Edward Harrington
With the best writers of his era Edward Harrington did rate
The farmer's son from Shepparton was a poetic great
He wrote the stirring ballads that poetry lovers love to recite
A poem of his recited at many a poetry night.
As a young man Edward Harrington went off to fight in war
And through the remainder of his life he carried the mental scar
Of his terrible experiences in Palestine far away
And the mental scar remained with him until his dying day.
His great ballads of the Australian bush rangers Dan Morgan and the Kelly gang are sung
By ballad singers who heard them when they themselves were young,
Australia's most notorious in verse he glorified
The men who hid from the law in the rugged country side.
He was one of Australia's last famous men of rhyme
The poems of Edward Harrington have withstood the test of time
And those who knew the great poet said he was sensitive and shy
And fame and adulation he did not seem to enjoy.
In 1965 in his seventieth year Edward Harrington passed away
But his poems are still recited and his songs are sung today
The farmer's son from Shepparton a prince of poetry
One of Australia's finest and few as great as he.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Deceased Poets Of Nature
Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today
They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see
Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.
Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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John Masefield He Wrote Long Stories In Rhyme
For many years England's Poet Laureate but that's going back in time
John Masefield he wrote long stories in rhyme
True genius of him none could deny
His great poems to his greatness testify,
In the Literary World John Masefield held in high esteem
Of his era perhaps the poet supreme
As a young man as a deck hand he spent some time at sea
And much of the bigger World out there he did see
His Saltwater Ballads his ticket to fame
And in poetry his became a household name
His last remains in Nature's bosom lay
But his long narrative poems are read and enjoyed today
Far from England's shore by many a Masefield fan
He lives in his poems the great Ledbury man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Amazing Joyce
On such rare and marvellous talent how can one put a price
She surely is amazing the one and only Joyce
She has tried every form of poetry one must say with success
And to lovers of poetry Worldwide she brings great happiness.
The marvellous Joyce Hemsley a poetic legend of our time
The internet queen of haiku and senryu and the internet queen of rhyme
Six thousand poems to her name she just goes on and on
One cannot say about her that her better days are gone.
In every one of her poems one can detect her poetic voice
The poet for all Seasons is the amazing Joyce
What can be said about her that has not been said before
Six thousand poems to her name and from her expect many more.
She waves the literary banner for England a true poetic great
The amazing poet from Sunderland we ought to celebrate
A legendary online poet by example she leads the way
And surely a great mentor to all young poets of today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sigerson Clifford Sung Of
Sigerson Clifford sung of the The Boys of Barr Na Sraide the happy boys who hunted for the Wran
The boys who grew up to be freedom fighters Who took on the British troops The Black and Tan
He glorified them in his famous ballad the brave young rebels of his Kerry Town
The boys of Caherciveen and Barr Na Sraide to fight for Ireland their claim to renown
Sigerson Clifford sung of his gentle teacher the likeable and pleasant Brother Mick
The one who introduced Humanity to his classroom who banished the strap that pained and burnt the stick
A better and by far a more successful teacher than those who took delight in the usage of the cane
He was so different to his other teachers that he and his school mates wondered was he sane
Sigerson Clifford sung about the Irish Travellers of them some famous ballads he did write
He was the uncrowned Poet Laureate of Kerry other his songs sing and his poems do recite
His songs and poems are full of joy and pathos the one who was born with the gift of rhyme
In death he remains as a poetic legend and he was a legend in his own lifetime
Sigerson Clifford sung of the Boys of Barr Na Sraide and in Irish literature the renowned Kerry poet
Lives in his poems and songs as one remembered he was indeed a literary man of note.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Lake Poets
You have heard of William Wordsworth he was bard of Cockermouth
And he truly was a great poet if that ever was in doubt
And with Southey and With Coleridge they became known as the lake poets
And they made the Lake District famous and some famous poems they wrote.
Robert Southey was a fine poet he was slave to poetry
And he was for awhile Poet Laureate proves the great poet he must be
And though he is not well known as Coleridge and Wordsworth's is a greater name
He tends to be under rated and deserve a better fame.
And as for Samuel Taylor Coleridge a name verse critics celebrate
His works were born of genius a poetic all time great
The Rhyme Of The Ancient Mariner his masterpiece and some say
Is even greater than the famous elegy of Gray
And as for himself Will Wordsworth his fame seem to grow and grow
He has fifty times as many readers nowadays as he had one hundred years ago
When one talks of poets and poetry Wordsworth's name can't be left out
A testimony to the greatness of the Bard of Cockermouth.
Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth geniuses all three
Their names inscribed in glory and poetic history
They lived in the Lake District that beautiful English country side
And due to the fame of these men the Lake District is known World wide.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Patrick Colum
He penned 'The Old Woman Of The Roads' and 'A Cradle Song'
And to Ireland's best lyricists he surely belong
And his haunting ballad 'She Moved Through The Fair'
With any song ever written is one to compare.
