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Faun
Here down this very way,
Here only yesterday
King Faun went leaping.
He sang, with careless shout
Hurling his name about;
He sang, with oaken stock
His steps from rock to rock
In safety keeping,
“Here Faun is free,
Here Faun is free!”
Today against yon pine,
Forlorn yet still divine,
King Faun leant weeping.
“They drank my holy brook,
My strawberries they took,
My private path they trod.”
Loud wept the desolate God,
Scorn on scorn heaping,
“Faun, what is he?
Faun, what is he?”
poem by Robert Graves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My dogs
bark at the neighbors,
bark at the UPS man,
bark at cars
and kids on bicycles.
they bark at the television,
the radio
and the stereo.
they bark at
the vacuum cleaner,
the dust mop
and the broom.
they bark at
anyone
who enters the house
uninvited.
and
when they’re not barking,
they’re sitting there
waiting
for something
to bark at.
good dogs.
poem by John Yamrus
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The Stringy-Bark Tree
There's the whitebox and pine on the ridges afar,
Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;
There is many another, but dearest to me,
And the king of them all was the stringy-bark tree.
Then of stringy-bark slabs were the walls of the hut,
And from stringy-bark saplings the rafters were cut;
And the roof that long sheltered my brothers and me
Was of broad sheets of bark from the stringy-bark tree.
And when sawn-timber homes were built out in the West,
Then for walls and for ceilings its wood was the best;
And for shingles and palings to last while men be,
There was nothing on earth like the stringy-bark tree.
Far up the long gullies the timber-trucks went,
Over tracks that seemed hopeless, by bark hut and tent;
And the gaunt timber-finder, who rode at his ease,
Led them on to a gully of stringy-bark trees.
Now still from the ridges, by ways that are dark,
Come the shingles and palings they call stringy-bark;
Though you ride through long gullies a twelve months you’ll see
But the old whitened stumps of the stringy-bark tree.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Doggy Style
1-My dog
my lovely dog
that sees everything
listen everything
knows everything
and can't tell me
nothing!
Feels sorry for me.
2-My dog
doesn't bark
bullshit
My dog
doesn't bark
about others
My dog
doesn't bark
curses
My dog
barks
only the truth.
cK
poem by Arian Llalla
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Yeux Glauques
Gladstone was still respected,
When John Ruskin produced
'King's Treasuries'; Swinburne
And Rossetti still abused.
Foetid Buchanan lifted up his voice
When that faun's head of hers
Became a pastime for
Painters and adulterers.
The Burne-Jones cartons
Have preserved her eyes;
Still, at the Tate, they teach
Cophetua to rhapsodize;
Thin like brook-water,
With a vacant gaze.
The English Rubaiyat was still-born
In those days.
The thin, clear gaze, the same
Still darts out faun-like from the half-ruin'd face,
Questing and passive. . . .
;Ah, poor Jenny's case' . . .
Bewildered that a world
Shows no surprise
At her last maquero's
Adulteries.
poem by Ezra Pound
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The Old Bark Hut
Oh, my name is Bob the Swagman, before you all I stand,
And I've had many ups and downs while travelling through the land.
I once was well-to-do, my boys, but now I am stumped up,
And I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
Ten pounds of flour, ten pounds of beef, some sugar and some tea,
That's all they give to a hungry man, until the Seventh Day.
If you don't be moighty sparing, you'll go with a hungry gut
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
The bucket you boil your beef in has to carry water, too,
And they'll say you're getting mighty flash if you should ask for two.
I've a billy, and a pint pot, and a broken-handled cup,
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
Faith, the table is not made of wood, as many you have seen
For if I had one half so good, I'd think myself serene
'Tis only an old sheet of bark—God knows when it was cut
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
And of furniture, there's no such thing, 'twas never in the place,
Except the stool I sit upon—and that's an old gin case.
It does us for a safe as well, but you must keep it shut,
Or the flies would make it canter round the old hark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Or the flies would make it canter round the old bark hut.
If you should leave it open, and the flies should find your meat,
They'll scarcely leave a single piece that's fit for man to eat.
But you mustn't curse, nor grumble—what won't fatten will fill up
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In the summer time, when the weather's warm, this hut is nice and cool,
And you'll find the gentle breezes blowing in through every hole.
You can leave the old door open, or you can leave it shut,
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.
In the winter time—preserve us all—to live in there's a treat
Especially when it's raining hard, and blowing wind and sleet.
The rain comes down the chimney, and your meat is black with soot
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
I've seen the rain come in this hut just like a perfect flood,
Especially through that great big hole where once the table stood.
There's not a blessed spot, me boys, where you could lay your nut,
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
So beside the fire I make me bed, and there I lay me down,
And think myself as happy as the king that wears a crown.
But as you'd be dozing off to sleep a flea will wake you up,
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hu
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.
Faith, such flocks of fleas you never saw, they are so plump and fat,
And if you make a grab at one, he'll spit just like a cat.
Last night they got my pack of cards, and were fighting for the cut
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.
So now, my friends, I've sung my song, and that as well as I could,
And I hope the ladies present won't think my language rude,
And all ye younger people, in the days when you grow up,
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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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
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Bark At The Moon
Screams break the silence
Waking from the dead of night
Vengence is boiling
He's returned to kill the light
Then when he's found who he's looking for
Listen in awe and you'll hear him
Bark at the moon
Ha ha ha ha ha...
Years spent in torment
Buried in a nameless grave
Now he has risen
Miracles would have to save
Those that the beast is looking for
Listen in awe and you'll hear him
Bark at the moon
Hey yeah
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne from Bark At The Moon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Jack Russell was heard in the dark.
