It Was Never Contemplated
When old ADAM bit the apple,
And thereafter had to grapple
With hard toil to earn his daily bread by sweat,
There's no doubt that he protested
That his 'rights' had been molested,
And he's probably protesting strongly yet:
'When this garden was created
It was never contemplated
It was never in the schedule or the plan
'Twasn't even dimly hinted
That my living would be stinted,
Or that Work would ever be the lot of man.'
But in spite of protestation
ADAM, with his lone relation,
Was evicted in an arbitrary way,
Even though that resolution
Wasn't in the Constitution,
And his children have been grafting to this day.
But poor ADAM'S old contention
Has become a stock convention
'Mid the ADAMS of the nations ever since,
'Mid the shufflers and the shirkers,
Crusted Tory anti-workers,
They whom nought but 'precedent' can e'er convince.
They're the ADAMS of the race; they're the men that clog the pace,
With their backs upon the vanguard and their eyes upon the rear;
Praising loud their point of view, and regarding owt that's new
With a rabid Tory hatred and a vague old-fashioned fear.
They're the men of yester-year loitering all needless here,
And meandering around and 'round in aimless, endless rings.
Ever ready to resent acts without a precedent,
Such as were not contemplated in the ancient scheme of things.
'O, it was not contemplated!'
'Tis the cry of the belated,
The complaint of all the Old Worlds waterlogged;
Tis the trade-mark of the Tory;
'Tis the declaration hoary;
'Tis the protest of the busted and the bogged.
Mark, whenever it is uttered
By the lips of ancients muttered,
There is wisdom lacking here, at any rate
For, when Tories were created
It was never contemplated
That they ever would attempt to contemplate.
There are many things decided,
Quite by precedent unguided.
It was never contemplated, by the way.
When the scheme of things was shaping,
And mankind emerged from aping,
That he'd ever learn to eat three times a day;
Yet, all precedent unheeding,
Even Tories time their feeding,
And are known to be quite regular at meals;
Though in neolithic ages
'Twas laid down by ancient sages
That a man shall eat when so inclined he feels.
He's the dead weight at the back; he's the log upon the track;
He's the man who shouts the warning when the danger's past and gone;
He's the prophet of the old by defunct traditions hold;
He's the chap who sits and twaddles while the crowd goes marching on.
Of the things uncontemplated in the councils of the dead;
But the nation marches by heedless of his bitter cry
Marches on and contemplates the vital things away ahead.
In the shaping of a nation
Can we crowd all contemplation
Can we plan it in a hurried week or so?
Cease your ancient whiskered story
And observe, O gentle Tory,
We are contemplating matters as we go.
E'en to-day we're contemplating
Matters princip'ly relating
To the shaping of to-morrow's onward way;
And to-morrow ev'ry grafter
Will be forming plans for after;
But we are not harking back to yesterday.
For the future days arranging;
Seeking, planning, ever changing;
Weeding out the old mistakes of yester-year;
Planting now the seed of new things
March the men who dare and do things,
Opening up the unblazed road without a fear.
And, O mark you, gentle Tory,
We shall judge your measures hoary
By the use in this day's scheme they represent;
We shall use them if we want them;
If we don't we shall supplant them,
For we do not care a damn for precedent.
He's discretion at its worst; he a harbinger reversed;
He's the obstinate old party who abhors the new and strange.
He's the man whose ancient eyes ever fail to recognise
That the Law of Man was ever Change, and ever will be Change.
He's a scoffer at the Law; he's a blemish and a flaw;
And he whines as did old ADAM when he lost the realms of bliss.
When they shored him in the cold in the parlous days of old:
'THIS WAS NEVER CONTEMPLATED! YOU'VE NO PRECEDENT FOR THIS!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
The Hoary Precedent
Mr. Pericles, M.P.,
In four-sixty-nine B.C.,
Outed Cimon at a general election;
Premier Cimon, thuswise ex-ed,
Was quite naturally vexed,
And he made an angry speech in this connection;
He remarked, in peroration, as he grabbed his coat and hat,
'You're a Socialist, you rotter! You'd no precedent for that!'
Mr. Pericles is dead
Thoroughly, I've heard it said
And his words and acts may now be safely quoted
By our statesmen eminent,
Who on mouldy precedent
(If it's old enough and dead enough) have doted.
For precedent, I'd have you note, is most peculiar stuff;
It's absolutely useless if it isn't dead enough.
