A Stockman's Passing.
Here is what I call an 'Aussie bush' sonnet.
Sonnet no.2
A Stockman’s Passing
He sleeps beneath the trees in battered swag
while cattle doze not far from where he lies.
As other stockmen camp nearby and brag,
this old man loves the quiet, star-lit skies.
He knows his life is nearly at an end,
but once again, his mind drifts back to her.
That past event he still can’t comprehend;
the deadly fire to him is still a blur.
For twenty years he's droved the mobs alone,
though with his working mates he's moved along;
Within his mind her ghostly figure's shone,
for twenty years she's sung their wedding song.
A new dawn breaks, but still the old man lies;
Together now they walk beneath clear skies.
David J Delaney
24/11/2009 ©
poem by David J Delaney
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter XLII: What Lies Beneath
beauty lies beneath
sense lies beneath
secret lies beneath
character lies beneath
rule lies beneath
mind lies beneath
past lies beneath
foundation lies beneath
root lies beneath
dark hole lies beneath
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Wife to Be (Petrarchan Sonnet)
I stroll along a fragrant country lane
With honeysuckle perfume on the air -
And feathered crooner's warble to revere -
Then cross a golden sea of flowing grain
In empathy - it seems to sense my pain
Of knowing all was done with my affair -
Her empty meaning now the solitaire
She cast away - betrothment all in vain.
But oceans team with many fish to catch
So I must up and hoist another sail
And seek the one that really waits for me,
For soon auspicious breezes will prevail
In guiding forth to find a truer match:
The one to take my hand as wife to be.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Stockman
The sun was in the summer grass,
the Coolibahs* were twisted steel;
the stockman paused beneath their shade
and sat upon his heel,
and with the reins looped through his arm
he rolled tobacco in his palm.
His horse stood still, His cattle-dog
tongued in the shadow of the tree,
and for a moment on the plain
Time waited for the three,
and then the stockman licked his fag
and Time took up his solar swag.
I saw the stockman mount and ride,
across the mirage on the plain;
and still that timeless moment brought
fresh ripples to my brain;
it seemed in that distorting air
I saw his grandson sitting there.
poem by David Campbell
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No Sorrow Tomorrow
One day there'll be no more sorrow,
One day we'll be free,
One day no one will cry,
One day the blind shall see!
A world where everyone tries,
Ever clear skies,
Where nobody lies,
And no one dies,
One day,
One day all hearts will sing the same song,
One day,
One day our love will be strong,
One day,
One day we'll see the light,
One day,
One day we'll embrace life,
A world where everyone tries,
Ever clear skies,
Where nobody lies,
And no one dies,
One day no one will feel fear,
One day I shall be with you,
One day no one will shed a tear,
One day we'll remain true!
07 June 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Quiet Focus Of The Mind
The Quiet focus of the mind
Is From whence imaginations rise
Imagination of starlit creation
Stimulation to open up one’s eyes
The quiet focus of the mind
To garner truth, cast out the lies
If Intimidation begets frustration
Then Frustration leads to what’s and why’s
Well… the quiet focus of the mind
Will turn what’s and why’s to quiet sighs
Plain and simple contemplation
Levels out, life’s lows and highs
And the quiet focus of the mind
Will lift the spirit to the skies
poem by David Whalen
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The God Of Fire
The God of fire
It took him twenty years
to write his novel.
Twenty refusals later
he gave the manuscript
to the fire which
greedily absorbed it.
A phone call from nowhere,
send us another novel.
It took twenty more years
to write a new book
and the god Agni
burnt his hands.
As a thank you.
