A Triolet

Of all the sickly forms of verse,
Commend me to the triolet.
It makes bad writers somewhat worse:
Of all the sickly forms of verse,
That fall beneath a reader's curse,
It is the feeblest jingle yet.
Of all the sickly forms of verse,
Commend me to the triolet.

Andrew Barton Paterson

Andrew Barton Paterson, also known as Banjo Paterson, was an Australian bush poet, journalist, and author. Renowned for his poignant and humorous depictions of rural Australia, he wrote iconic works like "Waltzing Matilda" and "The Man from Snowy River." His storytelling, deeply rooted in Australian culture, has cemented his legacy as one of the nation's most beloved literary figures.

Andrew Barton Paterson

Gone Down

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

The Stringy-Bark Cockatoo

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

The Rum Parade

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

Policeman G.

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

English

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The Pannikin Poet

There's nothing here sublime,
But just a roving rhyme,
Run off to pass the time,
With nought titanic in.
The theme that it supports,
And, though it treats of quarts,
It's bare of golden thoughts,
It's just a pannikin.

I think it's rather hard
That each Australian bard,
Each wan, poetic card,
With thoughts galvanic in
His fiery thought alight,
In wild aerial flight,
Will sit him down and write
About a pannikin.

He makes some new-chum fare
From out his English lair
To hunt the native bear,
That curious mannikin;
And then the times get bad
That wandering English lad
Writes out a message sad
Upon his pannikin:

"O mother, think of me
Beneath the wattle tree"
(For you may bet that he
Will drag ...

Andrew Barton Paterson

Triolet

Few in joy's sweet riot
Able are to listen:
Thou, to make me quiet,
Quenchest the sweet riot,
Tak'st away my diet,
Puttest me in prison--
Quenchest joy's sweet riot
That the heart may listen.

George MacDonald

Frogs In Chorus

The chorus frogs in the big lagoon
Would sing their songs to the silvery moon.
Tenor singers were out of place,
For every frog was a double bass.
But never a human chorus yet
Could beat the accurate time they set.
The solo singer began the joke;
He sang, "As long as I live I'll croak,
Croak, I'll croak,"
And the chorus followed him: "Croak, croak, croak!"

The poet frog, in his plaintive tone,
Sang of a sorrow was all his own;
"How shall I win to my heart's desire?
How shall I feel my spirit's fire?"
And the solo frog in his deepest croak,
"To fire your spirit," he sang, "eat coke,
Coke, eat coke,"
And the chorus followed him: "Coke, coke, coke!"

The green frog sat in a swampy spot
And he sang the song of he knew not what.
"The w...

Andrew Barton Paterson

A Bunch Of Triolets

TO ---

You like the trifling triolet:
    Well, here are three or four.
Unless your likings I forget,
You like the trifling triolet.
Against my conscience I abet
    A taste which I deplore;
You like the trifling triolet:
    Well, here are three or four.

Have you ever met with a pretty girl
    Walking along the street,
With a nice new dress and her hair in curl?
Have you ever met with a pretty girl,
When her hat blew off and the wind with a whirl
    Wafted it right to your feet?
Have you ever met with a pretty girl
    Walking along the street?

I ran into a lady's arms,
    Turning a corner yesterday.
To my confusion, her alarms,
I ran into a lady's arms.
So close a vision of her charms
    Left me without a w...

Robert Fuller Murray

Petit, the Poet

    Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick,
    Tick, tick, tick, like mites in a quarrel -
    Faint iambics that the full breeze wakens -
    But the pine tree makes a symphony thereof.
    Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus,
    Ballades by the score with the same old thought:
    The snows and the roses of yesterday are vanished;
    And what is love but a rose that fades?
    Life all around me here in the village:
    Tragedy, comedy, valor and truth,
    Courage, constancy, heroism, failure -
    All in the loom, and oh what patterns!
    Woodlands, meadows, streams and rivers -
    Blind to all of it all my life long.
    Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus,
    Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick, Tick, tick, tick, what little iambics,
    W...

Edgar Lee Masters

The Rhyme Of The O'Sullivan And Pro Bono Publico

Pro Bono Publico
Went out the streets to scan,
And marching to and fro
He met a seedy man,

Who did a tale unfold
In solemn tones and slow
And this is what he told
Pro Bono Publico.

"For many years I led
The people's onward march;
I was the 'Fountain Head',
The 'Democratic Arch'.

"In more than regal state
I used to sit and smile,
And bridges I'd donate,
And railways by the mile.

"I pawned the country off
For many million quid,
And spent it like a toff,
So hel me, Bob, I did.

"But now those times are gone,
The wind blows cold and keen;
I sit and think upon
The thing that I have been.

"And if a country town
Its obligation shirks,
I press for money down
To pay for water work...

Andrew Barton Paterson