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The Sandpiper
Across the lonely beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I,
And fast I gather, but by bit,
The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I.
Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud, black and swift, across the sky:
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white light-houses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach,
One little sandpiper and I.
I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;
He starts not at my fitful song,
Nor flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong,
He scans me with a fearless eye;
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.
Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night,
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My drift-wood fire will burn so bright!
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky;
For are we not God's children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?
poem by Celia Thaxter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Swamp Music
(ed king - ronnie vanzant)
Going down to the swamp
Gonna watch me a hound dog catch a coon
Well, Im going down to the swamp
Gonna watch me a hound dog catch a coon
You know the hounddog make-a music
On a summer night under a full moon
Lord, fetch my cane pole mama
Gonna catch a bream or maybe two
Lord, fetch my cane pole mama
Gonna catch a bream or maybe two
And when the hound dog start barkin
Sounds like ol son house singin the blues
(chorus)
Hound dog sing that
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
When the hound dog starts singin
I aint got them big ol city blues
Well, hey pretty mama
Lord, just take that city hike
Said go ahead pretty mama
Lord, just take your city hike
Well, Id rather live with the hound dogs
For the rest of my natural born life
(chorus)
Singing that
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Well, Id rather live with the hounddogs
For the rest of my natural born life
Well, Id wanna live with the hound dogs
For the rest of my natural born life
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Swamp
There's a swamp at the end your bed, he said,
at the end of my bed there's a swamp.
My daddy told me so, he did
whenever I wouldn't stay in bed.
There's a swamp at the end of your bed.
The swamp at the end of my bed
is filled with icky worms,
they squirm about and wriggle.
They're horrible, slippery worms, they are
They're horrible, slippery worms.
Still, I stole my daddy's boots last night,
I stole my daddy's boots
and when the hand strikes 12 O'clock
down to the end of the bed, I'll go
to the end of the bed, to the end of the bed,
down to the very edge.
Down in the quagmire's inners
lurk monsters, big and bold,
maybe an odd old leather boot
has fallen, so I'm told.
It will be such fun to explore it,
the swamp that seeps through the floor.
My daddy thinks I'll stay in my bed,
but staying in bed is a bore, I say
staying in bed is a bore.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The flatterer
The one who praises you in front, flatters.
The other who praises you behind, admires.
The one who praises you in front and
Derides you behind is worse than a foe.
And the flatterer is your inferior.
03.07.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All my life I have lived and behaved very much like the sandpiper - just running down the edges of different countries and continents, 'looking for something'.
quote by Elizabeth Bishop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Farewell
Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go
Faint with toil, and racked with pain
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play;
From the cool sprmg where they drank;
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there;
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er
And the fetter galls no more!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
From Virginia's hills and waters
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
By the holy love He beareth;
By the bruised reed He spareth;
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Farewell of a Virginia Slave Mother
Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage
Gone, gone, - sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go
Faint with toil, and racked with pain
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play;
From the cool spring where they drank;
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there;
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er
And the fetter galls no more!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
From Virginia's hills and waters
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
By the holy love He beareth;
By the bruised reed He spareth;
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Give Thanks & Praises
Give thanks and praises to the most-i (jah!);
Give thanks and praises so high (so high).
He will not deceive us my brethren;
He will only lead us again (again):
Oh, take that veil from off of your eyes;
Look into the future of realize.
Noah had three sons, ham, shem and japhet (ham, shem and japhet);
And in ham is known to be the prophet.
Glory to jah, the prophet is come (through all these ages);
Glory to jah, the prophet has come (through all these stages).
When my soul was hurtin deep within,
And Im worrying to be free, desperately, yeah.
So guide and protect ini, o jah - jah,
Through all these ages;
Guide and protect ini, o jah - jah,
Through all these stages.
Rastafari is his name (jah!) -
Rastafari is his name (jah!).
If jah didnt love I (love I),
If I didnt love I (love I),
If jah didnt love I (love I),
If I didnt love i,
Would I be around today?
