Bourke
I’ve followed all my tracks and ways,from old bark school to Leicester Square,
I’ve been right back to boyhood’s days, and found no light or pleasure there.
But every dream and every track—and there were many that I knew—
They all lead on, or they lead back, to Bourke in Ninety-one, and two.
No sign that green grass ever grew in scrubs that blazed beneath the sun;
The plains were dust in Ninety-two, that baked to bricks in Ninety-one.
On glaring iron-roofs of Bourke, the scorching, blinding sandstorms blew,
And there was nothing beautiful in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
Save grit and generosity of hearts that broke and healed again—
The hottest drought that ever blazed could never parch the hearts of men;
And they were men in spite of all, and they were straight, and they were true,
The hat went round at trouble’s call, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
They drank, when all is said and done, they gambled, and their speech was rough—
You’d only need to say of one—‘He was my mate!’ that was enough.
To hint a bushman was not white, nor to his Union straight and true,
Would mean a long and bloody fight in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
The yard behind the Shearers’ Arms was reckoned best of battle grounds,
And there in peace and quietness they fought their ten or fifteen rounds;
And then they washed the blood away, and then shook hands, as strong men do—
And washed away the bitterness—in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
The Army on the grand old creek was mighty in those days gone by,
For they had sisters who could shriek, and brothers who could testify;
And by the muddy waterholes, they tackled sin till all was blue—
They took our bobs and damned our souls in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
By shanty bars and shearing sheds, they took their toll and did their work—
But now and then they lost their heads, and raved of hotter hells than Bourke:
The only message from the dead that ever came distinctly through—
Was—‘Send my overcoat to hell’—it came to Bourke in Ninety-two.
I know they drank, and fought, and died—some fighting fiends on blazing tracks—
I don’t remember that they lied, or crawled behind each others’ backs;
I don’t remember that they loafed, or left a mate to battle through—
Ah! men knew how to stick to men in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
They’re scattered wide and scattered far—by fan-like tracks, north, east, and west—
The cruel New Australian star drew off the bravest and the best.
The Cape and Klondyke claim their bones, the streets of London damned a few,
And jingo-cursed Australia mourns for Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
For ever westward in the land, Australians hear—and will not heed—
The murmur of the board-room, and the sure and stealthy steps of greed—
Bourke was a fortress on the track! and garrisons were grim and true
To hold the spoilers from Out Back, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
I hear it in the ridges lone, and in the dread drought-stricken wild—
I hear at times a woman’s moan—the whimper of a hungry child:
And—let the cynics say the word: ‘a godless gang, a drunken crew’—
But these were things I never heard in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
They say that things have changed out there, and western towns have altered quite:
They don’t know how to drink and swear, they’ve half forgotten how to fight;
They’ve almost lost the strength to trust, the faith in mateship to be true—
The heart that grew in drought and dust in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
We’ve learned to laugh the bitter laugh since then—we’ve travelled, you and I;
The sneaking little paragraph, the dirty trick, the whispered lie
Are known to us—the little men—whose souls are rotten through and through—
We called them scabs and crawlers then, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
And could I roll the summers back, or bring the dead time on again;
Or from the grave or world-wide track, call back to Bourke the vanished men,
With mind content I’d go to sleep, and leave those mates to judge me true,
And leave my name to Bourke to keep—the Bourke of Ninety-one and two.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Related quotes
99 Lbs
Written by: d. bryant
Twenty-five pounds of pure cane sugar
Shes got in each and every kiss
You wouldnt know what Im talking bout
If you never had a love like this
Well, I dont mean to be frank with you all
Its a natural fact
Good things come wrapped up in small, small packages now
Well you cant argue with that
Oh, oh, yeah
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul, oh, oh
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Twenty-five pounds of tenderness
She got in each and every touch
Twenty-five pounds of understanding my woman
cause I was the one running round town worrying too much
Twenty-four pounds of sunday
That I cant see, yeah
And it all adds up to ninety-nine big pounds
Oh, Im talking about a feline friend
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
song performed by by Black Crowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ninety-Ninety Rule of Project Schedules - the first ninety percent of the task takes ninety percent of the time, and the last ten percent takes the other ninety percent.
quote by Arthur Bloch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ninety Miles An Hour
ninety miles an hour
Words by h blair & d. robertson
Sung by bob dylan
I took you home from a party and we kissed in fun
A few stolen kisses and no harm was done
Instead of stopping when we could we went right on
Till suddenly we found that the brakes were gone.
