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Dennis Hardy
http://dennishardy.purpledream.com
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Solitude
07/06/03 |
Music in the street.
Time flashing by.
Frustrated happiness,
Old men die.
Misfortunes.
Blister barren lands,
Greed and power
dominate
Sleeping beds.
Contented minds.
Power plays a tune,
Satisfaction limited
Roses bloom.
Survival
A pitiful sight.
The weak must die,
Chest of pride.
Expands.
Isolated world,
Ultimate prosperity,
Bosom of mother
Empty and cold.
Perpetual wheel
Imagination drained
Heavy is the breeze,
Let the world
Roll away.
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Pleasures Of The Bush
07/15/03 |
I can hear the drumming rain drops on the roof above my head,
And I hear the calling wind that's soft and low,
And the rustling of the ghost gums as they beckon to its will,
And makes me wonder where the day time creatures go.
A brand new tune is born in an empty plum jam tin
That I placed beside my bed to catch a leak.
And the postman he won't make it while the weather holds like this,
No he'll never make it through the ten mile creek.
I've got a three-day curry that's warming on the stove.
It'll help me keep the cold and dampness out.
And I'll wash it down with brandy which I saved for times like this.
Well the truth is that it's really kept for gout.
So bushmen know the pleasures that town folk never know.
Oh I'd like you Mr. Banjo to be here upon my show.
Would you let me swap your boots for mine and tell my life in verse,
Or would you weigh my pittance, mate, against your well stuffed purse?
Let's call it quits, old Banjo. Let's quit while we're ahead.
You stay with pen and paper and I'll stay here in bed.
And we'll count ourselves both lucky to escape the bustling push;
For the pleasures of the City are not pleasures of the bush.
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By The Light Of A Candle
07/25/03 |
Depression, nostalgia, call it what you will, it frequently creeps in our souls
without apparent reason, quite often we don't even know why. This must have
been one of my frequent philosophical spasms. |
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I sit by the light of a candle
And toss my thoughts around
I gaze at meager possessions
Scattered all around
An old guitar's seen better days
And a fishing line bran' new
A bottle of whisky that haunts me
For nights I can't get through
Crumpled letters and papers
I've never had time to read
Swigging Coffee black and sweet
With memories I just don't need
Three O'clock in the morning
The light of the candle is dim
I glare at the walls around me
Of portraits empty and grim
Slouched by the light of a candle
Cursing an empty glass
Whisky loosening the tongue
As memories of yesterday pass
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Over The Hill
08/02/03 |
So you reckon I'm over the hill you say;
That old man's finally done;
That brain beneath this snowy crown
has been dimmed by to much sun.
Though my step is slow, my tread is sure.
You can be sure of that,
And the life you have was not like mine
When I battled the Birdsville Track.
The walking stick that aids my gait
I thought would never come:
Replaced the whip of greenhide plait
Which mountain echoes sung.
Oh! I see your look of disbelief.
Pray do not hide your eyes.
Like you I gave that look
Which my father too despised.
"What's that old mate? A shout you say
Well that's really kind of you.
A beer would set this old frame right
And see this hot day through.
We'll brace the bar just you and I
And I'll paint for you a tale,
When I drove the famous Cobb and Co
And carried the royal mail.
So we sat together both age and youth
And we talked the clock around:
The youngster with his future fears:
The old with tails abound.
We talked until the barman's call
Sounded that time was done,
And staggered home with a swaying gait"
A father...And his son.
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Do You Feel Complete
08/25/04
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You've burned the midnight oil
And lost a lot of sleep
I ask you was it worth it?
And do you feel complete.
Whirlpool of endless words,
Frustrations that never die.
Tired eyes will not sleep,
Dreams pushing the pens.
Sponges soaking the beauty.
Inspirations speed through time
Cries from within... Chocked.
Seconds... 'Tis all we have.
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