If the weather is good I go into the nearby wood - there I am painting a small beech forest (in the sun) with a few conifers mixed in. This takes until 8 'o clock.
quote by Gustav Klimt
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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They Make Them Tough In Beech Forest
They make them tough in Beech Forest it has become a well known place
As the former home of Cliff Young the ageing man who won the great race
From Sydney all of the way to Melbourne some two decades ago
Even in death the great man's legend does seem to grow and grow.
Forty five kilometres south of Colac the nearest big country Town
And though Beech Forest has a small population 'tis a place that has won renown
For it's hardy breed of people who possess great pride of place
A pride and courage that Cliff Young displayed in his greatest ever race.
They make them tough in Beech Forest in the potato growing countryside
The achievements of Cliff Young their most famous athlete to them a source of pride
A stranger there made to feel welcome of which many do testify
Of their friendly and hospitable nature of them none can deny.
They make them tough in Beech Forest the once home of the great Cliff Young
For his Sydney to Melbourne ultra Marathon winning run
His praises have been sung
One of the hardy breed of men from that famous place south of old Colac Town
Who from Sydney all of the way to Melbourne jogged his way to renown.
poem by Francis Duggan
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C Is For Conifers
Most with cones for seeds, most with needles for leaves
C is for conifers, my kind of trees
Large junipers and fir, spruce, cedars and pines
C is for conifers, more then five hundred kinds
If you see a Christmas tree or a stack of newspapers or a 2x4 frame of a house
It's probably made from pine trees and pine trees are conifers, that's what this song is about
Or if you see a plant in the shape of an elephant, or in the shape of a dog
It's probably a shrub, a conifer shrub pruned into that shape by someone
Most with cones for seeds, most with needles for leaves
C is for conifers, my kind of trees
Large junipers and fir, spruce, cedars and pines
C is for conifers, more then five hundred kinds
Spoken: There are so many different kinds of conifer trees.
This is just a few of them: Spruce,
Hemlocks, larch, cyprus, juniper,
Fir, Douglas fir, cedar, yew,
Pine, the dwarf conifer,
And the great California sequoia redwood.
Most with cones for seeds, most with needles for leaves
C is for conifers, my kind of trees
Large junipers and fir, spruce, cedars and pines
C is for conifers, more then five hundred kinds
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wood Song
The thin horizon of a plan is almost clear
My friends and I have had a tough time
Bruising our brains hard up against change
All the old dogs and the magician
Now I see were in the boat in two by twos
Only the heart that we have for a tool we could use
And the very close quarters are hard to get used to
Love weighs the hull down with its weight
But the wood is tired and the wood is old
And well make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds well have missed the point
Thats where I need to go
No way construction of this tricky plan
Was built by other than a greater hand
With a love that passes all out understanding
Watching closely over the journey
Yeah but what it takes to cross the great divide
Seems more than all the courage I can muster up inside
Although we get to have some answers when we reach the other side
The prize is always worth the rocky ride
But the wood is tired and the wood is old
And well make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds well have missed the point
Thats where I need to go
Sometimes I ask to sneak a closer look
Skip to the final chapter of the book
And then maybe steer us clear from some of the pain it took
To get us where we are this far yeah
But the question drowns in its futility
And even I have got to laugh at me
No one gets to miss the storm of what will be
Just holding on for the ride
The wood is tired and the wood is old
Well make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds well have missed the point
Thats where I need to go
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Confused Atmosphere
Mother Nature may be confused, just like those, who have used,
This demeaning title to describe, the very God they have denied,
The Lord God, Who orders all, weather patterns, great and small,
He may never enter their minds, while stirring weather of all kinds.
Confused He isn't or will not be, for He is The Lord of all Eternity,
He is God of Order, up above; controlling weather men speak of,
And they truly don't understand, He controls the weather at hand,
Confusing only meteorologists, who dream Mother Nature exists.
They forecast the weather to come, not aware of where it is from,
Knowing not who is really behind, the weather they bring to mind,
Being shaken and very surprised, when it's not as they surmised,
But taking credit from their peers, for saying good weather nears.
Often times, you may even note, as weather is good some gloat,
About the returning of the sun, as if, it's something they've done,
Even though they may shy away, as bad weather comes our way,
Almost with a real reverence to, The Lord, to whom it is truly due.
For He is The Creator of this earth, Ruler over the whole universe,
He has, and always will control, all weather patterns, big or small,
With change meteorologists see, that fools the latest technology,
And it's those who have refused, God's Truth, who are confused.
Counting-Out Rhyme
Silver bark of beech, and sallow
Bark of yellow birch and yellow
Twig of willow.
Stripe of green in moosewood maple,
Colour seen in leaf of apple,
Bark of popple.
