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Please, Mrs. Henry

Well, i've already had two beers
I'm ready for the broom
Please, missus henry, won't you
Take me to my room?
I'm a good ol' boy
But i've been sniffin' too many eggs
Talkin' to too many people
Drinkin' too many kegs
Please, missus henry, missus henry, please!
Please, missus henry, missus henry, please!
I'm down on my knees
An' i ain't got a dime
Well, i'm groanin' in a hallway
Pretty soon i'll be mad
Please, missus henry, won't you
Take me to your dad?
I can drink like a fish
I can crawl like a snake
I can bite like a turkey
I can slam like a drake

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song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dummy Bridge

'If I'd 'a' played me Jack on that there Ten'
Sez Peter Begg, 'I might 'a' made the lot.'
''Ow could yeh?' barks ole Poole. ''Ow could yeh, when
I 'ad me Queen be'ind?' Sez Begg, 'Wot rot!
I slung away me King to take that trick.
Which one! Say, ain't yer 'ead a trifle thick?'

'Now, don't yeh see that when I plays me King
I give yer Queen a chance, an' lost the slam.'
But Poole, 'e sez 'e don't see no such thing,
So Begg gits 'ot, an' starts to loose a 'Damn.'
'E twigs the missus jist in time to check,
An' makes it 'Dash,' an' gits red down 'is neck.

There's me an' Peter Begg, an' ole man Poole
Neighbours uv mine, that farm a bit close by
Jist once a week or so we makes a school,
An' gives this game uv Dummy Bridge a fly.
Doreen, she 'as her sewing be the fire,
The kid's in bed; an' 'ere's me 'eart's desire.

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Ethics and Civics

Fame, status
Sex, lust
Politics, religion
Drugs and infidelity.

'What about honesty, loyalty...
Faith and morality? '

Yeah!
But Missus Simmons...
You mentioned nothing about fiction.
You told us to keep our essays 'real'.
And to include those areas of our goals...
If we are to become assets to today's society.
You gave us this assignment last week!
Remember?

'Yes...
This is true.
But not one of you had anything to say,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dixie's Land

1 I wish I was in de land ob cotton,
2 Old times dar am not forgotten;
3 Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land!
4 In Dixie Land whar I was born in,
5 Early on one frosty mornin,
6 Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land!

7 Den I wish I was in Dixie! Hooray! Hooray!
8 In Dixie's Land we'll take our stand, to lib an' die in Dixie.
9 Away! away! away down South in Dixie.
10 Away! away! away down south in Dixie.

11 Ole missus marry 'Will-de-weaber';
12 Willum was a gay deceaber;
13 Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land!
14 But when he put his arm around her,
15 He smiled as fierce as a forty-pounder;
16 Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land!

17 Den I wish I was in Dixie! Hooray! Hooray!

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poem by Daniel Decatur Emmett
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Sawin' Wood

I wondered wot was doin'. First I seen
Ole Missus Flood wave signals to Doreen.
I'm in the paddick slashin' down some ferns;
She's comin' up the road; an' if she turns
An 'andspring I won't be su'prised a bit,
The way she's caperin', an' goin' it.

She yells out some remark when she gets near,
Which I don't catch, I'm too fur off to 'ear.
An' then Doreen comes prancin' to our door,
An' Missus Flood she sprints, an' yells some more;
My wife runs to the gate an' waves 'er arms...
But I lays low; I'm used to these alarms.

A married bloke, in time, 'e learns a bit;
An' 'e ain't over keen to throw a fit
Each time the women calls the fire-reel out.
It's jist a trifle 'e'll know all about
When things get normal. That's a point I learn;
So I saws wood, an' keeps on cutting fern.

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Joseph’s Dreams and Reuben's Brethren [A Recital in Six Chapters]

CHAPTER I

I cannot blame old Israel yet,
For I am not a sage—
I shall not know until I get
The son of my old age.
The mysteries of this Vale of Tears
We will perchance explain
When we have lived a thousand years
And died and come again.

No doubt old Jacob acted mean
Towards his father’s son;
But other hands were none too clean,
When all is said and done.
There were some things that had to be
In those old days, ’tis true—
But with old Jacob’s history
This tale has nought to do.

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poem by Henry Lawson
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The Evening I Ceased to be Angry

I hummed a song, uprooted my sting
I have given up anger from last evening
Only yesterday morning in hours of rush
I lost my temper and rebuked missus
She had lost my wallet, misplaced my suit
Cause of all my problems, all my troubles' root
My shaving kit was lost, important papers gone
Who could be responsible other than my son?
Everything was in disarray, chaotic and messy
Surely to fuel my anger, a grand conspiracy!
On my way to office, things were no good
The nudges and the pushes worsened my mood
I banged my head on the shutter, tripped on carpet
And just like any other day, I was once again late
The boss was bad, my colleagues a pack of fools
Nothing was in order, no regard for rules
The day staggered along, so longer it did seem
Till the evening softened it with cool luminous gleam
The south wind composed me, let me sink it in
Triggers are not outside, my anger swells within

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poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Fading Standards

Preferences to feast,
Decrease.

Many admit that theirs...
Have long ago ceased.

Some have minimized,
And selected a few treasures to keep.

While those who thought they had many choices...
Try to hide themselves!
With collected assets they own,
Behind them dragged.
In plastic bags!

Or carried with embarrassment,
From under bridges or street corners.
Looking disheveled and in lament.
To blend in fast...
With fading standards.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Way Of The Bush

A night of storm and wind and rain,
Tall trees bowing beneath the blast
That shakes and rattles the window-pane,
And a thunderous roar as the creek goes past.

Inside there a pictures and flowers and books,
And a slim girl-wife with shingled hair;
The lamplight glimmers on cosy nooks,
And Desmond Keene in his easy chair

Thanks God for home and the days toil o’er;
When on the verandah a tramp of feet,
A frenzied knock on the kitchen door
Wondering he goes a neighbour to greet.

“The missus is dyin’ ” poor Simpson says,
‘Down in the ‘orspital-sent for me,
I gathered the kids, and brought ‘’em ‘ere,
I thought your missus might mind ‘em – see!”

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poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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To The Theoretical Selector

WOULD YOU be the King, the strong man, first in council and in toil,
To the men who war with nature for possession of the soil?
Take an axe upon your shoulder, take a billy and a rug,
And go forward in the forest where no man has cut and dug,
Where the scrub-ferns grow like magic, and the gum-trees you must fell
Have their topmost boughs in heaven, and their tap-roots deep as hell.

Take the land the Powers would cheerfully devote to Smith or Brown,
Two miles or more from water and a hundred miles from town;
Fell, and scrub, and hew, and hunger, and when seven weeks are gone
You may have a clearing large enough to build a hut upon.
Then you furnish it with saplings and you carpet it with loam,
And you bring the kids and missus to their charming country home!

Rising early with the jackass, like a man of pith and push,
With axe in hand you sally forth to face the stubborn bush.
’Tis a mighty undertaking, and the odds are hard enough,
But the settler must be stubborn, and the settler must be tough,
And he strikes from morn till even with his strong arm bare and brown,
And he counts his gain by inches when the big gum rattles down.

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poem by Edward George Dyson
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