Who's Riding Old Harlequin Now?
They are mustering cattle on Brigalow Vale
Where the stock-horses whinny and stamp,
And where long Andy Ferguson, you may go bail,
Is yet boss on a cutting-out camp.
Half the duffers I met would not know a fat steer
From a blessed old Alderney cow.
Whilst they're mustering there I am wondering here -
Who is riding brown Harlequin now?
Are the pikers as wild and the scrubs just as dense
In the brigalow country as when
There was never a homestead and never a fence
Between Brigalow Vale and The Glen?
Do they yard the big micks 'neath the light of the moon?
Do the yard-wings re-echo the row
Of stockwhips and hoof-beats? And what sort of coon
Is there riding old Harlequin now?
There was buckjumping blood in the brown gelding's veins,
But, lean-headed, with iron-like pins,
Of Pyrrhus and Panic he'd plentiful strains,
All their virtues, and some of their sins.
'Twas the pity, some said, that so shapely a colt
Fate should with such temper endow;
He would kick and would strike, he would buck and would bolt -
Ah! who's riding brown Harlequin now?
A demon to handle! a devil to ride!
Small wonder the surcingle burst;
You'd have thought that he'd buck himself out of his hide
On the morning we saddled him first.
I can mind how he cow-kicked the spur on my boot,
And though that's long ago, still I vow
If they're wheeling a piker no new-chum galoot
Is a-riding old Harlequin now!
I remember the boss - how he chuckled and laughed
When they yarded the brown colt for me:
"He'll be steady enough when we finish the graft
And have cleaned up the scrubs of Glen Leigh!'
I am wondering today if the brown horse yet live,
For the fellow who broke him, I trow,
A long lease of soul-ease would willingly give
To be riding brown Harlequin now!
'Do you think you can hold him?' old Ferguson said -
He was mounted on Homet, the grey;
I think Harlequin heard him - he shook his lean head,
And he needed no holding that day.
Not a prick from a spur, nor a sting from a whip
As he raced among deadwood and bough
While I sat fairly quiet and just let him rip -
But who's riding old Harlequin now?
I could hear 'em a-crashing the gidgee in front
As the Bryan colt streaked to the lead
Whilst the boss and the niggers were out of the hunt.
For their horses lacked Harlequin's speed;
The pikers were yarded and skies growing dim
When old Fergie was fain to allow:
'The colt's track through the scrub was a knocker' to him -
But who's riding brown Harlequin now?
From starlight to starlight - all day in between
The foam-flakes might fly from his bit,
But whatever the pace of the day's work had been,
The brown gelding was eager and fit.
On the packhorse's back they are fixing a load
Where the path climbs the hill's gloomy brow;
They are mustering bullocks to send on the road,
But - who's riding old Harlequin now?
poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Harlequin
(brooker / reid)
Harlequin has lost his crown
Look they say a broken clown
Yesterday he ruled the world
Now hes crying to be heard
Yesterday he called the tune
Now hes howling at the moon
Harlequin has broken down
Harlequin, harlequin has lost his crown
Harlequin has broken loose
Slipped the knot and skipped the noose
Can those bloodhounds find his trail
Will they send him back to jail
Can those bloodhounds find his scent
Will they find out where he went
Harlequin cannot be found
Harlequin, harlequin has gone to ground
Break
Harlequin is back on top
Now his fame will never stop
See him shown from coast to coast
Hes the one they love the most
See them slap him on the back
How they love his every crack
Harlequin we knew youd do it
Harlequin, harlequin
Harlequin, harlequin
Harlequin, harlequin
Harlequin, harlequin
Harlequin, harlequin
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Nights at Rocky Bar
Trapping brumbies in the moonlight! those were nights of reckless fun,
'Way back on Campbell's country - on the Goory-bibil run,
When saddled up and ready qur impatient nags would stand
While we squatted in the gunyah with their bridle-reins in hand.
And presently the hoof-beats of the brumbies' trot would sound
As they rattled o'er the ridges of the mulga-timbered ground;
They'd be thirsty, for that stretching trot had brought them from afar,
And the only water for them was the hole at Rocky Bar.
We would hear the stallions whinny, and then the water splash -
That latter was our signal-through the deadwood with a crash
We were at them-you on joker, I on Harlequin, and Mick
Would be with us, just as eager as his jumper, Elsternwick.
Our stockwhips in the stilly night like rifle-shots would ring
When we beat them on the Bilbee Flat and slewed 'em to the wing;
And when we had 'em yarded, oh, the clatter and the din!
