My bark, once struck by the fury of the storm, dreads again to approach the place of danger.
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Danger
There is danger atop our heads;
There is danger around us all;
There is danger beneath our feet;
There is danger to man and beast!
There is danger in the skies;
There is danger in the seas;
There is danger ev’n on land;
There is danger to man and beast!
There is danger from earth’s bowels;
There is danger in forests;
There is danger in hills, vales;
There is danger to man and beast!
There is danger from our brethren;
There is danger from kith, kin;
There is danger from strangers;
There is danger to man and beast!
There is danger within us;
There is danger from space;
There is danger to our soul;
Nevertheless, God protects us.
poem by John Celes
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My dogs
bark at the neighbors,
bark at the UPS man,
bark at cars
and kids on bicycles.
they bark at the television,
the radio
and the stereo.
they bark at
the vacuum cleaner,
the dust mop
and the broom.
they bark at
anyone
who enters the house
uninvited.
and
when they’re not barking,
they’re sitting there
waiting
for something
to bark at.
good dogs.
poem by John Yamrus
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To Bring You A Taste Of Pride
I wish there was something I could say,
To encourage the removal of those shackles.
Even in your dismay...
You are obedient.
But when I come near,
You bark.
When I approach to unlock your chains...
You sneer and growl.
As if I had done this,
To you.
Something I could never do.
You have been restrained too long,
From a 'self' that has been denied.
You bark at me!
Perhaps I am wrong,
To make attempts...
To bring you a taste of pride.
I will leave it here with the key.
Leaving you with more than one choice,
From which to decide.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Safely housed to listen to the storm outside. [To contemplate danger from a safe place.]
Boston
Where the ferries come to shore
She never really knew how good it would feel
To finally find herself in a place so warm and real
She wears a Red Sox cap
To hide her baby dreads
The girl she was in New England
Is different now and dead
In all the local bars
She flirts and tells the boys while they're talkin'
She's from Boston
She comes from Boston
Talks to her family now and then
Through e-mails and postcards
She tries to explain to them
That education and occupation will have to wait for now
She loves the Rasta, reggae rhythms, her dreams have changed somehow
She wears a Red Sox cap
To hide her baby dreads
The girl she was in New England
Is different now and dead
In all the local bars
She flirts and tells the boys while they're talkin'
She's from Boston
Her toes dig deep and deeper in the sand
She's seduced by the sunsets and her new life at hand
She wears a Red Sox cap
To hide her baby dreads
The girl she was in New England
Is different now and dead
In all the local bars
She flirts and tells the boys while they're talkin'
She's from Boston
She wears a Red Sox cap
To hide her baby dreads
From Boston
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He had his Dream
He had his dream, and all through life,
Worked up to it through toil and strife.
Afloat fore'er before his eyes,
It colored for him all his skies:
The storm-cloud dark
Above his bark,
The calm and listless vault of blue
Took on its hopeful hue,
It tinctured every passing beam -
He had his dream.
He labored hard and failed at last,
His sails too weak to bear the blast,
The raging tempests tore away
And sent his beating bark astray.
But what cared he
For wind or sea!
He said, 'The tempest will be short,
My bark will come to port.'
He saw through every cloud a gleam -
He had his dream.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Convalescent
What! 'Out of danger?' Can the slighted Dame
Or canting Pharisee no more defame?
Will Treachery caress my hand no more,
Nor Hatred lie alurk about my door?-
Ingratitude, with benefits dismissed,
Not understanding what 'tis all about,
Will Envy henceforth not retaliate
For virtues it were vain to emulate?
Will Ignorance my knowledge fail to scout,
Not understanding what 'tis all about,
Yet feeling in its light so mean and small
That all his little soul is turned to gall?
What! 'Out of danger?' Jealousy disarmed?
Greed from exaction magically charmed?
Ambition stayed from trampling whom it meets.
Like horses fugitive in crowded streets?
The Bigot, with his candle, book and bell,
Tongue-tied, unlunged and paralyzed as well?
The Critic righteously to justice haled,
His own ear to the post securely nailed-
What most he dreads unable to inflict,
And powerless to hawk the faults he's picked?
The Liar choked upon his choicest lie,
And impotent alike to vilify
Or flatter for the gold of thrifty men
Who hate his person but employ his pen-
Who love and loathe, respectively, the dirt
Belonging to his character and shirt?