In my youth I ever held
Grave respect for all the eld,
And I found in history a strong attraction.
So, whene'er a scheme I planned,
Eagerly the tomes I scanned
That I might find precedent for ev'ry action.
Yet, despite my zealous labour, and the piles of books I read,
In the things that truly mattered I seemed not to forge ahead.
As I nursed my bulging brow,
Said I, 'This is wrong somehow.
Precedent, as we all know, is something holy
Something we should not neglect
To regard with great respect,
And I feel I'm safe in following it solely.
But had we done it from the start - I grasp, at least, this much
We would still be munching apples that we didn't oughter touch.
'Well, this problem is immense!'
In my experience
I reflected. 'How have we progressed, I wonder?'
Then the obvious reply
Hit me squarely in the eye:
It is by ignoring precedent, by thunder!
'Tis men who fix the precedents that lead the nations on
And not the folk who pin their faith to leaders dead and gone.
Mr. Pericles, M.P.,
You're the sort of man for me
(Though I understand you are a Dago alien):
'Spite your moral character,
O'er the Styx I greet you, sir,
You're the sort we need to-day in things Australian.
For we're moved to ask the question of our statesmen now and then:
'Does this job of fixing precedents belong to ancient men?'
Mr. Pericles, deceased,
'Spite his deadness, has increased
My respect for all the world's originators.
If we must have precedents,
My ideal he represents,
For I'm done with copyists and imitators.
And, after this, my reference is Pericles, M.P.,
He acted without precedent; that's precedent for me.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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I have an almost complete disregard of precedent, and a faith in the possibility of something better. It irritates me to be told how things have always been done. I defy the tyranny of precedent. I go for anything new that might improve the past.
quote by Clara Barton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Appeal to Women
O ye women! WIMMIN! WEEMIN!!
See our tears repentant streamin'!
See the pearly drops a-gleamin',
Streamin' from our rheumy eye!
Mark our weskits palpitatin'.
Pray ye, be accommodation'.
Spare a thought commiseratin',
Say the Tory shall not die!
Spare him, who has been your master,
From political disaster.
Doom approaches fast and faster.
Save him - and the Marriage Tie!
Long ago, when, in the gloaming,
Hungry mastodons went roaming
With a view to seeking out what they might scoff.
There was little chance of spooning
In the park; and honey-mooning,
As a fashion, was most obviously 'off.'
For a honeymoon's a failure, and the gladness of it's gone
If you spend the latter end of it inside a mastodon.
So the troglodyte, new-married,
Cut his honeymoon, and tarried
In his cavern with his little bit of frock;
And instead of hugs and kisses,
He caressed his lawful missus
With a bit of cold, hard tertiary rock.
For the 'proper sphere' for women in that neolithic race
Was amongst the goods and chattels, and she had to keep her place.
But, as troglodytes expanded,
Rose a section that demanded
More consideration for the women-folk;
And the good old Tory faction
Met, and moved to 'take some action'
To oppose this foolish Socialistic joke.
But they had a way of dealing with such people in those days;
And, therefore, rocks gave way to clubs and other gentler ways.
Hark, O, woman! WOMMAN! WOOMAN!!
You would not be so inhuman
As to seal the Tory's doom an'
Join the Socialist hordes?
O, ye women of the classes!
Rise ye in your cultured masses!
Haste, before the Tory passes.
Be ye saviours of your lords.
Lo, have we not fought your battles!
(Hark! The foeman's armor rattles!)
Would ye be his toys and chattels?
Save us from Progression's swords!
Passing down the ancient ages,
Skipping many pregnant pages,
We arrive at that old magnate of the mines
Solomon, in all his glory
Rich monopolist and Tory,
Who possessed some wives and countless concubines.
And I shall not pause to dwell upon the Queen of Sheba's visit;
For such gossip isn't tolerated 'midst the 'naicest,' is it?
After that wise king was pensioned,
Someone (who and when not mentioned)
Said that men should have no more than one wife each.
Then the good old crusted Tory
Rose, with language loud and gory,
And delivered a prolonged impassioned speech.
He called this new proposal 'Socialist froth and foam
That attacked the marriage contract and the sanctity of home.'
Ay, he raved with indignation,
Formed an ancient Federation
Of Defence, and backed it up with piles of cash.