Wood of popple pale as moonbeam,
Wood of oak for yoke and barn-beam,
Wood of hornbeam.
Silver bark of beech, and hollow
Stem of elder, tall and yellow
Twig of willow.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dining Room
A room with low windows, with brown shades,
Where a Danzig clock keeps silent in the corner;
A low leather sofa; and right above it
The sculpted heads of two smiling devils;
And a copper pan shows its gleaming paunch.
On the wall a painting that depicts winter.
A crowd of people skate on ice
Between the trees, smoke comes from a chimney,
And crows fly in an overcast sky.
Nearby a second clock. A bird sits inside.
It pops out squawking and calls three times.
And it has barely finished its third and last call
When mother ladles out soup from a hot tureen.
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Painting The Walls
painting the walls,
rolling over handprints,
cobwebs, and smoke stains....
over splashes of color,
over peels of time.
painting over the sounds
of voices whispering, laughing....
painting over tears hidden
from the world, from each other.
painting over running, and working,
working all day and half the night.
painting over children, and dreams,
folded like old clothes, and put away.
painting over notes from God,
that were often barely noticed...
painting over the nail that held
up the clock, hands moving slowly,
turning the seasons of living....
painting over the final words,
the last breath held in the hands,
of lives written in the grain....
the testimony of each feeling....
painting the walls,
and brushing the corners,
as if we never lived!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Weather
This good weather ruined me,
I resigned in such a weather
From my government job.
I got used to tobacco in such a weather,
I fell in love in such a weather;
I forgot to take home bread and salt
In such a weather;
My disease of writing poems
Recurred in such a weather;
This good weather ruined me.
poem by Orhan Veli Kanik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of Katrina and Ketsana
Sometimes it takes a stormy weather, to unite the people and pray together
Sometimes it takes a stormy weather, to teach the people to help one another
Sometimes it takes a stormy weather, to remind us that material things do not matter
What matters most in the land of our forefathers, is to love one another.
When bad things happen to good people, perhaps we say life is so unfair
But when good things happen to bad people, to fight their evil deeds, why we never care
Sometimes our lives must be shaken, with events like this to be awaken
So that Jesus' name must not be forgotten.
Remember, when he died on the cross, all our sins were forgiven.
Make peace everywhere, count your blessings, give your share
For every nature's tantrums, we should always prepare
No one is exempted, each one will have his own tragedy to bear.
September 28,2009
Winnipeg, Manitoba
poem by Emmaline Ortiz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh Lady Be Good
Listen to my tale of woe,
Its terribly sad but true,
All dressed up, no place to go
Each evning Im awfly blue.
I must win some handsome guy
Cant go on like this,
I could blossom out I know,
With somebody just like you. so...
Oh, sweet and lovely lady, be good
Oh, lady, be good to me
I am so awfly misunderstood
So lady, be good to me
Oh, please have some pity
Im all alone in this big city
I tell you Im just a lonesome babe in the wood,
So lady be good to me.
Oh, please have some pity
Im all alone in this big city
I tell you Im just a lonesome babe in the wood,
So lady be good to me.
Oh lady be good to me.
Published lyric furnished by a visitor.
Validated / transcribed by todd peach
Published version:
Listen to my tale of woe, its terribly sad but true,
All dressed up, no place to go
Each evning Im awfly blue.
I must win some winsome miss
Cant go on like this,
I could blossom out I know,
Which somebody just like you. so...
Oh sweet and lovely,
Lady be good,
Oh lady be good to me.
I am so awflly misunderstood,
So lady be good, to me.
Oh, please have some pity
Im all alone in this big city.
I tell you Im just a lonesome babe in the wood,
So lady be good....to me.
Auburn and brunette and blonde:
I love em all, tall or small
But somehow they dont grow fond;
They stagger but never fall.
Winters gone, and now its spring!
Love! where is thy sting?
If somebody wont respond,
Im going to end it all.
So.....
Oh sweet and lovely lady, be good.
Oh lady, be good to me!
I am so awfly misunderstood,
So, lady be good to me.
This is tulip weather -
So lets put two and two together.
I tell you
Im just a lonesome babe in the wood,
So, lady be good, to me.
Show version:
What a killing we could make;
Oh, lady, oh, please come through!
Susie, oh, for goodness sake;
It isnt so hard to do.
In this moment of distress
Hear my s.o.s.
All my future is at stake,
And, susie, its up to you,
So......
Oh sweet and lovely, lady be good,
Oh susie, be good to me.
I am so awflly misunderstood,
So susie, be good, to me.
Oh, please have some pity
Im all alone in this big city.
I tell you Im just a lonesome babe in the wood,
So susie be good....to me.