You belong to someone else, and i do too
It's just crazy bein' here with you
As a bad motorcycle with the devil in the seat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
I didn't want to want you, but now i have no choice
It's too late to listen to that warning voice
All i hear is thunder of two hearts beat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
You're not free to belong to me
And you know i could never be your own
Your lips on mine are like a sweet, sweet wine
But we're heading for a wall of stone.
Warning signs are flashing ev'ry where, but we pay no heed
'stead of slowing down the place, we keep a pickin' up speed
Disaster's getting closer ev'ry time we meet
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Yeah, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Well, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ninety Miles An Hour (Down A Dead End Street)
I took you home from a party and we kissed in fun
A few stolen kisses and no harm was done
Instead of stopping when we could we went right on
Till suddenly we found that the brakes were gone.
You belong to someone else, and I do too
It's just crazy bein' here with you
As a bad motorcycle with the devil in the seat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
I didn't want to want you, but now I have no choice
It's too late to listen to that warning voice
All I hear is thunder of two hearts beat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
You're not free to belong to me
And you know I could never be your own
Your lips on mine are like a sweet, sweet wine
But we're heading for a wall of stone.
Warning signs are flashing ev'ry where, but we pay no heed
'Stead of slowing down the place, we keep a pickin' up speed
Disaster's getting closer ev'ry time we meet
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Yeah, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Well, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nine Hundred And Ninety Nine
NINE HUNDRED AND NINETY NINE
When you are done
With a thousand gals!
You might wave
Wave the triumph card
For faking to
Faking to nine hundred and ninety nine
But i`ll still be THE ONE
The one clad in white
Not to boast of honesty nor candor
But to see you scream
Scream for peace and tranquility! !
You`ll never be fanatic nor crazy
But you`ll yowl bawl and wail
For stillness and serenity!
But your mind will never
Never ever sit in peace
Cause you had killed the nine hundred and ninety nine
Who longed to live on this lovely mother earth! !
When the seven hundredth suicide happened
You wandered for the seven hundred one
& when her parents pulled her from the ocean of death
You found the seven hundred and second one! !
When she went to the psychiatry ward
You caught hold of the seven hundred and third!
When she refused her love
You wailed like a toddler
She took you by her arms
But was forced to take a rope
Cause she knew you bore skin of lust & lust only
But your search went on & on
Till at nine hundred and ninty nine
& your mind screamed
Screamed for peace and tranquility!
I will not be the nine hundred and ninety nineth
But am I in the thousand who thought
Thought that you were all love! !
But i`l stay ………. Stay in silence
Till the nine hundred and ninety nine souls
Nine hundred and ninety nine souls
Will pinch every cell of yours! !
No tears will wash your sorrow
No words will lessen your pain! !
But i`ll be the nine hundered and ninety nineth
To see you bawl
Bawl for peace and tranquility!
There i`l remove my robes
Robes of honesty for you to hang
Or i`ll hang you in my rope of honesty!
poem by Dr DHANA LAKSHMI
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The Thousandth Man
One man in a thousand, Solomon says,
Will stick more close than a brother.
And it's worth while seeking him half your days
If you find him before the other.
Nine nundred and ninety-nine depend
On what the world sees in you,
But the Thousandth man will stand your friend
With the whole round world agin you.
'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show
Will settle the finding for 'ee.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go
By your looks, or your acts, or your glory.
But if he finds you and you find him.
The rest of the world don't matter;
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim
With you in any water.
You can use his purse with no more talk
Than he uses yours for his spendings,
And laugh and meet in your daily walk
As though there had been no lendings.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call
For silver and gold in their dealings;
But the Thousandth Man h's worth 'em all,
Because you can show him your feelings.
His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,
In season or out of season.
Stand up and back it in all men's sight --
With that for your only reason!
Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide
The shame or mocking or laughter,
But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side
To the gallows-foot -- and after!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Ninety-Nine Versus One
Ninety-nine and one used to equal 100 percent.
However, math today is askew and I how resent
That the one percent controls the ninety-nine
And seeks to steal their remaining fruit rotting on the vine.
Once ninety nine was ninety-nine times one percent.
Now that one is 40 times or greater of all the money spent.
This 100% contains more powerful, greedy rich every day
As middle class suffers through more poverty and less say.
Many new millionaires and billionaires populate the 100%
While millions lose their homes and can hardly pay rent.
Our wealthy political leaders who fashion income tax laws
Take care that they and theirs are protected in every cause.
