Don Bradman
Every Aussie knows
the Cootamundra Wattle
its beauty
a yellow crown
of glory
could only be eclipsed
by the birth
of Don Bradman.
poem by Vince Gullaci
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Wattle
Wattle wattle everywhere
Wattle we do next wattle
Yellow life exploding out from each coarse stem
Joyful for a few short weeks
A few short weeks and then
Scrub wattle dry wattle
Until spring comes again.
poem by David Keig
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A Winter Morning In Gippsland
The wattle wears her cloak of flowers so lovely bright and yellow
But in the paddocks there's no grass and for hay the cattle bellow
It has been frosty over night and the ground with frost is hoary
And the only beauty I can see is the wattle in her glory.
The farmer says too cold and dry as dry as he remember
The Spring will come in late this year and no grass in September
The hereford cow hunched with the cold and she as tough as leather
For two months it's been cold and dry we need a change of weather.
The trainer on the trotting track watch his trotters exercising
And near ten o clock the sun comes out and the temperature starts rising
And across the paddock's uneven ground the old farm tractor rattle
As the farmer brings big bale of hay to feed his hungry cattle.
A Winter morning in Gippsland and for hay the cattle bellow
And the wattle wears her cloak of flowers so lovely, bright and yellow
And the farmer says too cold and dry as dry as he remember
And we need a week or two of rain for grass growth in September.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Wattle Day
On bushes and trees on the first day of Spring
The nesting songbirds chirp and whistle and sing
In the darkness of midnight as the rain drizzled down
The Goddess of Spring she crept into town
The Spring has arrived in Australia for her three months stay
On the first of September known as Wattle Day
The rain in the morning gave way to sunshine
And the rest of the day may be sunny and fine
The wattle trees cloaked in their bright yellow flowers
They came to bloom in late Winter in the rain driven showers
With the arrival of Spring an abundance of green
And wildflowers known to some as weeds everywhere to be seen
The mealaleucas in their blooms of pink to gray
For beauty compete with the wattles on Wattle Day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A New Year's Toast
Here's to every Aussie fellow,
Who refused to show the yellow
When depression's clammy hand
Cast its shadow o'er the land.
Here's to them who never altered
When the timid feared and faltered,
But with dogged confidence
Backed their nation's sound good sense.
Here's to them who, ne'er reviling,
Took the knock and came up smiling -
Battlers with their steadfast gaze
Fixed ahead on better days.
Aussie cobbers, strong thro' striving,
Chastened by ill-luck are thriving;
Now that better days are near
Here's a prosperous New Year!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wattle
I saw it in the days gone by,
When the dead girl lay at rest,
And the wattle and the native rose
We placed upon her breast.
I saw it in the long ago
(And I've seen strong men die),
And who, to wear the wattle,
Hath better right than I?
I've fought it through the world since then,
And seen the best and worst,
But always in the lands of men
I held Australia first.
I wrote for her, I fought for her,
And when at last I lie,
Then who, to wear the wattle, has
A better right than I?
poem by Henry Lawson
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What The Heart Of The Poet Said To The 'Bulletin
Tell me not in future numbers
That our thought becomes inane,
That our metre halts and lumbers,
When the Wattle blooms again.
Lies of great men all remind us
We can challenge and restrain
Such attempts to bluff and blind us,
When the Wattle blooms again.
Therefore take our gage of battle!
Freedom reasserts her reign:
We are not dumb, driven, cattle
When the Wattle blooms again.
Doubtless ANSWERS, weekly, daily,
Adding to his heap of slain,
Feels a jar, when Nature gaily
Bids the Wattle bloom again.
Nocent censor! time thou learnest
All this contract may contain —
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
But the Wattle blooms again.
Time may change this loyal journal
From religious to profane,
But a rhythmic law eternal
Makes the Wattle bloom again.
Trust no Flossie, howe'er pleasant,
Sweeps are treacherous, totes are vain;
Banks and scrip are evanescent,
But the Wattle blooms again.
Cultivate no fair ideal;
Own no country-seat in Spain;
All these things must go to Sheol,
Whil'st the Wattle blooms again.
Czar, and Pope, and Dei Gratia
Pass like phantoms of the brain
Never so our bright acacia,
For the Wattle blooms again.
