60 Classic Australian Poems for Children (12 page)

Oh, he was old and he was spare;

His bushy whiskers and his hair

Were all fussed up and very grey.

He said he'd come a long, long way

And had a long, long way to go.

Each boot was broken at the toe,

And he'd a swag upon his back.

His billy-can, as black as black,

Was just the thing for making tea

At picnics, so it seemed to me.

A Book for Kids
was first published in 1921 and then republished as
Roundabout
in 1935. This poem was possibly CJ Dennis's favourite.

'Twas hard to earn a bite of bread,

He told me. Then he shook his head,

And all the little corks that hung

Around his hat-brim danced and swung

And bobbed about his face; and when

I laughed he made them dance again.

He said they were for keeping flies—

‘The pesky varmints'—from his eyes.

He called me ‘Codger' … ‘Now you see

The best days of your life,' said he.

‘But days will come to bend your back,

And, when they come, keep off the track.

Keep off, young codger, if you can.'

He seemed a funny sort of man.

He told me that he wanted work,

But jobs were scarce this side of Bourke,

And he supposed he'd have to go

Another fifty mile or so.

‘Nigh all my life the track I've walked,'

He said. I liked the way he talked.

And oh, the places he had seen!

I don't know where he had not been—

On every road, in every town,

All through the country, up and down.

‘Young codger, shun the track,' he said.

And put his hand upon my head.

I noticed, then, that his old eyes

Were very blue and very wise.

‘Ay, once I was a little lad,'

He said, and seemed to grow quite sad.

I sometimes think: When I'm a man,

I'll get a good black billy-can

And hang some corks around my hat,

And lead a jolly life like that.

A Book for Kids
, 1921

The bishop sat in lordly state and purple cap sublime,

And galvanized the old bush church at Confirmation time.

And all the kids were mustered up from fifty miles around,

With Sunday clothes, and staring eyes, and ignorance profound.

Now was it fate, or was it grace, whereby they yarded too

An overgrown two-storey lad from Tangmalangaloo?

A hefty son of virgin soil, where nature has her fling,

And grows the trefoil three feet high and mats it in the spring;

Where mighty hills uplift their heads to pierce the welkin's rim,

And trees sprout up a hundred feet before they shoot a limb;

There everything is big and grand, and men are giants too—

But Christian Knowledge wilts, alas, at Tangmalangaloo.

The bishop summed the youngsters up, as bishops only can;

He cast a searching glance around, then fixed upon his man.

But glum and dumb and undismayed through every bout he sat;

He seemed to think that he was there, but wasn't sure of that.

The bishop gave a scornful look, as bishops sometimes do,

And glared right through the pagan in from Tangmalangaloo.

‘Come, tell me, boy,' his lordship said in crushing tones severe,

‘Come, tell me why is Christmas Day the greatest of the year?

‘How is it that around the world we celebrate that day

‘And send a name upon a card to those who're far away?

‘Why is it wandering ones return with smiles and greetings, too?'

A squall of knowledge hit the lad from Tangmalangaloo.

He gave a lurch which set a-shake the vases on the shelf,

He knocked the benches all askew, up-ending of himself.

And so, how pleased his lordship was, and how he smiled to say,

‘That's good, my boy. Come, tell me now; and what is Christmas Day?'

The ready answer bared a fact no bishop ever knew—

‘It's the day before the races out at Tangmalangaloo.'

Around the Boree Log and other verses
, 1922

I'd like to be a teacher, and have a clever brain,

Calling out, ‘Attention, please!' and ‘Must I speak in vain?'

I'd be quite strict with boys and girls whose minds I had to train,

And all the books and maps and things I'd carefully explain;

I'd make them learn the dates of kings, and all the capes of Spain;

But I wouldn't be a teacher if …

I couldn't use the cane.

Would you?

A Book for Kids
, 1921

A cloud of dust on the long white road,

And the teams go creeping on,

Inch by inch with the weary load;

And by the power of the green-hide goad

The distant goal is won.

With eyes half-shut to the blinding dust,

And necks to the yokes bent low,

The beasts are pulling as bullocks must,

And the shining rims of the tire-rings rust

While the spokes are turning slow.

With face half-hid 'neath a broad-brimm'd hat

That shades from the heat's white waves,

And shoulder'd whip with its green-hide plat,

The driver plods with a gait like that

Of his weary, patient slaves.

He wipes his brow, for the day is hot,

And spits to the left with spite;

He shouts at ‘Bally', and flicks at ‘Scot',

And raises dust from the back of ‘Spot',

And spits to the dusty right.

He'll sometimes pause as a thing of form

In front of a lonely door,

And ask for a drink, and remark ‘'Tis warm,'

Or say ‘There's signs of a thunder-storm;'

But he seldom utters more.

But, ah! there are other scenes than these;

And, passing his lonely home,

For weeks together the settler sees

The teams bogg'd down o'er the axletrees,

Or ploughing the sodden loam.

And then when the roads are at their worst,

The bushman's children hear

The cruel blows of the whips revers'd

While bullocks pull as their hearts would burst,

And bellow with pain and fear.

And thus with little of joy or rest

Are the long, long journeys done;

And thus—'tis a cruel war at the best—

Is distance fought in the lonely west,

And the dusty battles won.

Australian Town and Country Journal
, 1889

I'd like to be a Tram-man, and ride about all day,

Calling out, ‘Fares, please!' in quite a 'ficious way,

With pockets full of pennies which I'd make the people pay.

But in the hottest days I'd take my tram down to the Bay;

And when I saw the nice cool sea I'd shout

‘Hip, hip, hooray!'

But I wouldn't be a Tram-man if …

I couldn't stop and play.

Would you?

A Book for Kids
, 1921

As I rode in to Burrumbeet,

I met a man with funny feet;

And, when I paused to ask him why

His feet were strange, he rolled his eye

And said the rain would spoil the wheat;

So I rode on to Burrumbeet.

As I rode in to Beetaloo,

I met a man whose nose was blue;

And when I asked him how he got

A nose like that, he answered, ‘What

Do bullocks mean when they say “Moo”?'

So I rode on to Beetaloo.

As I rode in to Ballarat,

I met a man who wore no hat;

And, when I said he might take cold,

He cried, ‘The hills are quite as old

As yonder plains, but not so flat.'

So I rode on to Ballarat.

As I rode in to Gundagai,

I met a man and passed him by

Without a nod, without a word.

He turned, and said he'd never heard

Or seen a man so wise as I.

But I rode on to Gundagai.

As I rode homeward, full of doubt,

I met a stranger riding out:

A foolish man he seemed to me;

But, ‘Nay, I am yourself,' said he,

‘Just as you were when you rode out.'

So I rode homeward, free of doubt.

A Book for Kids
, 1921