Quotes about paddy, page 18
Old Town Types No. 26 - Dr. Andy Deveraux
Some saw in him a Scottish wreck; some said that he was mad;
A few proclaimed his genius, but all agreed 'twas sad
That Doctor Andy Deveraux had let things slide so far.
'A mighty clever cove,' they said, 'but weak, and - there you are.'
For down at Paddy Clancy's bar you find him night or day,
A silent and sardonic man, who went his bitter way.
'Last night,' some housewife would exclaim, 'I thought I'd seen a ghost;
'Twas that awful Doctor Deveraux, going home by post.'
'Going home by post,' they said. A sorry township jest;
Long since had Clancy tackled him, and had to give him best.
''Tis under this 'Blackfeller's Act' I'll put yeh! Not a sup!'
But the bitter tongue had lashed him till he gladly gave it up.
So Deveraux would drink alone, brooding, till wits grew dense,
Then sought his own home, late at night, along the three-wire fence;
From post to post, in staggering spurts, he made his shameful way.
'Doc's going home by post,' men sneered. 'Broke out again today.'
None knew his story in the town nor, clearly, whence he came;
Nor yet what foul thing rode him - what sorrow or what shame -
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Old Bullock Dray
Oh! the shearing is all over,
And the wool is coming down,
And I mean to get a wife, boys,
When I go up to town.
Everything that has two legs
Represents itself in view,
From the little paddy-melon
To the bucking kangaroo.
So it's roll up your blankets,
And let's make a push,
I'll take you up the country,
And show you the bush.
I'll be bound you won't get
Such a chance another day,
So come and take possession
Of my old bullock dray.
Now, I've saved up a good cheque,
I mean to buy a team,
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Dance, Dance Everywhere!
Dance, Dance Dance
everywhere,
When I look at the sky,
I see the clouds dance
Into steps of winds
My heart dance when I watch clouds dance!
How it can make me dance?
Without any tune or beats,
Its own beats me my heart dance.
Some strange tune it sings in silence and dance!
When I see at shore of ocean waves that dance,
Some birds in sky fly and dance,
On the waves boats that to the tune of waves, dance,
My mind sing lyricless
music to which it dance!
When I walk along the beach,
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poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Dragon Lake
Bao Peng sat back and lit his pipe,
The hob was cold, the ash quite dead,
He drew a tiny firelight
That lit the scar high on his head.
While Zhang was hushed, he gathered round
Each brother, cousin; neighbours too,
‘Bao Peng will not begin his tale
Until your silence asks him to! ’
‘In years gone by, ’ Bao Peng began,
‘When revolution ruled this land,
Our village lived at peace back then,
We helped each other, as we can!
We grew rice in the paddy fields
Kept pigs and horses, sheep and game,
And lived, though poor, contentedly
Until the Helmsman’s Red Guards came.’
‘We drew our water from the lake
And shared in everything we grew,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Paddy's Letter, 1857
I've had all sorts of luck, sometimes bad, sometimes better,
But now I have somebody's luck and my own,
For I stooped in the street and I picked up a letter,
Which some one had written to send away home.
The old adage says, "What you find, you may keep it,"
And as most of these old sayings are very true,
I straight broke the seal, and then having read it,
The contents of this letter I tell unto you.
Dear Dermot, I hope when this letter gets to you
'Twill find you in health, as now it leaves me;
But I hope you're more happy than I am in Australia
If not, it's small comfort that you have, achree!
Hard fortune's been mine since crossing the line,
Though that same I ne'er saw, for we crossed it at night;
But they say 'twas laid down at expense of the Crown,
To divide the wrong side of the world from the right.
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Going ahead with living in a better way than most of you do
Kingdom of the blind
Welcome to our kingdom
Where we all stay blind
None having the sense of vision
None having the idea of colour
None able to dream a scene
As none can hold a figure in mind
But thanks to Braille,
Who made us read and learn
We study not to win a certificate
But to develop our physical
And mental skills so that
We can serve our community
We get up and move in a set direction
And after making a set number of steps
We reach our work site, which can be
A work bench or paddy field or any other place
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poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Ballad on the American War
When Guilford good our pilot stood
An' did our hellim thraw, man,
Ae night, at tea, began a plea,
Within America, man:
Then up they gat the maskin-pat,
And in the sea did jaw, man;
An' did nae less, in full congress,
Than quite refuse our law, man.
Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes,
I wat he was na slaw, man;
Down Lowrie's Burn he took a turn,
And Carleton did ca', man:
But yet, whatreck, he, at Quebec,
Montgomery-like did fa', man,
Wi' sword in hand, before his band,
Amang his en'mies a', man.
Poor Tammy Gage within a cage
Was kept at Boston-ha', man;
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poem by Robert Burns (1784)
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Take Me To Your Leader
'Take me to your leader! '
The new recruit cried
She was forty stone and six feet high
She had just arrived on 'PLANET WORK'
She was met at the gate by a slob called BURK!
He was four foot five and incredibly shy
He gave an indolent half witted sigh,
And then he spoke, one word,
'Why? '
He was in the middle of demolishing a large meat pie
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Nostalgia
Among palm fronds and paddy fields
Stands veiled an ancient structure
Erstwhile the abode of innocence and ease
A house now left empty of its throng
Sheltering a happy brood, once it throbbed and thrived
Within whose walls, we were born and bred
Crying and whining, laughing and prattling
Pampered and cared, we grew as kids
Corrected and controlled, we grew into adults
Here we shared a thousand mingled thoughts
A hundred hopes, dreams and fears
Saw the dawn of placid summer morns
And the descent of cold winter nights.
With hurrying feet as Time treaded past
Migrated we to new terrains and climes
Like young birds out from their nests depart
To wider skies and heady heights.
Sweet home! Earthly haven!
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poem by Valsa George
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Sichuan New Year
It was the new year celebrations as the rumours went around
That seats to Sichuan were selling fast.
Queues at stations were pushed to the brim and spaces had to be found.
All workers had gathered to the task.
They left from Shenzhen and factory towns far and wide
While locals watched them go with distain
They were leaving smoke fill skies and areas devastated of pride
As they jostled for their train.
These ‘up-country’ people never called Guangdong a home
(Anyway, they weren’t allowed)
They had the cold crisp cover of the Sichuan sky as a dome
Their fiery food made them proud.
There was Chang from Neijiang who was at a workshop making keys
And old Li from Zigong where dinosaurs roam
And the couple Miao looked forward to seeing their babies
On leave from filling fridges full of foam.
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poem by Roy Lee
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