How they kicked and squealed and snorted when they found themselves barr'd in!
The nights the brumbies tried to break straight back the way they came
Proved Harlequin as nimble as we knew him to he game;
In those rushing, frantic scrambles 'twas his cleverness I thank
That I didn't get a smasher down that rotten basalt bank.
One old 'Merino' came out, and some boundary rider's moke
He was riding - it was his fault that the chestnut stallion broke -
He sung out: 'Never mind him; let the beggar go away!'
But you didn't stop to listen, jack, to what he had to say.
And ere you brought the big horse back you had a roughish ride,
The Lord knows how you,rnanaged, mate, that night to save your hide!
Though bar a stake of sandalwood you weren't a great deal hurt,
Though the gidya ripped your moleskins, and the mulga rent your shirt.
That big timber took some dodging, but our hacks were tried and true,
And while their heads were left alone would mostly get us through;
But never a horse, save Harlequin', at night, 'twas my belief
Could race among those Bilbee holes and yet not come to grief.
And then we'd jog away to camp two miles below the Bar,
Where we'd find a pipe of Nailrod and a nobbler in the jar.
Ah! though our lines of life since then have lain in diverse ways,
We don't forget those gallops of the brumby-running days.
poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Brigalow Mick
A dandy old horsernan is Brigalow Mick-
Which his name, sir, is Michael O'Dowd -
Whatever he's riding, when timber is thick,
He is always in front of the crowd.
A few tangled locks that are fast turning white
Crown a physog. the colour of brick,
But as keen as a kestrel's-as bold and as bright -
Is the blue eye of Brigalow Mick.
He is Martin's head-stockman, on Black-Cattle Creek -
All the boys there are rare ones to ride -
But Mick is the 'daddy'; and far you may seek
Ere you find such an artist in hide.
He'll turn out a halter, or stockwhip can make,
As you've seldom cast eyes on before;
And never the 'nugget' was calved that could break
Michael's whips, which he plaits by the score.
All the lads on the station are handy enough,
Nor are frightened of grafting too hard,
But Mick, if the cattle are rowdy and rough,
Is the pick of 'em all in a yard.
A bad colt to tackle - a mad one to steer
Through thick timber - you'll hear Martin boast -
Mick yet is unrivalled, there isn't his peer
Right from Camooweal in to the coast.
Ay! long may it be ere the scrubs are bereft
Of the clearskins that give us the sport,
And long may the station have stock-riders left,
Of the build of old Brigalow's sort.
poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Brown Horses
The brownness of a rider and his horse carried his horse,
A major and great horsemanship approached the brown horse.
There was magnetism, speech of behaviour, with the horseman
Who was riding his animal of great pleasurableness.
To please this pleasure was great, but the riding housed a rider
Who had spectators looking in this and that direction.
An insect was a smaller kind of animal, housing a rider,
But animals like horses of brown worked hard and fast,
Too praiseworthy, in a gamble, far too important and big.
The brown horses had shadows with the hospitals,
A novel became written of them, of their health and waists.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Riding
IF I should live again,
O God, let me be young,
Quick of sinew and vein
With the honeycomb on my tongue,
All in a moment flung
With the dawn on a flowing plain,
Riding, riding, riding, riding
Between the sun and the rain.
If I, having been, must be,
O God, let it be so,
Swift and supple and free
With a long journey to go,
And the clink of the curb and the blow
Of hooves, and the wind at my knee,
Riding, riding, riding, riding
Between the hills and the sea.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Mirror
Wash your face before your faded make-up makes a mark
The mirror will watch over you
Pierrot never comes so pack your face and chase the dark
The mirrors hung up on you
Dont be last, your friends and your reflection
Its all so direction now
Poor harlequin, youre quite an exception
Fay troubadour, on a downer
Gay harlequin, doesnt believe in you
Doesnt believe its true, such a downer.
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Rough God Goes Riding
Oh the mud splattered victims
Have to pay out all along the ancient highway
Torn between half truth and victimisation
Fighting back with counter attacks
Its when that rough God goes riding
When the rough God goes gliding
And then rough God goes riding
Riding on in
I was flabbergasted by the headlines
People in glasshouses throwing stones
Gaping wounds that will never heal
Now theyre moaning like a dog in a manger
Its when that rough God goes riding
And then the rough God goes gliding
Therell be nobody hiding
When that rough God comes riding on in
And its a matter of survival
When youre born with your back against the wall
Wont somebody hand me a bible
Wont you give me that number to call
When that rough God goed riding
And then that rough God goes gliding
Theyll be nobody hiding
When that rough God goes riding on in
Riding on in
When that rough God goed riding
When that rough God goes gliding
Therell be nobody hiding
When that rough God goes riding on in
Riding on in
Therell be no more heroes
Theyll be reduced to zero
When that rough God goes riding
Riding on in
Riding on in
Riding on in
Riding on in
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Cuppacumalonga
'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, where go you to-day?'
