by Eva Mary O'Doherty Far off! far off! within the desert rude, In the cold heart of that deep solitude, Two magic letters on the rugged bark, With...

I want a situation as a shepherd, be it known, On a comfortable station--not too far from town; The country must be timberless, the waters full of...

by E.M. England    So softly I go that the heron Who waits downstream has not stirred. Perhaps he thinks me a bird; Thinks me a brown bird gliding The...

by Francis Kenna    I had written him a letter, which I had for want of betterKnowledge given to a partner by the name of 'Greenhide Jack'-He was shearing...

                                    by Kathleen Watson (1943) I believe in democracy, the right of the people to work. I believe in democracy, I cannot shirk The tasks that it has set...

  He is long, he is lean, he is wiry; He is loose-limbed and carelessly hung; He is quick on the flare-up and fiery; He swears with an eloquent...

by Frank C Francis    The music and the laughter simmer down Like an ebbing tide that slinks into the dark, As the last bright firework splutters to a...

Happy Days                    by Mary Hannay Foott  A fringe of rushes — one green line,Upon a faded plain; A silver streak of water-shine —Above, tree-watchers...

By Laurence Collinson[1] Into the gutters gushed the tedious rain and overflowed on to his step-worn shoes. he trod the puddled cobbles of the...

by Colin Bingham    My child's warm hand is such a thing That holding it I long to sing My faith in dark futurity My child's warm hand is such a thing...

by Lucille M Quinlan    Sleep, my birrahlee;1 hush, my soft grey dove! Misty grows the cane-field, purple the range above. From the scrub by the...

                  To Nemo   Oh well and merry passed the time When we were three years younger, When lightsome jest and sportive rhyme Wak'd mirth that lives no longer: When...

              By Alice Guerin Crist (1927).   We have scrubbed, and scoured and polished, till she's looking just like new, And her good old engines singing, and...

by Victor Kennedy    Queer little deep brown almond eyes Turned to me now with grave surprise What the secrets tarrying there Baffling a world's...

  by Mabel Forrest      All day she works at the sewing machine, in the factory opposite, Where the staring blindless windows gape in the glow of the...

THE ABOLIAR[1]            by 'P.Flam' (Peter Airey)  The Aboliar’s a cheery soul,  Though prone to malediction;  He writes, to gain a golden goal,  A blend of fact and fiction;  He tells the most enthralling tales  To passing tramp and stranger,  Of Murray cod and Darling whales  And ’scapes from deadly danger....

by George Essex Evans    His hat looks worn, and his coat-sleeves shine, As I see him step from his 'bus at nine; His boots are pieced and his tie...

   The Explorers' Doom.[1]                            By George Vowles   ON New Holland's burning plains, Where savage races dwell Not held by slavish chains, The brave explorers...

by Victor Kennedy    Out across the bending cane Slowly after seven moons Falls the soaking tropic rain Kindly to the parched ratoons1. And I wander...

The Lonely Woman    Where the ironbarks are hanging leaves disconsolate and pale,   Where the wild vines o’er the ranges their spilt cream of blossom...

by Brian Vrepont    I came upon them by a strip of sea, In a drizzle of rain mending their fishing-net, Four swift brown hands, and lean with industry, Shuttling the thin...

by George Essex Evans    They left the vine-wreathed cottage and the mansion on the hill, The houses in the busy streets where life is never still, The...

by Albert Bayldon O hairy faced old swagman I doff the cap to youlI, too, have been a bagmanAnd had to battle throughThe ordeal long and drearyOf...

By Frank C. Francis (1931) His shoes are worn and down-at-heel but clean;His clothes show signs of care tho' old and mean;His step is firm but...

  Over the archway, a legend, 'Enter the portals of Truth' Looked down on the serious concourse That passed by the kneeling girl, Ruth; Looked down on...

by Gwen Belson-Taylor    For Jim Devaney   The old sailor leaves the port Quietly, out of pain. His hand is strong upon the helm And dawning breaks...

  Some few nights in the store-keeper’s hut – tin roof and walls -scarce thirty yards from where the twelve head battery’s crushing feet pounded and crushed...