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To Mesdames Zassetsky And Garschine
THE wind may blaw the lee-gang way
And aye the lift be mirk an' gray,
An deep the moss and steigh the brae
Where a' maun gang -
There's still an hoor in ilka day
For luve and sang.
And canty hearts are strangely steeled.
By some dikeside they'll find a bield,
Some couthy neuk by muir or field
They're sure to hit,
Where, frae the blatherin' wind concealed,
They'll rest a bit.
An' weel for them if kindly fate
Send ower the hills to them a mate;
They'll crack a while o' kirk an' State,
O' yowes an' rain:
An' when it's time to take the gate,
Tak' ilk his ain.
- Sic neuk beside the southern sea
I soucht - sic place o' quiet lee
Frae a' the winds o' life. To me,
Fate, rarely fair,
Had set a freendly company
To meet me there.
Kindly by them they gart me sit,
An' blythe was I to bide a bit.
Licht as o' some hame fireside lit
My life for me.
- Ower early maun I rise an' quit
This happy lee.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The Wind Was There
I
all was in flight
wild geese in the sky
snow from the sky flying
rivers hastening to the sea
and waves from the midsea
hastening to the shore
horses running from a fence
fences running from the ground
ground fleeing from the sky
and the sky was filled with flying stars
and suns innumerable
daisies springing from the grass
pines fleeing up the mountainside
even the mountain was in flight
less swift than southward geese
or rivers in the spring
less swift than these but fleeing still
stone upon stone scraping in slow erosion
gravel grinding into dust and fleeing before the wind
II
all was in flight
even from a distance I
my flight was faster than a fleeing cloud
I only knew the wind was there
swift and imperious and proud
sharper than fine steel
III
so shall I ever flee
swifter yet swifter
until the speed is such
my spirit shall enkindle with the wind
and then
a brown and crackled leaf I'll fall
my flesh to shrivel into mould
my blood to mingle with the seeping rain
and all my body's flight become a strange return
poem by Bravig Imbs
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Fareweel, ye bughts
*
1. Fareweel, ye bughts, an' all your ewes,
An' fields whare bIoomin' heather grows;
Nae mair the sportin' lambs I'll see
Since my true love's forsaken me.
CHORUS.
Nae mair I'll hear wi' pleasure sing
The cheerfu' lav'rock in the Spring,
But sad in grief now I maun mourn,
Far, far frae her, o'er Logan-burn.
2. Alas! nae mair we'll meetings keep
At bughts, whan herds ca' in their sheep;
Nae mair amang the threshes green
We'll row, where we hae aften been.
CHORUS
3. Nae mair for me , ye vi'lets blaw,
Or lilies whiter than the snaw;
Nae mair your pleasures I can bear,
While I am absent frae my dear.
CHORUS
4. I ken the cause of my hard fate;
In courtin' her I was too blate;
I never kiss'd my lass at a'
But when we met an' gaed awa'.
CHORUS
5. Oh could my tears again bring back
The days now past, I'd no' be slack
For ev'ry kiss she got before
I wad gie to her now a score.
CHORUS
6. O fortune I wad you favour me
In some snug corner her to see.
My heart I wad to her reveal,
An' in her arms my pardon seal.
CHORUS
*
poem by James Thomson
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Longing For Love
Neither the issue nor the sire,
neither fulfilment nor desire
am I for anyone,
am I for anyone.
I am as all men, the sunless sea,
the alien thule, mystery,
a fleeing wisp of light,
a fleeing wisp of light.
But I must look for friends and brothers;
I want to show myself to others
that seeing they will see,
that seeing they will see.
For this my lyric masochism;
I long to close the gaping schism,
and thus belong somewhere,
and thus belong somewhere.
The Twa Jocks
Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska tae Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye:
"That's whit I hate maist aboot fechtin' -- it makes ye sae deevilish dry;
Noo jist hae a keek at yon ferm-hoose them Gairmans are poundin' sae fine,
Weel, think o' it, doon in the dunnie there's bottles and bottles o' wine.
A' hell's fairly belchin' oot yonner, but oh, lad, I'm ettlin' tae try. . . ."
