#AustralianWriters
There are writers great and writer… And writers on the spree; And writers short and writers tall… And bards of low degree. There are artists small and artist…
Our Andy’s gone to battle now 'Gainst Drought, the red marauder… Our Andy’s gone with cattle now Across the Queensland border. He’s left us in dejection now;
The short hour’s halt is ended, The red gone from the west, The broken wheel is mended, And the dead men laid to rest. Three days have we retreated
There are three lank bards in a bo… Ah! The number is one too few— They have deemed their home and th… For the thing that they have to do… Three glasses they fill with the…
A public parlour in the slums, The haunt of vice and villainy, Where things are said unfit to hea… And things are done unfit to see; ’Mid ribald jest and reckless song…
Once more I write a line to you, While darker shadows fall; Dear friends of mine who have been… And steadfast through it all. If I have written bitter rhymes,
With eyes that are narrowed to pie… To the awful horizons of land, Through the blaze of hot days, and… White heat-waves that flow on the… Through the Never Land westward a…
They’re shifting old North Sydney… Perhaps ’tis just as well— They’re carting off the houses Where the old folks used to dwell. Where only ghosts inhabit
There is a lasting little flower, That everybody knows, Yet none has thought to think abou… The little Native Rose. The wattle and the waratah—
With pannikins all rusty, And billy burnt and black, And clothes all torn and dusty, That scarcely hide his back; With sun-cracked saddle-leather,
The wireless tells and the cable t… How our boys behaved by the Darda… Some thought in their hearts “Wil… We knew them of old and we knew th… Knew they would—
There’s such a lot of work to do,… I’m scribbling this against a book… It strikes me that I’ll scribble… And write my last lines so perchan… There’s lots of things to come and…
BRAVE the anger of the wealthy!… Tell the Truth in simple language… And they’ll read it by the slush-l… I have seen the People’s triumph… It as pictured by the campfires do…
While tyrants rule the land, Beneath the Irish skies; While e’er the iron hand Upon our people lies; While sons are driven forth
I was welcome in a palace when the… I was petted in a garden and my tr… But for me above the alleys there… Where the third-rate public houses… Where the third-rate public houses