I go to Cuppacumalomga, fifty miles away;
Over plains where Summer rains have sung a song of glee,
Over hills where laughing rills go seeking for the sea,
I go to Cuppacumalonga, to my brother Bill.
Then come along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga!
Come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!
'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, how do you get there?'
For twenty miles I amble on upon my pony mare,
The walk awhile and talk awhile to country men I know,
Then up to ride a mile beside a team that travels slow,
And last to Cuppacumalonga, riding with a will.
Then come along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga!
Come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!
'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, what do you do then?'
I camp beneath a kurrajong with three good cattle-men;
Then off away at break of day, with strong hands on the reins,
To laugh and sing while mustering the cattle on the plains -
For up to Cuppacumalonga life is jolly still.
Then come along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga!
Come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!
'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, how may I go too?'
I'll saddle up my creamy colt and he shall carry you -
My creamy colt who will not bolt, who does not shy nor kick -
We'll pack the load and take the road and travel very quick.
And if the day brings work or play we'll meet it with a will.
So Hi for Cuppacumalonga!
Come Along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Casanova Brown
Let me tell you bout that jive type
That jive type
Casanova brown
I met him at a party
He said the sweetest things when he hit on me
Wrapped up in his arms
I was blinded by his charm and I couldnt see
Like the story of little red riding hood
The big bad wolf was up to
Up to no good, woo, no
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
He hit on me and hell hit on you
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
I was lonely and naive
I guess thats why I believed every word he says
It felt so good to hear
Every time he said he cared it went straight to my head
He loved me and left me
But I cant deny
His love was so doggone good
I still, I still love that guy, ooh, [oh no] hey
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
He hit on me and hell hit on you, watch out
That jive type,that jive type, ooh
Casanova brown
Let me tell you bout that jive type
That jive type
Casanova brown
That jive type,that jive type,
Casanova brown
I was sittin there mindin my business
Feelin good, checkin things out
Sippin on little wine [jive type, that jive type]
Then I spotted
Super cool dude cross the room diggin on me
I tried to pretend like I didnt even see him
But he was so fine
He took my hand and started to dancin
I know he felt me fallin for him
cause he kept holdin me tighter and tighter, ooh
Sure was nice
Girl, my head was all turned around, oh
I didnt know what I was gettin into, ooh, ow
Up to no good, oh no
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
Like the story of little red riding hood
The big bad wolf was up to
Up to no good, woo, oh
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
song performed by by Gloria Gaynor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Horse That I Am Riding
then finally, the horse that i am riding,
the black one with long hair and
long feet, flying without wings,
speed nearing the speed of light,
has taken the lead, and the rest follow
tirelessly still,
i do not look back,
i do not beat the horse with a stick
i keep on riding making the horse
feel confident that i am still
supporting its cause, to be first,
to be famous
and then my horse wins,
the owner gets the real buck,
and i the jockey,
merely receives a little name
and a little commission.
the horse gets nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Emerald Lies
(fish / marillion)
To be the prince of possession in the gallery of contempt
Suffering your indiscrete discretions and you ask me to relent
As you accumulate flirtations with the calculated calmness of the whore
Of the whore
I am the harlequin - diamonded costume dripping shades of green
I am the harlequin - sense strangers violate my sanctuary
Prowl my dreams
My dreams, and theyre my dreams, theyre my dreams
Plundering your diaries, Ill steal your thoughts innocence
Ravaging your letters, unearth your plots innocence
What a surprise
Innocence, what a surprise
Innocence
To don the robes of torquemada, res
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Twilight
Brushed by the shadows of the dead
On the grass where day expires
Columbine strips bare admires
her body in the pond instead
A charlatan of twilight formed
Boasts of the tricks to be performed
The sky without a stain unmarred
Is studded with the milk-white stars
From the boards pale Harlequin
First salutes the spectators
Sorcerers from Bohemia
Fairies sundry enchanters
Having unhooked a star
He proffers it with outstretched hand
While with his feet a hanging man
Sounds the cymbals bar by bar
The blind man rocks a pretty child
The doe with all her fauns slips by
The dwarf observes with saddened pose
How Harlequin magically grows
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Harlequin
Came the night a mist dissolved the trees
And in the broken light colours fly, fading by.