"If it's poose she'll be with ye whateffer," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.~
Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: "Whit price fur a funeral wreath?
We're dodgin' a' kinds o' destruction, an' jist by the skin o' oor teeth.
Here, spread yersel oot on yer belly, and slither along in the glaur;
Confoond ye, ye big Hielan' deevil! Ye don't realize there's a war.
Ye think that ye're back in Dunvegan, and herdin' the wee bits o' kye."
"She'll neffer trink wine in Dunfegan," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.~
Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: "Thank goodness! the ferm-hoose at last;
There's no muckle left but the cellar, an' even that's vanishin' fast.
Look oot, there's the corpse o' a wumman, sair mangelt and deid by her lane.
Quick! Strike a match. . . . Whit did I tell ye! A hale bonny box o' shampane;
Jist knock the heid aff o' a bottle. . . . Haud on, mon, I'm hearing a cry. . . ."
"She'll think it's a wean that wass greetin'," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.~
Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: quot;Ma conscience! I'm hanged but yer richt.
It's yin o' thae waifs of the war-field, a' sobbin' and shakin' wi' fricht.
Wheesht noo, dear, we're no gaun tae hurt ye. We're takin' ye hame, my wee doo!
We've got tae get back wi' her, Hecky. Whit mercy we didna get fou!
We'll no touch a drap o' that likker -- that's hard, man, ye canna deny. . . ."
"It's the last thing she'll think o' denyin'," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.
Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: "If I should get struck frae the rear,
Ye'll tak' and ye'll shield the wee lassie, and rin for the lines like a deer.
God! Wis that the breenge o' a bullet? I'm thinkin' it's cracket ma spine.
I'm doon on ma knees in the glabber; I'm fearin', auld man, I've got mine.
Here, quick! Pit yer erms roon the lassie. Noo, rin, lad! good luck and good-by. . . .
"Hoots, mon! it's ye baith she'll be takin'," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.~
Says Corporal Muckle frae Rannoch: "Is that no' a picture tae frame?
Twa sair woundit Jocks wi' a lassie jist like ma wee Jeannie at hame.
We're prood o' ye baith, ma brave heroes. We'll gie ye a medal, I think."
Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: "I'd raither ye gied me a drink.
I'll no speak for Private MacCrimmon, but oh, mon, I'm perishin' dry. . . ."
"She'll wush that Loch Lefen wass whuskey," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.~
poem by Robert William Service
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Fate-2
Divine`s shape is the fate
hell`s wisdom is the fate
and your success to dwell is the fate
and worthless to become rich is the fate
and the worthful beg to live is the fate
and what we can`t is the fate....
poem by Lily Peace Lago Every By To Ph
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Life Keeps On Revolving Around Fate
We came
To this world
Because of Fate
We all think of fate
Pray and meditate
Look at god in hope
Because of faith
He is the one
Who decides the fate?
Happiness, unhappiness
Success and failure
Are all one’s fate
Death is unavoidable
But when one get’s it?
Is fate
Some believe some don’t
Life keeps on
Revolving around fate
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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It was a' for our Rightful King
1 It was a' for our rightful king
2 That we left fair Scotland's strand;
3 It was a' for our rightful king
4 We e'er saw Irish land,
5 My dear,
6 We e'er saw Irish land.
7 Now a' is done that men can do,
8 And a' is done in vain!
9 My love, and native land, fareweel!
10 For I maun cross the main,
11 My dear,
12 For I maun cross the main.
13 He turn'd him right and round about,
14 Upon the Irish shore,
15 He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
16 With, Adieu for evermore,
17 My dear!
18 And adieu for evermore!
19 The soldier frae the war returns,
20 And the merchant frae the main.
21 But I hae parted frae my love,
22 Never to meet again,
23 My dear,
24 Never to meet again.
25 When day is gone and night is come,
26 And a' folk bound to sleep,
27 I think on him that's far awa
28 The lee-lang night, and weep,
29 My dear,
30 The lee-lang night, and weep.
poem by Robert Burns
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It Was A' For Our Rightfu' King
It was a' for our rightfu' king
That we left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' king
We e'er saw Irish land, my dear,
We e'er saw Irish land.
Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain!
