A good man finds his native soil in every country.
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This Side Of The River
There's no happiness this side
The river is without a tide
The soil unfertile for seed
Here grows nothing but weed.
Behold the river's other side
Soil is rich so is tide
Spreads out mile after mile
Lands rich and fertile.
I wish I were on that side
This is not the place to reside
There I could get good harvest
There I could build a happy nest.
The man on the river's other side
Finds his river without tide
Finds everything there vile
The land barren unfertile!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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My Native Land!
WHERE is the minstrel's native land?
Where the flames of light and feeling glow;
Where the flowers are wreathed for beauty's brow;
Where the bounding heart swells strong and high,
With holy hopes which may not die--
There is my native land!
What is that bright land's music name?
Ere it bent its neck to a foreign yoke,
It was called the land of the broad strong oak--
The land of the free--the German land--
But her sons lie slain by the stranger's hand,
And she weeps sad tears of shame.
Why does the minstrel's country weep?
That the hurricane's rage hath bowed the pride
Of those who should stem the rising tide;
That her princes quail--and that none will hear
Her holy words of might and fear--
Therefore my land must weep!
To whom does the minstrel's country call?
It calls to the silent heavenly powers,
With despair, as the thunder darkly lowers,
For its freedom--for those who should break its chain--
For the hand that never strikes in vain--
To these doth my country call!
For what does the minstrel's country sigh?
That the bloodhound may hunt beyond the bound
Of the soil which brave hearts make holy ground;
That the serf may cease; and our sons be free,
Or those who have borne them, cease to be--
For this does my country sigh!
And still doth the minstrel's country hope?
Her hope is firm, for her cause is good--
That her brave will rise, and her true in blood;
And that God the avenger, our fathers' God,
Will mark the tears that bedew her sod--
Such is my country's hope!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Crossroads
When first I did appear upon this native soil
All up and down this country at labor I did toil
I slumbered in the moonlight and I rose with the sun
I rambled through the canyons where the cold rivers run
When first I did come down where the land meets the sea
The people said who are you and what would your name be
I said I have no home and I am no mans son
twas inland I was born and from inland that I come
In the good land I was young and I was strong
No one dared to call me son
Happy just to see my days work done
See my days work done
So I swung an axe as a timberjack
And I worked the Quebec mines
And on the golden prairie I rode the big combines
I sailed the maritime waters of many a seaport town
Built the highways and the byways to the western salmon grounds
Ive gazed upon the good times Ive seen the bad times too
Felt many a cold and bitter wind and many a mornin dew
Ive watched the country growin like a fair and mighty thing
And on the still of a summer night Ive heard the mountains ring
In the good land I was young and I was strong
No one dared to call me son
Happy just to see my days work done
See my days work done
But now the seeds are planted and the gates are open wide
The old ways are forgotten theres no place left to hide
And the legacy Im leavin you is not very hard to find
Youll see it all around you at this crossroads of time
In the sweet soil its a-growin at the crossroads of time
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Devastation
I see wonders in this country never seen,
I open my vision tonight, in this country.
We are something of grandeur, often delighted
By the lies we acquire and abhor in this dusky nation.
Then dusky nations with bleak landscapes
Carry magnificence, to expend the riches of their soil.
My innocence remains tightly with my soul
As my commune absorbs ill-health, wrong weather
Finding us in rhythm with this poem.
My colony collects burden from magnificence,
The real country condemns the cathedral clad in evil
When the country finds its cavorting of bears
And the devastation of the plant kingdom.
My own landscape will appear jagged
Compared with another land of beauty.
I wonder all the time, with a broken nose
And a broken mind, and I observe the changing times.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Beloved, with the spent and sickly fumes...
Beloved, with the spent and sickly fumes
Of rumour's cinders all the air is filled,
But you are the engrossing lexicon
Of fame mysterious and unrevealed,
And fame it is the soil's strong pull.
Would that I more erect were sprung!
But even so I shall be called
The native son of my own native tongue.
The poets' age no longer sets their rhyme,
Now, in the sweep of country plots and roads,
Lermontov is rhymed with summertime,
And Pushkin rhymes with geese and snow.
And my wish is that when we die,
Our circle closed, and hence depart,
We shall be set in closer rhyme
Than binds the auricle and the heart.
And may our harmony unified
Some listener's muffled ear caress
With all that we do now imbibe,
And shall draw in through mouths of grass.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Soil Is A Soul Of Life
Soil what is soil Lord?
soil is life seed
soil is a living organism
soil is a loom
from which you were made
dust you were dust you will be
Soil what is soil Scientist?
soil is a critical
part
of an ecosystem
soil provides
important nutrients
for plants in
an ecosystem
soil helps
anchor
plants
to keep
plants
in place
soil absorbs
holds water
for plants
soil absorbs
holds water
for animals
lakes rivers
to use
soil provides
a home
for many species
lots of living
organisms
soil
regenerates life
dust you were dust you will be
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Forgetting your native tongue means forgetting your native country.
I am a nationalist... my native soil is the theatre.
quote by Cyril Cusack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God of Misery
Misery and disease marry the soil and vegetable,
Many finds result from soil and garden, worms and snails,
That result, that deploy their forces armed in ways known to man.
I shall work again, cultivate the garden as a curtain is folded neatly,
The culture has a crowning achievement.
