Anonymous Oceania


Anonymous Oceania Poems

1. Vision 1/1/2004
2. There's Whisky In The Jar 1/1/2004
3. The Maids Of The Mountains 1/1/2004
4. Bold Jack Donahoe (2) 1/1/2004
5. The Bloody Fields Of Wheogo 1/1/2004
6. Eugowra Rocks 1/1/2004
7. The Chinaman 1/1/2004
8. Keep White The Strain 1/1/2004
9. The Gallant Peter Clarke 1/1/2004
10. The Convicts Rum Song 1/1/2004
11. Bold Jack Donahoe (1) 1/1/2004
12. On The Road To Gundagai 1/1/2004
13. A Day's Ride 1/1/2004
14. The Ballad Of Ben Hall's Gang 1/1/2004
15. The Port Phillip Patriot 1/1/2004
16. The Only Land For Me (A Currency Lad) 1/1/2004
17. The Kelly Gang 1/1/2004
18. Botany Bay 1/1/2004
19. A West Country Ballad 1/1/2004
20. Holy Dan 1/1/2004
21. How The Sailor Rode The Brumby 1/1/2004
22. The Fine Fat Saucy Chinaman 1/1/2004
23. Frank Gardiner 1/1/2004
24. Jim Jones 1/1/2004
25. Ned Kelly Was A Gentleman 1/1/2004
26. The Old Bark Hut 1/1/2004
27. The Little Worn Out Pony 1/1/2004
28. The Wild Colonial Boy 1/1/2004

Comments about Anonymous Oceania

  • Mohammed Asim Nehal (3/15/2019 12:53:00 PM)

    Only they know why they did not want to be known for the poems they wrote?
    But for us they were poet apart.....

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Best Poem of Anonymous Oceania

The Little Worn Out Pony

There's a little worn-out pony this side of Hogan's shack
With a snip upon his nuzzle and a mark upon his back;
Just a common little pony is what most people say,
But then of course they've never heard what happened in his day:
I was droving on the Leichhardt with a mob of pikers wild,
When this tibby little pony belonged to Hogan's child.

One night it started raining – we were camping on a rise,
When the wind blew cold and bleakly and thunder shook the skies;
The lightning cut the figure eight around the startled cattle,
Then down there fell torrential rains ...

Read the full of The Little Worn Out Pony

Bold Jack Donahoe (2)

In Dublin town I was brought up, in that city of great fame.
My decent friends and parents, they will tell to you the same.
It was for the sake of five hundred pounds I was sent across the main,
For seven long years in New South Wales to wear a convict's chain.
Chorus: Then come, my hearties, we'll roam the mountains high,
Together we will plunder, together we will die.
We'll wander over valleys, and gallop over plains,
For we scorn to live in slavery, bound down in iron chains.

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