Children speak in the field what they hear in the house.
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Let The Children Speak
Time - way out of line
A whole nation waits outside
The rhythm of tomorrow
They can dance away their sorrows tonight
Lost - broken and scarred
Prisoner waits outside with his lone heart beating
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Let the children - let the children speak
Aims - dangerous games
Their mother says one false move and we all get hurt
I feel this sense of power I feel it every hour tonight
Lets not get lazy tonight
Things could get crazy cos
One more kick and the door cracks open
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children
Power to the powerless strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Im begging you now let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children
Power to the powerless, strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Lets not get lazy tonight
Things could get crazy cos
One last kick and the door cracks open
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Power to the powerless, strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Things could get crazy tonight
Lets not get lazy cos
One last kick and the door cracks open
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Im begging you now
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children
Power to the powerless, strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
The language of this world
Lets not get lazy cos
One false move and we all get hurt
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
The language of this world
Things could get crazy
Written by kerr/burchill (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let The Slave
(incorporating the price of experience. text: william blake)
Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field
Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bnght air
Let the inchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing
Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary years
Rose and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open;
And let his wife and children return from the oppressors scourge
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream
Singing: the sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning
And the fair moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night
For empire is no more and now the lion and wolf shall cease
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lixes is holy
What is the price of experience? do men buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? no, it is bought with the price
Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy
And in the witherd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain
It is an easy thing to triumph in the summers sun
And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn
It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted
To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer
To listen to the hungry ravens cry in wintry season
When the red blood is filld with wine and with the marrow of lambs
It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements
To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan;
To see a God on every wind and a blessing on every blast
To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies house;
To rejoice in the blight that covers his field
And the sickness that cuts off his children
While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door
And our children bring fruits and flowers
Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten
And the slave grinding at the mill
And the captive in chains and the poor in the prison
And the soldier in the field
When the shatterd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead
It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They Did The Best They Could
Those who say,
They can not understand...
Why their children lack respect and discipline,
Will always say they did the best they could...
To raise them to be good children.
But the teaching to them to be responsble men,
And women accountable for their actions?
Well...many with children are too busy,
Wanting their children to see them as their friends.
And not examples of adults to set for them.
'And...
How many children do you have? '
None.
'OH?
And you think you can speak on this,
From a position of authority? '
No.
I speak from a position of having peace of mind.
I will never be envious of those emotionally manipulated,
For the rest of their lives.
However...
I have often wanted grandchildren.
'But...
Wouldn't you have to have children FIRST? '
And that one 'detail' alone...
Is the reason why,
I chose to keep my peace of mind.
'It's never too late you know? '
Didn't you just hear me say,
I chose to keep my peace of mind,
Over sitting in a prison cell for the rest of my life?
'No.
I didn't hear that last statement.'
It came to me quickly as a vision.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Love Field
You lie so unfolded
In a love field
With your contempt for any modesty
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
You yield with your lips still sealed
In a love field
Lost in a sea of imaginary women
Everything youd want
From the dawn to the dimming
Breath comes sharp and heart beats faster
In a love field
Cold ground for a pillow
Under a blanket of stars
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Headlights that startled
This embrace of hours
In a love field
In a crooked house
Where things can be arranged
You think youre different from the rest
But you dont see how youve changed
Under an archway
On a road of white linen
In a love field
Feel the anxious rhythm of a functional stranger
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Shes so tense but its never mentioned
In a love field
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Route March
Did you hear the children singing, O my brothers?
Did you hear the children singing as our troops went marching past?
In the sunshine and the rain,
As they’ll never sing again—
Hear the little school-girls singing as our troops went swinging past?
Did you hear the children singing, O my brothers?
Did you hear the children singing for the first man and the last?
As they marched away and vanished,
To a tune we thought was banished—
Did you hear the children singing for the future and the past?
Shall you hear the children singing, O my brothers?
Shall you hear the children singing in the sunshine or the rain?