Success at last he cried
to a man with a yellow helmet
carrying an axe.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Regular Aussie Bloke
The woman that he married with her new lover having sex
But he does not feel angry in any way with her the one he calls his ex
Though to him she was unfaithful such is life he does say
The past is the past and life goes on and that was yesterday
The marriage only lasted one year she left him two years ago
He has had a few flings since then that to love did not grow
He is now happy in his single life at twenty five in his prime
Of life he feels that for marriage and children on his side he has time
With his mates at the local pub he talks about football
And Aussie Rules their favourite game to them the greatest sport of all
He works hard and enjoys his beer and he can laugh at a joke
And he is what one may describe as a regular Aussie bloke
He tried marriage it did not work out he may well try again
In life you win some and you lose some and one's loss is another's gain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Don't Ever Call Here Again
Why did I call?
You have been on my mind.
You are there most of the time,
With thoughts of wishes
I hope you are fine.
Why is it you?
Doesn't my call to you provide a clue?
Perhaps one day,
Out of the 'blue'...
You will call me too!
Instead of seeming to be annoyed.
And giving me attitude!
'Yeah...
But you've called me five times in ten minutes.
You have the wrong number!
How long has it been since you have spoken to your mother? '
Mom I know this is you!
I apologize for not calling in twenty years.
I have fallen on hard times...
And I need your assistance.
'That's unfortunate, young man.
The only son I had told me to mind my business.
He moved out over twenty five years ago!
And I know that could not be you...
Because the last time I called 'him'
He told me where to go!
I went!
And my life has been wonderful ever since!
I would give you his number...
But I have forgotten his name!
I have forgotten I have had any children at all.
And I bet 'if' you were in my shoes,
You would do the same.
When you find your mama...
Give her a hug for me, baby!
And as for you...
Don't ever call here again.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Twenty Years
There are twenty years to go
Twenty ways to know
Who'll wear
Who'll wear the hat
There are twenty years to go
The best of all I hope
Enjoy the ride
The medicine show
Thems the breaks
For we designer fakes
We need to concentrate on more than meets the eye
There are twenty years to go
The faithful and the low
The best of starts, the broken heart, the stone
There are twenty years to go
The punch-drunk and the blow
The worst of starts, the mercy part, the foam
Thems the breaks
Before we designer fakes
We need to concentrate on more than meets the eye
Thems the breaks
Before we designer fakes
But it's you I take cos you're the truth, not I
There are twenty years to go
A golden age I know
But all will pass and end too fast you know
There are twenty years to go
And many friends I hope
Though some may hold the rose
Some hold the rope
That's the end - and that's the start of it
That's the whole - and that's the part of it
That's the high - and that's the heart of it
That's the long - and that's the short of it
That's the best - and that's the test in it
That's the doubt - the doubt, the trust in it
That's the sight - and that's the sound of it
That's the gift - and that's the trick in it
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet -- The Peasant
WIDE o'er the barren plain the bleak wind flies,
Sweeps the high mountain's top, and with its breath
Swells the curl'd river o'er the plain beneath,
Where many a clay-built hut in ruin lies.
The hardy PEASANT in his little cot,
Lights his small fire, his homely meal prepares;
No pamper'd luxury, no splendid cares
Invade the comforts of his humble lot.
Born to endure, he labours thro' the day,
And when the midnight storm o'er spreads the skies,
On a clean pallet peacefully he lies,
And sweetly sleeps the lonely hours away;
Till at the peep of dawn he wakes to find,
HEALTH in his veins, and RAPTURE IN HIS MIND.
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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Corny Bill
His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth,
His hat pushed from his brow,
His dress best fitted for the South --
I think I see him now;
And when the city streets are still,
And sleep upon me comes,
I often dream that me an' Bill
Are humpin' of our drums.
I mind the time when first I came
A stranger to the land;
And I was stumped, an' sick, an' lame
When Bill took me in hand.
Old Bill was what a chap would call
A friend in poverty,
And he was very kind to all,
And very good to me.
We'd camp beneath the lonely trees
And sit beside the blaze,
A-nursin' of our wearied knees,
A-smokin' of our clays.
Or when we'd journeyed damp an' far,
An' clouds were in the skies,
We'd camp in some old shanty bar,
And sit a-tellin' lies.
