ODE TO A QUEENSLANDER
Posted: Mon Nov 01, 2010 8:46 am
Just sharing a bit of Ipswich pride
IPSWICH
Welsh Miners set the scene, with names familiar from their home.
To bestow on their new land, where they came to mine the stone.
The black coal hidden underground, not easily mined by hand
No machinery then to ease the task. Just pick, muscle and man.
Over years the town has grown – highways replaced dirt roads.
Some old names still remain that miners long ago bestowed.
They might recognize old buildings for there are some still around,
the Jacarandas that they planted, now cast blossoms on the ground.
Ipswich was a working mans domain, built on blood, sweat, tears and toil.
What history is here contained? Whose bones buried in soil?
She still retains the character of distant and harder times.
Still has the Mullock heaps on show. The detritus of mines.
The wooden workers cottages still here predominate.
Some renovated and renewed, others await their fate.
Those large majestic Queenslanders still stand with style and grace
beneath old Jacaranda trees that beautify this place.
Ipswich city of contrasts. Beautiful Limestone Park.
The roar of planes returning back to Amberley after dark.
Our sparkling Bremer River, the maze of railroad tracks.
Happy, smiling friendly people. These things always call you back.
The purple Jacarandas ‘neath the blue of western skies.
hear the roosting sound of Lorikeets, the song of the Magpies.
Those lovely River breezes cool wherever you may roam.
There is no better place than Ipswich and it's here I now call home.
Maureen Clifford ©
AN ODE TO A QUEENSLANDER Maureen Clifford ©
There are streets of wooden houses and streets of lovely trees,
not a brick and tiled box is there to see.
Just these faded girls from yesteryear, who need a lick of paint
plus a little love and care to set them free.
Their faces they are aged, with their life lines on view.
Their style is not as modern as today.
But they all have charm and character and seem to welcome you.
Unlike those modern pristine boxes on display.
I am not a fan of modern, give me style and grace each time.
Show me workmanship and quality each day
For the modern trends and colours are as mundane as they come
and each new home has the same things on display.
When you see a graceful Queenslander, with verandahs all around,
which beg one to sit and rest in deep cool shade.
With French doors and bull nose roofing, brass escutcheons, lace pergolas.
It is obvious by craftsmen it was made.
With their crenulated cupolas, finials and white lacework,
displayed like decoration on a lovely fancy cake.
They stand in solitary splendour, with ground enough for leisure.
With Victorian poise and splendour, don’t they just a statement make?
Yes there are streets of wooden houses and streets of lovely trees.
You must just search a little harder now to find.
But they are hiding there. Don’t give up, do not despair.
If you find one it will help to soothe your mind.
They’ll rekindle latent memories, of your Great Grandma and Grand Dad
Those people who once lived in a softer place and time.
The hearts and soul of this country, who weren’t blessed with lots of money
But they always had the time to chat and on whose lap you climbed.
Where the lemonade was home made and served icy from a jug,
With Anzac biscuits taken fresh baked from the stove.
Where the house smelt of polish, and lavender and baking,
and as you climbed the front steps you just knew that you were home.
So give me a graceful lady, be she old or be she worn.
Though her beauty may have faded over time.
Give her a little paint and polish, she’ll fulfil all that she promised.
With her beauty now regained she looks divine.
IPSWICH
Welsh Miners set the scene, with names familiar from their home.
To bestow on their new land, where they came to mine the stone.
The black coal hidden underground, not easily mined by hand
No machinery then to ease the task. Just pick, muscle and man.
Over years the town has grown – highways replaced dirt roads.
Some old names still remain that miners long ago bestowed.
They might recognize old buildings for there are some still around,
the Jacarandas that they planted, now cast blossoms on the ground.
Ipswich was a working mans domain, built on blood, sweat, tears and toil.
What history is here contained? Whose bones buried in soil?
She still retains the character of distant and harder times.
Still has the Mullock heaps on show. The detritus of mines.
The wooden workers cottages still here predominate.
Some renovated and renewed, others await their fate.
Those large majestic Queenslanders still stand with style and grace
beneath old Jacaranda trees that beautify this place.
Ipswich city of contrasts. Beautiful Limestone Park.
The roar of planes returning back to Amberley after dark.
Our sparkling Bremer River, the maze of railroad tracks.
Happy, smiling friendly people. These things always call you back.
The purple Jacarandas ‘neath the blue of western skies.
hear the roosting sound of Lorikeets, the song of the Magpies.
Those lovely River breezes cool wherever you may roam.
There is no better place than Ipswich and it's here I now call home.
Maureen Clifford ©
AN ODE TO A QUEENSLANDER Maureen Clifford ©
There are streets of wooden houses and streets of lovely trees,
not a brick and tiled box is there to see.
Just these faded girls from yesteryear, who need a lick of paint
plus a little love and care to set them free.
Their faces they are aged, with their life lines on view.
Their style is not as modern as today.
But they all have charm and character and seem to welcome you.
Unlike those modern pristine boxes on display.
I am not a fan of modern, give me style and grace each time.
Show me workmanship and quality each day
For the modern trends and colours are as mundane as they come
and each new home has the same things on display.
When you see a graceful Queenslander, with verandahs all around,
which beg one to sit and rest in deep cool shade.
With French doors and bull nose roofing, brass escutcheons, lace pergolas.
It is obvious by craftsmen it was made.
With their crenulated cupolas, finials and white lacework,
displayed like decoration on a lovely fancy cake.
They stand in solitary splendour, with ground enough for leisure.
With Victorian poise and splendour, don’t they just a statement make?
Yes there are streets of wooden houses and streets of lovely trees.
You must just search a little harder now to find.
But they are hiding there. Don’t give up, do not despair.
If you find one it will help to soothe your mind.
They’ll rekindle latent memories, of your Great Grandma and Grand Dad
Those people who once lived in a softer place and time.
The hearts and soul of this country, who weren’t blessed with lots of money
But they always had the time to chat and on whose lap you climbed.
Where the lemonade was home made and served icy from a jug,
With Anzac biscuits taken fresh baked from the stove.
Where the house smelt of polish, and lavender and baking,
and as you climbed the front steps you just knew that you were home.
So give me a graceful lady, be she old or be she worn.
Though her beauty may have faded over time.
Give her a little paint and polish, she’ll fulfil all that she promised.
With her beauty now regained she looks divine.
and 