And though to the reaper the poet has long gone
His best poems and lyrics will always live on
He sure was a master of the wordsmith trade
Poets like him are born they cannot be made.
The name of Patrick Colum is a memorable name
Even in his own lifetime he did know great fame
The beauty in his verses is for all to see
A man of great talent who penned great poetry.
Many of his poems are good but his best poems are great
And with the best of Eire he is one to rate
And even in death his fan club does grow
Most lovers of poetry a song or poem of Colum's know.
A legend in death and in his own lifetime
Patrick Colum one who penned quite memorable rhyme
His wonderful gift with the World he did share
A poet of the people and his type are rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On A Famed Poet
Forgive me if his greatness I cannot seem to note
His poems never rhyme but he is a famed poet
By literary experts considered to be knowledgeable and wise
And for his poems he has won many a prize.
Though poetry is not very popular today
The poet of the poetry lovers the experts do say
In University literary magazines students his verses read
And they all agree he's a fine poet indeed.
Of poets and poetry I must confess so little I know
My favourites old rhymers from ages ago
On the poetry I do not like most experts agree
That it is well written and quite good poetry.
Forgive me if the worth in his verse I can't see
His non rhyming poetry does nothing for me
Of reading blank verse I do quickly grow tired
My truth is by such stuff I do not feel inspired.
The experts on his poetry great interest show
And his stature as a poet only seems to grow
Of him great things are written and great things we hear
And good luck to him on his literary career.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poems Of John Clare
For years in Northampton mental asylum he battled his ghosts of despair
His Nation's finest poet of Nature the marvellous wordsmith John Clare
So many of his poems are relevant today
The one who loved Nature with words had a way.
The Helpston he grew up in not a cultural place
And though in that old Village his was a known face
They little realized the fame to them he'd bring
That poetry lovers World wide his praises would sing.
Without him less people of Helpston would know
The great poet of Nature of centuries ago
He died in Northampton mental asylum in dire poverty
Yet is there one greater Nature poet than he?
His flora and fauna poems have passed scrutiny's test
And as a Nature poet he was surely the best
Into the soul of Nature it seemed he could see
And his verses have outlived his mortality.
He never did enjoy his literary renown
And he died in the asylum in Northampton Town
But he was a true poet and his type are so rare
And old Helpston lives on in the poems of John Clare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Australia
Opportunities are available in all walks of life in australia
So if youre young and if youre healthy
Why not get a boat and come to australia
Australia, the chance of a lifetime
Australia, you get what you work for
Nobody has to be any better than what they want to be
Australia, no class distinction
Australia, no drug addiction
Nobodys got a chip on their shoulder
Well surf like they do in the u.s.a.
Well fly down to sydney for our holiday
On sunny christmas day
Australia, australia
No one hesitates at life or beats around the bush in australia
So if youre young and if youre healthy
Why not get a boat and come to australia
Australia sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la
Australia sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la
Everyone walks around with a perpetual smile across their face
Australia sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la
Australia sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la
Everyone gets around and nobody can ever get you down
Well surf like they do in the u.s.a.
Well fly down to sydney for our holiday
On sunny christmas day
Australia, australia
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The literary life
We went to the house
of Afrikaans poetry together
on weekends and spent hours there
and listened to the master lecture
and met some poet friends
around a table
with a drink or two.
Sometimes the poetry was Afrikaans,
English, Dutch or even German
and we learnt form poets
around the globe.
We discussed what we had
just learned,
asked about his views
of certain things,
or what people in the group think,
discussed poetry, life,
sometimes even politics
and philosophy
as individuals of a group.
We read our poems,
listened to other poets,
reading their own,
analysed every word, every line
comprehending meaning, impact
and sharpened our art.
Your poetry was really great,
from when I read the very first line,
but mine had still to grow
from rhyme into free verse.
At times I hated comments
that forced me to move,
but realized that it was meant
with great goodwill
and even though I was in pain
I sharpened my verse
and free verse brought
a clearer ear, making it
much easier to write
great rhyme.
Now that I had to leave Pretoria,
weekends I really miss
that great writing school,
new poems from great poets,
learning something there,
experiencing poetry at its core,
lectures from that great master
and verses of his own,
but much more
your poems.
poem by Gert Strydom
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For Me Far Too Much Foofaraw
For me far too much foofaraw
Your own conclusions on them and their work draw
Though modern poets and their poems in poetry the in thing
And their praises the literary critics sing.
I am not an up with the times man
And of them and their work I am not a fan
For I do love old fashioned rhyme
And my love for it goes back some time.
It gives me joy to sing along
With the singer of the old ballad or song
The sort the travellers at the horse fairs sung
Decades ago when I was young.
A beautiful memory I recall
Of the Millstreet Town horse fair in the Fall
An ageing Irish Traveller sung Burns 'Afton water' what a joy
For a nine year old country boy.
