Thursday, October 13, 2011


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There once was a man from Old Bar

Who had a very strange car

Help with essay on Poems

It was blue with white spots

And yellow polka dots

And on the top there was a pink star.

There once was a man from Sirreat

Who dearly loved to eat

He ate so much that

He became really fat

And couldn’t see down to his feet


Rain, rain cooling drops

Pitter patter on the roof

Oh beautiful rain


I went to war that downcast day

The sky was grey and somber

I left my wife and kids behind

I went on a big bomber

When I arrived at Vietnam

My friends were all but dead

The enemy had sought them out

Then left them while they bled

It was too easy to get lost

In that forsaken jungle

When we were in that cursed war

There was no time for bungle

It rained and rained and never stopped

The mud was ankle deep

But by the time the night had fallen

There was no time for sleep

The dreary war went on for years

The death toll got so high

Until the president told us

To wave and say goodbye

On our way home, our plane was shot

We fell down with a cry

I was the only person there

Who didn’t burn and die

For twenty-seven miles I trekked

Until I wasn’t alone

The enemy had captured me

And beat me with their stone

They took me to their camp of war

And kept me there for years

Until they finally set me free

Escaping from my fears

When I got home my kids had gone,

Had families of their own

My wife was dead and I was left

Sorrowed and alone

And now I leave you with these words

Don’t ever go to war

Unless you wish to lose your life,

Your family and your all.

Acrostic poem

Around me I heard the shouting of dying men

Next to me my best friend was shot dead

Zero. That’s how many expected war to be bad

Arrival had the biggest death toll

Constant news of my soldiers dying came to me

Dreading waking up each day

At Gallipoli I was captured.

Year after year at that prisoner of war camp


Students read widely to find a poem of their own choice which they have enjoyed. The poem of choice will be accompanied by a written explanation as to why they liked (and chose) the poem.


Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;

He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;

He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;

He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;

And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,

The grinning shop assistant said, Excuse me, can you ride?

See here, young man, said Mulga Bill, from Walgett to the sea,

From Conroys Gap to Castlereagh, theres none can ride like me.

Im good all round at everything as everybody knows,

Although Im not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows.

But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;

Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.

Theres nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,

Theres nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,

But what Ill sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight

Ill ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight.

Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,

That perched above Dead Mans Creek, beside the mountain road.

He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,

But ere hed gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.

It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver steak,

It whistled down the awful slope, towards the Dead Man’s Creek.

It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box

The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,

The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,

As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.

It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,

It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;

And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek

It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Mans Creek.

Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore

He said, Ive had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;

Ive rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet,

But this was the most awful ride that Ive encountered yet.

Ill give that two-wheeled outlaw best; its shaken all my nerve

To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.

Its safe at rest in Dead Mans Creek, well leave it lying still;

A horses back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill.

A. B. Paterson

The poem I have chosen is Mulga Bill’s Bicycle By A. B. Paterson .I like, and have chosen, this poem because it is humorous, it tells a story of a man catching the cycling craze, then when someone asks him if he knows how to ride he boasts saying everyone knows I’m the best at everything. When he tries to ride he goes out of control and falls into the Dead Mans Creek. The poem also uses metaphor e.g. but riding is my special gift. It has a rhyming scheme of AABBCC etc.

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