Pale and cold as figures fill the glade
Grey is the web they spin, on and on, and on and on.
Through the flame still summer lingers on
Though her pictures soon shatter.
All, always the same.
But there appears in the shades of dawning,
Though your eyes are dim,
All of the pieces in the sky.
There was once a harvest in this land.
Reap from the turquoise sky, harlequin, harlequin,
Dancing round, three children fill the glade,
Theirs was the laughter in the winding stream, and in between.
Close your door, the picture fades again
From the flames in the firelight.
All, always the same,
But there appears in the shades of dawning,
Though your eyes are dim,
All of the pieces in the sky.
All, all is not lost,
And light appears in the shades of dawning
When your eyes can see
Order the pieces, put them back, put them back.
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Riding With Cats Eyes Nine Lives
riding with cats eyes nine lives
riding in dark or moonlight
riding in cloud shadow or rain
riding with a lucky stars roll
riding at speed in night magic
hitting judder bars in darkness
hitting judder bars hard fast
hitting judder bars all alone
hitting judder bars straight on
hitting judder bars at speed
is heightened airborne rush
is riding racing death in night
is riding in night fed wonder
is heightened seconds flying
is ready road rocket launch pad
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All In Green My Love Went Riding
All in green my love went riding, four lean hounds
crouched low and smiling; riding upon a great gold
horse into the silver dawn. She ventured far ahead, an amazon
princess, flanking four lean hounds; my love struck the path.
She wished to rid herself of me. All in green
my love kept riding, without me; into the silver dawn.
Till I heard the whine of a horse and the bark of the hounds.
I abandoned all caution, raced atop the high peaks
into the silver sawn, to find the Golden Horse
with no rider. Four lean hounds, crouched low and silent
Where a motionless figure lay on the path;
All in green, my heart fell dead before.
poem by Ryan C. Walker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Kinky Reggae (feat. The Marley Brothers & The Ghetto Youths Crew)
[Bob Marley]
Uh, ah-oh-oh! I went downtown, (I went downtown)
I saw Miss Brown; (said, I saw Miss Brown)
She had brown sugar (had brown sugar)
All over her booga-wooga. (over her booga-wooga)
I think I might join the fun, (I might join the fun)
But I had to hit and run. (had to hit and run)
See I just can't settle down (just can't settle down)
In a kinky part of town.
Ride on;
Don't you know I've got to (ride on), oh baby,
Ride on; see I just can't settle down. (ride on)
Oh, I'm a leavin' town. (kinky reggae)
Kinky reggae, take me away! (kinky reggae, now) Kinky reggae, now!
Oh, kinky reggae; all I've got to say, kinky reggae, now!
Kinky reggae, oh baby! Kinky reggae, now!
It's gonna be kinky reggae (keep it up). Kinky reggae, now!
An' I would say: ride on, ride on, ride on (ride on)!
Oh, ride on, baby!
Ride on, come on, woo-o-o! (ride on) Wo-now! Eh!
I went down to Piccadilly Circus; (ooh-ooh-ooh)
Down there I saw Marcus: (oo-oo-oo-ooh)
He had a candy tar (ooh-ooh-ooh)
All over his chocolate bar. (oo-oo-oo-ooh)
I think I might join the fun, (I might join the fun)
But I had to hit and run. (had to hit and run)
See I just can't settle down (just can't settle down)
In a kinky, kinky part of town.
Nice one; that's what they say, (nice one)
But I'm leavin' you today. (nice one)
Oh, darlin', please don't pay: (nice one)
Mama say - mama say.
Kinky reggae - kinky reggae, uh! Kinky reggae, now!
Take it or leave it!
Kinky reggae, believe it! Kinky reggae, now!
Kinky reggae - it's gonna be: kinky reggae!
Kinky reggae, now! Cuka-yeah, now!
Kinky reggae - sca-ba-dool-ya-bung, baby!
Kinky reggae, now, oh-oh-ooh!
(Ride on!) Ride on! Come on, yeah! (Ride on)
Riding on - riding on!
Ride on, kinky reggae. Come on, ride on! Eh! Eh!
Kinky, kinky, kinky as kinky (kinky reggae) can be ! Reggae! Eh!
Kinky reggae! Let me hear ya say, now: kinky reggae, now. Oh!
Kinky reggae! Kinky reggae, now! Kick it away!
Kinky reggae - kick it away, now! Kinky reggae, now, oh!
