunting o'er my head
Would be dead, as I'd be dead.
How may any man be sure
That the hearts of men shall hold
Memories of tales once told?
This alone I surely know: earth I am, and earth shall be,
Only Mother Earth can show,
When I go where all men go,
Aught of this that had been me.
Mother Earth, once stained so red,
She must know,' the Digger said.
'Would you raise, in braggart heaps, stone, cold stone, to mark the fame
Of full many a man who sleeps
Where the earth of Anzac keeps
Guard o'er legions lacking name
Plinth and pillar reared to show
Pomp and pride they cannot know?
'They ask no portentous pile, boasting to a heedless sky,
Stirring men a little while,
Subject, then, for sigh or smile,
Not for this do soldiers die,
With our passing let Pride be,
All we ask is Memory:
'Memory of such fair worth as a fighting man may claim,
And a plot of hallowed earth
In the city of our birth:
Earth that bears a hallowed name.
Let it be envisioned there:
Anzac worth in Anzac Square.
'Memory,' the Digger said. 'If so be the city judge
Soldiers worthy, who have bled.
Worthy of her love, the dead,
Shall the city, then, begrudge
One wide acre of her soil
For who saved the whole from spoil?
'Here, it may be, by God's grace, our son's sons may sit at last,
In the People's market place,
Knowing truly, as they trace
Memory of me long past,
'Tis enshrined forever there:
Anzac worth in Anzac Square.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Is There Any Truth in Beauty?
Is there any truth in Beauty?
What of the lies beauty tells thee?
Could my beauty not be as worthy
As I make thy Beauty part of me?
Such is Beauty as to make one's sight loud.
This beauty that veils our sense in a shroud.
beauty: that which deters seeing the person.
Does Beauty not conceal what is and isn't?
Yet merciless time holds beauty as a hostage,
Defiles Beauty and scars it with lasting ravage.
Thus the years that pass send Beauty to its resting-place
For vain beauty will yield, to woefully fall from grace.
If beauty should ever lament on age's cruelty,
Let not Beauty forget how little it has wept for me.
Story Of Isaac
The door it opened slowly,
My father he came in,was nine years old.
And he stood so tall above me,
His blue eyes they were shining
And his voice was very cold.
He said, Ive had a vision
And you know Im strong and holy,
I must do what Ive been told.
So he started up the mountain,
I was running, he was walking,
And his axe was made of gold.
Well, the trees they got much smaller,
The lake a ladys mirror,
We stopped to drink some wine.
Then he threw the bottle over.
Broke a minute later
And he put his hand on mine.
Thought I saw an eagle
But it might have been a vulture,
I never could decide.
Then my father built an altar,
He looked once behind his shoulder,
He knew I would not hide.
You who build these altars now
To sacrifice these children,
You must not do it anymore.
A scheme is not a vision
And you never have been tempted
By a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
Your hatchets blunt and bloody,
You were not there before,
When I lay upon a mountain
And my fathers hand was trembling
With the beauty of the word.
And if you call me brother now,
Forgive me if I inquire,
Just according to whose plan?
When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust
I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can.
And mercy on our uniform,
Man of peace or man of war,
The peacock spreads his fan.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father Of Night
Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father And Daughter
Father and daughter spend some quiet time together in the living room
Shining through the curtain is the sun
And outside is the glorious afternoon
Father reads to his daughter the poetry she loves
Father and daughter enjoy each other's company
Father takes his daughter by the hand
As they take a walk outside
Father cares for his daughter
And always wishes the very best to happen for her
poem by Justin Gildow
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Through the Green Valley
Through the green valley and past the crooked tree
there lies a place of love and tranquility
where food and water are in abundancy
and children play happy free from tyranny.
Through the green valley and past the golden tree
there is a place of art and wonder and glee
where people sing and dance in jeu d' esprit
and families are happy not refugees.
Through the green valley and past the diamond tree
there a place of beauty a land of the free
where people live in a state of ecstasy
and pain is vanquished there is no misery.
Through the green valley and past the godly tree
There the kingdom of heaven 'grandiosity'
poem by Wade Harlaine
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A Square Deal
'Dreamin'?' I sez to Digger Smith.
'Buck up, ole sport, an' smile.