Grotesque and ugly, watchers of the night sky raise their anger
At the old comets and asteroids hitting the world as danger.
Grinding, depriving and dissolving the diseased soil,
Many old comets design danger, making use of the soil
By hitting too fast, and last of all the planet is hurt.
Misery is actually too powerful a danger,
That meteors are faster every year,
In a fit of rage is the god of asteroids.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Poet Finds....
The poet finds whatever the moon could not see,
The poet finds whatever the earth does not know,
The poet finds whatever the sun could not see,
The poet finds whatever others do not know,
The poet finds whatever the stars could not see,
So why do the heathen rage and the people plot vanity? !
For she who is pregnant is closer to us,
And the hart pants after streams of water.
Your tears have been your food night and day,
And like your inner self in the lan dof your muse;
But the poet finds whatever the sun could not see.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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All over the land are vast and handsome pastures, with good grass for cattle, and it strikes me the soil would be very fertile were the country inhabited and improved by reasonable people.
quote by Alvar N. C. de Vaca
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My People Die
My people die when they are asleep,
Kicking and punching their way to the heavens.
The wonder of peace suggests diplomas of good,
The good say goodbye to the morning.
My personality is finer than the workers of good,
It causes a stop and finds a treasure of gold.
The nature of some discovery sings to the tune,
And this melodious sound finds truth, in truth.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Few Ole Country Boys
Not too many years ago
When dreams were coming true
I'd reach for inspiration
Sometimes it would be you
I'd hear you on the radio
I sure did like your sound
Say it's good to know there's still
A few ol' country boys around
From the smoke it's hard to tell
What's coming down the line
We heard you were a fast train
Coming out of Caroline
We wondered what you were haulin'
When you rolled into to town
Say it's good to know there's still
A few ol' country boys around
You must have felt that same old feeling
More than once or twice
Guitars pressed against our hearts
Under the neon lights
I've got to say that feeling is the best that I have found
Lord it's good to know there's still
A few ol' country boys around
There's a lot of truth you know
In our kind of songs
About the life you're living
And how love's done you wrong
As long as there's a jukebox
And a honky tonk in town
It's good to know there's still
A few ol' country boys around
It's good to know there's still
A few ol' country boys around
song performed by by Randy Travis, translated by George Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Untitled
Under the chest ribs
Lies a lump of meat
A heap, betel shaped,
Do you want to eat?
Bring a sharp knife, quick,
Stab, repeatedly and be swift,
And out of it, make a good feast.
Soil upon soil
Again on them soil
Makes a good mound
Through it runs blood
Seven litres pure or more
Do you want to suck?
From a safe distance
Throw a Tomahawk
To make a perfect hole
Suck with full content
When Blood will spill.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Mistrust the man who finds everything good, the man who finds everything evil and still more the man who is indifferent to everything.
quote by Johann Kaspar Lavater
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Land To The Tiller
Cracked and clef soil of tolerated native mother
Beaten halo, attacked by the sun
Being friend and enemy to the end
Monsoon rain drops cried tears
Beyond of measure of sufferings keep in heart
Obeying to nature of god the body always brooks
Courageous mind and crooked back life domesticates
Keeping the dream of the beauty and smell of rose
Barren soil turning into fertile
Making dug well wetted over the land
Reaping seeds beget color of green
Mother of native attests through the centuries in time
By the history, for the people
Hostage curse is inherited
By the heart, for own future
To struggle of unjust is unavoidable
Righteous reality locking by suppression
Release of violence guides the admission
Ceaseless hope of legacy with permission
Though dark, for light dawn of full moon
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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This Is The Lucky Country
This is the lucky Country but not for everyone
Not for the grieving mother who has buried her young son
Left to die on the roadway in a case of hit and run
Not for her the lucky Country when all is said and done.
This is the lucky Country for the new tattslotto millionaire
For to scoop the big jackpot such luck indeed seems rare
And though others they may tell you for to win you must be in
So many have to lose out for one to have a win.
This is the lucky Country a well known politician said
And on his huge retirement pension he won't go short of bread
He also said in future decades no Aussie child would know of poverty
His prophesy is off the mark how very wrong is he.
This is the lucky Country or so we have been told
But not every gold prospector finds a big nugget of gold
And like the big tattslotto winners and their type are quite rare
So many must grow poorer for each new millionaire.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Composed In The Valley Near Dover, On The Day Of Landing
HERE, on our native soil, we breathe once more.
The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound
Of bells; those boys who in yon meadow-ground
In white-sleeved shirts are playing; and the roar
Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore;--
All, all are English. Oft have I looked round
With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found
Myself so satisfied in heart before.
Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass,
Thought for another moment. Thou art free,
My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride
For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass
Of England once again, and hear and see,
With such a dear Companion at my side.
poem by William Wordsworth
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For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid
There is a country to cross you will
find in the corner of your eye, in
the quick slip of your foot--air far
down, a snap that might have caught.
And maybe for you, for me, a high, passing
voice that finds its way by being
afraid. That country is there, for us,
carried as it is crossed. What you fear
will not go away: it will take you into
yourself and bless you and keep you.
That's the world, and we all live there.
poem by William Stafford
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Soil Dry Define Vine
soil nutrients
soil soul embodiment
soil fingertips
blood flow wine
hunger allure
siren vine original
soil dry
struggle character
define vine
poem by Terence George Craddock
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