Would I be around to say:
Give thanks and praises, give thanks and praises;
Give thanks and praises, give thanks and praises;
Give thanks and praises, give thanks and praises. /fadeout/
song performed by by Bob Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Toad Frog And Tadpole
toad frog and their little son tadpole
were so happy pleased and proud
when their home in the far swamp
they did eventually newly renovate
the sun shone sparkling through
their neat rural aquatic homestead
like a friendly radiant bright crisp
clean vibrant yellow golden gate
illuminates intricate filigree lacy patterns
on their carefully arranged plants and flowers
happily they would together all sit outside
sucking in flies merrily for hours and hours
oh happy happy merry summer swamp scene
to renovate their aquatic home was their dream
this little corner swamp swept all spic and span
beauty still saved yet from dread destructive man
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flowers Of The Nipa Palm
the flowers of the nipa palm assume the color of
the brown, brackish swamp
expectedly, these flowers shine on the swamp
like fists of an angry man
deep within the thick covering, if one tries hard enough
to open what it has closed for all these years
is a white cloud, thick with syrup, something sweet
its fruits, from the flowers of its fists.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crisis
They say the sun an-a shines for all,
But-a yin some people world, it never shine at all. mm-mm-mm.
They say love is a stream that will find its course;
I mean - some-a people think life is a dream
So they making matters worse.
But no matter what the crisis is;
No matter what the crisis is:
Doin it, doin it, doin your thing!
(give jah all the thanks and praises!)
Givin it, givin it, givin it, givin it!
(give jah all the thanks and praises!)
So - so - so much have been said, so little (been done) been done
They still killin - killin the people
And they - and they havin (havin their fun) - havin-a - havin-a lots of fun -
Killin the people, oo-yoo! - (havin fun) havin their fun!
They just want to be the leader
In the ouse of the risin sun.
But no matter what the crisis is;
Oh, no, oh, no no - no what the crisis is:
Do your - live it up, live it up, live it up, live it up!
(give jah all the thanks and praises!)
Live it up, live it up, live it up, live it up!
(give jah all the thanks and praises!)
---
/instrumental break/
---
They say the sun-un-un-un shines for all,
But-a yin some people world, it never shine at all!
They say love is a stream,
That will find its course, and every river runs to sea;
Some people still think life is a dream,
So they - so they makin - makin it worse.
No matter what the crisis is;
No matter what the crisis is:
Do it: live it up, live it up, live it up, live it up!
(give jah all the thanks and praises!)
Live it up, live it up, live it up, live it up!
(give jah all the thanks and praises!)
(give jah all the thanks and praises!)
His mercies endureth for ever, yeah!
(give jah all the thanks and praises!)
Oh, children, come on, and give jah -
(give jah all the thanks and praises!)
Children, come on, and give jah -
(give jah all the thanks and praises!) /fadeout/
song performed by by Bob Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who praises everybody, praises nobody.
quote by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give Praises For This Day You Witness
Give praises for this day you witness,
In gratitude for those blessings...
That have come to you.
Why hesitate to await permission?
Why do that,
After all you've been through.
Yesterday with delays and impatience...
Has gone and should be erased.
No need to redo or relive a past,
For you that has dues paid at last.
Give praises for this day you witness,
In gratitude for those blessings...
That have come to you.
Who more than you deserves these gifts?
To do as you choose...
As God wishes you to do.
With faith and hope and sacrifice,
You have succeeded to achieve a peace.
It is yours to keep,
And know this is true!
Be thankful.
Give praises.
Know that God loves you!
Do not feel guilt or a selfishness.
This God for you has done.
He has chosen you to bless!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Amos Moses
Amos Moses was a Cajun.
And lived by himself in the swamp
Hunting alligator for a living.