Listen to my tale of woe, its terribly sad but true,
All dressed up, no place to go
Each evning Im awfly blue.
I must win some winsome miss
Cant go on like this,
I could blossom out I know,
Which somebody just like you. so...
Oh sweet and lovely lady, be good.
Oh lady, be good to me!
I am so awfly misunderstood,
So, lady be good to me.
This is tulip weather -
So lets put two and two together.
I tell you
Im just a lonesome babe in the wood,
So, lady be good, to me.
Oh, sweet and lovely wifey, be good.
Oh, wifey be good to me!
Ive put an end to your widowhood
So wifey, be good to me.
We should be more clubby -
I hope youre glad to see your hubby.
Or else, dear,
Ill be a lonely babe in the wood,
Oh wifey be good to me.
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Mixed Up
Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed up about you
And no I cant find no reason
To explain the way that I feel
I remember things being clearer
At one t ime things were more real
Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed up about you
Im not lookin for sympathy
Im just frightened by this apathy
Like footsteps way in back of me
On a narrow street of stone
And if time will answer all questions
Then perhaps a film will be shown
Everyone could mail-order tickets
Yeah, you could sell a lot of shirts
For the last picture show
Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed u p about you
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smalltown
When youre growing up in a small town
When youre growing up in a small town
When youre growing up in a small town
You say, no one famous ever came from here
When youre growing up in a small town
And youre having a nervous breakdown
And you think that youll never escape it
Yourself or the place that you live
Where did picasso come from
Theres no michelangelo coming from pittsburgh
If art is the tip of the iceberg
Im the part sinking below
When youre growing up in a small town
Bad skin, bad eyes, gay and fatty
People look at you funny
When youre in a small town
My father worked in construction
Its not something for which Im suited
Oh, what is something for which you are suited
Getting out of here
I hate being odd in a small town
If they stare let them stare in new york city
As this pink eyed painting albino
How far can my fantasy go
Im no dali coming from pittsburgh
No adorable lisping capote
My hero, oh, do you think I could meet him
Id camp out at his front door
There is only one good thing about small town
There is only one good use for a small town
There is only one good thing about small town
You know that you want to get out
When youre growing up in a small town
You know youll grow down in a small town
There is only one good use for a small town
You hate it and youll know you have to leave
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Feet of the Forest
Feet are for foresters who feel open fields,
Their walk comes along with their crawling;
The trunks of the trees may be shields
Like the weapons and axes dwindling.
My feet are of the forest, the forest and plains,
To see a weather of the poor,
The weather shall rise with the sun and brains,
The look of the snow is to adore.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Fourth Day Of March
The pleasant aroma of the peppercorn trees
That come wafting to me in the evening breeze
And on the nearby pond the shy moorhen call
On the fourth day of March and the southern Fall.
A white backed magpie pipes on a nearby gum tree
A bird one so often does hear and does see
And though early Autumn the deciduous trees in the park of the town
Their leaves still quite green and not showing any brown.
The weather quite cool compared to yesterday
But the temperatures perfect for me anyway
Today a cool high of twenty two degrees
From the recent warm weather we do need some ease.
The brown and bare paddocks could do with some rain
And the farmers are feeling the financial strain
Of months of dry weather they feel burdened by care
And their financial cross for them heavy to bear.
There is not one rain cloud in the clear blue sky
And the thistledown flying in the breeze through the sky
And the dark moorhen call in the brown pond nearby
And the paddocks are looking so bare, brown and dry.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hollywood (Some Other Kind Of Town)
The bright lights of the city
Are starting to wear me down
And when I need you
You just can't be found
Loud days, endless nights
Are starting to make me crazy
And now you're gone
There's nothing left for me
(hollywood)
I don't care for sunny weather
(ain't that good)
I like the change of seasons better
(knock on wood)
I love the feel of rain upon my face
(for hollywood)
(hollywood)
No and I don't care if the snow comes down
(ain't that good)
Kick the falling leaves around
(knock on wood)
Got to move to some other kind of town
(for hollywood)
Wonderful to know you
Great to know you cared
As I look back
At the crazy things we've shared
I was dazzled by the moonlight
Blinded by neon nights
And as I look back
It never could be right
(hollywood)
I don't care for sunny weather
(ain't that good)
I like the change of seasons better
(knock on wood)
I love the feel of rain upon my face
(for hollywood)
(hollywood)
No and I don't care if the snow comes down
(ain't that good)
Kick the falling leaves around
(knock on wood)
Got to move to some other kind of town
(for hollywood)
Well I was dazzled by the moonlight
Blinded by neon nights
And now I see
It never could be right
(hollywood)
I don't care for sunny weather
(ain't that good)
I like the change of seasons better
(knock on wood)
I love the feel of rain upon my face
(for hollywood)
(hollywood)
No and I don't care if the snow comes down
(ain't that good)
Kick the falling leaves around
(knock on wood)
Got to move to some oth
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Landscapes
The ridges either side of the valley
were covered in dark pine forest.
