He that peeps into every bush will hardly get into the wood.
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That Beating Of The Bush
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I have this 'thing' about honest and truth.
And those who become offended,
By declaring them too harsh to accept!
There has not been an experience I received,
I regretted with a wish to forget!
And those attempting to live their lives,
In pretense to deceive believing this is not deception...
Will always escape with excuses and alibis to make.
Charading as if...
No one recognizes,
Who is in masquerade.
And who amongst them fakes!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
An honesty and truth spoken,
From deceivers is rare.
Those who deceive perceive...
Those who are direct and honest,
Are insensitive and do not care!
With a sharing of this mentality...
To those empathetic,
In a keeping of delusions...
Spared from despair!
But I know I'm not the only one...
Who elects to see,
Dishonesty from all people get up and leave.
I can't be!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Sun Peeps
When sun peeps thru heaps of clouds
Lotuses blossoms with ray beams
East horizon echoes with bird chirpings
World awakens thru divine melodies
When sun peeps thru window
Dreams dissolved in the eyelid
Dew drops dances on the meadow
Morbid moods became placid!
When sun peeps thru curtain
Kissed the rosy cheeks of virgin
Raised the emotives of unknown origin
Created the beauty illumination
When sun peeps thru hut
Melted the life of rut
Created new life of gut
Transcends the life of hurt!
poem by Mula Veereswara Rao
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Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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He will never get into the wood who starts at every bush.
He who fears every bush, comes late to the wood.
When the Bush Begins to Speak
They know us not in England yet, their pens are overbold;
We're seen in fancy pictures that are fifty years too old.
They think we are a careless race - a childish race, and weak;
They'll know us yet in England, when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
'The leaders that will be', the men of southern destiny,
Are not all found in cities that are builded by the sea;
They learn to love Australia by many a western creek,
They'll know them yet in England, when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
All ready for the struggle, and waiting for the change,
The army of our future lies encamped beyond the range;
Australia, for her patriots, will not have far to seek;
They'll know her yet in England when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
We'll find the peace and comfort that our fathers could not find,
Or some shall strike the good old blow that leaves a mark behind.
We'll find the Truth and Liberty our fathers came to seek,
Or let them know in England when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Sea-Saw (more writing fun)
If I saw a wood boat afloat
Upon the sea,
Would what I see possibly be
The wood I cut from a tree?
For when I saw a tree
I would like to think I see,
What the wood I saw
Could be.
If all I saw in wood from a tree
Was all I saw that there was to see,
Would what I did saw
Be the wood that I now see?
And if the wood I once did saw
Was indeed made into that ship on the sea,
Would it even be possible to know that here what I see
Is the wood once sawed by me?
All I here would dare to share is:
I see what I saw, and I saw what I see,
And therefore the wood I do saw could one day be
The boat I may see, afloat upon the sea.
See?
poem by Smoky Hoss
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May...Be...A Bit Uneasy With the 'Peeps
I can understand,
You are overwhelmed and shocked.
Afterall...
It only has taken,
Fourty years or more...
For the activities of this environment to sink in.
Remember when they were first brought to your attention?
And you had stated then,
My comments were too negative to mention?
And today 'my' comments seem to flow from your lips.
With a cursing done that you can not resist.
Don't you think...
Your lack of communal unity,
Is too negative to mention?
I believe your comments are a repetitive visit!
Even though you seem to have a clear grasp,
Of the lingo!
*May...be...a bit uneasy,
With the 'peeps' that pop your 'pupils'.
Ya dig? *
Oooohhh...
I love the Spring.
Especially this time of the year.
Don't you?
*NOTE:
'Peeps'? Urban slang word usage for 'people'.
Sooo, an interpretation for that line where 'peeps' is used...
Would be as such:
* 'Maybe you are a bit uneasy with the people that open your eyes.
Do you comprehend? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Who Peeps On The Peeper?
Who peeps on the peeper?
God.
Who else keeps the peeper peeking,
But God.
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep...
As those who seek to take a peek.
Believing what is done they do,
Is out of sight.
And out of God's reach.
Thinking lessons learned...
God does not teach.
Who peeps on the peeper?
God.
Who else keeps the peeper peeking,
But God.
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep...
As those who seek to take a peek.
Believing what is done they do,
Is out of sight.
And out of God's reach.
Thinking lessons learned...
God does not teach.
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep?
God!
Who peeps on the peeper?
God!
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep?
God!
Who peeps on the peeper?
God!
Who peeps on the peeper?
God!
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep?
God!
Who peeps on the peeper?
