Timothy Bovee, editor
www.daypoems.net
Click on the bonsai for the next poem.
DayPoems Forum
Click to submit poems to DayPoems, comment on DayPoems or a poem within, comment on other poetry sites, update links, or simply get in touch. DayPoems Forum.
Poetry Whirl
Google Henry Lawson
Latest Poetry News
Indexes
Poems
Poets
Editor's poems
Poetry Places
Poetry Places
Brian Patten: Life, love, death, and poetry in the work of Brian Patten
Encyclopedia.com
Rocknak, Stefanie - Marge and Grace
Turkish Poetry Pages - Türk Shiir Sayfalari
On the Fly-Leaf of Pound's Cantos
Cave Canem Black Poetry Workshop Retreat
Nodes powered by
Open Directory Project at dmoz.org
DayPoems Favorites
PORT: An Online Visual Arts Journal
A Poet on a Magical Journey Home
Chronicles of a Sea Woman
Parallels Studio
Bipolar Poetry
Mantra.X
Poetry, Film and Books
Poetry Archive
Project Gutenberg, a huge collection of books as text, produced as a volunteer enterprise starting in 1990. This is the source of the first poetry placed on DayPoems.
Tina Blue's Beginner's Guide to Prosody, exactly what the title says, and well worth reading.
Epicanthic Fold: "If a guy somewhere in Asia makes a blog and no one reads it, does it really exist?"
popomo.net, miniature, minimalist-inspired sculptures created from industrial cereamics, an art project at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon.
pink.popomo.net, More projects from Portland
oarena.net, Furby, Eliza, Mr_Friss and Miss_Friss.
Save Point 0.8.1, a Portland, Oregon, exhibit, Aug. 13-Sept. 5, 2004, at Disjecta.
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s
*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s
*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s
*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s
*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s
*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s
*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s
Won't you help support DayPoems?
Out Back
By Henry Lawson
Born 6/17/1867The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned, and the sheds were all cut out;
The publican's words were short and few,
and the publican's looks were black --
And the time had come, as the shearer knew, to carry his swag Out Back.
~For time means tucker, and tramp you must,
where the scrubs and plains are wide,
With seldom a track that a man can trust, or a mountain peak to guide;
All day long in the dust and heat -- when summer is on the track --
With stinted stomachs and blistered feet, they carry their swags Out Back.~
He tramped away from the shanty there, when the days were long and hot,
With never a soul to know or care if he died on the track or not.
The poor of the city have friends in woe, no matter how much they lack,
But only God and the swagmen know how a poor man fares Out Back.
He begged his way on the parched Paroo and the Warrego tracks once more,
And lived like a dog, as the swagmen do, till the Western stations shore;
But men were many, and sheds were full, for work in the town was slack --
The traveller never got hands in wool, though he tramped for a year Out Back.
In stifling noons when his back was wrung
by its load, and the air seemed dead,
And the water warmed in the bag that hung to his aching arm like lead,
Or in times of flood, when plains were seas,
and the scrubs were cold and black,
He ploughed in mud to his trembling knees, and paid for his sins Out Back.
He blamed himself in the year "Too Late" -- in the heaviest hours of life --
'Twas little he dreamed that a shearing-mate had care of his home and wife;
There are times when wrongs from your kindred come,
and treacherous tongues attack --
When a man is better away from home, and dead to the world, Out Back.
And dirty and careless and old he wore, as his lamp of hope grew dim;
He tramped for years till the swag he bore seemed part of himself to him.
As a bullock drags in the sandy ruts, he followed the dreary track,
With never a thought but to reach the huts when the sun went down Out Back.
It chanced one day, when the north wind blew
in his face like a furnace-breath,
He left the track for a tank he knew -- 'twas a short-cut to his death;
For the bed of the tank was hard and dry, and crossed with many a crack,
And, oh! it's a terrible thing to die of thirst in the scrub Out Back.
A drover came, but the fringe of law was eastward many a mile;
He never reported the thing he saw, for it was not worth his while.
The tanks are full and the grass is high in the mulga off the track,
Where the bleaching bones of a white man lie by his mouldering swag Out Back.
~For time means tucker, and tramp they must,
where the plains and scrubs are wide,
With seldom a track that a man can trust, or a mountain peak to guide;
All day long in the flies and heat the men of the outside track
With stinted stomachs and blistered feet must carry their swags Out Back.~
DayPoems Poem No. 942
Comment on DayPoems?
If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read. Let it all out! Comment on this poem, any poem, DayPoems, other poetry places or the art of poetry at DayPoems Feedback.
Won't you help support DayPoems?
Click here to learn more about how you can keep DayPoems on the Web . . .
Copyright
The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2005 by Timothy K. Bovee. All rights reserved.
The authors of poetry and other material appearing on DayPoems retain full rights to their work. Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors. The editor of DayPoems will gladly assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors.
Support DayPoems.Buy your books hereLatest Chapbooks from Powells!!! |
The Online Bonsai Icon Collection
http://www.hav.com/tobic.html