The ploughed hill sides were red,
and the pastures were very green.
Constable’s landscape entitled “Weymouth”
is always in my mind at such times;
my memory of this small part of the
National Gallery surprises even me,
and maybe only I know how inevitable it all is.
The horsemen are riding through the forest
and at dusk they will halt on its edge
and then, after checking their instructions, ride carefully
down into the valley – delicately picking their way
through the small wood and fording the shallow river.
From then on it is not very far
to their destination. We both know this.
Somehow the action has at last gone beyond
the painting and this is for real.
But there can be no self-flattery on this account
– it has all been decided for us.
The illusions of freedom are at last
shown to be so obviously ridiculous that
most people cry at this point.
What it left is a canvas and paints
and a little time for distraction before the event.
It is not so much a justification – but saying
“Goodbye” now appears irrelevant.
All the lists and secret worlds have now been
exposed – there is little left to say.
“I did care, and the love I claimed
was and still is the miracle that continues
to astonish me. I love you.
It is only that death has forced
me into obeying its commands.
I am powerless and in its power.”
And that’s a personal statement and as true
I and honest as I can force the words to be.
The saddles creak and it’s almost dusk.
It doesn’t really matter whether this is
the real or a symbol – the end’s the same.
poem by Lee Harwood
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Poet's Graveyard
On the hills thick fog creeps along
the haunted soil of your grave
Ghostly birds sing misty, morning songs
-there's nothing left for you to crave
Mourning you - your friends you knew
dragging solemn shoes across the morning dew
crickets chirp in the gloomy mood
all is bad - all is good
Death stands nearby, with scythe - in black hood
Your final bed's headboard made of rock
in daylight hours - in moonlit storms
defeated skeletons of trees above you mock
your bones that feed the flowers and worms
All is bad - all is good
Even the Poet is a slave
wrapped in coffin-blanket made of wood
Clock is ticking - Road of Fate is paved
-and Death's a Dream we all shall have.
poem by Ray Quesada
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Forest of Wonders
In this forest of wonders
There is a girl walking alone
Walking straight with no direct destination
Questioning herself
Is there anyone out there
Is there anyone that would help her
She keeps on walking in this dark forest
There is no one
No one to call her back
No one want to remind her
No one would dare to speak with her
There, she keeps on walking
Wondering again
Is she alone
In this big forest
Is she alone
Finally she realize
There is no one
No one nearby to help her
No one dare to comfort her
To share her problems
She continue on walking until that FINAL DAY arrive.
poem by Hidayah Yusuf
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At Six O'clock
I heard the Ave Maria at six o'clock,
Today hear crimes on the radio at six o'clock.
I watched The Little Princess on tv at six o'clock,
Today watch explicit sex at six o’clock.
I was playing catch-up with my friends at six o'clock,
Today lonely children play atari at six o'clock.
I drank hot soup at six o’clock,
Today guys smoke crack at six o'clock.
I prayed to the guardian angel at six o'clock,
Today they kill people at six o'clock.
I studied algebra at six o'clock,
Today are planned crimes at six o'clock.
I was happy at six o'clock,
Today are all scared at six o'clock.
Parody in honor of Llorca
poem by Aschelminto Da Silva
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Twice Times
There were Two Little Bears who lived in a Wood,
And one of them was Bad and the other was Good.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times One -
But Bad Bear left all his buttons undone.
They lived in a Tree when the weather was hot,
And one of them was Good, and the other was Not.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Two -
But Bad Bear's thingummies were worn right through.
They lived in a Cave when the weather was cold,
And they Did, and they Didn't Do, what they were told.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Three -
But Bad Bear never had his hand-ker-chee.
They lived in the Wood with a Kind Old Aunt,
And one said 'Yes'm,' and the other said 'Shan't!'
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Four -
But Bad Bear's knicketies were terrible tore.
And then quite suddenly (just like Us)
One got Better and the other got Wuss.
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times Three -
But Bad Bear coughed in his hand-ker-chee!
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times Two -
But Bad Bear's thingummies looked like new.
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times One -
But Bad Bear never left his buttons undone.
There may be a Moral, though some say not;
I think there's a moral, though I don't know what.
But if one gets better, as the other gets wuss,
These Two Little Bears are just like Us.
For Christopher remembers up to Twice Times Ten ...
But I keep forgetting where I put my pen.*
* So I have had to write this one in pencil.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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