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The Return

The grass was gray with the moonlit dew,
The stones were white as I came through;
I came down the path by the thirteen yews,
Through the blocks of shade that the moonlight hews.
And when I came to the high lych-gate
I waited awhile where the corpses wait;
Then I came down the road where the moonlight lay
Like the fallen ghost of the light of day.

The bats shrieked high in their zigzag flight,
The owls' spread wings were quiet and white,
The wind and the poplar gave sigh for sigh,
And all about were the rustling shy
Little live creatures that love the night -
Little wild creatures timid and free.
I passed, and they were not afraid of me.

It was over the meadow and down the lane
The way to come to my house again:
Through the wood where the lovers talk,

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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Stanzas

WITHIN our happy castle there dwelt One
Whom without blame I may not overlook;
For never sun on living creature shone
Who more devout enjoyment with us took:
Here on his hours he hung as on a book,
On his own time here would he float away,
As doth a fly upon a summer brook;
But go tomorrow, or belike today,
Seek for him,---he is fled; and whither none can say.

Thus often would he leave our peaceful home,
And find elsewhere his business or delight;
Out of our Valley's limit did he roam:
Full many a time, upon a stormy night,
His voice came to us from the neighbouring height:
Oft could we see him driving full in view
At mid-day when the sun was shining bright;
What ill was on him, what he had to do,
A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.

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poem by William Wordsworth
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In The Garret

Four little chests all in a row,
Dim with dust, and worn by time,
All fashioned and filled, long ago,
By children now in their prime.
Four little keys hung side by side,
With faded ribbons, brave and gay
When fastened there, with childish pride,
Long ago, on a rainy day.
Four little names, one on each lid,
Carved out by a boyish hand,
And underneath there lieth hid
Histories of the happy band
Once playing here, and pausing oft
To hear the sweet refrain,
That came and went on the roof aloft,
In the falling summer rain.

'Meg' on the first lid, smooth and fair.
I look in with loving eyes,
For folded here, with well-known care,

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poem by Louisa May Alcott
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The Grog-an'Grumble Steeplechase

'Twixt the coastline and the border lay the town of Grog-an'-Grumble
In the days before the bushman was a dull 'n' heartless drudge,
An' they say the local meeting was a drunken rough-and-tumble,
Which was ended pretty often by an inquest on the judge.
An' 'tis said the city talent very often caught a tartar
In the Grog-an'-Grumble sportsman, 'n' returned with broken heads,
For the fortune, life, and safety of the Grog-an'-Grumble starter
Mostly hung upon the finish of the local thoroughbreds.

Pat M'Durmer was the owner of a horse they called the Screamer,
Which he called "the quickest stepper 'twixt the Darling and the sea",
And I think it's very doubtful if the stomach-troubled dreamer
Ever saw a more outrageous piece of equine scenery;
For his points were most decided, from his end to his beginning,
He had eyes of different colour, and his legs they wasn't mates.
Pat M'Durmer said he always came "widin a flip of winnin'",
An' his sire had come from England, 'n' his dam was from the States.

Friends would argue with M'Durmer, and they said he was in error
To put up his horse the Screamer, for he'd lose in any case,

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poem by Henry Lawson
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Spidey, Spider

Spidey, Spider

Spidey, spider spinning fast,
I will trap my fly at last,
eight eyes witness final swings
and roundabouts of online wings.
What brow[n] beaten beatle stagged
in cocoon so neatly tagged,
what wet silk that sets dew scene
for caught-on-hop grasshopper green?
Silk’s redigested once prey’s bagged
for protein’s precious, times are lean.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Passing Show

I
I know not if it was a dream. I viewed
A city where the restless multitude,
Between the eastern and the western deep
Had reared gigantic fabrics, strong and rude.

Colossal palaces crowned every height;
Towers from valleys climbed into the light;
O'er dwellings at their feet, great golden domes
Hung in the blue, barbarically bright.

But now, new-glimmering to-east, the day
Touched the black masses with a grace of gray,
Dim spires of temples to the nation's God
Studding high spaces of the wide survey.

Well did the roofs their solemn secret keep
Of life and death stayed by the truce of sleep,
Yet whispered of an hour when sleepers wake,
The fool to hope afresh, the wise to weep.

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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Spitfire

‘Scramble! '
‘Take the lead, Blue Leader, '
Spat the voice on the R/T,
While the ground crew pulled the chocks
Another plugged the battery,
Then the prop was turning over
And the Merlin roared to life
As the pilot, Michael Adams,
Kissed the picture of his wife!

They had only just been married
On a sudden 36,
They had just one night together
Then raced back to face the blitz,
She to work the board, the plotter,
He to fly, and do his best,
There were twelve of them together
Flying over Sheerness!

There were Dorniers and Junkers

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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Toxic Assets

'I have to go to town, ' she said,
'We'll catch the early bus.'
She'd overdrawn her credit card,
I knew - she always does!

I groaned and then I moaned a bit,
I'm just a country clod,
'I hate the crowds in town, ' I said,
'I'll stay here, on my tod! '

'You'll come with me, ' she said again
And used that piercing look,
The one that gets her everything
She wants, by hook or crook.

So there I was, adrift in town
While she went to the Bank,
To sort out her finances with
Some guy she knew as Frank.

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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Giving and Receiving-Taking and Empty

She carried his memory with her-
wore it like a necklace.

It was
embedded in her body-
every place he had touched-
issued silent body sighs
asking her to go back to him,
to have him touch her that way again.

It was her he'd kissed
her loins, her heart, all caressed-
all made love to
by him.

She would have forgotten
but her body did not
-could not.

Her body had melted in the hot;

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Vision Splendid

Half waking and half dreaming,
While starry lamps hung low
I saw a vision splendid
Upon the darkness glow.

The Capital Australian,
With waving banners plumed -
A shining flower of marble -
Magnificently bloomed.

Beside a snow-fed river
'Twas built in fashion rare -
Upon a lofty mountain,
All in a valley fair.

The stately ships were sailing,
Like brides with flowing trains,
To seek its secret harbor
Amidst Australian plains.

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poem by Victor James Daley
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