He eats sheep-tail with the wold, and cries with the shephard.
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Wind
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the winter stark,
Oh the level dark,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the mystery
Of the blasted tree
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the owlet's croon
To the haggard moon,
To the waning moon,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the fleshless stare,
Oh the windy hair,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the cold sigh,
Oh the hollow cry,
The lean and hollow cry,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the white sight,
Oh the shuddering night,
The shivering shuddering night,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Born Branded
Jesus called, he wont be coming for dinner tonight
Democracy cancelled out, some kind of fight
So tell me how am I supposed to eat alone?
When all of my butlers have gone, my nannies have gone
On the morning of my birth
I must have wondered at the earth
I must have seen the trees like adam showed them to eve
But now I am american and white
All I know is anxiety and fright
Now love is something I must search for to find
Jesus called, he wont be coming for dinner love
Democracy cancelled out for the final time
Im beggin brothers and sisters cut your leashes free now
We were born branded, we were born branded, we were born branded
We were born second-handed down
The shephard is in a field of reality
Blames the sheep for lost possibilities
The sheep may be lost but the shephard is just as lost
A shephard is a man afraid of
Losing all the things he made up to
Keep his feet planted high above the field
And Im talkin about mother, father, sister, brother
Teacher, preacher, anyone who dares to tell you where to stand
I say the love is in your hands
Just look at the world, dont try to understand
We were born branded, second-handed down
We were born branded, second-handed down
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mermaid's Tears
she cries, yes she cries
under the sea, the yellow sea
the lime green sea
she cries
for you
for the love she had
and lost
and is longing for
once more
but cannot have..again
she cries like rain
salty rain
if she stays here
beneath the navy sea
you she cannot have
legs become a lilac tail
a glorious gift from Neptune
a flashing shining thing
her true birthright
her beautiful tail
it slaps the sea
in joy
and also grief....
poem by Donna Earle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When an elephant eats and eats and still cries for more, it is the grass that will get embarrassed.
Emotional Food Chain
Anger eats Balanced
Balanced eats Confusion
Confusion eats Delight
Delight eats Exasperation
Exasperation eats Forgiveness
Forgiveness eats Grief
Grief eats Humor
Humor eats Isolation
Isolation eats Joy
Joy eats Knottiness
Knottiness eats Love
Love eats Moodiness
Moodiness eats Nicety
Nicety eats Outrage
Outrage eats Peace
Peace eats Quick-temperament
Quick-temperament eats Righteousness
Righteousness eats Stupidity
Stupidity eats Trust
Trust eats Unhappiness
Unhappiness eats Vitality
Vitality eats Weariness
Weariness eats X-citement
X-citement eats Yawn
Yawn eats Zest
Zest eats Anger
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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Shepherd's Song
Follow, follow, little sheep,
O’er the dreary wold;
Follow, soon ye all shall sleep,
Safe from wet and cold.
Linger not, oh! lagging feet!
Night will soon be here;
Weary shepherd fain would greet
Wife and children dear.
In his cot the fire burns bright,
Supper's ready laid;
Baby waits to say good-night,
Ere he goes to bed.
Little ones run in and out,
Watch beside the gate;
"What can father be about,
That he's home so late?"
Mother makes the ashes blaze,
Baby smiles to see;
Tells them how some wanderer strays
From the flock and me.
Whilst the children warmly sleep,
On the dreary wold,
Father stays till all his sheep
Are safely in the fold.
Linger not, oh! lagging feet!
Darksome night is near;
Weary shepherd fain would greet
Wife and children dear.
poem by Matilda Betham-Edwards from Littell's Living Age, vol. 128
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Tiger By The Tail
What a shock it was so surprising
You looked so small and frail
I didnt know what to do
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
People said that you must be joking
You let emotions run away with you
I realized a little too late
I bit off more than I could chew
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
At times life can be so enlightening
But it can turn on you
Lately it gets so complicated i
I dont know what the tiger will do
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I see music as one language. If one musical form eats its own tail, it dies. So it needs to be a mongrel, it needs to be hybridised.
Krishna's Meal
Kanha eats in Yasoda's lap.
some he eats, some he drops,
as the ladies of Nandgaon watch,
some he eats and some he puts
in Nanda's mouth,
this joy is beyound recount.
some he eats, some gives to gopas,
butter in his hands, curd in doniyas.
