Time poems
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I said, This misery must end
© Christopher John Brennan
I said, This misery must end:Shall I, that am a man and knowthat sky and wind are yet my friend,sit huddled under any blow?so speaking left the dismal roomand stept into the mother-nightall fill'd with sacred quickening gloomwhere the few stars burn'd low and bright,and darkling on my darkling hillheard thro' the beaches' sullen boomheroic note of living willrung trumpet-clear against the fight;so stood and heard, and rais'd my eyeserect, that they might drink of space,and took the night upon my face,till time and trouble fell awayand all my soul sprang up to feelas one among the stars that reelin rhyme on their rejoicing way,breaking the elder dark, nor staybut speed beyond each tramelling gyre,till time and sorrow fall awayand night be wither'd up, and fireconsume the sickness of desire
I am shut out of mine own heart
© Christopher John Brennan
I am shut out of mine own heartbecause my love is far from me,nor in the wonders have I partthat fill its hidden empery:
1908
© Christopher John Brennan
The droning tram swings westward: shrillthe wire sings overhead, and chillmidwinter draughts rattle the glassthat shows the dusking way I passto yon four-turreted square towerthat still exalts the golden hourwhere youth, initiate once, endearsa treasure richer with the years
rebecca begins to worry about time
© Bramer Shannon
she uses liquid paper to white out all the lineson the calendar, wants one big day for herself
The Photographer
© Bramer Shannon
What it means to carry a camerais to speak out of the emptyframe seeing God, Sky, Road, her returnand faith in the perfection of deserts
A Vision out West
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Far reaching down's a solid sea sunk everlastingly to rest,And yet whose billows seem to be for ever heaving toward the westThe tiny fieldmice make their nests, the summer insects buzz and humAmong the hollows and the crests of this wide ocean stricken dumb,Whose rollers move for ever on, though sullenly, with fettered wills,To break in voiceless wrath upon the crumbled bases of far hills,Where rugged outposts meet the shock, stand fast, and hurl them back again,An avalanche of earth and rock, in tumbled fragments on the plain;But, never heeding the rebuff, to right and left they kiss the feetOf hanging cliff and bouldered bluff till on the farther side they meet,And once again resume their march to where the afternoon sun dipsToward the west, and Heaven's arch salutes the Earth with ruddy lips
On the Boundary
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
I love the ancient boundary-fence-- That mouldering chock-and-log:When I go ride the boundary I let the old horse jog,And take his pleasure in and out Where sandalwood grows dense,And tender pines clasp hands across The log that tops the fence
Kelly's Conversion
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Kelly the Rager half opened an eyeTo wink at the Army passing by,While his hot breath, thick with the taint of beer,Came forth from his lips in a drunken jeer
How Polly Paid for her Keep
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Do I know Polly Brown? Do I know her? Why, damme!You might as well ask if I know my own name!It's a wonder you never heard tell of old Sammy,Her father, my mate in the Crackenback claim.
From the Far West
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
'Tis a song of the Never Never land--Set to the tune of a scorching gale On the sandhills red, When the grasses deadLoudly rustle, and bow the headTo the breath of its dusty hail:
Fogarty's Gin
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
A sweat-dripping horse and a half-naked myall,And a message: "Come out to the back of the run--Be out at the stake-yards by rising of sun!Ride hard and fail not! there's the devil to pay:For the men from Monkyra have mustered the run--Cows and calves, calves of ours, without ever a brand,Fifty head, if there's one, on the camp there they stand
Down the River
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Hark the sound of it; drawing nearer! Clink of hobble and brazen bellMark the passage of stalwart shearer, Bidding Monaro soil farewell
To One on her Birthday
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
How shall I choose to wish you happinessOn this day or another? Your life's wayHas passed already far beyond our guess,Who only watch and wait for you and pray
On the Shortness of Time
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
If I could live without the thought of death,Forgetful of time's waste, the soul's decay,I would not ask for other joy than breath,With light and sound of birds and the sun's ray
Oh, Dem Golden Slippers!
© Bland James A.
Oh, my golden slippers am laid away,Kase I don't 'spect to wear 'em till my weddin' day,And my long-tail'd coat, dat I loved so well,I will wear up in de chariot in de morn;And my long, white robe dat I bought last June,I'm gwine to get changed kase it fits too soon,And de ole grew hoss dat I used to drive,I will hitch him up to de chariot in de morn
In The Evening By The Moonlight
© Bland James A.
In de ebening by de moonlight when dis darkie's work was over,We would gather round de fire, 'till hoecake it was done