"We the people of the United States…" will deteriorate
To read "We the rich and powerful, how much we rate…"
Unless common man wakes up from his slumbering nights
And demands his rightful place in that 100% of his rights!
poem by Gregory Huyette
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London Types: The Artist Muses At His Ease
The Artist muses at his ease,
Contented that his work is done,
And smiling-smiling!-as he sees
His crowd collecting, one by one.
Alas! his travail's but begun!
None, none can keep the years in line,
And what to Ninety-Eight is fun
May raise the gorge of Ninety-Nine!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Ninety-Nine Percent
Those motivated,
By the ninety-nine percent movement...
Should be commended,
For this stance they take.
It is true that corporate greed,
Has gotten out of hand.
And the banking system...
As of late,
Can say they have customers...
They can rely on as devoted fans.
But...
There has been one hundred percent,
Of those living hungry and in homelessness...
That have been seen on a daily basis.
And,
Wouldn't it have been a greater statement to make...
If those ninety-nine percenters,
Had come to empathize the ones in dire straits.
With equal entitlements,
But not given the same collective focus...
To have their predicaments remedied,
With a purpose to see this social tragedy end.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Grand-Father's Clock
My grand-father's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire --
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place -- not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night --
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight --
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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When Underneath the Brown Dead Grass
When underneath the brown dead grass
My weary bones are laid,
I hope I shall not see the glass
At ninety in the shade.
I trust indeed that, when I lie
Beneath the churchyard pine,
I shall not hear that startling cry
“‘Thermom’ is ninety-nine!”
If one should whisper through my sleep
“Come up and be alive,”
I’d answer—No, unless you’ll keep
The glass at sixty-five.
I might be willing if allowed
To wear old Adam’s rig,
And mix amongst the city crowd
Like Polynesian “nig”.
Far better in the sod to lie,
With pasturing pig above,
Than broil beneath a copper sky—
In sight of all I love!
Far better to be turned to grass
To feed the poley cow,
Than be the half boiled bream, alas,
That I am really now!
For cow and pig I would not hear,
And hoof I would not see;
But if these items did appear
They wouldn’t trouble me.
For ah! the pelt of mortal man
Weighs less than half a ton,
And any sight is better than
A sultry southern sun.
poem by Henry Kendall
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The Sniper
Because back home in Tennessee
I was a champeen shot,
They made a sniper outa me
An' ninety krouts I got:
I wish to Christ I'd not!
Athinkin' o' them blasted lives
It's kindo' blue I be;
Them lads no doubt had kids an' wives
An' happy home like me:
Them stiffs I still can see.
Aye, ninety men or more my hand
Has hustled down to hell;
They've loaded me with medals and
They tell me I done well:
A hero for a spell.
But Heaven help me to forget
Them fellow men I've slain,
The bubbling flow of blood I've let . . .
I'll never kill again:
To swat flies gives me pain.
Just let me dream when we will see
And end of soldierin';
When flags of famous victory
Will be amoulderin':
An' lethal steel an' battle blast
Be nightmares of the past.
poem by Robert William Service
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Fado Singer
The Fado Singer
Our visitor was ninety two and could see far into the past
and into a future that held no trepidation.
Unaided she got up and sang us a Fado about love that
never lasts and the sorrow of defeat...
Melancholy, that’s Fado for you, but it’s also about how
sweet love is, and the art of acceptance
She lives in the shadow land of an impending ending
and what is new and timeless.
When she left she beckoned for me to kiss her, I bent down
to touch her cheek, but she kissed my loveless lips.
I was enamoured, and her eyes was clear as heaven;
a woman is forever a woman even at ninety two.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Soccer
Soccer is more than just a sport
It's a common language and
shared by many.
The soccer field is my church, my sanctuary
Its where i feel most safe and without any worry.
There is nothing more thrilling than the perfect volley
Who hasnt dreamed of the impossible strike.
For ninety minutes the whole world holds its breathe
for the one common language we all understand.
In ninety minutes you can either be defined as a hero
or as a villain.
The path i choose,
can only be chosen by my determination
on the pitch.
For An Old Man (Baltimore 1968)
i saw an old man today
he was all of ninety years
gray hair and whiskers did grow
round his ears
i asked him why he penciled notes
upon a browning pad
i do it to pass the day, he said
to keep from being sad
was he the wiser of generations
are we the age he has been
or is he just the passing of time
and of bottled gin
i saw an old man today
he was all of ninety years
gray hair and whiskers
did shadow his lonely tears
(Copyright Steven S. Walsky 1968)
poem by Steven S. Walsky
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Hurricane Season (1995)
‘Tis a season bringing fear
(Beginning June 1st each year) ,
With destructive winds and rain:
The season of the hurricanes.