The joy of Yasoda
the three worlds cannot account.
the meal is over, Kanha washes,
for Sur the left-overs count.
poem by Sant Surdas
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Rust eats iron
Rust eats iron.
Separation from wife
eats husband
Contempt by kith and kins
And serving evil master
Eats body by burning silently
Corroding heart and soul body
from within.
Rust eats iron.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elementalist
Could Fate ordain a lot for me
Beyond all human ills,
I think that I would choose to be
A shephard of the hills;
With shaggy cloak and cape where skies
Eternally are blue
How I would stare with quiet eyes
At passing you!
And you would stare at static me,
Beside my patient flock;
And I would watch you silently,
A one with time and rock.
Then foreign farings you would chart,
And fly with fearsome wings,
While I would bide to be a part
Of elemental things.
Yet strangely I would have it so,
Since I am kin to these,--
To heather heath and bloom ablow,
And peaks and piney trees.
As diamond star at evenfall,
And pearly morning mist
Sing in my veins, myself I call
An Elementalist.
So as in city dirt and din
I push a grubby pen,
And toil, my bed and board to win,
I hate the haunts of men.
Beyond brick wall I seem to see
Fern dells and rocky rills . . .
O crazy dream! O God, to be
A shephard of the hills!
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The full-fed sheep is frightened at its own tail.
Mr. Sheep
Golly, mister, where you going? you'll be late for work careful or you'll drop your briefcase jesus, what a jerk there he goes down to the subway off to catch the train too bad for him he forgot
Umbrella poor mr. sheep you're wet mr. sheep walk on, mr. sheep walk on tell me, how's your little family? how's your little wife? are you going to live with these monsters for the rest of your
Maybe you got a little girlfriend stashed somewhere in town may be you ain't got a little girlfriend ha ha ha ha ha poor mr. sheep he's a lonely guy too walk on mr. sheep walk on dance, mister!
He's doin' ok oh, oh oh, he's all right let him get up by himself now i don't want to be too rough and i don't want to be too mean you're right - this world is awful tough i know exactly what y
An but i want you to know exactly how i feel and to tell you the truth right now i feel like going i feel like going baa baa mr. sheep careful, you're walking all over your own self now walk on,
Sheep walk on, mr. sheep walk
On, mr. sheep walk on
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sheep
Sometimes I get so angry with the simple life they lead
The shepherds smile seems to confirm my fears
Theyve never questioned anything, theyve never disagreed
Sometimes I think they must have wool in their ears
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
When I was young they used to get me counting sheep
But the counting I did was all in vain
No when Im tired and Im trying to get to sleep
I count humans jumping onto trains
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
[influential guitar break]
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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House of Fire
whenever i step in
my spirit bursts in flames
my soul cries in pain
my brain engites in rage
i cannot survive in this house
the pressure
the stress
the gloom
it eats away at me
like fire eats paper
every moment burns my insides
hardens me on the outside
like burnt toast
i become hard and coarse
nobody wants burnt toast
nobody wants me
walls collapse around me
everything turns to ash
everything turns black
every moment is painful
i cant get out of it
this house is my life
and i live in this house
poem by Wandering Scarlet
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The Little Slit in the Tail
I’M GLAD that the Bushmen can’t see me now
A-doing it tall in the town;
I’ve an inch-brimmed hat on my sun-burnt brow—
And my collar jumps up and down.
I’m wearing a vest that would charm a snake,
And a tie like a lost soul’s wail;
And I’m dressed in a coat of the latest make,
With a little slit in the tail:
With a little slit in the tail of it,
With a little slit in the tail.
My pants alone are a thing of joy,
And they’re built to show my bends,
With a crease behind and a crease before,
And a little curl in the ends.
I carry my nose-rag in my cuff,
And the lot should get me gaol—
I paid five guineas for my rig-out,
And one for the slit in the tail:
For the little slit in the tail of it,
For the little slit in the tail.
poem by Henry Lawson
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In a distant land many years ago, there lived a black sheep. It was executed by firing squad. A century later, the grieving flock erected an equestrian statue in honor of the slain sheep that looked very nice in the park. In the years that followed, every time a black sheep appeared, it was executed so that ordinary sheep could practice sculpture.
Augusto Monterroso in The Black Sheep and Other Fables (1969)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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