What! 'Out of danger?'-Nature's minions all,
Like hounds returning to the huntsman's call,
Obedient to the unwelcome note
That stays them from the quarry's bursting throat?-
Famine and Pestilence and Earthquake dire,
Torrent and Tempest, Lightning, Frost and Fire,
The soulless Tiger and the mindless Snake,
The noxious Insect from the stagnant lake,-
These from their immemorial prey restrained,
Their fury baffled and their power chained?
I'm safe? Is that what the physician said?
What! 'Out of danger?' Then, by Heaven, I'm dead!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Knowing
There is a danger of knowing too much
knowing too much danger
Crossing a road without looking
Taking a risk with your cooking
A danger in knowing
There is a danger in knowing too much
Having digitalised lives
synched to computer
GOOGLED
There is a danger
Is there a danger in knowing?
Too much danger?
Too much knowing?
Too much?
we have/are becoming
More like a shopping mall
Packed full of brands
And gadgets
our apps additives
There is a danger of losing your child
In a shopping mall
Losing your self
In the underground
A danger in knowing
A danger in looking
The sign
The times
Are a changing
A danger of unseeing
Unliving
A danger of touching the edge of extinction
Without feeling
Bottled emotions
Formaladehyde Brains
Mask for a face
Stone for a heart
There is on a lighter note
A danger in eating my cooking
Knowing too much
Too soon
Too late
or a danger of knowing nothing
Simply eating what's arrived on your plate
poem by Yvette Smith
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When there is real danger, the dogs don't bark.
Minced Fury
Minced Fury shall be your name,
Hoofbeats like thunder,
Your stride like rain.
Black velvet is your muzzle,
Soft as down.
Your coat is dark and rich
As coffee,
Freshly ground.
When I gaze into your eyes,
They are as never ending
As the Challenger Deep.
You whinny at the sound of my voice.
I know that you'd pick me,
And I'd pick you,
If we ever had to make the choice.
Mighty and valient you be,
Wary of any uncertian danger.
Minced Fury,
Your name means
Gentled Anger.
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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The Stringy-Bark Tree
There's the whitebox and pine on the ridges afar,
Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;
There is many another, but dearest to me,
And the king of them all was the stringy-bark tree.
Then of stringy-bark slabs were the walls of the hut,
And from stringy-bark saplings the rafters were cut;
And the roof that long sheltered my brothers and me
Was of broad sheets of bark from the stringy-bark tree.
And when sawn-timber homes were built out in the West,
Then for walls and for ceilings its wood was the best;
And for shingles and palings to last while men be,
There was nothing on earth like the stringy-bark tree.
Far up the long gullies the timber-trucks went,
Over tracks that seemed hopeless, by bark hut and tent;
And the gaunt timber-finder, who rode at his ease,
Led them on to a gully of stringy-bark trees.
Now still from the ridges, by ways that are dark,
Come the shingles and palings they call stringy-bark;
Though you ride through long gullies a twelve months you’ll see
But the old whitened stumps of the stringy-bark tree.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Convalescent [What! 'Out of danger?' Can the slighted Dame]
What! 'Out of danger?' Can the slighted Dame
Or canting Pharisee no more defame?
Will Treachery caress my hand no more,
Nor Hatred He alurk about my door?
Ingratitude, with benefits dismissed,
Not close the loaded palm to make a fist?
Will Envy henceforth not retaliate
For virtues it were vain to emulate?
Will Ignorance my knowledge fail to scout,
Not understanding what 'tis all about,
Yet feeling in its light so mean and small
That all his little soul is turned to gall?
What! 'Out of danger?' Jealousy disarmed?
Greed from exaction magically charmed?
Ambition stayed from trampling whom it meets,
Like horses fugitive in crowded streets?
The Bigot, with his candle, book and bell,
Tongue-tied, unlunged and paralyzed as well?
The Critic righteously to justice haled,
His own ear to the post securely nailed
What most he dreads unable to inflict,
And powerless to hawk the faults he's picked?
The liar choked upon his choicest lie,
And impotent alike to villify
Or flatter for the gold of thrifty men
Who hate his person but employ his pen
Who love and loathe, respectively, the dirt
Belonging to his character and shirt?