Knock 'em on the head with a stump
The Louisiana law's gonna get you, Amos
It ain't legal hunting alligator down in the swamp, boy
Now everybody blamed his old man
for raising him mean as a snake
When Amos Moses was a boy,
his Daddy would use him as alligator bait
Tie a rope around his waist,
throw him in the swamp
Alligator bait on the Louisiana bayou
Just about 45 minutes
southeast of Tipidow, Louisiana
There lived a man called Duck Bill Sam
and his pretty wife Hannah
They raised up a son that could
eat up his weight in groceries
Named him after a man of the cloth.
They called him Amos Moses
Now folks in South Louisiana
said Amos was a helluva man
He could trap the biggest, meanest alligator.
He only had to use one hand
That's all he got left
'cause the alligator bit him. Ha ha!
Left arm gone clean up to the elbow
Just about 45 minutes
southeast of Tipidow, Louisiana
There lived a man called Duck Bill Sam
and his pretty wife Hannah
They raised up a son that could
eat up his weight in groceries
Named him after a man of the cloth.
They called him Amos Moses
Here comes Amos
And you should have seen his pretty wife, Hannah
Well, the Sheriff got wind that
Amos was in the swamp hunting alligator skin
So he hid in the swamp, I'm gonna get you boy.
He never did come out again.
Well, I wonder where the Louisiana Sheriff went to?
Sure can get lost in the Louisiana bayou (3X)
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Praise
Oh, praise me not in a limitless way;
O’er-praise puts mind in enshackled a sway,
Distorting its performance thereafter;
An o’er-enthused mind can’t function better.
The hard-earned, older virtues won o’er years,
In moments of flimsy praises by dears,
Feels weaken’d from its adverse/ill-effects;
Praises any human mind sure infects!
Praise me deservingly and nothing more;
Never praises in excessive measures pour;
It could inebriate my feeble mind,
Unless measured and properly refined.
’Tis better not to be praised if worthy,
Than be o’er-praised, ecstatic and guilty.
poem by John Celes
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So Many Like You
You tell everyone of your greatness of how wonderful you think you are
And they wink behind your back when you tell them of your recent big buy your brand new car
They look on you as rather boastful since your own praises you only sing
In self esteem you are not lacking and that in itself is a good thing,
Those you tell your success stories to their own success stories only like to tell
They are not sincere in their praises when they tell you that you have done well
You do not understand that many others are like you their own success stories they like to relate
And though out of politeness they say you have done well
they do not really think you are great
Many like to tell of their own successes and of the successes of others would rather not hear
For many into self promotion or at least that's how it does appear
So many like you have big egos and for to promote themselves are not shy
And why they sing their own praises to others is not hard to understand why
Since we live in the age of the aspirational so many to greatness aspire
And only those who are seen to be successful are people that others admire.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Hopefully Yours
Praises to Thee Lord of Heavens
Satan and sins, Thy desire
Gave us fear
This time last year
In nocturnal December
Tsunami butted us on to despair
Praises to Thee Lord of Heavens
Evil and suffer, Thy desire
Gave us deluge to expire
Again in nocturnal November
This grave year
An unforgettable misery somber
Praises to Thee Lord of Heavens
Thou glee shall flee
Perishing with us souls eerie
Pounce on here to see
The unseen destinstion under an estuary-canopy
A seething change herein are we
Praises to Thee Lord of Heavens
Thrusted by the torrential rain
With tyrannic might the quaffed whole main
Mounted numbers of fallen lives down slain
Unhappy sign
Thy Mercy shall stop the chain
Praises to Thee Lord of Heavens
Sooner rings the New Year
Pictures of gone history poor
Be it pictures mere
Shan't be hung any more
Shan't be born any more
And Thy Mercy, will commend gaiety?
Hopefully Yours...
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Ode to a Sandpiper
'Ode to a Sandpiper' by Dave Hart
Cognoscente of ocean
sand and waves
Peck-nibbling
your days
away
Spindly legs
ever in
prestissimo gait
Strafe the sand
in staccacto flecks
quaff an undulating
tide -
a delectable
salt water tope.
©David Hart 2006
poem by David Hart
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