Though time had writ upon his brow
And rubbed away his curls,
He always was -- an' may be now --
A favourite with the girls;
I've heard bush-wimmin scream an' squall --
I've see'd 'em laugh until
They could not do their work at all,
Because of Corny Bill.
He was the jolliest old pup
As ever you did see,
And often at some bush kick-up
They'd make old Bill M.C.
He'd make them dance and sing all night,
He'd make the music hum,
But he'd be gone at mornin' light
A-humpin' of his drum.
Though joys of which the poet rhymes
Was not for Bill an' me,
I think we had some good old times
Out on the wallaby.
I took a wife and left off rum,
An' camped beneath a roof;
But Bill preferred to hump his drum
A-paddin' of the hoof.
The lazy, idle loafers what
In toney houses camp
Would call old Bill a drunken sot,
A loafer, or a tramp;
But if the dead should ever dance --
As poets say they will --
I think I'd rather take my chance
Along of Corny Bill.
His long life's-day is nearly o'er,
Its shades begin to fall;
He soon must mount his bluey for
The last long tramp of all;
I trust that when, in bush an' town,
He's lived and learnt his fill,
They'll let the golden slip-rails down
For poor old Corny Bill.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Twenty Years Ago
It's been a long time since I walked
Through this old town
But oh how the memories start to flow
And there's the old movie house
They finally closed it down
You could find me there every Friday night
Twenty years ago.
I worked the counter at the drugstore down the street
But nobody's left there I would know
On Saturday mornings that's where
All my friends would meet
You'd be surprised to know what a dime would buy
Twenty years ago.
All my memories from those days come gather round me
What I'd give if they could take me back in time
It almost seems like yesterday
Where do the good times go?
Life was so much easier twenty years ago.
I guess I should stop by Mr. Johnson's hardware store
His only son was my friend Joe
But he joined the army back in 1964
How could we know he would never come back
Twenty years ago...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song Inscribed To The Fremont Clubs
BENEATH thy skies, November!
Thy skies of cloud and rain,
Around our blazing camp-fires
We close our ranks again.
Then sound again the bugles,
Call the muster-roll anew;
If months have well-nigh won the field,
What may not four years do?
For God be praised! New England
Takes once more her ancient place;
Again the Pilgrim's banner
Leads the vanguard of the race.
Then sound again the bugles, etc.
Along the lordly Hudson,
A shout of triumph breaks;
The Empire State is speaking,
From the ocean to the lakes.
Then sound again the bugles, etc.
The Northern hills are blazing,
The Northern skies are bright;
And the fair young West is turning
Her forehead to the light!
Then sound again the bugles,. etc.
Push every outpost nearer,
Press hard the hostile towers!
Another Balaklava,
And the Malakoff is ours!
Then sound again the bugles,
Call the muster-roll anew;
If months have well-nigh won the field,
What may not four years do?
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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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
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Exmoor Verses
I. VASHTI'S SONG
Over the rim of the Moor,
And under the starry sky,
Two men came to my door
And rested them thereby.
Beneath the bough and the star,
In a whispering foreign tongue,
They talked of a land afar
And the merry days so young!
Beneath the dawn and the bough
I heard them arise and go:
And my heart it is aching now
For the more it will never know.
Why did they two depart
Before I could understand?
Where lies that land, O my heart?
-O my heart, where lies that land?
II. SATURN
From my farm, from hèr farm
Furtively we came.
In either home a hearth was warm:
We nursed a hungrier flame.
Our feet were foul with mire,
Our faces blind with mist;
But all the night was naked fire
About us where we kiss'd.
To her farm, to my farm,
Loathing we returned;
Pale beneath a gallow's arm
The planet Saturn burned.
III. DERELICTION
O'er the tears that we shed, dear
The bitter vines twist,
And the hawk and the red deer
They keep where we kiss'd:
All broken lies the shieling
That sheltered from rain,
With a star to pierce the ceiling,
And the dawn an empty pane.
