Echuca
With wood and wool for Adelaide
The paddle boats came down
When here this spritely river maid
Built up her river town.
Flanked by the green of spreading gums,
Where trade in waxing volume comes
Her industry to crown.
Those were the careless, easy days
The days of old romance,
When men were prone to casual ways,
But she had marked her chance,
As gateway of the north and east,
To share one day the coming feast
Of this wide land's advance.
Now she, grown old in count of years,
Stays young, who dreams her fate
Is to arise above her peers
And serve a sister State,
Handmaid of kindlier kinship when
Madness and folly fall from men
And they, with towns, grow great.
The paddle boats, with wool and wood,
Churned lazily along
When peace seemed sure, when life seemed good,
Ere all a world went wrong.
Strife wells; yet, valiant as of yore
Old Murray sings without her door
Of hope an ageless song.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Whatever Happened To Pong?
My brother and me used to play it
Down at the bar
Taking money from guys
More used to the playing of cards
Paddle the paddle to the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Paddle the paddle the side to the side
Pong
Ball in the machine
Now virtually everyones singing
A popular song
But I still believe in
In the excellent joy of the pong
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
To the paddle the paddle the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Pong
Ball in the machine
Now if they take it h.g. wells
Well, Ill be on the first flight
To a time before the kong
Whatever happended to pong?
Paddle the paddle to the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Paddle the paddle the side to the side
Pong
Ball in the machine
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Laura Days
Dreaming to-day in a forest green
Where the great gums rake the sky,
My thoughts turn back to another scene
And to old days, long gone by;
To a land of youth, and a youth's employ,
And - to filch another's phrase -
To the men who were boys, when I was a boy,
In the long gone Laura days.
To a little town that nestles down
By the hills of Beetaloo,
Where a youth dreamed dreams of fair renown,
And a man's ambition grew,
'Twas here his earliest songs were sung
And he won his earliest praise
From men who were young when he was young
In the long gone Laura days.
Spicer, Stockdale, Ballantyne,
Marrie, Mitchell and Braund;
How many a right good pal of mine
Has gone from that sunlit land.
How many a man, how many a lad,
Whose head now slowly greys,
To a song grew glad as I grew glad
In those long gone Laura days.
Susman, Sibly and Dr Cook,
Blume and Barrington,
Oh! the lives of some are a long-closed book,
But many a tale runs on.
Hollis and Harvey, Chandler, Green
Are gone their various ways,
But I see them all in the olden scene
Of the long gone Laura days.
I see them still, I see the town
Under those scrub-clad hills,
The shops where the quiet street runs down,
Wilson, Rowland, Bills.
Taylor, Weste, Felstead too,
Cole of the kindly ways,
And many other friends I knew
In the long gone Laura days.
And the names of some come slow to mind,
But the faces greet me clear,
And I hold them all as men most kind,
As I hold the old town dear;
And so in memory to the end
That old time picture stays,
For I see each face as a faithful friend
Of the far off Laura days.
To the ladies all I lift a glass,
And toast with a right good will,
Every matron, every lass, who
Shine in memory still,
Fair would I hymn them all in rhyme
With soaring song of praise,
Friends of mine from a golden time
In the long gone Laura days.
When the evening sun slants through the gums,
By my forest-rimmed abode,
Once more the old clear picture comes,
And my mind drifts down the road;
Back to the town by Beetaloo,
Where the Rocky River strays;
Back to the old kind friends I knew
In the dear dead Laura days.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our River Clyde
From it's original source in the Lowther hills,
If you listen closely you'll hear her shrills,
It's the great divide between north and south,
At the Firth of Clyde is the rivers mouth.
The river Clyde could tell many a story,
Sailing and shipbuilding in all of its glory,
From warships to liners like the Q.E.2.
All built by the finest craftsmen too.
Throughout her history she's been well portrayed,
From the mills to the cotton and tobacco trade,
Many a merchant made their fortune from here,
She's a natural beauty we must forever revere.
She has flowed for centuries never taking a rest,
A beautiful river, full of life full of zest,
The paddle steamers used her for many years,
Those memories are still what truly endears.
