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A Poem .......

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    A Poem .......

    THE GROG-AN'-GRUMBLE STEEPLECHASE by Henry Lawson (1867 - 1922)
    'Twixt the coastline and the border lay the town of Grog-an'-Grumble
    In the days before the bushman was a dull an' 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 saftey 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 shtepper '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 pionts were most decided, from his end to his beginning,
    He had eyes of different cololur, 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,
    And they said a city racer by the name of Holy Terror
    Was regarded as the winner of the coming steeplechase;
    But he said he had the knowledge to come in when it was raining,
    And irrevelantly mentioned that he knew the time of day,
    So he rose in their opinion. It was noticed that the training
    Of the Screamer was conducted in a dark, mysterious way.

    Well, the day arrived in glory; 'twas a day of jubilation
    With careless-hearted bushmen for a hundred miles around,
    An' the rum 'n' beer 'n' whisky came in waggons from the station,
    An' the Holy Terror talent were the first upon the ground.
    Judge M'Ard - with whose opinion it was scarecely safe to wrestle -
    Took his dangerous position on the bark-and-sapling stand:
    He was what the local Stiggins used to speak of as a "wessel
    Of wrath", and he'd a bludgeon that he carried in his hand.

    "Off ye go!" the starter shouted, as down fell a stupid jockey -
    Off they started in disorder - left the jockey where he lay -
    And they fell and rolled and galloped down the crooked course and rocky,
    Till the pumping of the Screamer could be heard a mile away.
    But he kept his legs and galloped; he was used to rugged courses,
    And he lumbered down the gully till the ridge began to quake:
    And he ploughed along the siding, raising earth till other horses
    An' their riders, too, were blinded by the dust-cloud in his wake.

    From the ruck he'd slowly struggled - they were much surprised to find him
    Close abeam of the Holy Terror as along the flat they tore -
    Even higher still and denser rose the cloud of dust behind him,
    While in more divided splinters flew the shattered rails before.
    "Terror!" "Dead heat!" they were shouting - "Terror!" but the Screamer hung out
    Nose to nose with Holy Terror as across the creek they swung,
    An' M'Durmer shouted loudly, "Put yer toungue out! put yer tongue out!"
    An ' the Screamer put his tongue out, and he won by half-a-tongue

    Made me bloody day that one! :lol

    :hat

    #2
    A Poem .......

    Gotta funny feeling, Kanga, that this is going to become our own private thread. How good is that?

    Going to post my favourite Lawson as soon as I find the book. Just can't remember it all. Back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.

    Herself

    Comment


      #3
      A Poem .......

      Hah!!

      Privacy be damned.

      Roses are red . . .

      Comment


        #4
        A Poem .......

        Thanks Kanga- I just got home from work and enjoyed reading this.

        Bet the author would be surprised how this poem is getting around now

        lisa

        Comment


          #5
          A Poem .......

          Thought you might need a bump, Kanga.

          Helen

          Comment


            #6
            A Poem .......

            Ex-csu-se-me - Helen!!!!

            The Kanga never needs a bump. The Kanga is above that sort of thing.

            The Kanga is ... well ... I'm just speechless ... the Kanga is ........ sorrry, can't talk right now ... Kanga, Kanga, ooooh, Kanga is absolutely arrrrummmmmmmeeeaue-ey! Urrmmmpffffff

            Run that through your spellchecker!

            Signed by his favourite sheila. (adding a winky happy smiley thing)

            Comment


              #7
              A Poem .......

              Steady girl! There's plenty of the Kanga to go around!

              :hat

              Comment


                #8
                A Poem .......

                Re: A Poem ....... for Kanga

                Henry Lawson may have written this for Kanga - I think.

                WEARY old wife, with the bucket and cow,
                ?How?s your son Jack? and where is he now??
                Haggard old eyes that turn to the west?
                ?Boys will be boys, and he?s gone with the rest!?
                Grief without tears and grief without sound;
                ?Somewhere up-country he?s knocking around.?
                Knocking around with a vagabond crew,
                Does for himself what a mother would do;
                Maybe in trouble and maybe hard-up,
                Maybe in want of a bite or a sup;
                Dead of the fever, or lost in the drought,
                Lonely old mother! he?s knocking about.

                Wiry old man at the tail of the plough,
                ?Heard of Jack lately? and where is he now??
                Pauses a moment his forehead to wipe,
                Drops the rope reins while he feels for his pipe,
                Scratches his grey head in sorrow or doubt:
                ?Somewheers or others he?s knocking about.?