Thus you see, austere and lonely,
Sailing o'er Life's solemn main,
One great fact is certain only —
That the Wattle blooms again.
poem by Joseph Furphy
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An Autumn Crown
Watch the leaves turn
yellow, red and brown
Changing the sky too
And putting on autumn's crown
And letting in the joy
And happiness of sunshine
And filling the world with
The light and warmth of wine
watch the leaves turn
Yellow, red and brown
And reflecting serenity and peace
And putting on autumn's crown
And spreading joy and passion
And enthusiasm and hope
And clearing away the dust
And all pain and mope
watch the leaves turn
Yellow, red and brown
And creating a new life
And putting on autumn's crown
And showing you how to reach
The bright horizon afar
And nature glowing with colors
A twinkling like a star
Watch the leaves turn
Yellow, red and brown
Reflecting God's blessings
And putting on autumn's crown.
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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We are always going to be influenced by America... I watched the word 'bum' go out and 'butt' come in. And part of me says, oh that's a shame, but Aussie boys are still Aussie boys.
quote by Bryan Brown
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Yellow Ribbon On The Old Oak Tree
who can forget the yellow ribbon
on that old oak tree? tell me.
tomorrow, i shall wear my yellow cap
my yellow shirt, my yellow brief,
my yellow pants.
my jaundiced eye, my golden yellow ring.
tomorrow, in my country, the sky is yellow.
all steps lead to the yellow brick road.
all fruits are ripe and mellow and yellow.
Tomorrow, the country is yellow.
Yellow for integrity, Yellow for change.
Yellow for justice. Yellow for truth.
One day more, and the sun shall rise
Yellow as ever.Yellow forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Wattle Tree
Winter is not yet gone - but now
The birds are carolling from the bough.
And the mist has rolled away
Leaving more beautiful the day.
The sun is out - O come with me
To look upon the wattle tree!
Let misers hoard and hide their gold;
Here there is treasure-trove untold,
In yellow blossom, mass on mass
Spread out for wayfarers who pass
With hearts to feel, and eyes to see
How lovely is the wattle tree.
O strange, O magical! to forget
For a moment care and fret,
Whilst the next spirit, like a cup
Drained of delight, again fills up
And overflows with ecstasy
Before the miracle of the tree.
And rich and poor, who pause to bless
The shining tree in thankfulness,
Are bound in fellowship indeed.
What matter politics or creed,
Or class or colour? surely he
Loves mankind who loves a Tree!
Towards illimitable skies
From the earth the trees arise:
Givers of Joy, their gold and green
Against the blue of Heaven is seen.
A symbol of man's destiny
Is the blossoming the wattle tree.
Winter is not yet gone - but now
The birds are carolling from the bough.
And the mist has rolled away
Leaving more beautiful the day.
The sun is out - O come with me
To look upon the wattle tree!
poem by Dora Wilcox
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Tears Before Glory
Before
Glory's
birth,
Beauty's tears
must
come
first.
poem by E.W. Griffith
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Longevity
What's the use of longing?
Not necessary to measure
In longhand,
Humbly I write
It's very short
Shorter than a hug.
I met Mr.Kevin.Rudd [ousted Aussie'sPM] yesterday in my dreams
And no more.
*I dedicate this poem to the Aussie's PM Mrs. Julia.Gillard the lady in waiting for an Aug.21 general election.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Spring Poem
Fluffy yellow balls appear
near long thin leaves
signalling an Aussie Spring
bare branches show specks
of green - soon purple petals
will carpet my patio floor
orchid-like the humble
onion weed reveals it's
stubborn beauty
forest search for harden
bergia - purple creeper
where blue wrens flit
wonder why I'm drawn
to spikey leaf and wild
flowers Everlastings
poem by Frances Macaulay Forde
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The Young Aussie
In the company of women he is not coy or shy
A real macho type is the young Aussie guy
And some young women like him though some young women say
A bit of a boofhead who pushes his way.
He likes to talk cricket with his mates drinking beer
But of God and of religion he does not wish to hear
He does not have a God for to which he can pray
And he is never seen in a church on sunday.
He is a great fan of Aussie Rules Football
To him the one true game and the best game of them all
On friday night he goes to the football and on saturday to the pub
And on sunday evening he drinks in the Sportsman's Club.
