Poetry

ANON, ANON – Old Bush Ballad

Fair Australia, Oh what a dump.
All you get to eat is crocodile’s rump,
Bandicoot’s brains and catfish pie.
Let me go home again before I die.

ANON, ANON - Old Bush Ballad

ANTHONEY, DAINERE – You Have To Go Through A Storm To Get To A Rainbow

At night in silence the tears trickle down my cheek,
This cancer inside my brain is called Medulloblastoma,
In my heart I know this is God’s plan for me,
Yet I didn’t know if I was ready to travel this journey…

I look in the mirror and hardly recognise myself,
The person I was is no longer there, the girl looking back is someone new,
Resilience is what I need now to fight this battle,
I need to find the power to be strong, positive and courageous.
So many people are praying for and thinking of me,
I am so touched by their kindness I shed another tear,
They give me the strength to carry on even on days when all goes wrong,
My light is rekindled and I want to keep it burning brightly.

I will keep fighting as hard as I possibly can,
There are dreams I have for my future and I want to achieve them,
Cancer is a demon that tries to take away happiness,
But it won’t win

ANTHONEY, DAINERE - You Have To Go Through A Storm To Get To A Rainbow

BEDFORD, RANDOLPH – The Prize Poem

For we have here a beautiful land that none could e’er knock down,
The brightest jewel that ever was known in dear old George’s crown;
The brightest jewel that ever was known and never can be a failure.
Although the damn Labor party is doing its best to ruin Australia…

BEDFORD, RANDOLPH - The Prize Poem

BLIGHT, JOHN – Footprints

I am ever seeking the quieter beaches.
Do not believe, in Australia, there are miles
where at dawn you will not see the ‘prints –
not on the East coast, leastwise. Here reaches
of sand are scarred from daybreak, the tiles
of footprints are laid down, the dents
made by feet in the sand are there; so stale to me,
such beaches are no longer virgin to we few – we
people who do not want to meet each other, ever.

BLIGHT, JOHN - Footprints

BROWN, BOB – On Cradle Mountain

A billion billion frigid prisms
wait ahead
as his unfelt frozen feet
are lifted ever more slowly
through the numbing blizzard’s blackness
falling ever more leaden
ever freer
deeper
ever nearer never
like a clock’s tick slowing
in a locked room’s unheard emptiness.

BROWN, BOB - On Cradle Mountain

BROWN, BOB – Winter night at Liffey

When sleep shuts off
the winter gale
with its freezing rain
and hail that clatters
on the iron
then silence wakes me
to a still
a softest quiet
I smile to myself
knowing through the night
it’s snowing.

BROWN, BOB - Winter night at Liffey