Ride on! /fadeout/
song performed by by Bob Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Brown Baby
Oscar brown jr
Brown baby brown baby
As you grow up I want you to drink from the plenty cup
I want you to stand up tall and proud
And I want you to speak up clear and loud
Brown baby brown baby brown baby
As years go by I want you to go with your head up high
I want you to live by the justice code
And I want you to walk down freedoms road
You little brown baby
So lie away lie away spleeping lie away singing
Lie away sleeping lie away safe in my arms
Till your daddy and you mama protect you
? nd keep you safe from harm
Brown baby
It makes me glad you gonna have things that I never had
When out of mens heart all hate is hurled
Sweetie you gonna live in a better world
Brown baby brown baby brown baby
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Bicycle Poem
do not worry how the bicycle looks
ride it.
do not think how the wheel and its
spokes work
do not attempt to understand its structure
ride it.
do not think how the other people looks at
you with your bicycle
just ride it.
when you are riding it already
just feel the joy of the air that meets your face
the speed by which it takes you
to another destination
just ride it, disembark when you get there
you do not even have to own it and keep it for the rest of your life
when you get old
remember that bicycle that once gave you all the joys of riding
before you die
give it to the young
they shall have their own joys too
riding it
and perhaps they will write a poem about you
or if not
about the bicycle at least
who knows?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Different Sunset.
Kempton was one of your
Best friends at school he
Was a year older than you
And having had polio it left
Him with a limp and when
He ran it seemed as if he was
Riding an imaginary horse
And to keep up with him
You had to ride one too.
Your horse was brown
And ordinary but his was
White like the one the Lone
Ranger rode and when you
Both came out of the movies
You rode off into the sunset
Together you trying to keep
Up with him as he rode ahead.
You envied his small collection
Of knives. His father brought
Them back from the WW2 taken
From dead Germans and they
Were laid out in his bedroom
Like a small treasure trove big
And small ones and your eyes
Ran over them bound down
With an inner envy. All you had
Was a small penknife which you
Bought out of pocket money
You’d earned running errands
And kept in the loop of your jeans
Where the belt went through.
Kempton rode off into another
Bright sunset from you in 1961.
You think of him now and then
Riding into a different sunset
A young boy amongst old men.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Children Of The Foam
OUT forever and forever,
Where our tresses glint and shiver
On the icy moonlit air;
Come we from a land of gloaming,
Children lost, forever homing,
Never, never reaching there;
Ride we, ride we, ever faster,
Driven by our demon master,
The wild wind in his despair.
Ride we, ride we, ever home,
Wan, white children of the foam.
In the wild October dawning,
When the heaven's angry awning
Leans to lakeward, bleak and drear;
And along the black, wet ledges,
Under icy, caverned edges,
Breaks the lake in maddened fear;
And the woods in shore are moaning;
Then you hear our weird intoning,
Mad, late children of the year;
Ride we, ride we, ever home,
Lost, white children of the foam.
All grey day, the black sky under,
Where the beaches moan and thunder,
Where the breakers spume and comb,
You may hear our riding, riding,
You may hear our voices chiding,
Under glimmer, under gloam;
Like a far-off infant wailing,
You may hear our hailing, hailing,
For the voices of our home;
Ride we, ride we, ever home,
Haunted children of the foam.
And at midnight, when the glimmer
Of the moon grows dank and dimmer,
Then we lift our gleaming eyes;
Then you see our white arms tossing,
Our wan breasts the moon embossing,
Under gloom of lake and skies;
You may hear our mournful chanting,
And our voices haunting, haunting,
Through the night's mad melodies;
Riding, riding, ever home,
Wild, white children of the foam.
There, forever and forever,
Will no demon-hate dissever
Peace and sleep and rest and dream:
There is neither fear nor fret there
When the tired children get there,
Only dews and pallid beam
Fall in gentle peace and sadness
Over long surcease of madness,
From hushed skies that gleam and gleam,
In the longed-for, sought-for home
Of the children of the foam.
There the streets are hushed and restful,
And of dreams is every breast full,
With the sleep that tired eyes wear;
There the city hath long quiet
From the madness and the riot,
From the failing hearts of care;
Balm of peacefulness ingliding,
Dream we through our riding, riding,
As we homeward, homeward fare;
Riding, riding, ever home,
Wild, white children of the foam.
Under pallid moonlight beaming,
Under stars of midnight gleaming,
And the ebon arch of night;
Round the rosy edge of morning,
You may hear our distant horning,
You may mark our phantom flight;
Riding, riding, ever faster,
Driven by our demon master,
Under darkness, under light;
Ride we, ride we, ever home,
Wild, white children of the foam.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!