Donald Bruce Dawe

(15 February 1930 - / Melbourne / Australia)

Donald Bruce Dawe Poems

1. Homo Suburbiensis 5/28/2012
2. Enter Without So Much As Knocking 5/28/2012
3. Weapons Training 5/28/2012
4. Homecoming 5/28/2012

Comments about Donald Bruce Dawe

  • Jennifer Ann (2/27/2018 7:59:00 PM)

    I have taught Dawe's poetry in schools many times over the years and I always find something new in their message. I am now involved in an poetry group and we are about to once again look at Dawe's poetry. I wholeheartedly agree with Eliza Jane's comments and only hope that when these babies grow up they can understand how small they look now.

    8 person liked.
    4 person did not like.
  • Eliza Jane (2/21/2018 5:55:00 PM)

    What a wonderful man Dawes is to devote such heartfelt words to the things that he feels passion for and that have touched his heart.
    As for the other illiterates leaving comments; You people disgust me & are everything that is wrong with the world. Learn how to spell you brats! It's clear that you people will amount to nothing & I feel sorry for you. I wish someone cared enough about you to actually feel disappointed in you!

  • JTC Squi (11/9/2017 6:39:00 PM)

    I suck this man dik everyday

  • JTC_SQUI3 (11/9/2017 6:38:00 PM)

    I suck this man's dik everyday

  • Rose Smith (11/1/2016 6:31:00 PM)

    I loved it so much... it really inspired me to write about this poem. For school i chose you because you are my role model. don't listen to any of these people because they don't know ART. Keep on writing poems, these masterpieces! ! :)

  • Mr Jenkins (5/5/2016 10:12:00 PM)

    This was a waste of time, i hated it

  • Mr Jenkins (5/5/2016 10:11:00 PM)

    He is the worst poet i have a ever read

  • Chuck Norris (10/9/2014 7:52:00 PM)

    Bruh. This Guy is gud @ hes anglesh

  • Mrs Davis (7/29/2014 6:33:00 PM)

    bruce dawe is a bloody rig

  • Mrs Davis (7/29/2014 6:32:00 PM)

    bruce dawe sux! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Best Poem of Donald Bruce Dawe


All day, day after day, they’re bringing them home,
they’re picking them up, those they can find, and bringing them home,
they’re bringing them in, piled on the hulls of Grants, in trucks, in convoys,
they’re zipping them up in green plastic bags,
they’re tagging them now in Saigon, in the mortuary coolness
they’re giving them names, they’re rolling them out of
the deep-freeze lockers — on the tarmac at Tan Son Nhut
the noble jets are whining like hounds,
they are bringing them home
– curly heads, kinky-hairs, crew-cuts, balding non-coms
– they’re high, now, high ...

Read the full of Homecoming
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