The Waverley steamer still sails to this day,
From the Clyde to the sea she knows her own way,
On to Dunoon, Saltcoats then Loch Fyne,
There's the beautiful scenery which is truly divine.
We must treat her well she's a valuable resource,
If we choose to ignore her there'll be no recourse,
It's up to the people if the Clyde's to survive,
We must all do our best to keep her alive.
We must all ensure she is put to good use,
No more pollution no more suffering abuse,
We either use her or lose her that is a fact,
Our river could die unless we all act.
Industry will return that we can tell,
A museum of transport new housing as well,
Once again she'll be put to the test,
With flying colours she'll be back to her best.
She has served our fair city with pride and with grace,
Despite all the changes she's kept up with the pace,
She is long and slender at the sea she flows wide,
She's a wonderful waterway is,
‘' Our River Clyde ‘'
Thames! Beautiful Thames!
Thames! Beautiful Thames!
Thames River arises at Gloucestershire,
flows thro' London, the capital of U.K;
Thames River is tidal in London
With a rise and fall of 7 meters,
The river is fed by more than 20 tributaries;
The Thames River which flows alongside
several other towns and cities -
Oxford, Reading, Henley-on-Thames,
Windsor, Kingston upon Thames and Richmond -
is beautiful;
Thames River has a total length of 215 mile,
River banks on either side are beautiful,
Pavement strolling stretch on either side
is beautiful;
Boats sailing in Thames river are beautiful,
Young women who sail in the boats are beautiful,
White swan pairs' which swim in the river are beautiful;
Watching swans from the bridge,
- which spans Reading and Caversham -
somersaulting to catch the fish
is still more exciting and beautiful!
Thames! Beautiful Thames!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Recollections of Our Native Valley
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood,
With wildering sound goes winding ever.
Oh! often yet with feeling strong,
On that dear stream my mem'ry ponders,
And still I prize its murm'ring song,
For by my childhood's home it wanders.
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood,
There's music in each wind that blows
Within our native valley breathing;
There's beauty in each flower that grows
Around our native woodlands wreathing.
The memory of our brightest joys
Is dearer than the richest toys,
The present vainly shed around us.
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood,
Oh, sister! when 'mid doubts and fears,
That haunt life's onward journey ever,
I turn to those departed years,
And that beloved and lovely river;
With sinking mind and bosom riven,
And heart with lonely anguish aching,
It needs my long-taught hope in heaven,
To keep that weary heart from breaking.
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood.
poem by Gerald Griffin
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Good Old Days
Oh some times I think back to when I was younger
Life was so much simpler then
Dad would be up at dawn
Hed be watering the lawn
Or maybe going fishing again
Oh and mom would be fixing up something in the kitchen
Fresh biscuits or hot apple pie
And Id spend all day long in the basement
Torturing rats with a hack-saw
And pulling the wings off of flies
Those were the good old days
Those were the good old days
The years go by but the memory stays
And those were the good old days
I can still remember good old mr. fender
Who ran the corner grocery store
Oh, hed strolled down the aisle with a big friendly smile
And hed say howdy when you walked in the door
Always treated me nice, gave me kindly advice
I dont know why I set fire to his place
Oh Ill never forget the day I bashed in his head
Well you shouldve seen the look on his face
Let me tell ya now
Those were the good old days
Those were the good old days
The years go by but the memory stays
And those were the good old days
Do you remember sweet michelle
She was my high school romance
She was fun to talk to and nice to smell
So I took her to the homecoming dance
Then I tied her to a chair and I shaved off all her hair
And I left her in the desert all alone
Well sometimes in my dreams
I can still hear the screams
Oh I wonder if she ever made it home
I tell ya
Those were the good old days
Those were the good old days
The years go by but the memory stays
And those were the good old days
Let me tell ya buddy
Those were the good old days
Those were the good old days
The years go by but the memory stays
And those were the good old days
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Without A Paddle
Im lost without A paddle on this river of life/
Where it will lead me no one knows/
but one thing is undeniable as i get older my outlook and intelect on life steadily grows/
Ill never be fake never pose/
this river is long and very rough/
But on it i will stay till my bodies had enough/
or till the day im tken away in those cold metal cuffs/
But if thers one thing i know/
IM WITHOUT A PADDLE WHILE THE RIVER CONINUES TO FLOW
THIS IS THE SECOND POEM I EVER WROTE TELL ME IF \YOU LIKE
poem by Jason Decker
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Peace River
The Peace River creeps along
From its start in the sand it calls home
That sometimes takes up more below
Than it adds to the flow.
