Analysis of Mickey Mollynoo
Edward George Dyson 1865 (Ballarat, Victoria) – 1931 (Saint Kilda, Melbourne, Victoria)
A mile-long panto dragon ploddin'
'opeless all the day,
Stuffed out with kits, 'n' spiked with rifles,
steamin' in its sweat,
A-heavin' down the misty road, club-footed
through the clay,
By waggons bogged 'n' buckin' guns,
the wildest welter yet,
Like 'arf creation's tenants shiftin' early
in the wet.
We're marchin' out, we dunno where, to meet
we dunno who;
But here we lights eventual, 'n' sighs 'n'
slips the kit,
'N', 'struth, the first to take us on is Mickie
Mollynoo!
A copper of the Port he was, when 'istory
was writ.
Sez I : “We're sent to face the foe, 'n', selp
me, this is It.”
A shine John. Hop is Mollynoo. A mix-up
with the push
Is all his joy. One evenin' when his
baton's flyin' free
I takes a baby brick, 'n' drives it hard agin
the cush,
'N' Privit Mick is scattered out fer all the
world to see,
But not afore indelible he's put his mark on
me.
I got the signs Masonic all inlaid along me
lug
Where Molly, P.C., swiped me in them
'appy, careless days.
He's sargin' now, a vet'ran; I'm a newchum
and a mug,
'N' when he sorter fixes me there's some-
thin' in his gaze
That's pensive like. “Move on!” sez he.
“Keep movin' there!” he says.
If after this I dreams of scraps promiscuous
and crool,
The mills in Butcher's Alley when the
watch is on the wine,
Those nights he raided Wylie's shed to break
the two-up school,
I takes a screw at Molly. With a grin that
ain't divine
He's toyin' with a scar of old I reckernise
as mine.
'N' so I'm layin' for it, 'n' I'm wonderin' how
'n' what.
We're signed on with the Germans, 'n' there
ain't a vacant date;
But sure it's comin' to me, 'n' it's comin' 'ard
'n' 'ot.
Me lurk is patient waitin', but I'm trim-
min' while I wait
A brick to jab or swing with, in a willin'
tatertate.
Oh, judge me wonder! There's a scrim that
follers on a raid.
I'm roughin' it all-in with Hans. He sock
me such a bat
I slides on somethin' narsty, 'n' me little grave
is made;
But Molly butts my Hun, 'n' leaves no face
beneath his hat,
'N', “'Scuse me, Mister Herr,” sez he, “I have a lien on that!”
He helps me under cover, 'n' he 'ands me
somethin' wet
(I've got a lick or two that leaves me feelin'
pretty sick).
“Lor love yeh, ole John Hop,” sez I, “yiv
buried me in debt.”
“Don't minton ut at all,” he sez, 'n' eyes
me arf-a-tick.
'N' back there in the trench I sits, 'n' trims
another brick.
'Tis all this how a month or more; then
Mollynoo sez he:
“Come aisy, Jumm, yeh loafer, little hell 'n'
all to view.
A job most illegant is on, cut out fer you 'n'
me.
The damnedest, dirtiest fighter on the
Continent is you,
Bar one, yeh gougin' thafe, 'n' that is
Sargin' Mollynoo!”
I take, with knife 'n' pistol, arf a brick to line
me shirt.
We creeps a thousan' yards or so to jigger
up a gun
Which seven Huns is workin' on the Irish like
a squirt.
We gets across them, me 'n' him. I pots
the extra one;
Mick chokes his third in comfort, 'n',
be'old, the thing is done!
He stands above me, rakin' sweat from off his
gleamin' nut.
“Me dipper's leakin', Mick,” sez I; “me
leg is bit in two.”
Sez he: “Bleed there in comfort, I'm for
bringin' help, ye scut.”
He's back in twenty minutes, with a dillied
German crew.
“Three'll carry in the gun,” sez he, “the
rest will carry you.”
I dunno how he got 'em, but he made them
barrer me.
They lugged the gun before him, 'n' he
yarded them like geese.
Then Mickie s'lutes the Major. “They're in
custody,” sez he,
“Fer conduc' calculated to provoke a breach
iv peace,
A-tearin' iv me uniform, 'n' 'saultin' the
po-lice.”
Then down he dumped. His wounds would
make a 'arf a column list.
When hack to front I chucks me bricks 'n'
smiles the best I can.
He grins at me: “Yer right,” sez he, “Hold
out yer bla'-guard fist,
I couldn't fight yeh, blarst yeh, if yeh dinted
in me pan.
This messin' round wid Germans makes a
chicken iv a man.”
Scheme | abcdxbxded xfageahgig ixjeaxkeaE elmnmlxnex xekaxxoaca xphqxxxqab orxosrxoo edatsdxtxt aeafaEkfja auhaxuxaaa jpefhbbfkf meevaexvkx xwaaxwbaka |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 0111101 1101 111111110 1011 01010101110 101 111111 010101 11110110 001 111101111 1011 11110100111 101 11011111110 1 0101011111 11 1111110111 1111 011111011 101 11111111 111 110101111101 01 1111101110 111 111010011111 1 110101011011 1 110111101 1101 111011101 001 1111010111 1011 11011111 11111 11011111100 01 010101010 11101 111101111 0111 11011101011 101 111011111 11 1111111111 11 111101011 10101 1111111111 11 111101111 1111 0111111001 1 111101011 1101 111101111 1101 1111111101 11 1101111111 0111 11110111110111 11110101111 11 1101111111 101 111111111 10101 1101111111 1101 1110011111 0101 111101111 111 1111101011 111 01111111111 1 011001010 10011 11111111 11 111111010111 11 110111111 101 11011110101 01 1101111111 0101 11110101 110111 1101111111 11 1111111 11101 111101011 1111 1101010101 101 110001110 11101 10111111111 11 110101111 1111 1101101010 10011 1110010101 11 011110110 11 1111111 1010101 111111111 10111 111111111 11111 1101111111 011 11111010 10101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 3,898 |
Words | 758 |
Sentences | 51 |
Stanzas | 13 |
Stanza Lengths | 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10 |
Lines Amount | 129 |
Letters per line (avg) | 21 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 211 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 57 |
Font size:
Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:58 min read
- 51 Views
Citation
Use the citation below to add this poem analysis to your bibliography:
Style:MLAChicagoAPA
"Mickey Mollynoo" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/9569/mickey-mollynoo>.
Discuss this Edward George Dyson poem analysis with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In