Money poems

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The sunburnt stranger was gaunt and brown,
But it soon appeared that he meant to flout
The iron law of the country town,
Which is -- that the stranger has got to shout:
"If he will not shout we must take him down,"
Remarked the yokels of Walgett Town.

Tar and Feathers

© Andrew Barton Paterson

And says he with a grin,
"That's the way to get in;
But I reckon I'd better be quiet or
They'll spiflicate me,"
And he chuckled, for he
Had the loan of the circus proprietor.

The Sausage Candidate-A Tale of the Elections

© Andrew Barton Paterson

Our fathers, brave men were and strong,
And whisky was their daily liquor;
They used to move the world along
In better style than now -- and quicker.

It's Grand

© Andrew Barton Paterson

It's grand to be a squatter
And sit upon a post,
And watch your little ewes and lambs
A-giving up the ghost.

Our New Horse

© Andrew Barton Paterson

The boys had come back from the races
All silent and down on their luck;
They'd backed 'em, straight out and for places,
But never a winner they's struck.

A Dream of the Melbourne Cup

© Andrew Barton Paterson

Bring me a quart of colonial beer
And some doughy damper to make good cheer,
I must make a heavy dinner;
Heavily dine and heavily sup,

Reconstruction

© Andrew Barton Paterson

So, the bank has bust it's boiler! And in six or seven year
It will pay me all my money back -- of course!
But the horse will perish waiting while the grass is germinating,
And I reckon I'll be something like the horse.

A Bushman's Song

© Andrew Barton Paterson

IM travellin down the Castlereagh, and Im a station hand,
Im handy with the ropin pole, Im handy with the brand,
And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day,
But theres no demand for a station-hand along the Castlereagh. +

Conroy's Gap

© Andrew Barton Paterson

This was the way of it, don't you know --
Ryan was "wanted" for stealing sheep,
And never a trooper, high or low,
Could find him -- catch a weasel asleep!

A Ballad of Ducks

© Andrew Barton Paterson

The railway rattled and roared and swung
With jolting and bumping trucks.
The sun, like a billiard red ball, hung
In the Western sky: and the tireless tongue

Old Pardon, the Son of Reprieve

© Andrew Barton Paterson

You never heard tell of the story?
Well, now, I can hardly believe!
Never heard of the honour and glory
Of Pardon, the son of Reprieve?

8 Fragments For Kurt Cobain

© Jim Carroll

1/
Genius is not a generous thing
In return it charges more interest than any amount of royalties can cover
And it resents fame
With bitter vengeance

Mercian Hymns I

© Geoffrey Hill

King of the perennial holly-groves, the riven sandstone: overlord of the
M5: architect of the historic rampart and ditch, the citadel at
Tamworth, the summer hermitage in Holy Cross: guardian of the Welsh
Bridge and the Iron Bridge: contractor to the desirable new estates:
saltmaster: money-changer: commissioner for oaths: martyrologist: the
friend of Charlemagne.

Sorrowing Love

© Katherine Mansfield

And again the flowers are come,
And the light shakes,
And no tiny voice is dumb,
And a bud breaks
On the humble bush and the proud restless tree.
Come with me!