There’ll be sobs beneath the ringing
Of the cheers, and ’neath the singing
There’ll be tears of orphan children when
Our Boys come back again!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Hear the cries
At night you can hear the cries of children
when they cries it sounds like a battle field
at night the cries of children are in a battle field
so they cries for their mom and dad at night
and that comes the battle field of children
poem by Helen Reese
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The Visitor
Down the hill, in the field of sweet alfalfa, they're
freezing each other, the children
playing tag and I'm up at the house, I'm
in the picture window, thin
and distant like the glimpse
of a surfacing fish. What dark waters
the house is, behind me, settling
into evening. Dusk
and there are, of course, fireflies. Tell me,
what was your name? When you visited once,
by the backroad where the stones glowed pale
in the moonlight, I was too young, I still thought
I belonged to the world. But now
quartered in this house, watching the neighbors' children
turn to dusk, I feel
I'm ready. Come back
and bring your finest wine, the oldest bottle.
Bring that strange dusty book you were reading.
poem by Kate Northrop
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HOE HOUSE...by talile ali
HOE HOUSE
IF YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS
WHEN DOIN IT RUNS AMUCK
HOE HOUSE
THE MOMMA LIKES TO DO IT
SO DO HER LITTLE DUCKS
HOE HOUSE
SHE DOESN'T WANT THEM DOIN
SOME LAZY KNOTHEAD CHUMPS
HOE HOUSE
THEN SHE GETS ALL DRUNKED UP
AND DOES SOME LAZY BLIND KNOTHEAD CHUMP
HOE HOUSE
THE CHILDREN THEY CAN HEAR HER
WHEN SHE STARTS TO WAIL
HOE HOUSE
DOING ANY FELLA
BEFORE SHE GOES TO HELL
HOE HOUSE
SHE WILL DO'EM NASTY
IN THE RAW OR IN THE MOUTH
HOE HOUSE
WHILE HER BABIES LISTEN
THEY DRESS AND LEAVE THE HOUSE
HOE HOUSE
SHE TELL'S THEM 'IT'S NOT NOTHING'
'JUST A LIL FIX'
HOE HOUSE
THEY COULD NEVER BELIEVE HER
SHE'S JUST UP TO HER TRICKS
HOE HOUSE
WHAT THEY WANT TO KNOW IS
IF THEY GET FUCKED, I SWEAR
HOE HOUSE
THESE BABE'S THEY JUST CANT HELP YOU
CAUSE THEY ARE RUNNING SCARED
HOE HOUSE
YOU'RE THEIR GOD, THEIR TEACHER
THEIR EVER SHINING LIGHT
HOE HOUSE
THE SUCCUBUS IN SEX
THE BLIND, AND DICK, AND SCARY
HOE HOUSE
IS SHE SO SURPRISED
WHEN HER GIRL'S ARE DEAD AND BURIED
HOE HOUSE
WHATS GOOD FOR THE GOOSE
AINT SO GOOD WHEN THEY'RE DUCKLINGS
HOE HOUSE
DON'T BE SO SURPRISED
WHEN THE FRUIT IS REALLY RANCID
HOE HOUSE
WITH THE FELLA'S IN THEIR RAGE
FINISHED HER STOUT BEFORE THEY LANCE IT
HOE HOUSE
SHE'S SO PISSED
HER BABE'S JUST CAN'T HELP HER
HOE HOUSE
WITH A BUNCHA SAD JACKS
HANGIN ALL AROUND TO ENHANCE HER
HOE HOUSE
THEY CAN SMELL THE BREWERY
WAITING TO GET POUND
HOE HOUSE
CHILDREN CAN ONLY SEE
WHAT THEY LEARN AND WHAT THEY FOUND
HOE HOUSE
IF MOM IS DEEP INTO DOING IT
THE GIRLS WILL TRY AT LEAST
HOE HOUSE
YOU DON'T NEED TO LOSE THEM
THE'RE STILL NEW TO THE FEAST
HOE HOUSE
I LIVED IN A HOE HOUSE
I DON'T HAVE A LOT
THERE'S NOT A SINGLE THING
I CAN SAY TO MAKE IT STOP
TO ALL THAT LOVE HOEING,
THE BLOWING, AND WHAT NOT
THE LUST FOR NOT GROWING
IS ALL THAT THEY'VE GOT
IT WAS MY BIGGEST FEAR
EVERY NIGHT, EVERY YEAR
CAUSE IN EVERY SINGLE ROOM
MY GIRLS ARE NOW DOING IT, IT'S CLEAR
WHAT CAN I SAY?