The groove cut deep in ages past
Into the lime-rock's cast
Remains a testament to the way
That Nature refreshes, then takes away.
Sometimes a wild river that knows no bounds
Later just a few scattered ponds
Harboring life which one day
Will again spread when the River has its say.
Once a road for paddlewheel boats
That carried goods up-river to folks
When loaded with coal and necessities
From mines and far away cities.
Then down river the boats did ply
Phosphate ore that man might buy
As an ingredient to benefit all,
Something to makes crops grow tall.
But now the Peace River's flow
Has been claimed by those below
Who've built along Gulf's shore,
And thirst for water, even more.
There are solutions, few
When Winter's drought begins anew
When fish and man alike must find
A place of another kind.
Yet the river lies quiet and waits
For the Summer rains that will create
Again the flood as in times past
When the water moves deep and fast.
The Peace River originates in an area known as the 'Green Swamp, ' a vast mostly unpopulated area of central Florida lying between Tampa and Orlando. The sandy soil (if soil it can be considered to be) accepts summer rainfall while giving up the excess to runoff, and uses the remainder to recharge the shallow limestone/sand aquifer. In the dry season of the year, the aquifer gives up a portion of its burden through springs and seeps to rivers flowing East (Orlando) , West (Tampa) , North (Jacksonville) and South (Charlotte bay) . Southwest Water Management District (Called Swift Mud) will try to 'harness' the Peace river and control its flow. But there's much about the river that they seem not to know (or want to learn) .
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Go the Boats?
Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating -
Where will all come home?
On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.
Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Till All the Bad Things Came Untrue
BY blacksoil plains burned grey with drought
Where desert shrubs and grasses grow,
Along the Land of Furthest Out
That only Overlanders know.
I dreamed I camped on river grass
In bends where river timber grew—
I dreamed, I dreamed the days to pass
Till all the bad things came untrue.
I dreamed that I was young again,
But was not young as I had been,
My path through life seemed fair and plain,
My sight and hearing clear and keen.
No longer bent nor lined and grey,
I met and loved and worshipped you—
I dreamed, I dreamed the days away
Till all the sad things came untrue.
I dreamed a home of freestone stood
With toned tiled roofs as roofs should be,
By cliff and fall and beach and wood
With wide verandahs to the sea.
I dreamed a hale gudeman and wife,
With sons and daughters well-to-do,
Lived there the glorious old home life
And all the mad things were untrue.
From blacksoil plains burned bare with drought
Where years are sown that never grow—
From dead grey creeks of dreams and drought,
Through black-ridged wastes of weirdest woe,
I tramped and camped with fearsome fare
Until the sea-scape came in view,
And lo! the home lay smiling there
And all the bad things were untrue.
poem by Henry Lawson
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A Thought For Your Anniversary
Don't count your decade
By the days that fade
Don't count your years
By the falling tears
Don't count your weeks
By the days that were bleak
Don't count your days
By the trouble's ways
Instead count your decades
By the things you have made
Count your years
By joys and cheers
Count your weeks
When you helped out a meek
And count your days
By cheers and prayers
That was sent for both of you
Along with God's love that is true
Because you're starting another year
Of peace and blessings, love and care.