For costly time our city vied
In June, nineteen ninety-five,
When on the very second day,
A hurricane was in array.
June third of ninety-five,
Hurricane Alison passed us by.
And again, Savannah is blessed
And grateful for a haven’s rest.
Each year, this little prayer I pray:
“Dear Lord, keep the storms away.
While the perilous season lasts,
Protect us from potential blasts.
poem by Walterrean Salley
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Rain On A Scarecrow
Scarecrow on a wooden cross Blackbird in the barn
Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did My grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry there's no legacy for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
The crops we grew last summer weren't enough to pay the loans
Couldn't buy the seed to plant this spring and the Farmers Bank foreclosed
Called my old friend Schepman up to auction off the land
He said John it's just my job and I hope you understand
Hey calling it your job ol' hoss sure don't make it right
But if you want me to I'll say a prayer for your soul tonight
And grandma's on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand
Sometimes I hear her singing "Take me to the Promised Land"
When you take away a man's dignity he can't work his fields and cows
There'll be blood on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Blood on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Well there's ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name
And some nights I feel like dyin' Like that scarecrow in the rain
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Hard To Make Things Out
Im going out to big plains
To see the spirits rise
Out tonight to watch them do their thing
If youre coming out with big plans
To find some paradise
Well, theres nothing here to do but limboing
And some went back
They couldnt face the black
And theyre going back today with their personal things
I couldnt go back
I didnt have the knack
So Ill be staying on with my personal things
Yeah, Ill be staying on with my personal things
Well they call this a life I live on the ninety-sixth floor
And they all it a life he lives thats they guy next door
Life on the mighty brick tiers
I tried on the ninety-sixth floor
Mighty brick tiers
Ninety-sixth floor
Something had to give
Why is it so hard to live? its just so hard to make things out
Why is it so hard to live? its just so hard to make things out
Why is it so hard to live? its just so hard to mkae things out
Why is it so hard to live?
Well I have a suggestion as you bark your querying
Well there aint no congestion on a dark hyperion
In the night night night night night
In the night night night night night
No congestion
Dark hyperion
Why why why why
Well Ill tell you my philosophy things mustve been grand
Way back in the old country in a younger land
Now I can hardly wait yeah
I can hardly wait to see them rise
Now I can hardly wait yeah for it to materialize
Now I can hardly wait yeah
I can hardly wait yeah
I can hardly wait to see them rise
Theyre so hard to make out
Theyre so hard to make out
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain On The Scarecrow
Scarecrow on a wooden cross blackbird in the barn
Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did my grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand
Chorus:
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me proud
And son Im just sorry theres no legacy for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
The crops we grew last summer werent enough to pay the loans
Couldnt buy the seed to plant this spring and the farmers bank foreclosed
Called my old friend schepman up to auction off the land
He said john its just my job and I hope you understand
Hey calling it your job ol hoss sure dont make it right
But if you want me to Ill say a prayer for your soul tonight
And grandmas on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand
Sometimes I hear her singing take me to the promised land
When you take away a mans dignity he cant work his fields and cows
Therell be blood on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Blood on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Well theres ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name
And some nights I feel like dyin like that scarecrow in the rain
Chorus:
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me proud
And son Im just sorry theyre just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me so proud
And son Im just sorry theyre just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballad Of Bodacious
Bodacious am a whole lotta' bull
over nineteen hundred pounds.
He's born in Galry, Oklahoma
and he's the baddest sonsabitch around
if a Burma bull ever were a super star
then Bodacious just might be.
He's a cream colored, beefy brawn,
full-fledged, four footed bovine celebrity.
Who's gonna ride Bodacious?
Who's gonna tame him down?
Look out for Bodacious, he's bound to hold his ground.
Here comes Bodacious, ya'll just step aside.
Big and bad Bodacious takes a toll from those who ride.
Young Bo met a man named Tuff Hedeman
at the start of his buckin' spree
and Tuff became one of the few to make the whistle
back in Nineteen Ninety Three.
Tuff tried to ride Bo again at the finals
in Nineteen Ninety Five.
Bodacious had got a little older and wiser
Tuff barely came out alive.
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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