In the poems of modern poets too much foofaraw for me
Though with that many would disagree
I love the music in the rhyme
The poetry of another time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Moderns
To many reading modern poetry more interesting the meaning in the metaphors they seek to find
They feel it makes their brains work that much harder that it is good exercise for the mind
Rhyme for their great brains seems that bit too simple it does not test their thinking power at all
'Tis not a poem to them if it seems simple and the meaning in it easy to recall,
Yes rhyme for them it does seem that bit simple and deciphering it to them is not a test
The hidden meaning in the metaphors is something that does seem to try them best
Rhyme poetry to them is too simple and far too easy for to understand
It has to be blank verse with dozens of metaphors for their interest for to command
They look on rhyme and bush poets as inferior their preference in poets and poetry they make known
On literature they air their opinions like it is said to each their own
Their poetry evenings do seem quite exclusive rhyme poets to read they never do invite
Their unmusical lines that are laced with metaphors to each other they do recite
They do not like rhyme or they do not like bush poetry to them it is of another time
And in their poetry evenings there is no place for the men and the women of rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Hearing One Reciting Verses Of Callanan
He recited Gougane Barra and the outlaw of Lough Lene
And my thoughts went back the long gone years to my school going days again
When our teacher recited those verses to us from the pen of a Cork born bardic man
The one whose bones rest in distant Portugal Jeremiah Joseph Callanan.
The poems of J J Callanan will live forever more
And are recited far distant from green old Erin's shore
A true poet of the people though he died poor and young
And he was one of genius and his songs are still sung.
The poet and hedge school teacher his poems known far and wide
And greatness is a thing of him that can never be denied
He recited his verses in village and in town
And even in his too brief life Callanan knew renown.
He recited Gougane Barra and it took me far away
To the school house room in Millstreet happy memories with us stay
When our teacher recited the poems of Callanan 'he was showing his years in gray'
Back in the nineteen fifties and that's going back many a day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Poet Of Our
He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Poet Of Our Time
He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It Is A Habit
writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry
and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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The Queer Ways Of Australia
Dick Briggs, a wealthy farmer’s son,
To England lately took a run,
To see his friends, and have some fun,
For he’d been ten years in Australia.
Arrived in England, off he went
To his native village down in Kent—
’Twas there his father drew his rent,
And many happy days he’d spent.
No splendid, fine clothes on had he,
But jumper’n boots up to the knee,
With dirty Sydney ‘cabbage-tree’—
The costume of Australia.
Chorus:
Now when a fellow takes a run
To England for a bit of fun,
He’s sure to ’stonish everyone
With the queer ways of Australia.
Now Dick went home in this array;
His sister came out and did say,
‘No, we don’t want anything today,’
To her brother from Australia.
Cried he, ‘Oh, don’t you know poor Dick?’
They recognized him precious quick;
The ‘old man’ hugged him like a brick.
And there was feasting there that night,
For Richard was a welcome sight,
For each one hailed with great delight
The wanderer from Australia.
The blessed cattle on the farm
Regarded Dick with great alarm;
His swearing acted like a charm
When he gave ’em a ‘touch’ of Australia.
He could talk ‘bullock’ and ‘no flies’,
And when he blessed poor Strawberry’s eyes,
She looked at him with great surprise
As out of her he ‘took a rise’.
‘Fie, fie,’ his mother said one day,
‘What naughty, wicked words you say.’
‘Bless you, mother, that’s the way
We wake ’em up in Australia.’
Dick went to London for a spree,
And got drunk there most gloriously;
He gave them a touch of ‘Coo-oo-ee’
The bush cry of Australia.
He took two ladies to the play,
Both so serene, in dresses gay,
He had champagne brought on a tray
And said, ‘Now girls, come fire away.’
They drank till they could drink no more,
And then they both fell on the floor.
Cried Dick, as he surveyed them o’er,
‘You wouldn’t do for Australia!’
poem by Charles Thatcher
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Perhaps You Might Call Me An Old Fashioned Man
Many love poets like Whitman and Eliot and Poe
The first of the moderns from decades ago
But of their sort of poetry I am not a fan
Perhaps in my ways I'm an old fashioned man.
I still love the old ballads I loved when I was young
That on Winter nights by the fire grate were sung
By then ageing men and women who now with the dead lay
But fond memories of them I have with me today.
Us youngsters learned from them the words of many a memorable song
And with the old songsters we used sing along
A love of old culture from them I did gain
And in the ways of the past I am one who remain.
The mentors of my young years much to them I do owe
The love of old culture in my mind they did sow
Songs they learned from their elders to us they passed down
May they rest in peace in their graves in the town.
I do love the songs that I learned as a boy
And memories of what was I still do enjoy
Of modern poets and their poetry I was never a fan
Perhaps you might call me an old fashioned man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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