Happy 4th Anniversary Sister
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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The Raging River
The river rages through the land
Cutting the earth with its mighty hand
Digging the canyons across the face of time
Revealing a land that is intertwined
The river brings life as it moves along
The animals drink from it and makes them strong
The river is a roadway, where great boats do ride
The river is mighty and has great pride
The river takes and gives what it sees fit
Many a great tribe stands in awe of it
Even the great river takes time to rest
Knowing it has done it’s very best
There is a raging river flowing through you and me
It cuts through our soul, setting the spirit free
Let the river flow, do not dam it up
Feel the never ending energy, drink from it’s cup
Let your river flow outward and keep in mind
As it cuts through each one, we are all intertwined
poem by L.T. Padgett
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Dreamy River
There's a dreamy river flowing
Down the street from my house
I walk down there after work
But I paddle my way home
There's a dreamy river flowing
On every street corner in the world
And if that young moon is in the sky
She'll wink at you and let you pass by
There's a dreamy river flowing
From my refrigerator into my mouth
It only costs a few dollars
To keep those shelves stocked
There's a dreamy river flowing
From my mouth into my gut
There's a dreamy river flowing
From my wank into the street
There's a dreamy river flowing
In my mind as I lay to sleep
There's a dreamy river flowing
From a town I've never been to
Across this great country
And also from overseas
Sometimes from people's kitchens
Transversing time and space
I float down this river
Every night and day
There's a dreamy river flowing
From the hops and the malts and sugar
I call it my brother, I call it my wife
I call it my true friend
Let me float upon you dreamy river
And drown all these sorrows
That call to me from pasts I've severed
poem by Spencer Breau
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The Song my Paddle Sings
West wind, blow from your prairie nest,
Blow from the mountains, blow from the west
The sail is idle, the sailor too ;
O! wind of the west, we wait for you.
Blow, blow!
I have wooed you so,
But never a favour you bestow.
You rock your cradle the hills between,
But scorn to notice my white lateen.
I stow the sail, unship the mast :
I wooed you long but my wooing's past ;
My paddle will lull you into rest.
O! drowsy wind of the drowsy west,
Sleep, sleep,
By your mountain steep,
Or down where the prairie grasses sweep!
Now fold in slumber your laggard wings,
For soft is the song my paddle sings.
August is laughing across the sky,
Laughing while paddle, canoe and I,
Drift, drift,
Where the hills uplift
On either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed ;
My paddle is plying its way ahead ;
Dip, dip,
While the water flip
In foam as over their breast we slip.
And oh, the river runs swifter now ;
The eddies circle about my bow.
Swirl, swirl!
How the ripples curl
In many a dangerous pool awhirl!
And forward far the rapids roar,
Fretting their margin for evermore.
Dash, dash,
With a mighty crash,
They seethe, and boil, and bound, and splash.
Be strong, O paddle! be brave, canoe!
The reckless waves you must plunge into.
Reel, reel.
On your trembling keel,
But never a fear my craft will feel.
We've raced the rapid, we're far ahead!
The river slips through its silent bed.
Sway, sway,
As the bubbles spray
And fall in tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills against the sky,
A fir tree rocking its lullaby,
Swings, swings,
Its emerald wings,
Swelling the song that my paddle sings.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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In Fancy The Song Of The Dipper
In fancy the song of the dipper I hear
The river he sings in to my thoughts are near
With snow white breast and mostly dark brown
As he sing on a rock midst the rapids he bobs up and down
A beautiful to look at bird with a plain enough song
Once seen and once heard him you never get wrong
As birds go one might say a stranger to renown
He lives and breeds in the river that flows by the town
'Tis part of his natural duty for him to help his dipper wife
For to raise their young dippers for a river life
And in Seasons from now when the life from him long gone
The song of the dipper in the river lives on
In fancy I can hear him singing today
And the river he sings in from me doesn't seem far away
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sea Captain
The merchandise of gold in the land of gold,
The merchandise of silver in the land of silver,
The merchandise of bronze in the land of bronze,
The merchandise of precious stones in the land of stones,
The merchandise of fine linen in the land of thread,
The merchandise of pearls in the land of pearls,
The merchandise of silk in the land of wool,
The merchandise of scarlet in the land of clothes,
The merchandise of ivory in the land of elephants,
The merchandise of scented wood in the land of timber,
The merchandise of brass in the land of metals,
The merchandise of precious wood in the land of trees,
The merchandise of wool in the land of sheep,
And the merchandise of marble in the land of marbles;
For this is the message to the sea captain.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Heart Of A Nation
The land of beauty,
The land of joy,
The land of plenty,
With the pearl of tourism to blow my mind!
But, the pride of a nation is all about you.
The home of peace is like,
The people's paradise;
the land of hope is like,
The home of hospitality;
The land of equity is like,
The state of harmony;
And, the food basket of the nation is with joy!
But, the pride of a nation is all about you.