He would bark on the beach at a shark.
When he ventured too close
he was grabbed by the nose
in the end there was just one more bark.
quote by by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Among Others Up To It.
that what?
that dog was woofed on me
and am I supposed to be offended
on entire a world?
and let him bark!
for me it even isn't disturbing.
I did extra earplugs
in ears, isn't ringing.
I can`t hear nothing.
and I have the peace.
I after all, lacked it.
and the dog will bark and...
' the dog for him licked the muzzle...'
dog is from barking,
among others.
poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
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He had his Dream
He had his dream, and all through life,
Worked up to it through toil and strife.
Afloat fore'er before his eyes,
It colored for him all his skies:
The storm-cloud dark
Above his bark,
The calm and listless vault of blue
Took on its hopeful hue,
It tinctured every passing beam -
He had his dream.
He labored hard and failed at last,
His sails too weak to bear the blast,
The raging tempests tore away
And sent his beating bark astray.
But what cared he
For wind or sea!
He said, 'The tempest will be short,
My bark will come to port.'
He saw through every cloud a gleam -
He had his dream.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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I Want A Dog
(tennant/lowe)
---------------
I want a dog,
A chihuahua
When I get back to my small flat
I want to hear somebody bark
Oh, (oh oh) you can get lonely
Dont want a cat,
Scratching its claws all over my
Habitat
Giving no love and getting fat
Oh, (oh oh) you can get lonely
And a cats no help with that
I want a dog,
To walk in the park
When it gets dark, my dog will bark
At any passers-by
Oh, (oh oh) you can get lonely
I want a dog
I want a dog,
A chihuahua
When I get back to my small flat
I want to hear somebody bark
Oh, (oh oh) you can get lonely
I want a dog
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Surroundings-7
Nuisance Neighbour
Four dogs bark all day
Grunts frequent thirsty borewell
Helpless tiffs pursued
Mom, dad, sons two quarrel loud
Four dogs theirs bark all day long
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Pan at Lane Cove
SCALY with poison, bright with flame,
Great fungi steam beside the gate,
Run tentacles through flagstone cracks,
Or claw beyond, where meditate
Wet poplars on a pitchy lawn.
Some seignior of colonial fame
Has planted here a stone-cut faun
Whose flute juts like a frozen flame.
O lonely faun, what songs are these
For skies where no Immortals hide?
Why finger in this dour abode
Those Pan-pipes girdled at your side?
Your Gods, and Hellas too, have passed,
Forsaken are the Cyclades,
And surely, faun, you are the last
To pipe such ancient songs as these.
Yet, blow your stone-lipped flute and blow
Those red-and-silver pipes of Pan.
Cold stars are bubbling round the moon,
Which, like some golden Indiaman
Disgorged by waterspouts and blown
Through heaven's archipelago,
Drives orange bows by clouds of stone . . .
Blow, blow your flute, you stone boy, blow!
And, Chiron, pipe your centaurs out,
The night has looped a smoky scarf
Round campanili in the town,
And thrown a cloak about Clontarf.
Now earth is ripe for Pan again,
Barbaric ways and Paynim rout,
And revels of old Samian men.
O Chiron, pipe your centaurs out.
This garden by the dark Lane Cove
Shall spark before thy music dies
With silver sandals; all thy gods
Be conjured from Ionian skies.
Those poplars in a fluting-trice
They'll charm into an olive-grove
And dance a while in Paradise
Like men of fire above Lane Cove.
poem by Kenneth Slessor
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Conviction (II)
I walked abroad in Easter Park,
I heard the wild dog's distant bark,
I knew my Lord was risen again, -
Wild dog, wild dog, you bark in vain.
poem by Stevie Smith
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Here to Bark You
I'm here to bark you.
With a not too thick protecterate.
Enclosing you to allow you growth.
To allow your branches,
To reach with leaves.
I've done the pines,
With their needles to prick.
I've done the birch,
To have them stand out...
For an easy search.
The oak and maple were not difficult for me.
The redwoods were the ones,
To reach as high as the eye could see!
Towers and the tallest on Earth,
They chose to be!
I'm here to bark you.
With a not too thick protecterate.
Enclosing you to allow you growth.
To allow your branches,
To reach with leaves.
I'm here to bark you...
Trees, woody vines and shrubs.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Faun
Ha! sir, I have seen you sniffing and snoozling
about among my flowers.
And what, pray, do you know about
horticulture, you capriped?
'Come, Auster, come Apeliota,
And see the faun in our garden.
But if you move or speak
This thing will run at you
And scare itself to spasms.'
poem by Ezra Pound
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Stupid Cupid - Ep 4
Cupid got seriously queer
And went hunting for a deer
He was crowned later
As the Faun's creator
Cupid's sick little joke, I fear!
poem by Vincent Kuo
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Leaves Compared with Flowers
A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
But I may be one who does not care
Ever to have tree bloom or bear.
Leaves for smooth and bark for rough,
Leaves and bark may be tree enough.
Some giant trees have bloom so small
They might as well have none at all.
Late in life I have come on fern.
Now lichens are due to have their turn.
I bade men tell me which in brief,
Which is fairer, flower or leaf.
They did not have the wit to say,
Leaves by night and flowers by day.
Leaves and bar, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.
poem by Robert Frost
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The Baobab Tree
under whose branches lions lie down
dreaming in the sun,
where baboons sometimes play,
where elephants rip off some bark
and when you walk around it,
its branches look like rows of spears,
and birds do fly up, and bees buzz around it,
and when you come in its shade, smell its fruit,
its leaves and bark does not look similar
to any other tree.
poem by Gert Strydom
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