I DIDN'T WANT TO LOSE THEM THAT WAY!
SO IF YOU SEE THAT YOU
ARE LIVING LIKE ME
HOE HOUSE
GRAB UP ALL YOUR BABIES
AND LEAVE THIS INSANITY
HOE HOUSE
poem by Talile Ali
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Children
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, 'Speak to us of Children.'
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Children Chapter IV
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, 'Speak to us of Children.'
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Bairns speak i' the field what they hear i' the ha'.
Song: The Cries of Today’s Children
I hear the cries of children,
Of children of the world; I Singer
The unwanted and unlucky,
The orphans and of streets!
I hear the cries of children,
Of children who want love;
The illiterate, sick, handicapped; II Singer
Poor, without any sheets!
I hear the cries of children,
Of children that must work; I Singer
To earn while young for family,
Have no place, time to play!
I hear the cries of children,
Of children war-ravaged;
Who know not what is joy in life, II Singer
Living in squalor, strife!
Let’s make this world for children,
A better place to live; I&II Singers together
With encouragement, dignity, * 2 times
And all love, we can give.
(
poem by John Celes
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The Gunners Dream?
Floating down through the clouds
Memories come rushing up to meet me now
In the space between the heavens
And in the corner of some foreign field
I had a dream
I had a dream
Goodbye max
Goodbye ma
After the service when youre walking slowly to the car
And the silver in her hair shines in the cold november air
You hear the tolling bell
And touch the silk in your lapel
And as the tear drops rise to meet the comfort of the band
You take her frail hand
And hold on to the dream
A place to stay
Enough to eat
Somewhere old heroes shuffle safely down the street
Where you can speak out loud
About your doubts and fears
And whats more no-one ever disappears
You never hear their standard issue kicking in your door
You can relax on both sides of the tracks
And maniacs dont blow holes in bandsmen by remote control
And everyone has recourse to the law
And no-one kills the children anymore
And no-one kills the children anymore
Night after night
Going round and round my brain
His dream is driving me insane
In the corner of some foreign field
The gunner sleeps tonight
Whats done is done
We cannot just write off his final scene
Take heed of the dream
Take heed
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Speak Often
we speak often...
of revolution, yet
we almost never speak,
of the old woman left alone,
her husband dead two years...
who sits in the dark,
and sometimes eats,
and cant see to clean her house.
we speak of peace,
and send troops to liberate,
teaching seperation in our churches.
we speak of hope,
yet horde all we can,
and keep our revolvers loaded.
we speak of justice
in terms of 'i' and 'they'....
and applaud wordplay in our courtrooms...
we speak of equality,
then call each race by name,
and demand that they speak english.
we speak of god as holier than thou...
never understanding dialogue and dissolution....
we speak a lot, yet cannot listen...
what fools we are!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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When the Parents Refuse to Come Home
When the parents refuse to come home
The children sleep beneath the babysitter’s skirt.
She will eat you out of house and home.
When the parents refuse to come home
The children shall set the house on fire,
And the babysitter shall save the family pet
That is content to be hand fed at the breast.
This night the parents are outside the loop,
They are out for a night on the town to renew their bound without the incessant want of children who shall burn the house down for attention.
The babysitter is watching TV under the blaze of the burning house where the family pet snicks beneath the smoke colleted by the ceiling.
