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Cripple Creek
1: well I married a wife in the month of june,
Married her up by the light of the moon.
We live down on cripple creek.
Weve been there about a week.
Chorus: Im a-goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
Goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
2: now cripple creek girls about half-grown,
Jump on a man like a dog on a bone.
Roll my pants up to my knees,
Cross on cripple creek a-when I please.
Chorus: Im a-goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run,
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
Goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
3: well Im goin to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Im a-goin to cripple creek to have some fun.
Chorus: Im a-goin to cripple creek, Im goin on a run,
Goin to cripple creek to have some fun.
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who mocks the cripple should be straight himself.
Mocking Bird, Mocking Man
he is sometimes
tempted to mimic a mockingbird
that mimics him
most of the times
on top of the tree fronting
his window where he
faces the sun and moon
the mockingbird mocks him the moment he mocks it
and he in turn mocks the mockingbird that mocks him when he mocks it
both of them are bored
and have nothing good to do
they mock each other
morning noon and nigh time
bird man bird, man bird man bird
in truth the man wants to be a mockingbird
in truth the mockingbird wants to be a man
the problem is
no one is talking and no one is listening
no one wants to be himself/itself forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Time Mocks Us All
HOW TIME MOCKS US ALL
How Time mocks us all
The dead- remembered in ways unwanted.
Not remembered at all.
Descendants living in different worlds.
Does G-d Remember and Care?
Time mocks us all
Slowly we become
The music of another distant melody
For us forever unheard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cripple Creek Ferry
Hey, hey cripple creek ferry
Butting through the overhanging trees
Make way for the cripple creek ferry
The waters going down its a mighty tight squeeze.
All alone the captain stands
Hasnt heard from his deck hands.
The gambler tips his hat and walks towards the door.
Its the second half of the cruise.
And you know he hates to lose.
Hey, hey cripple creek ferry
Butting through the overhanging trees
Make way for the cripple creek ferry
The waters going down its a mighty tight squeeze.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Andrew Jones
I hate that Andrew Jones; he'll breed
His children up to waste and pillage.
I wish the press-gang or the drum
With its tantara sound would come,
And sweep him from the village!
I said not this, because he loves
Through the long day to swear and tipple;
But for the poor dear sake of one
To whom a foul deed he had done,
A friendless man, a travelling cripple!
For this poor crawling helpless wretch,
Some horseman who was passing by,
A penny on the ground had thrown;
But the poor cripple was alone
And could not stoop--no help was nigh.
Inch-thick the dust lay on the ground
For it had long been droughty weather;
So with his staff the cripple wrought
Among the dust till he had brought
The half-pennies together.
It chanced that Andrew passed that way
Just at the time; and there he found
The cripple in the mid-day heat
Standing alone, and at his feet
He saw the penny on the ground.
He stopped and took the penny up:
And when the cripple nearer drew,
Quoth Andrew, "Under half-a-crown,
What a man finds is all his own,
And so, my Friend, good-day to you."
And 'hence' I said, that Andrew's boys
Will all be trained to waste and pillage;
And wished the press-gang, or the drum
With its tantara sound, would come
And sweep him from the village.
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Albatross
Often to pass the time on board, the crew
will catch an albatross, one of those big birds
which nonchalently chaperone a ship
across the bitter fathoms of the sea.
Tied to the deck, this sovereign of space,
as if embarrassed by its clumsiness,
pitiably lets its great white wings
drag at its sides like a pair of unshipped oars.
How weak and awkward, even comical
this traveller but lately so adoit -
one deckhand sticks a pipestem in its beak,
another mocks the cripple that once flew!
The Poet is like this monarch of the clouds
riding the storm above the marksman's range;
exiled on the ground, hooted and jeered,
he cannot walk because of his great wings.
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Token Cripple
Look there's the token cripple
To his wheelchair tie a balloon
Don't speak or cause a ripple
As he takes off for the moon.
Never approach the disabled
Though they're human or so it's fabled.
Look there's the token paraplegic
Address him through his carer
Save face and be strategic
A megaphone would be fairer
Never assume your ignorance shows
Don't prove your a fool
He already knows.
Look there's the token cripple
In a pub garden with friends, and talking!
You mouth to him 'What's your tipple'
And crack a joke about Stephen Hawking.
How much more cerebral he'd be
If like you he could master walking
- Away.
poem by Kevin East
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is A Pity
it is a pity
that people peopled people into office
but people unpeoples their people on getting there
then cripple their people while peopling them
it is a pity
that pity cannot pity pete
in pete's land with pete's pills
but cripple poor pete with pimping preens.
poem by Olumide Ayodele
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Infection
burned up pictures and hot painful thoughts
instead of my brain it's my heart that rots
bacteria fester and infections abound
I try to scream but no one can hear a sound
I tell myself it's going to be okay
I tell myself it's going to be fine
but i spend my today obsessing over tomorrow
happiness smothered by aching tons of sorrow
they're building up and strangling me
the tears of mine that others cannot see
things run together like a river with no rocks
colors blend and the resulting black mocks
mocks my sorrow and turns it bright
and that sick way is how I see the light.
poem by Kate Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He who laughs at a cripple will not die without becoming himself.
It's better to be a cripple than always sitting down.
The cripple is always the one to open the dancing.