Ain't there enough uv joy to-day
To drive the bogey man away
An' make reel things worth while?
A bloke would think, to see you stare,
There's visions on the 'ill-tops there.'
'Dreamin',' sez Digger Smith. 'Why not?
An' there is visions too.
An' when I get 'em sorted out,
An' strafe that little bogey, Doubt,
I'll start me life all new.
Oh, I ain't crook; but packed in 'ere
Is thoughts enough to last a year.
'I'm thinkin' things,' sez Digger Smith.
'I'm thinkin' big an' fine
Uv Life an' Love an' all the rest,
An' wot is right an' wot is best,
An' 'ow much will be mine.
Not that I'm wantin' overmuch:
Some work, some play, an' food an' such.'
'See 'ere,' I sez. 'You 'ark to me.
I've done some thinkin' too.
An' this 'ere land, for wot yeh did,
Owes some few million solid quid
To fightin' blokes like you.
So don't be too damn modest or
Yeh'll get less than yeh're lookin' for.'
'Money?' sez Digger. 'Loot?' sez 'e.
'Aw, give that talk a rest!
I'm sick uv it. I didn't say
That I was thinkin' all uv pay
But wot was right an' best.
An' that ain't in the crazy game
Uv grabbin' wealth an' chasin' fame.
'Do you think us blokes Over There,
When things was goin' strong,
Was keepin' ledgers day be day
An' reck'nin' wot the crowd would pay?
Pull off! Yeh got it wrong.
Do you think all the boys gone West
Wants great swank 'eadstones on their chest?
'You coots at 'ome 'as small ideer
Uv wot we think an' feel.
We done our bit an' seen it thro',
An' all that we are askin' you
Is jist a fair, square deal.
We want this land we battled for
To settle up - an' somethin' more.
'We want the land we battled for
To be a land worth while.
We're sick uv greed, an' 'ate, an' strife,
An' all the mess that's made uv life.'...
'E stopped a bit to smile.
'I got these thoughts Out There becos
We learned wot mateship reely was.'
. . . . . .
The 'ills be'ind the orchard trees
Was showin' misty blue.
The ev'nin' light was growin' dim;
An' down I sat 'longside uv 'im,
An' done some dreamin' too.
I dreams uv war; an' wot is paid
By blokes that went an' blokes that stayed.
I dreams uv honour an' reward,
An' 'ow to pay a debt.
For partin' cash, an' buyin' farms,
An' fitting chaps with legs an' arms
Ain't all - there's somethin' yet.
There's still a solid balance due;
An' now it's up to me an' you.
There's men I know ain't yet woke up,
Or reckernized that debt
Proud men 'oo wouldn't take yeh down
Or owe their grocer 'arf-a-crown-
They ain't considered, yet,
There's somethin' owin' - to the dead,
An' Diggers live for more than bread.
The 'ills be'ind the orchard trees
Jist caught the settin' sun.
A bloke might easy think that there,
'Way back be'ind the range somewhere,
Where streaks uv sunlight run,
There was a land, swep' clear uv doubt,
Where men finds wot they dreams about.
'Beauty,' sez Digger, sudden-like,
'An' love, an' kindliness;
The chance to live a clean, straight life,
A dinkum deal for kids an' wife:
A man needs nothin' less...
Maybe they'll get it when I go
To push up daisies. I dunno.'
'Dreamin',' sez Digger Smith. 'Why not?
There's visions on the hill.'...
Then I gets up an' steals away,
An' leaves 'im with the dyin' day,
Dreamin' an' doubtin' still...
Cobber, it's up to me an' you
To see that 'arf 'is dream comes true.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The eyes of Love!
I see you standing there.
My mind goes into autopilot judgement mode.
Unaware of your past. I judge your future.
Forgive me bearded man with the sad, sad eyes.
I am no different from you.
A Life full of hopes and dreams.
Mistakes and falls.
My heart today breaks for you.
the lost dreams and visions that danced in your head when you were a wee child?
They still burn!
Teach me to understand.
I will not hold your hand as you walk this path.
But I will reach down and try to lift you up.
Oh bearded man with the sad, sad eyes. I almost missed you.
For I am looking into the eyes of my father.
poem by Vonda Overlie
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