But the rabid 'One-wife' section
Fought and carried the election,
And their legislation ill-advised and rash.
Old Time has sprinted somewhat since that scheme was first begun,
And now the Tory (I'm informed) is satisfied with one.
O, ye women! WIMMIN! WEEMIN!!
Don't ye hear the Tory screamin'?
All along he's been esteemin'
Womankind, since ages dim.
He has pampered you and prized you;
E'er adored and idolised you,
And, moreover, recognised you
As his equal. Fly to him!
Has he not passed legislation
Granting you emancipation?
If you'd save your reputation
Haste to grant his ev'ry whim!
Once again, with hasty fingers,
Let us turn the page. Who lingers
There will find that ancient history repeats.
O'er and o'er the same old story,
Telling how the dear old Tory
Abdicates (perhaps) when womankind entreats.
Well, he did admit her equal to his dog at any rate.
So we'll pass - with your permission - to affairs of recent date.
Ah! did not the tender Tory
Listen to her tearful story
When she pleaded for a vote a while ago?
Did he not cry out in anguish
To behold his sister languish
For the franchise that the men enjoyed! Oh no.
'Tis recorded - mayhap wrongly - that he fought her tooth and nail.
And he sneered at her pretensions, but his sneers did not prevail.
Does the Tory change? I doubt it.
Watch him, how he goes about it,
Like his prototype the troglodyte B.C.,
When her mood he wants to soften,
See him smite her hard and often
With large, heavy chunks of deadly orat'ry.
But the outlook of she-troglodytes has much improved to-day;
For, although they may not now it, they're his last and only stay.
Hark ye, women! Women voters!
Social queens and League promoters!
Are ye ever to be doters
On the male-bird of your type!
Since Tory Adam bit the pippin
He has blamed you for his slippin'
And his sinnin'. Here's a rippin'
Chance to pay back ev'ry stripe.
Nay, it were a shame to lose it.
You have got the franchise - use it!
HE said that you would abuse it.
Now! TMUMBS DOWN! The time is ripe!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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An Error in Creation
There was once a man who made a weird machine,
Employing dynamite and kerosene.
His subsequent destruction
Was a matter of deduction,
And a circumstance that might have been foreseen.
This gloomy incident I merely state
In case you have a yearning to create.
In which event, be wary,
Else, mayhap, a sad quan-dary
Will arise and face you when it's far too late.
Now, take the case of Toryphat, M.P.,
Created by the voters - you and me.
Then in matters legislative
He becomes, in turn, creative.
And creates a Deakook Fusion Ministree.
You will notice that this question, as a whole,
Is a matter over which we've some control;
For, it we'd contemplated
Ere the members we created,
We would not have landed things in such a hole.
And, in regard to this strange Ministree,
We are the folk responsible, you see.
For it couldn't have existed
Had not some of us assisted
In creating its supporters - Q.E.D.
Then, when a weird political machine
Of Tory flare and Fusion kerosene
Blows our policies to blazes,
All our most embittered phrases
Won't recover e'en the smallest smithereen.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Holy Constitution
Read ye here the song as sung
By a chief named, briefly, Ung.
In the days when arguments were manly axes:
'O my people, this my Law
Is without defect or flaw,
And it governs ways and means and rates and taxes.
To amend it were unwise;
And if any tribesman tries,
He will meet with swift unerring retribution.
'Tis omnipotent, infallible, as all may recognise;
In short, it is out Noble Constitution.'
When this Neolithic man
Gave the world his early plan
Of tribal laws to bind his nascent nation,
He opined, with fine conceit,
That his System was complete,
And the acme of all human legislation.
'For all time this Law shall stand!'
He decreed with manner grand
And a splendid disregard for evolution;
And the Tory crowd that followed, bore this tenet in its hand:
'You must never touch the Sacred Constitution.'
So the Party then in power,
To improve the shining hour,
Contracted quite a pleasing little habit:
Safely guarded in their 'right,'
If they fancied aught in sight,
Being 'constitutionally safe,' they'd grab it.
And they told the rank and file,
With a patronising smile,
When the People talked of 'wrongs' and 'persecution,'
'It is very, very sad, and, no doubt, your case is bad;
But we cannot tamper with the Constitution.'
But meat-winners of the day
(Rabid Socialists were they)
By slow degrees arrived at this conclusion:
That the hide-bound Tory joss
Totalled mainly bluff and dross,
And its 'sacredness' was wholly an illusion.