The young Aussie bloke he doesn't use words like date
His woman to him she is more of a mate
On saturday night at the disco for five hours or more
He parties and drinks till the small hours of four.
Though much his own man in him there is much good
And the young Aussie he would help you if he could
But don't mention God to him for he will only say
That only the impressionable to the unseen do pray.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Paper An Aussie
On paper an Aussie I thought I Might be
But that hardly would make an Aussie of me
I don't have the accent as most would agree
So I've decided to become an Aussie on paper not a good idea
A strong North Cork accent I do retain
So an Irishman on paper I will remain
A migrant in Australia and sad for to say
I might feel an outsider in Ireland today
Though my accent some struggle for to understand
I do love Australia this great Southern Land
The land of the World's oldest Indigenous Race
Where them and their culture by right ought to take pride of place
The home of koala and wombat and roo
Of emu, possum, rosella, lyrebird and cockatoo
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sonnet 37: As a decrepit father takes delight
As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts, do crownèd sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store.
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am sufficed
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee.
This wish I have; then ten times happy me!
poem by William Shakespeare
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The National Game Of Australia
The National game of Australia is Australian Rules Football
And the Aussies who love their game say 'tis the greatest game of all
Soccer, Rugby Union and Rugby League and Cricket have their roots elsewhere
But no truer Aussie sportsman than an Aussie Rules footy player,
A game born on Australian soil it surely is Australia's own
And the legend of great footy players in their deaths has even grown
In September at the famed M C G in Melbourne on A F L Grand Final Day
Close to one hundred thousand people flock to watch Australia's best teams play
Though many like both codes of rugby and cricket and soccer a game that is played Worldwide
Australia's National game is Aussie Rules to many that's a source of pride
The National Game of Australia and it's great claim to fame
Is that it was born and bred in Australia and is the only true Australian Game
And it surely is a true Aussie as Aussie as can be
And though some others may like introduced games far better with what I say many would agree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Stalks no bar
As lotus, fair and lovely,
By water is not soiled
She, frail and comely
By birth is not spoilt.
As pearl, fine and glossy,
By oyster is not bruised
She, tender and brainy,
By class is not sullied.
As melon, lush and succulent,
By draught is not shrunken
She, deft and nimble,
By penury is not sunken.
By beauty, grace and dexterity
Is love well nourished;
By poverty, traits and parentality
Is love not eclipsed.
Otherwise it is not love
06.06.97
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Hark! The Herald Angels Sing
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory, glory to, glory to,
The new born King...
Glory, glory, glory, glory, glory...
Glory to the new born King
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born King
Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled
Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies
With angelic host proclaim, Christ is born in Bethlehem
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born King
Glory, glory, glory, (oh yeah) glory, glory
Glory to the new born King
Glory (glory) glory, (yeah) glory, glory...
Glory...
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory... Glory...
Hail! the heaven-born Prince of Peace; Hail the son of Righteousness
Light and life to all He brings, risen with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by, born that man, no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born...
[Ad Libs]
song performed by by Jessica Simpson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beauty Is Upon You
Beauty is upon you like the rose without a thorn.
Beauty is upon you like the dew on grass each morn.
Beauty is upon you like the sapphire shining sea.
Beauty is upon you like the apple on the tree.
Beauty is upon you like the sunshine on the Earth.
Beauty is upon you like the day God granted birth.
Beauty is upon you like the wings on butterflies.
Beauty is upon you like the grace that God supplies.
Beauty is upon you like the diamond wedding ring.
Beauty is upon you like the season known as Spring.
Beauty is upon you like the little lambs that play.
Beauty is upon you like the snow on Christmas Day.
Beauty is upon you like the rainbows up above.
Beauty is upon you like the sentimental dove.
Beauty is upon you like the young bird new to flight.
Beauty is upon you like the shooting stars each night.
Beauty is upon you like the dolphins as they leap.
Beauty is upon you like the peace that comes with sleep.
Beauty is upon you like ten thousand whispering sighs.
Beauty is upon you like true love that never dies...
Beauty is upon you like true love that never dies...
Beauty is upon you like true love that never dies...
poem by Denis Martindale
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