God!
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep?
God!
Who peeps on the peeper?
God!
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep?
God!
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep?
God!
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep?
God!
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep?
God!
Who doesn't get a wink of sleep?
God!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Progress
THEY’VE builded wooden timber tracks,
And a trolly with screaming brakes
Noses into the secret bush,
Into the birdless brooding bush,
And the tall old gums it takes.
And down in the sunny valley,
The snorting saw screams slow;
O bush that nursed my people,
O bush that cursed my people,
That flayed and made my people,
I weep to watch you go
poem by Frank Wilmot
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Bagpeep Billy
Bagpeep Billy was highstrung kid
Who blew his peeps to earn a couple of quid
He blew his peeps all day long
With stiff little fingers that were tough and strong
And his brother 'little willy' would tag along
With a cap in his hand
And a spurren on
Sometimes willy tapped, or sang along
But Bagpeep Billy had a frog in his throat
Had had a big honker
And couldn't float a lassie's boat
He was tone deaf
And hit the wrong nootes
And the peopled mocked
And the women jeered
But Billy kept playing
Til toon was cleared!
Not a farthing or a nickel
Or a dollar or a dime
Could STOP BAG PEEP BILLY'S
Heinious CRIME
Then the police and his Ma
Called Billy in
He was faced with a Fine
If he carried on with the Din!
His ma brought him whisky
In a flask of tea
But Billy kept on Blowing those peeps
For free!
The police took him in
Little Willy went home
And practised his fiddle in his room all alone
On his release Billy dismayed
To find no hero's welcome paving the way
So he cleared his throat and threw the darn peeps away!
yvette smith
poem by Yvette Smith
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I must go to the bush again
I must go to the bush again
and for a time be free,
from the inward chill
of the big city
and the emptiness
that life among strangers brings.
I must go to the bush again
and see the baobab trees,
frame against the setting sun
and know that somehow
the Almighty One
cares about everyone and me.
I must go to the bush again
and watch the wild buck,
drink from a stream
and see the crocodiles slide
into back into the water
and find the tranquillity
that nature brings.
I must go to the bush again
and give a prayer
and to find solace there,
from a world
that’s totally out of control.
poem by Gert Strydom
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27 Years In The Bush
27 years in the bush!
I am still finding my way through to reach to the city;
And i need a teacher on this issue to guid eme through this thick bush.
Life is very hard for me alone in this bush,
But i have to hide to save my name;
For the bombs are everywhere and many of my friends are dead already,
And i need a clever teacher who knows the bush very well to lead me on.
27 years in the bush!
Life in Africa does have many colours;
But my faith will surely lead me on till i reach to the city of love,
And i have to save myself from these bombs.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Visitor to 'Da Hood
He said he was 'representin'
The peeps,
Who digged life with breath fresh!
And eyes so cleared...
They sat on plateaus to beem.
And down upon them wisdom comes!
And down upon them with wit and grace,
Happiness appears to glow on their faces.
And connected to the divine,
They are!
By invisible vines...
Linked to sunkissed angels.
And said I was ready to join his clan!
'A 'clan' of what I thought?
A clan to change the man I am?
What clan is this?
And I dismissed anything evil.
And I'm sure my raised eye brow was witnessed?
Announcing again,
When he noticed my skepticsm,
Beginning to set in.
Behind a mask worn to hold back,
The laughter.
Again...
He said he was 'representin' the peeps.
And those peeps he said he represented...
Were not from our times!
He was not of ignorance at all.
'What did he mean by that? '
He smiled.
Did he know my thoughts?
Has he known them for a while?
In fact...
I don't believe he was ever introduced,
To an ignorance I was readying to produce!
How did he know it just like that?
And I had known it too well.
Years have I spent getting 'treatments'
Of all kinds!
Instantly,
I knew he was a visitor to 'da hood'
And 'representin'
Something that seems to be working!
Since I found no reason to insult him,
At all.
And he offered upon sight...
His respect for me first!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pop and Culture
Peeps peep on pop and culture.
People peep on pop and culture.
There's a peep on pop and culture,
With not a poop to stop.
They peep on pop and culture.
People peep on pop and culture.
There is a peep on pop and culture,
Without a poop to stop.
Lady Gaga got that pop.
People peep on pop and culture.
Taylor Swift's got Country Rock.
People peep on pop and culture.
And Kanye's a social poppa.
People peep on pop and culture.
With Beyonce and Jay-Z,
Seen on top in magazines.
Peeps peep on pop and culture.
People peep on pop and culture.
