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Little America
I cant see myself at thirty, I dont buy a lacquered thirty
Caught like flies, preserved for tomorrows jewelery, again
Lighted in the amber yard, a green shellback, green shellback
Preserved for tomorrows eyes, in tree beer tar-black brer sap,
The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest,
The consul a horse, jefferson I think were lost
Who will tend the farm museums? who will dust todays belongings?
Who will sweep the floors, hedging near the givens?
Rally round your leaders its the mediator season
Diane is on the beach, do you realize the life shes led?
The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest,
The consul a horse, oh man I think were lost
The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest,
A matter of course, jefferson, jeffer
Lighted in the amber yard, a green shellback, green shellback
Sky-lied, sty-tied, nero pie-tied, in tree tar-black brer sap,
Reason has harnessed the tame, a lodging, not stockaders game
Another greenville, another magic mart, jeffer, grab your fiddle,
The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest,
The consul a horse, jefferson I think were lost
The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest,
The consul a horse, jefferson I think were lost
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The wagon
I pushed a wagon through a muddy road
I pushed and I pulled all for naught
The wagon did not move nor did it stir
Its rear wheels stack in the murky mire
I withdraw thinking...
This wagon did not want to see the truth
This is why it will never change course or move
A wagon is a wagon
It trots the roads or be dragged on
It lives its life and endures its truth
It is only me
From whom the truth may hide
This plain truth engraved on a rock
Yet boggles taunts and tantalize in a mock
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Living After Midnight
Living after midnight, rockin to the dawn
Lovin til the morning, then Im gone, Im gone
I took the city bout one a.m, loaded, loaded
Im all geared up to score again, loaded, loaded
I come alive in the neon light
Thats when I make my moves right
Living after midnight, rockin to the dawn
Lovin til the morning, then Im gone, Im gone
Got gleaming chrome, reflecting steel, loaded, loaded
Ready to take on every deal, loaded, loaded
My pulse is racing, Im hot to take
This motors revved up, fit to break
Living after midnight, rockin to the dawn
Lovin til the morning, then Im gone, Im gone
Im aiming for ya
Im gonna floor ya
My bodys coming
All night long
The airs electric, sparkin power, loaded, loaded
Im getting hotter by the hour, loaded, loaded
I set my sights and then home in
The joint starts flying when I begin
Living after midnight, rockin to the dawn
Lovin til the morning, then Im gone, Im gone
(repeat and fade)
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lover, Come Now...
lover, come now...
before the hands strike,
before the door finally closes,
and the latch is locked.
come now...
as sunlight breaks the window,
the hungry child seeks a nipple,
and shadows create forms.
come now...
the guns are silenced,
bodies left like token prayers.
even the trees bent with longing.
lover, come now...
the bridge rattles and creaks,
the waters suddenly calm,
and the ravens have flown!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Buddha Thoughts (Hands On The Clock)
the old woman
shot and killed
the boy that broke in
and tried to rob her...
she sat staring into space
while the policemen
did their job...
suddenly she began to weep...
they tried to comfort her,
but she just wept harder.
they told her it was over,
that she was all right.
she finally spoke in a broken voice:
'i was thinking about my son...'
'where is he? we'll get him
for you, bring him to you...'
'he's in prison... he got messed up
on pills... ran out, and robbed a store...
he killed the woman behind the counter.'
frozen in deathlike silence,
one by one, they looked down.
they loaded the body into the wagon,
her old cat ran from the porch...
an empty swing hung from a gnarled old tree...
a small trail of blood,
and there was no wind!
her old Bible unopened...
the hands on the clock kept crawling.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Man On The Street
Ill sing you a song, aint very long,
bout an old man who never done wrong.
How he died nobody can say,
They found him dead in the street one day.
Well, the crowd, they gathered one fine morn,
At the man whose clothes n shoes were torn.
There on the sidewalk he did lay,
They stopped n stared n walked their way.
Well, the pliceman come and he looked around,
Get up, old man, or Im a-takin you down.
He jabbed him once with his billy club
And the old man then rolled off the curb.
Well, he jabbed him again and loudly said,
Call the wagon; this man is dead.
The wagon come, they loaded him in,
I never saw the man again.
Ive sung you my song, it aint very long,
bout an old man who never done wrong.
How he died no one can say,
They found him dead in the street one day.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Were Coming In Loaded
(words & music by blackwell - scott)
Ooh yes were comin in loaded, ooh yes were comin in loaded
Ill hold the boat steady brother like a rock
Full speed a head until we hit the dock
Were heading for home, the fishing was great
Were comin in loaded cause were all out of bait
Well, well, well, well, well
Oh well now yeah!
We gottem packed to the water-line
Some got away but the catch was fine
Never saw such big ones, mman oh man,
Were comin in loaded just as fast as we can
Well, well, well, well, well
Oh well now yeah!
Im gonna see my baby soon as I get back
Knock on the door with my pockets packed
Shell look at me well she cant say no
Were comin in loaded so come on lets go
Well, well, well, well, well
Oh well now yeah!
Oh well now yeah!
Yeah! were comin in loaded
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aubade
JANE, Jane,
Tall as a crane,
The morning light creaks down again;
Comb your cockscomb-ragged hair,
Jane, Jane, come down the stair.
Each dull blunt wooden stalactite
Of rain creaks, hardened by the light,
Sounding like an overtone
From some lonely world unknown.
But the creaking empty light
Will never harden into sight,
Will never penetrate your brain
With overtones like the blunt rain.
The light would show (if it could harden)
Eternities of kitchen garden,
Cockscomb flowers that none will pluck,
And wooden flowers that 'gin to cluck.