Then with yells and growlings vile,
In their quaint primeval style
They planned a prehistoric revolution;
And with bits of tertiary rock they wrecked the Torries' smile
And, incidentally, the Constitution.
All this happened, as you know,
Quite a long, long time ago;
And the world has since known Greece and Rome and Sparta,
Medes and Persians and such fools
Who were bound by cast-iron rules
Which reminds us of Old England's Magna Charta.
There's no doubt when England pressed
Hard to have her wrongs redressed,
And 'persuaded' John to sign the resolution,
That hard-shell old Tory King thought it quite a shocking thing
To meddle with the Holy constitution.
So on, ever since King John,
As the world moves surely on,
And the People cry for reformation drastic,
You can hear right down the line
E'er the same old Tory whine
Protesting, 'It is most iconoclastic!'
'Tis the same old Tory way,
Same old 'everlasting nay.'
'Tis the same reactionary elocution.
But, who stood for 'Progress' yesterday is 'Retrograde' today;
And we've got to meddle with the Constitution.
While the Fatman waxes fat,
He's content to stop at that;
He will bless the Constitution and defend it;
But whene'er it needs repair.
'Tis the man who works his share
That uprises, patriotic, to amend it.
Oh, it's not the slightest use
When your 'right' becomes 'abuse'.
'Tis the law of legislative evolution
That every Great Reform is won, 'spite arguments abuse
By altering the blessed Constitution.
Gentle Tory, prithee hark
Back to Ung of ages dark,
And defend his blessed code with sandstone axes.
Mayhap in that murky bourne
You'll escape a fate forlorn,
Full of New Protection and Progressive Taxes.
And you won't be sorely missed,
If you fall beneath some fist,
For young Progress shouts for men of execution.
And, as regards reform and such, WE'LL DO JUST AS WE LIST,
For it's Ours, this High and Holy Constitution.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Wait, things are shaping up
I approached a sculptor the other day
For carving a statue of
Gautama Buddha
He asked me a number of questions
Some of them were far stretched
Though I answered all of them
I was thinking within that
All these details were unnecessary
He could read my mind and said
These details were needed to help me
Come out with what exactly you were looking for
He suggested my coming to him
Two weeks later
Why so long and he said
Wait things are shaping up
Two weeks later
I saw practically no progress
He showed me a granite block
Which he said he would carve
As Gautama Buddha
He suggested me to visit him
Two weeks later
“Do you not think we are delaying? ”
I asked and he said
Wait things are shaping up
I went to him as suggested
No change at all
The block was under water
And carving had not started
He said that this curing process
Would help him understand
The quality of the block
And he opined
That we were lucky in
Selecting the right granite
And he suggested my visiting him
A week later
“Yes, I know you are wondering
As to why it is taking so much time”
How he could say even without my telling that
He continued
Wait, things are shaping up
A week later
No great change
But the block got castled here and there
No where near my expectations
“Come after three days and see”
But, he assured
Wait, things are shaping up
I made four visits later
At intervals of three, two and one days
I could not make out head or tail
Of what was happening
But, each time I returned
Hearing his words
Wait, things are shaping up
I was wondering
Are things really shaping up
Or am I being fooled
I did not visit him for
Full three months
As I was sure that
I would not be able to appreciate
The progress that the sculptor
Would be claiming to have made
One day, there was a call from him
“Come and see your Gautama Buddha”
I was not excited
I visited his place in all reluctance
And was preparing to hear
Wait, things are shaping up
But, what a surprise
Saw my Gautama Buddha
In a shape and carving
Beyond my belief
And I was not able to control my excitement
“I know you are wondering how this could be possible
But, you know, I was telling each time you visited that
Wait, things are shaping up”
We all do prayers seeking some change
And we wonder as to when the change would fructify
God, like a sculptor is shaping things
But, he never tells
Wait, things are shaping up
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Cobbers and Quids
Is youth not less pedantic, less absurd,
Less prone to value things of little worth
In failing to wax wrath about a word
That bears suspicion of a lowly birth?
All words have known their low and vulgar days
Known grime and poverty when they were young;
And many a proud and pompous modern phrase
Was once the plaything of a common tongue.
But as we grow respectable and staid
Mere sound, to middle-age, parades as sense.
Grey slaves of precedent, we grow afraid
Of youth and all its sane inconsequence.
