Poetry

Digger VE/6136

Digger VE/6136 ‘E’s an ‘andsome bloke, is ol’ mate Luke, wiv ‘is peelin’ sunburnt nose, ‘e’s six-foot-two, frum Humpty Doo, an’ farmin’s all ‘e knows– but when the call fer arms went round, the cobber showed ‘is colours, an’ now ‘e’s ‘ere on forrin ground, wiv ‘is fellow bushwhacked brothers. ‘E’s ‘andy with a bayonet,… Continue reading Digger VE/6136

Poetry

The Digger (Apologies to Rupert Brooke)

The Digger (Apologies to Rupert Brooke) If I should cark it, think only this of me That there’s some corner of a foreign field That is terra Australis. There shall be In that red earth a mate of yours concealed; A bloke Australia bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her sand to scorch, her bush… Continue reading The Digger (Apologies to Rupert Brooke)