Thro' the mist, up the moorway,
Fade hunters and pack;
From the ridge to thy doorway
Happy voices float back…
O, between the threads o' mist, love,
Reach your hands from the house.
Only mind that we kiss'd, love,
And forget the broken vows!
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
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With every step we take
Twenty miles, then twenty miles,
then twenty miles again.
We’ll keep on walking, day by day,
towards breast cancer’s end.
With every step, with every stair,
We train to walk this path
To raise the funds to fight the beast
And consign it to the past..
It will be hot, It may be wet
As we traverse the miles
and when we rest, beneath the stars,
We’ll sleep like stones awhile
With every step, with every mile
We’re walking towards a cure
And we would walk a thousand miles
To end its’ reign for sure..
If not in time for one we loved
Perhaps in time for others-
So many suffer scars or worse
where death’s dark angel hovers.
Twenty miles, then twenty miles,
then twenty miles again.
We’ll keep on walking, day by day,
towards breast cancer’s end.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Starstruck
So awe inspiring, just magic,
Head up to those twinkling skies.
Yes a feeling, very cosmic.
Observing with'Starstruck' eyes.
I stood there just looking,
Words I search to find.
Then they came, so fitting,
Certain words come to mind,
'Pin-holes in the curtain of night',
That line from the film, 'Highlander'.
A beautifully fantastic sight,
A sight of absolute wonder.
Twenty plus years, for that night,
Countryside skies so clear.
Because of pollution blight,
Urban sprawl, couldn't get near.
Glorious yet sad,
We forget what we had!
poem by Guy Lipmore
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Same Old Tunes
I sat at my piano tinkering with the keys
and the same old tunes came back to me.
Melodies I had written long ago
that seem to haunt my soul.
It was the rhythm of my life
as the scales moved up and down.
After years of writing ever-haunting melodies
like my life, they drifted away from me.
The comparisons were striking
with the events of life’s ups and downs
and for a few minutes,
I found myself trying to capture
what once had been.
There were no lyrics in my head
to fit to a happy tune.
Only the black and white keys
that lay beneath my fingertips,
playing out the same old tunes
I had written in life and song
all those distant years ago.
13 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Poet And The Baby
How's a man to write a sonnet, can you tell,--
How's he going to weave the dim, poetic spell,--
When a-toddling on the floor
Is the muse he must adore,
And this muse he loves, not wisely, but too well?
Now, to write a sonnet, every one allows,
One must always be as quiet as a mouse;
But to write one seems to me
Quite superfluous to be,
When you 've got a little sonnet in the house.
Just a dainty little poem, true and fine,
That is full of love and life in every line,
Earnest, delicate, and sweet,
Altogether so complete
That I wonder what's the use of writing mine.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Two Cents Worth
Well I been drinkin' again
And I know it's a sin
But I just can't refuse an old friend
Cause life is gettin' me down
And I been two times around
And there ain't nothing but pain around the bend
I'm not made for the time
I'm born in the wrong century
There's too much craziness here
In twenty-five years I have used all the tears in my eyes
Now this old world is a fright
You know my future ain't bright
And I'd just crawl in a hole if I could
Or maybe live out in space
Or some other far away place
And not come back to this earth till it's good
Oh but I'm dreaming again
I know that I'm here till the end
There's too much craziness here
In twenty-five years I have used all the tears in my eyes
Well you might think that I'm all wrong
The things I say in this song
I really wish I could see it your way
Cause there's a storm rollin' in
And it just might be the end
So I'm praying we'll all get away
Now my cup is running dry
The weight of the world gets me down
There's too much craziness here
In twenty-five years I have used all the tears in my eyes
There's nowhere to turn
So I'll just have to learn not to cry, no more
It's all I can do till we find something new
But I'll get by you know I'll try
In twenty-five years I have used all the tears in my eyes
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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