Forgetting words are no god-given things,
With queer intolerance we would insist
In terms to which the mould of ages clings
On purity that never did exist.
Language is not the gift of any god;
Rude tribesmen made it when the race was young;
And as around the weary earth we plod
Still the illiterate enrich the tongue;
And still while careless youth goes gaily rid
Of age's caution, precedent and pence,
Better a cobber who'll lend half a quid
Than all the thrifty pedant's 'commonsense.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Each sub atomic particle
Each sub atomic particle
sprang into being at Your call
When You spoke the words 'Let there be.'
and formed the greatest galaxy.
All things have been created Lord
by Your powerful spoken word.
In You all things are kept in harmony
without You nothing would ever be.
Creator of the universe
a handiwork that is so diverse.
Things immeasurable to man
are measured by You in a span.
In this scale of diversity
such smallness and immensity
somewhere in between them fits man
and he is central to Your plan
When You created man O Lord
it was not by Your spoken word.
Instead You knelt upon the ground
and gathered the dust into a mound.
Atoms knitted together there
forming man with such tender care.
and then as Your tender lips met his
life entered man with a kiss.
Fearfully and wonderfully
he was made for heaven to see.
Man in fellowship with God talked
and in the garden with You walked.
But sin entered creation Lord
as Adam disobeyed Your Word.
How could Adam ever be spared?
Death for sin had been declared!
But God already had a plan
that would forgive the sins of man.
For He would come into the earth
born as a Babe by virgin birth.
A new creation was to take place
for the Saviour of the human race
took on human flesh and guise
and offered himself in sacrifice
Dangerous Precedent
Children are failing at an alarming rate,
In public schools.
They can neither read nor write.
Quote or recite,
Anything...
From approved and acceptable literature.
However,
They do excel and achieve high marks...
At rapping and the playing of video games.
This reality is not 'becoming' a threat.
This reality IS and has been a threat,
To anyone who can see...
What the future ahead is going to be.
And the defending of this IS and has been...
A sick reflection of one's addiction to delusion.
For anyone to perceive themselves,
To be intelligent enough to say
Such freedoms to prevent,
The continued demoralizing decay
Should have such freedoms taken away
Is setting a dangerous precedent.
Has just learned what that term means.
And has decided using it to defend their ignorance,
Will gain them personal attention.
The 'dangerous precedent',
Has been in allowing the absence of respect and discipline
To infiltrate the minds of children who are raising children,
Believing the act of marketing sex and decadence
Is going to overnight produce a society of upstanding citizens.
While illiteracy becomes a prerequisite,
To obtaining a Master's Degree in Physics.
The 'dangerous precedent' had already taken effect,
When the building of prisons began to become considered...
As rehabilitation centers at the taxpayers exorbitant expense.
The 'dangerous precedent' began
When the flowing of crime hit the streets.
And anyone expressing an embittered reaction against this...
Was rumored to be 'negative' and disgruntled,
About the truth of a pretentiousness no one sought to face.
But today
People are blaming those in leadership positions,
For not being strong enough to protect their interests.
Or fight courageously to uphold their rights to entitlements.
Yeah!
It's in the 'water'.
It 'has' to be!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I believe that there are many interesting projects that are potentially possible for me other than game music, and therefore in my mind there are several things that are being contemplated.
quote by Nobuo Uematsu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letting Go Today
today i am letting go of all the pain
today i am letting go of everything
and after today i will leave here knowing that you did love me
and i believe that things will change
all the things that were left unsaid
all the things we never did
i am letting go today
mom i am letting you go today
i understand that i have made some mistakes
some which i am still paying for today
but i am ready for change. it takes two to fight
and i refuse to fight anymore after today
dad i am letting go today
you gave me the best seven months of ma life
you showed me that everyone is not the same
and have different ways with dealing with things
i hurt you but i am letting all that go today
all the lies and the tears in ma eyes
tory i am letting go today
i was confused
had noone in the world to tell me what to do
i have so much pain and hate but im letting all that go today
i am humen and i dont always have the answer for everthing
i am tryen but i need to try harder.
so i am letting maself go today
all the hurt all the pain
i promise you i am letting it all go today
poem by Destiny Tatum
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The Batchelors Song
Like a Dog with a bottle, fast ti'd to his tail,
Like Vermin in a trap, or a Thief in a Jail,
Or like a Tory in a Bog,
Or an Ape with a Clog:
Such is the man, who when he might go free,
Does his liberty loose,
For a Matrimony noose,
And sels himself into Captivity;
The Dog he do's howl, when his bottle do's jog,
The Vermin, the Theif, and the Tory in vain
Of the trap, of the Jail, of the Quagmire complain.