                Knocking about on the runs of the West,
                Holding his own with the worst and the best
                Breaking in horses and risking his neck,
                Droving or shearing and making a cheque;
                Straight as a sapling?six-foot and sound,
                Jack is all right when he?s knocking around



                Sort of makes you feel good. I love Lawson.

                Comment


                  #9
                  A Poem .......

                  Re: A Poem ....... for Kanga

                  Plenty of Kanga?

                  Well, that means I get the right forearm.

                  And the left eyebrow.

                  Dibs.

                  Helen

                  He was lying there ready
                  to divy and divide.
                  I wanted so much
                  I couldn't decide.
                  I chose a left earlobe
                  a ball and a lip.
                  And when I was leaving, I heard the Frog quip:
                  "He's mine! Ya Poop."

                  Sigh

                  Comment


                    #10
                    A Poem .......

                    Re: A Poem ....... for Kanga

                    Okay Kanga,

                    The other ball is in your court now.

                    Helen

                    Comment


                      #11
                      A Poem .......

                      A Bloody Masterpiece!

                      There was a great bloke called The Kanga
                      Who new no ills or anger
                      He jollied along,
                      With a laugh and a song,
                      and his ball ended up on a sanga.

                      A frog came hopping by one day,
                      with a ho and a ho and a hey hey hey,
                      she got very silly
                      then fell off her lily
                      and didn't say rivet till May.
                      This frog was brown, no, some may say Tawny
                      But to her tads she was very bonny,
                      She leaped in play and said yea! yea!
                      I'm gonna get me a marsupial today!

                      There was a young lady called Helen
                      She thought she was pretty good at spellin'
                      She dotted her i's, and crossed her t's
                      and always remembered to say thanks and please,
                      then along came a Kanga all laid out flat
                      and Helen said, "I'll have some of that",
                      She pushed up her sleeves and set to work,
                      A limb was severed and Helen did not irk,
                      she carried on the mission with a click and a clacker
                      and wasn't happy till she got Kanga's knacker.
                      Now Helen's not greedy, she's a generous soul,
                      she left The Kanga with a smile and one ball.


                      :hat

                      Comment


                        #12
                        A Poem .......

                        Re: A Bloody Minorpiece!

                        The Beast and the one from the land of the beaver
                        Have wasted no time in wielding the cleaver.
                        In typical fashion they just ripped out his balls
                        No thoughts of recycling his heart or his galls.

                        The carnage, the wastage, the lack of respect
                        Shown by these two harpies is tragic.
                        What of his strong legs, his thick tail, his pouch?
                        His sense of direction is magic.

                        With merely one eyebrow, one forearm, no lips
                        The Kanga looks a bit feral
                        But with sutures and plasma and stainless steel clips ....
                        I know ... I'll call DR. BERYL!

                        Comment


                          #13
                          A Poem .......

                          Re: A Bloody Minorpiece!

                          The prose in this forum most recently hatched
                          Confirms that our offshore friends' humor's unmatched
                          We watch and we read, no doubt we're all hooked
                          On the tale of how Kanga got his balls cooked.
                          His most feisty sheila, dear Tawny, so fickle
                          Understands well the marsupial's pickle
                          While others shop talk in the chat and the board
                          Our Tawny takes action, her words as her sword
                          Defending her Kanga, who's fate she'll recast
                          Who needs to drink, hell, we're having a blast!

                          Comment


                            #14
                            A Poem .......

                            Re: A Bloody Minorpiece!

                            The stewing of balls and the chomping of lips
                            the stainless steel clips and exquisite quips
                            make a mind roam to that hemisphere south
                            where poor lil Kanga's left without a mouth.
                            That grog-hole's been et but never ye mind
                            he's still got a throat to pour down the wine
                            Has he still got a tongue? For now I forget
                            or was it eaten by Kate, or mytwocents?

                            Comment


                              #15
                              A Poem .......

                              Re: A Bloody War

                              You forget, I believe, I have in my grasp
                              a forearm, an eyebrow and yes - you may gasp.
                              Nestled away in my old coverall
                              is an earlobe, a lip and a fairly large ball.

                              I'll nibble them slowly with little wee bites.
                              In deference to Kanga - with spread vegemite.
                              You may gnash and plead and threaten and bully.
                              I will laugh in your face. I will smile at you cooly.

                              Tawny! you Frog. The Kanga is mine.
                              The Beast, be wary there is little time.
                              The Money and Dreaming have joined in the fray.
                              HA HA to you all. I shall have the last say.

                              I still have the forearm and part of a lip.
                              See? See? Here they are. Come. DO make the trip.
                              Up to the north you southern warm bloods.
                              Up to the north. Here with the ice, snow and mud.


                              Come and GET it.

                              Comment

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