When the parents stay out all night the children are discontented with the babysitter who have no time for children, she rather babysat the TV.
The babysitter refuse to pay taxes on her earning, she have parked the children in their beds where they learn the art of conversation from the TV.
The parents are having fun while the children are safe in the dream shatter of the right brain telling midnight stories of the day’s doings and the babysitter has invited her boy friend over for the night and he will eat you out of house and home while in their dream the children are buring the house down.
When the parents dance the night away in the night club the children are dreaming of the violent of the babysitter who eat the last of the pot roast left over from dinner.
When the parents refuse to come home the babysitter is contemplating the meaning of death and dying in the burning house.
The babysitter will grow up to become a parent and she will hire a babysitter when she go out to dance the night away as her children burn the house down.
poem by David E. Patton
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O Children!
O Children why do you make mockery of the old?
What gives you that audaciousness to be bold?
Hasn’t anyone spoken, have you not been told?
Your time for maturing, you cannot put on hold
Silent children, speak quietly
Silent children, speak gently
Address me not rudely
I speak to you all fondly
I see you all; I have been there before
Like a thief I want to creep
Back on the other side of age’s door
Today I weep, I weep and I weep
O Eternal youth thou cannot keep!
O Children, Children, Why the innocence?
With a deceptive facial display that is intense
I see through you all, I see the entire pretence
You say you are sorry, it’s a lie, I can sense
O Children why do you seek to grow so fast?
Your flowering youth is not meant to last
Before long it will wrinkle away into the past
Soon you shall become a mere outcast
In the land of youth and that is the truth
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Like Children
Can we run through the field like children?
Two adults playing tag.
Can we find a stream like children?
...Skip stones to see how far far is.
Can we climb a tree like children?
Sit on a limb and enjoy the view.
Can we roll in the grass like children?
Tumbling over one another.
Can we forget our cares like children?
Laughing with joy for no reason at all.
poem by Patti Wilburn
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A Word from The I Am
Children I beseech thee, come unto me
I have come to bring greater things upon you
My Son has come for you to follow through
The blood of My Son is among you
Come children Come
For I Am the I Am
For this is the last of the last days
For I speak boldly in a strong way
Come children, and seek My face
Eternal life is what I have given you all
Come children Come
For I Am the I Am
I have sent My Son Jesus to die for you
I ask you church to bring souls to Him
I am by faith, the blind cannot see
Tell the lost about Jesus and they'll be set free
Come children Come
For I Am the I Am
For I speak unto you that I am your Father
For I love you children that I gave My only Begotten Son
Bring Me the unsaved, for you know who I am
For this is the last of the last days
Come children Come
For I Am the I Am
This I give to you in peace
You shall not fear for I am near
For I am your divine vine and you are my branches
Pray, and blessings will pour out among you
Come children Come
For I Am the I Am
by Debra Stewart, August 2009
poem by Debra Stewart
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Toy for Future Children
A blind and deaf bullet buried in the field
Dozing through decades of blood and bones
Then one morning
In a bustling future
As the children return to the field
Returning to goof around and chase each other
The blind and deaf bullet will be dug up
Will be dug up and awaken
In the middle of this happiness
As the children shriek and crow
The bullet will wake up
Wake up and open its eyes
Open its eyes and explode
Explode and the children will die
Die with their bodies and faces shattered
There, that’s the toy left over by your parents
O my children
What more can I say
What can say to my children, to my children
To a pitiful future.
Speak The Word
Unsettled hearts
Promise what they cant deliver
Bring me the wine
And the cold night air to clear my head
Gray matter memory house
Master of this trembling flesh
Steady still my doubts
Let me speak the word that precedes bliss
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Love love love love love love love love
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Love love love love love love love love
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
These weakened knees
Have not touched ground or pew in ages
I havent bowed my head
I offer thanks to any God or to ask for favors
But watch me now
Im falling down
Praying
To speak the word that precedes bliss
To speak the word
To speak the word
Love love love love love love love love
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Love love love love love love love love
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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