What! 'Out of danger?'-Nature's minions all,
Like hounds returning to the huntsman's call,
Obedient to the unwelcome note
That stays them from the quarry's bursting throat?
Famine and Pestilence and Earthquake dire,
Torrent and Tempest, Lightning, Frost and Fire,
The soulless Tiger and the mindless Snake,
The noxious Insect from the stagnant lake
(Automaton malevolences wrought
Out of the substance of Creative Thought
These from their immemorial prey restrained,
Their fury baffled and their power chained?
I'm safe? Is that what the physician said?
What! 'Out of danger?' Then, by Heaven, I'm dead!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Heart Attack
Enmity struck his heart,
Inside his body the part
Was heard to crack and make
A little blood of ache.
Houses of silver contained
Me with fright and maintained
A stable condition in hospital
Where I dissolved my juices to belittle.
Struck by the inward attack,
The heart blasted and was black.
The death of a jobbed manager
Was continuously a danger.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Red Flag
Where the quivering lightning flings
His arrows from out the clouds,
And the howling tempest sings
And whistles among the shrouds,
'Tis pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride
Along the foaming brine—
Wilt be the Rover's bride?
Wilt follow him, lady mine?
Hurrah!
For the bonny, bonny brine.
Amidst the storm and rack,
You shall see our galley pass,
As a serpent, lithe and black,
Glides through the waving grass.
As the vulture swift and dark,
Down on the ring-dove flies,
You shall see the Rovers bark
Swoop down upon his prize.
Hurrah!
For the bonny, bonny prize.
Over her sides we dash,
We gallop across her deck—
Ha! there's a ghastly gash
On the merchant-captain's neck—
Well shot, well shot, old Ned!
Well struck, well struck, black James!
Our arms are red, and our foes are dead,
And we leave a ship in flames!
Hurrah!
For the bonny, bonny flames!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Laugh song
(it's just a silly song, please sing with your own melody)
Drunken man: The bottle is empty
I’m still thirsty
What can we do right now?
Crowd: Let’s steal some wine!
Bar owner: It’s the time up now!
You must pay and go
Crowd: Why is she so cruel?
We’re just having fun
Bar owner: The wind goes strong
I’m afraid storm comes
What can I do old man
With drunken men and fool?
Crowd: Our friends with us
You are warm and nice
Bar owner: No more drink tonight
Go home, goodnight!
Servant boy: The rain goes heavy
The bridge is down!
Crowd: Lord has mercy
We can’t go right now!
Crowd: The road is dark
Hard storm around
What can we do right now?
Bar owner: Sit and wait sad clown!
Man: Thunder sparks wild
Do we have some bone?
The dog still barks
Crowd: Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark
Drunken man: The bone is gone
Tomorrow we’ll mourn
What can we do right now?
Crowd: What can we do right now?
Man: No feet dance here
No music I hear
Crowd: Let’s ask our dear!
She can cheer we here
Man: The fiddle’s asleep
Her cords are curling
Crowd: Let’s just sing a song!
La, la, la, la, la
Drunken man: Your song is bad
My ears are ache
Crowd: It’s the wine not song
Your sense goes wrong
Servant boy: The rain still falls
It’s not safe to home
Crowd: We own our fall
It’s not safe from fight
Drunken man: The bottles mad and fly
Too pity they’re empty
Bar owner: Play set in my rest
You’ll be kicked and wet!
Man: Let’s close to the fire
Till words are over
Crowd: Tell tales and stories
Till the world’s over
Crowd: Only wise can say
We crazy laugh and cry
In the middle of flood
The last laugh will shout!
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Footsteps
Footsteps approach.
In my heart there is reproach.
Is it good or is it bad?
The uncertanty in this drives me mad.
Are they coming to kill me, or take me grand?
To higher plaines I never planned.
I hope it's not the footsteps of the damned.
To crush my soul with eternal cold.
The footsteps now grow very bold.
Inside I'm feeling dreads not told.
What will these footsteps hold?
I'll soon find out.
They're quite close now.
poem by Michael McParland
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Sonnet LXIX
Written at the same place, on seeing a Seaman return
who had been imprisoned at Rochfort.