But welfare poor Pug! for he playes with his Clog;
And tho' he would be rid on't rather than his life,
Yet he lugg's it, and he hug's it, as a man does his wife.
poem by Thomas Flatman
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Google is in an amazing position to be the target of tons of lawsuits that will set precedent for many important things for us on the Internet.
quote by Joichi Ito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passé
If you still believe that you can put off and wait...
For a date contemplated,
To be saved in your future.
And applied to a life enjoyed in retirement...
Seduced by a reduced pressured schedule.
You might reconsider,
Altering your plans.
Especially if you are holding out...
With expectations you believe,
You can then demand.
It is highly suggested...
You rearrange your delusions.
And live to do those things today!
Since reality the way it is...
May not keep your agenda in perspective.
Leaving you with few options,
If any at all...
To sit and reminsce,
A life better lived as it is right now.
With total and complete happiness.
Feeling secure with a tenure done,
If you teach with a reaching for a status...
May be as passé,
As a life you let decay...
To welcome nothing but sadness.
Be glad you are the one,
To put your life first!
And standards held you believe you grasp...
Toss them to forever stay in your past.
Things have changed,
Dramatically!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In The First Elective Ministry
In the neolithic age of our Australia, long ago,
There dwelt a wise old chieftain, as you probably don't know;
His royal tastes and habits I won't venture to describe,
But his plain horse-sense was noted and applauded by his tribe.
Now, this chief was not a despot, as you will, perhaps, conclude;
For, though debate was noisy and procedure somwhat crude,
There did exist a Parliament, elected in due form,
With a Premier and Ministry - which made things pretty warm.
For the style of Party Government, in vogue about that time,
Was inclined to lead to discord - not to mention down-right crime.
For boomerangs and waddies were used freely in debate;
And, as a rule, ex-Ministers were spoken of as 'late.'
For the salaries of Ministers were not to be despised;
And 'emoluments of office ' were, indeed, most highly prized.
The Premier got five 'possums and ten fat grubs a day,
While a snake and three gohannas were his colleagues' daily pay.
Then other perks and privileges happened such aa these;
The Minister controlling Rain and State Corroborees
Got all his ochre on the nod - in other words, his clothes.
So portfolios were coveted, as you may well suppose.
In consequence, the whole procedure of the House was 'fight.'
No Ministry created in the morning saw the night.
And all the posts were sinecures the shorthand writers filled;
For the press-reports read briefly: 'Sixteen wounded; seven killed.'
Now, the practical King Billy could not fail to recognise
That this bad old Party system was not either right or wise.
Public works were at a standstill, and the tribe was losing wealth.
Not to mention that the House's sittings menaced public health.
The Department of Smoke-Signalling was in a shocking state;
And Defence had been forgotten in the noise of the debate.
The Flint and Sandstone Bonus Bill was shelved time and again;
And the tribe was getting very short of able-bodied men.
The commoon-sensed old chief sat down and pondered hard and long;
And thought him out a simple scheme to right this crying wrong.
Then he dissolved the Parliament and called his tribe around,
And told his plan; and all agreed his arguments were sound.
'But then,' they said, 'it's most unconstitutional, you know.
Besides, we have no precedent; therefore you have no show.'
But Bill dispensed with precedent and substituted sense -
Whereat the anger of the tribal Tories was immense.
'The nation's welfare,' said the chief, 'is what I have in mind;
And this bad old Party Government must all be left behind.
Henceforth I set my Parliament a task it may not shirk,
And members will, please, understand that fighting isn't work.
'We'll have Elective Ministries, and they shall rule unharmed
For forty moons; and members must attend the House unarmed.
Next election you may club them, should their actions prove unwise;
And for the second term the victors may enjoy the prize.'
They called it 'socialistic'; but King Billy had his way.
For forty moons each Minister enjoye dhis place and pay.
Since only once within that time the chance of office came,
The members took to making laws, and ceased to 'play the game.'
Peace and prosperity henceforth smiled on the chieftain's reign;
And, ere he died, he said, 'Behold, I have not ruled in vain.
