10 Best Famous Sprat Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Sprat poems. This is a select list of the best famous Sprat poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Sprat poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of sprat poems.

• All Famous Sprat Poems

 Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark, as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools' Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.

Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.

    Jack Sprat
    Could eat no fat,
His wife could eat no lean;
    And so,
    Betwixt them both,
They licked the platter clean.

 The run of Billabong-go-dry 
Is just beyond Lime Burner's Gap; 
Its waterhole and tank supply 
Is excellent -- upon the map. 
But lacking nature's liquid drench, 
The station staff are wont to try 
With "Bob-in Sweeps" their thirst to quench, 
Or nearly quench, at Bong-go-dry. 
The parson made five-yearly rounds 
That soil of arid souls to delve, 
He wrote, "I'll come for seven pounds, 
Or I could stop away for twelve." 
But lack of lucre brought about 
The pusillanimous reply: 
"Our luxuries are all cut out, 
You'll have to go to Bong-go-dry." 

Now rabbit skins were very high -- 
There'd been a kind of rabbit rush -- 
And what with traps and sticks they'd shy, 
The station blacks were very flush, 
And each was taught his churchman's job, 
"When that one parson's plate comes roun' 
No good you put in sprat or bob, 
Too quick you put in harp-a-crown." 

The parson's word was duly kept, 
He came and did his bit of speak; 
The boss remarked he hadn't slept 
So sound and well for many a week. 
But Gilgai Jack and Monkey Jaw 
Regarded preaching as a crime 
Against good taste; they said, "What for 
That one chap yabber all the time?" 

Proceedings ceased: the boss's hat 
Was raked from underneath his chair; 
The coloured congregation sat 
And waited with expectant air. 
At last from one far-distant seat 
Where Gilgai's Mary'd been asleep, 
There came a kind of plaintive bleat, 
"Say, boss! Who won the harp-crown sweep?"