In the kitchen you must light
Flames as staring, red and white,
As carrots or as turnips shining
Where the cold dawn light lies whining.
Cockscomb hair on the cold wind
Hangs limp, turns the milk's weak mind . . .
Jane, Jane,
Tall as a crane,
The morning light creaks down again!
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Icon
(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth)
Even if the good old days were good
Even if the old days were golden days
The past is a terrible place to live
Misguided missiles, skin creams and cars
Loaded with dreams, pretty faces Im loaded with stories
Im loaded with dreams
Loaded with ambition
Im loaded with live ammunitions
Saving up for linda, saving up for pam
Saving up for naomi, I can therefore I am
Savin up for mary, savin up for jane
1000 pieces all over the room
Lets do it again
Icon therefore I am
Loaded with dreams, loaded with life
I only wish you knew
How hard it is for me to spare
This kind of thing with you
And if you sense a smokesceen here
A trick of dry ice
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wagon makes the loudest noise when it's goin' out empty.
African American proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Riding To Town
WHEN labor is light and the morning is fair,
I find it a pleasure beyond all compare
To hitch up my nag and go hurrying down
And take Katie May for a ride into town;
For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la our lay.
There's joy in a song as we rattle along
In the light of the glorious day.
A coach would be fine, but a spring wagon's good;
My jeans are a match for Kate's gingham and hood;
The hills take us up and the vales take us down,
But what matters that? we are tiding to town,
And bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la sing we.
There's never a care may live in the air
That is filled with the breath of our glee.
And after we've started, there's naught can repress
The thrill of our hearts in their wild happiness;
The heavens may smile or the heavens may frown,
And it's all one to us when we're riding to town.
For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la we shout,
For our hearts they are clear and there's nothing to fear,
And we've never a pain nor a doubt.
The wagon is weak and the roadway is rough,
And tho' it is long it is not long enough,
For mid all my ecstasies this is the crown
To sit beside Katie and ride into town,
When bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la our song;
And if I had my way, I'd be willing to pay
If the road could be made twice as long.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Birds Turning South
stacking wood,
chill morning air...
birds turning south.
axe and boots,
old truck loaded down....
birds turning south.
dreams and passions,
tied down and loaded,
birds turning south.
memory stained moments,
when the earth stoppt turning...
birds turning south.
now nothing more than
empty nests, a stray feather...
birds rurning south!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Then There Was You!
clouds hanging, frozen still,
banging the tool shed door.
sunlight colors the morning
with a hundred things to do.
cars speed by going nowhere,
the railroad tracks are empty.
the old store building creaks,
the windows boarded over.
the ghosts of small town heroes
going to and fro unseen.
a different world, a different me,
and then there was you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sin Wagon
He pushed me 'round
now I'm drawin' the line
He lived his life
now I'm gonna go live mine
I'm sick on wastin' my time
Well now I've been good for way too long
Found my red dress and I'm gonna throw it on
I've got nothin' to lose and nothin' to gain
'Bout to get too far gone
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
Need a little but more of my tweleve ounce nutrition
One more helpin' of what I've been havin'
I'm takin' my turn on the sin wagon
On a mission to make something happen
Feel like Delilah lookin' for Samson
Do a little mattress dancin'
That's right I said mattress dancin'
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
Need a little bit more
of what I've been missin'
I don't know where I'll be crashin'
But I'm arrivin' on a sin wagon
When it's my turn to march up to old glory
I'm gonna have one hell of a story
That's if he forgives me
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
Need a little bit more of that sweet salvation
They may take me
with my feel draggin'
But I'll fly away on a sin wagon
I'll fly away on a sin wagon
song performed by by Dixie Chicks from Fly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: An Empty House Remembers
The empty house around me ticks and creaks,
A moody end to evening's gentle rains,
A brooding quiet as the daylight wanes,
The secret language empty houses speak.
What stories might this house preserve entire
In rhythmic code composed of click and groan?
Does House recall a sadness with each moan?
Is laughter stored in every plank and wire?
And how might I, a fleeting visitor,
Acquire an ear for stories trapped in time,
And wrap a tale or two in words and rhyme?
How can I tap the House's secret lore?
In silence soft the house slips off to sleep.
Alone I sit, in darkness vast and deep.
poem by Russell Collier
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Algernon
Who played with a Loaded Gun, and, on missing his Sister was reprimanded by his Father.
Young Algernon, the Doctor's Son,
Was playing with a Loaded Gun.
He pointed it towards his Sister,
Aimed very carefully, but
Missed her!
His Father, who was standing near,
The Loud Explosion chanced to Hear,
And reprimanded Algernon
For playing with a Loaded Gun.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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The Evaporating Sea
Another day finding out the tricks of angels:
My muse’s daughter is almost three:
Maybe she is almost my daughter too- as the trucks
Are loaded and loaded underneath the
Parapets of angels,
And the sacks of heavenly apples are loaded upon
The backs of stalwart ponies to be
Taken to other kingdoms across the blue and
Yellow mountains-
Along their way, the grizzly bears will pet them,
And the golden monkeys will pull on their
Reigns:
And when she gets up tomorrow, my muse will
See all of the bottles I have emptied to carry these
Messages to her
To be thrown in the evaporating sea.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Could It Be The Wind? (For Dave)
is it then the wind,
that rattles the pane?
causing the candle to flicker,
the curtains to walk?
could it be the wind,
making shapes of shadow?
and that long shaking moan
you feel in your bones?
the wind that whispers
in voices almost remembered.
that tugs at the door
to your forbidden room?
that taste of blackness
from an empty cup?
could it be the wind,
or something more?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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