Down through the future ages shall my Great reform descend.
Australia shall bless my Simple Notion till the end.'
But, if you study recent history, you'll note King Bill
Was most forlonly out of it; for they are at it still.
The daily fight for fatted grubs excites the same old gang;
And debate is mainly waddy, and division boomerang.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Ballad of G. R. Dibbs
This is the story of G.R.D.,
Who went on a mission across the sea
To borrow some money for you and me.
This G. R. Dibbs was a stalwart man
Who was built on a most extensive plan,
And a regular staunch Republican.
But he fell in the hands of the Tory crew
Who said, "It's a shame that a man like you
Should teach Australia this nasty view.
"From her mother's side she should ne'er be gone,
And she ought to be glad to be smiled upon,
And proud to be known as our hanger-on."
And G. R. Dibbs, he went off his peg
At the swells who came for his smiles to beg
And the Prince of Wales -- who was pulling his leg
And he told them all when the wine had flown,
"The Australian has got no land of his own,
His home is England, and there alone."
So he strutted along with the titled band
And he sold the pride of his native land
For a bow and a smile and a shake of the hand.
And the Tory drummers they sit and call:
"Send over your leaders great and small;
For the price is low, and we'll buy them all
"With a tinsel title, a tawdry star
Of a lower grade than our titles are,
And a puff at a prince's big cigar."
And the Tories laugh till they crack their ribs
When they think how they purchased G. R. Dibbs.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow
Yesterday I done things that pleased others
Today I do things that pleased myself
Tomorrow is the day I change what I have done wrong
Yesterday I hate things that hurt me
Today I shall change things under my control
Tomorrow I shall do more that I can envisioned
Yesterday I had past my youth era
Today I am wiser than yesterday
Tomorrow I will become a legend because I dare to dream big
Happy are those whom appreciated what yesterday had brought
Happy are those whom plan for things to do today
For tomorrow what might bring us is eternal happiness and peace
Yesterday Time flies so fast without realising we are already dead
Today Wasting our time is wasting our life
Tomorrow Time is valueless and priceless
Let yesterday remind me of the sweet memories of yester years
Let today be my reminder of treasuring our life
For tomorrow may bring uncertainty onto our life
So let us treasure and value our time
Time becomes priceless when we take things for granted
Time becomes meaningless when we face our final moment of our dead
Time becomes tomorrow heaven when we treasure the present moment.
© 2011 Lawrence Hiung
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Summertime? 2006 for M lady Ernestine
.
Now is the winter of our discontent.
Although I must confess it seems to me,
this is not how things are supposed to be.
It goes against established precedent.
The months of summer in the past were spent
outdoors in pleasant sunshine happily.
Though not this year it has rained constantly.
I’m left to wonder where the summer went
The global warming warnings have been changed
Now climate change seems to dominate the new
Expert’s opinions have been rearranged.
Each day appears to change their views.
Their arguments with each other ranged
from certainty to I don’t know what is true.
3-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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On science (cavatina sequence)
(after Archibald MacLeish)
She does not worry about why things are;
that they exist
to be contemplated or observed,
how they persist,
is far enough for her own simple reasoning,
she does resist
their reason, in rote produces answers,
perfect to devotions of her followers.
She thinks she knows where all things do come from,
far beyond her
kind of scope is metaphysics, physical
she does gather,
she is protected in her own dungeon,
nothing further
she knows about love, joy, fear and sorrow,
as she proclaims things for each tomorrow.
Beyond the stars, the sheer utter darkness,
shines a true light,
beyond the unknown, beyond a ocean,
out of her sight
are things like life to which He answers know,
to her its night
to comprehend the very soul of man,
as mechanical she does what she can.
[Reference: "Dr. Sigmund Freud Discovers the Sea Shell" by Archibald MacLeish.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Recognizable
Your desires are within you.
And wherever you go.
Whatever you do.
However that is done,
From your point of view.
Is not a lifelong search,
To impress from lofty perches.
With a deluded hope it comes.
In a contemplated frustrated wait.
What one seeks,
Is not out of reach.
If it is a desire one keeps identified.
However,
Those things sought,
On the outside...
Will never satisfy,
That which is in the inside...
Occupying with an origin not orphaned.
To be always kept recognizable as is.
And shown when it emerges.
As meant to be from where it is delivered.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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