Home for all is like,
The salt of a nation;
Home for solid mineral is like,
The centre of commerce;
But, the sunshine state is where to share your love with,
For, the pride of a nation is all about you.
The state of caliphate and,
The liberal state of love;
For, thenew world is always around you! !
But, the jewel in the savannah is all that i share with you.
Coal in the city of love,
And like the fountain of knowledge and power! !
But the heart beat of a nation is like,
The centre of excellence!
The state of a living spring is like the gateway to all!
But the peace setter state is what i share with you;
Because, nature's gift to a nation is like the rainbow!
Of the big heart of love and,
Of the centre of unity to all mankind!
For, the young shall grow;
And, the treasure base of life is the status of peace.
The pride to farm the land,
And of the confluence state of my mind! !
But, the power to show love is like,
The Creator's own state of mind to a nation!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Port Adelaide
It is the great City of Port Adelaide
Where heroes are born and legends are made
In the Australian Football League they have their own football team
For to play for Port Adelaide many Port teens do dream.
A place where Indigenous and white Australia meet
And different races live on every street
The Indigenous tribes had their corroborees long ago
By the trees near the banks where the Port waters flow.
Many nineteenth century buildings in Port Adelaide remain
Which one does suppose goes in part to explain
Why so many visitors come to that Town
Port's history is far more than football renown.
The Port river dolphins are famed far and wide
One can see them surface from the harbour side
A tourist attraction and it would be fair to say
That seeing them has made many a vistor's day.
Where the cultures meet Indigenous and European
Port Adelaide a Town where all races are seen
When in South Australia I feel at home there
Few Towns with Port Adelaide can hope to compare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Whispers Of The North
Whispers of the north
Soon I will go forth
To that wild and barren land
Where nature takes its course
Whispers of the wind
Soon I will be there again
Bound with a wild and restless drive
That pulls me from within
And we can ride away
We can glide all day
And we can fly away
Whispers of the north
Soon I will return again
To those endless afternoons
In sunshine and in rain
Whispers of my love
Days and weeks on end
I will share my thoughts of her
In prayers that I will send
And we can ride away
We can glide all day
And we can fly away
Whispers of the north
The river and the shore
In the land that tested eskimos
Ten thousand years before
Whispers of my heart
In the tracks of animals
I will leave my footprints there
To lie beneath the snow
And we can ride away
We can glide all day
And we can fly away
Whispers of the wind
I will feel it sting
I will see it rise and fall
I will hear it sing
The sound is like a song to me
It takes away the pain
The river is the melody
And sky is the refrain
And we can ride away
We can glide all day
And we can fly away
And we can ride away
We can glide all day
And we can fly away
Whispers of the north
Soon I will go forth
Whispers of the north
Soon I will go forth
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lachlan Side
REGION of damper and junk and tea,
Region of pastures wide!
The fairest spots in the world to me
Are out on the Lachlan Side.
CHORUS:
I’m off to the Lachlan Side,
Where the bright lagoons are wide;
I long for river and grass and tree,
And someone dearer than all to me,
Far out on the Lachlan Side.
My heart was hardened against advice
And reason I would not see,
For by the ocean a paradise
The city appeared to me.
CHORUS:
I’m off to the Lachlan Side, etc.
“Not I for a bumpkin’s fate,” I cried,
“I’ll not be a country clown!
A life’s too slow on the Lachlan Side;
I’ll go to the shining town!”
CHORUS:
I’m off to the Lachlan Side, etc.
I’ve lost the battle, I strike the flag,
The town may sink in the tide;
A wiser head and a lighter swag
I take to the Lachlan Side.
CHORUS:
I’m off to the Lachlan Side, etc.
When crops of wool on the plains shall grow,
Shall flourish in drought or rain,
And when the shearers begin to mow
I’ll come to the town again.
CHORUS:
I’m off to the Lachlan Side, etc.
But now I go to a kinder fate,
If her love still conquers pride;
Her heart was true when she sobbed, “I’ll wait
For you on the Lachlan Side.”
CHORUS:
I’m off to the Lachlan Side,
Where the bright lagoons are wide;
I long for river and grass and tree,
And someone dearer than all to me,
Far out on the Lachlan Side.
poem by Henry Lawson
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