Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis Poems

Here in my garden at the long day's close
I sing again her Majesty the Rose.
The Rose who can with magic most complete
Bring worshippers again about her feet
...

Can this be the old town of wheat-teams and saddle-hacks,
Of Ted Toll's smithy, with the anvil ringing clear,
Of stacks in the station yard, and stockmen, and farming hands,
Of bow-legged bound'ry riders coming in for beer
...

To this green place the tourists troop,
By twos, by threes, and group by group,
Lads in bright blazers, girls in slacks,
Hikers with rucksack on their backs.
...

Not guilty, yer Honor . . . An' givin' me reasons,
I'd like for to plead this ‘ere change in the seasons,
Plus one flamin' goat with a terrible silly
Great grin on ‘is map wot ‘ud drive a man dilly
...

Here she hides, an aged dame.
Here she dreams beside the waves.
Ever baulked of modern fame
And the deep-sea trade she craves.
...

The quiet country doctors
Of many a country town,
Whose lives are spent to service bent,
With scant hope of renown
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Winter has come; and tardily
Now little nipping winds are rife
Where laggard leaves, on many a tree,
Still cling tenaciously to life.
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Listening (said the old, grey Digger) . . .
With my finger on the trigger
I was listening in the trenches on a dark night long ago,
And a lull came in the fighting,
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The cattle-lands of Corryong,
The maiden of the snows
(Where silver streams the winter long
Sing pleasantly their tinkling song)
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Old Pete Parraday, he toddles up the road,
'Dangin'' things and 'darn in'' things and hefting of his load
For yesterday was pension day, Peter has his goods:
Butcher's meat and groceries and all sorts of foods;
...