There's a peep on pop and culture,
With no poop to stop.
Peeps peep on pop and culture.
People peep on pop and culture.
There's a peep on pop and culture,
With no poop to stop.
We feed on Beatles.
Those songs of Beatles.
We feed on Beatles.
And...
Prince is there with beats.
And Michael Jackson's Pop is sweet.
We feed on Beatles.
Those songs of Beatles.
We feed on Beatles.
And Lady Gaga just rocks.
We feed on Beatles.
And they introduced this culture shock.
Peeps peep on pop and culture.
People peep on pop and culture.
There's a peep on pop and culture,
With not a poop to stop.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Night Train
Have you seen the bush by moonlight, from the train, go running by?
Blackened log and stump and sapling, ghostly trees all dead and dry;
Here a patch of glassy water; there a glimpse of mystic sky?
Have you heard the still voice calling – yet so warm, and yet so cold:
"I'm the Mother-Bush that bore you! Come to me when you are old"?
Did you see the Bush below you sweeping darkly to the Range,
All unchanged and all unchanging, yet so very old and strange!
While you thought in softened anger of the things that did estrange?
(Did you hear the Bush a-calling, when your heart was young and bold:
"I'm the Mother-bush that nursed you; Come to me when you are old"?)
In the cutting or the tunnel, out of sight of stock or shed,
Did you hear the grey Bush calling from the pine-ridge overhead:
"You have seen the seas and cities – all is cold to you, or dead –
All seems done and all seems told, but the grey-light turns to gold!
I'm the Mother-Bush that loves you – come to me now you are old"?
poem by Henry Lawson
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Sunshine; Soothing song of a Snowflake and a Volcano
'Hey! Dear you rest on my bosom a long time
And don't think that I have a cold heart,
Yes of course I have a warm heart
Like lukewarm water, but purposely I made it frozen
Otherwise you melt and flow away.'
Mountain said sadly.
'That I know my friend
When the cruel Sun peeps
Then I have to leave you soon.'
Snowflake cried.
Another day Sun peeps
And started his usual War song;
'Sad to sing, yet nothing has written
in the History of Lovers
Where the Snowflakes and Volcanoes eloped? '
*[ Kindness is a language the dumb can speak, and the deaf can hear and understand.- Christian Bovee]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Knock On Wood
I dont want to lose the good thing that Ive got
If I do, I will surely, I will lose a lot
For your love is better than any love other Ive know
Its like thunder, lightning
The way you love me is frightening
I better knock on wood
Baby
I got superstitious about you, but I cant take change
You got me spinning, baby, spinning in a trance
But your love is better than any other love Ive known
Its like thunder, lightning
The way you love me is frightening
You better knock on wood
Its no secret, but that woman fills my lovin cup
She sees, so ready, that I get enough
And her love is better than any other love Ive known
Its like thunder
Its like lightning
The way you love me is frightening
I better knock on wood
Baby
Better, yes, better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) yes, I better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) oh, knock on wood
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) you know I would, would
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) its no secret
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) no, oh, better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) hangin above me
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) I cant leave her
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) oh no, baby
Knock on wood, woo!
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Emoting A Landscape
the rice paddies are dead, they have been long cracking
drying under the cruelty of the summer sun scorching every leaf and pebble
as the mud fish buries itself under for another hibernation
the trees are not complaining compliant with the strong dry wind
from the bald and browning mountain peaks towering to kiss the clouds
the pathways are bare and vacant for no child comes out and plays on the fields
the carabaos are kept under the shadows of the mahogany trees while the man
near the well bathes naked as the woman pretends to wash the dirty clothes
someone peeps with mad eyes, ready with his bolo behind the thick bush.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Care Free Bloke's Cigar
There's a little spark and a wisp of smoke
By the road where the tall gums are;
And a mile away a care-free bloke
Speeds onward in his car.
No thought of evil mars his day,
And he's well a hundred miles away
And safe at home, as skies grow grey,
With another fine cigar.
There's a spurt of flame in the breathless night
And a crackling in the scrub;
There's a withered mint-bush burning bright,
And a kindling dog-wood shrub.
For yards about the bush glows red
But the care-free bloke, his paper read,
Says, 'Bonzer day. And now for bed
After a bite of grub.'
There's a sickening roar as the fire sweeps down
From the mountainside aflame
On the helpless little forest town,
And one knew how it came.
Ten miles of blackened hills gape wide
And a stricken home on the mountain side ...
But the care-free bloke toils on in pride.
He saw no spark by the bush roadside,
So how is he to blame?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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