CLOUDS, gold and purple, o'er the western ray
Threw a bright veil, and catching lights between,
Fell on the glancing sail, that we had seen
With soft, but adverse winds, throughout the day
Contending vainly: as the vessel nears,
Increasing numbers hail it from the shore;
Lo! on the deck a pallid form appears,
Half wondering to behold himself once more
Approach his home--And now he can discern
His cottage thatch amid surrounding trees;
Yet, trembling, dreads lest sorrow or disease
Await him there, embittering his return:
But all he loves are safe; with heart elate,
Though poor and plunder'd, he absolves his fate!
poem by Charlotte Smith
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The Old Bark Hut
Oh, my name is Bob the Swagman, before you all I stand,
And I've had many ups and downs while travelling through the land.
I once was well-to-do, my boys, but now I am stumped up,
And I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
Ten pounds of flour, ten pounds of beef, some sugar and some tea,
That's all they give to a hungry man, until the Seventh Day.
If you don't be moighty sparing, you'll go with a hungry gut
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
The bucket you boil your beef in has to carry water, too,
And they'll say you're getting mighty flash if you should ask for two.
I've a billy, and a pint pot, and a broken-handled cup,
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
Faith, the table is not made of wood, as many you have seen
For if I had one half so good, I'd think myself serene
'Tis only an old sheet of bark—God knows when it was cut
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
And of furniture, there's no such thing, 'twas never in the place,
Except the stool I sit upon—and that's an old gin case.
It does us for a safe as well, but you must keep it shut,
Or the flies would make it canter round the old hark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Or the flies would make it canter round the old bark hut.
If you should leave it open, and the flies should find your meat,
They'll scarcely leave a single piece that's fit for man to eat.
But you mustn't curse, nor grumble—what won't fatten will fill up
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In the summer time, when the weather's warm, this hut is nice and cool,
And you'll find the gentle breezes blowing in through every hole.
You can leave the old door open, or you can leave it shut,
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.
In the winter time—preserve us all—to live in there's a treat
Especially when it's raining hard, and blowing wind and sleet.
The rain comes down the chimney, and your meat is black with soot
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
I've seen the rain come in this hut just like a perfect flood,
Especially through that great big hole where once the table stood.
There's not a blessed spot, me boys, where you could lay your nut,
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
So beside the fire I make me bed, and there I lay me down,
And think myself as happy as the king that wears a crown.
But as you'd be dozing off to sleep a flea will wake you up,
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hu
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.
Faith, such flocks of fleas you never saw, they are so plump and fat,
And if you make a grab at one, he'll spit just like a cat.
Last night they got my pack of cards, and were fighting for the cut
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.
So now, my friends, I've sung my song, and that as well as I could,
And I hope the ladies present won't think my language rude,
And all ye younger people, in the days when you grow up,
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Reflections On A Storm
There was a calm felt before the storm
and also some uneasiness in every form
a hushed anticipation of what was soon to be
perhaps a fateful outcome of each one’s destiny.
During this time it became very dark and foreboding
that everything around lost all its charm and standing.
Suddenly there were flashes of lightning and clashes of thunder,
which rolled from the clouds, seen and heard by all there under.
Then a strong wind blew and a heavy rain began to fall
lashing onto everything around as it turned into a squall.
As the tempest raged on in a crescendo and reached its peak;
turning day into night and night into day, all seemed so bleak.
There many creatures all scampered and sought the safety of shelter,
out of the maelstrom unleashed by nature, in a state of helter-skelter.
They all knew their places when it came to that threat of danger;
out of harms reach they tried to flee even if it was with a stranger.
After the storm had spent all its fury and slowly subsided
a calm settled in again which had lately just been divided.
And all appeared to have been molested and somewhat shaken
as light broke through the clouds to make that day re-awaken.
While the storm in its wake seemed to have wreaked much devastation
the forces which had come into play reminded one of the act of creation,
when those seeds of life were implanted ages ago at the very beginning,
causing all things to gradually spring into existence with some meaning.
poem by George Krokos
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I Am The Law
My life
Im a fool for you
You who take no advice
You who think evil doesnt exist
Just because you deny it is true
Youre lucky I care
For fools like you
Youre lucky Im there
To stop people doing the things
That you know they are dying to do
You know I am no stranger
I know rules are a bore
But just to keep you from danger
I am the law
A dog must bark
So evil calls
Both in the wild and
Within these walls
You know I am no stranger
I know rules are a bore
But just to keep you from danger
I am the law
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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