My love, and native land, fareweel,
For I maun cross the main, my dear,
For I maun cross the main.
He turn'd him right and round about,
Upon the Irish shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
With, Adieu for evermore, my dear,
And adieu for evermore.
The soldier frae the war returns,
And the merchant frae the main.
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again, my dear,
Never to meet again.
When day is gone and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep,
I think on him that's far awa
The lee-lang night, and weep, my dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep.
poem by Robert Burns
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Karma
I often hear
Why should I exercise?
I leave my health to fate
Why should I work hard?
I leave it to fate
As if fate
Will do wonders
Without any effort
Do not depend
On fate
Believe it or not
Karma
Ensures fate
Start before you are
Late
You may not have to
Repent later and
&
Curse fate
01-05-2012
487-02-05-12
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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The Fate Will Mock You
A hare shot, the bullet took credit.
The gun and the hunter followed suit.
A hare fleeing, the bullet blamed.
The gun and the hunter followed suit.
The fate witnessed both and smiled.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Fate and Destiny
Fate and Destiny
Who can tell us what Fate and Destiny are?
Who can tell us what our Fate is?
Who can tell us what our Destiny is?
Fate. Destiny.
People say we cannot choose our Fate, but we can choose our Destiny.
People say we are Fated or Destined to do/become something.
Fate. Destiny.
Are they different?
Are they the same?
People say we can choose Destiny and we are Fated to do it.
People say that our Destiny is open, but our Fate is sealed.
Are Fate and Destiny the same?
If our Destiny has yet to be chosen but our Fate is sealed, then is not our Destiny already chosen, but unseen to us until the opportune moment?
Fate. Destiny.
When is the opportune moment?
At what point in our life will our Fate and Destiny be revealed?
Or will we realize what our Fate and Destiny are only when it is too late?
Or will we pass our Fate and Destiny without knowing it?
Fate. Destiny.
If someone tells us what our Fate and Destiny are, will we like what we hear?
Or will you strive against the path set before you?
poem by Robert Grimes
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Song
O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad,
O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad;
Tho' father, and mother, and a' should gae mad,
Thy Jeanie will venture wi'ye, my lad.
But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come nae unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-style and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin to me--
And come as ye were na comin to me--
O whistle &c.
At kirk, or at market whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd nae a flie;
But steal me a blink o' your bonie black e'e,
Yet look as ye were na looking at me--
Yet look as ye were na looking at me.--
O whistle &c.
Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But court nae anither, tho' jokin ye be,
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me--
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me--
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Capricious Friend
Fate!
What have you done to me?
Why did you let us fall in love so easily?
Fate!
You could have lied to me,
Now I’m left to feel this way
Fate!
You tempt an early death of me,
As my heart breaks more n’ more each day
Fate!
Why did you take her from me?
Then tease…
“You’ll be together again, it’s your destiny”
Fate!
“Tis a cruel n’ wicked game you play with me
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Fate Factor
You choose your fate
By the things you do
If you are good
Your fate will be too
Fate does not choose you
It won’t take time to choose you
Just watch what you do
And fate will be good to you
A fate worse than death
For being bad that’s what you get
I’ve been there and back
So I know the facts
Take my advice
Live life right
Just do onto others good
And fate will do onto you
Follow one of the golden rules
Do onto others what you,
Want them to do onto you
And that’s how you choose your fate
poem by LaTisha Parkinson
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Fate-4
Fate is cruel
when moist honey lips in other`s tongue
Fate is lust
when moiest honey lips in my tongue
Fate is hell
when true love battered
Fate is pleasure
when other`s love on bed
Fate is vivid
when she opened her legs for me
Fate is vicious
when I am naked on another`s split
Fate is pain
when both of us on yet another`s split and jerks
Fate is what a fail in harmony
what we lost in love
where we lost hardwork
and when our will buried under
Fate rule us............
poem by Lily Peace Lago Every By To Ph
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Reflection For Peace Minus War
We have to look at man's many past mistakes
If we are to improve our country's fate
In the past so many, many lives were lost
And, of course, we will never forget the Holocaust
Time and Time again men and women are injured in war
With refugees fleeing as gunshots soar
Yet we never seem to see any possible end
Wars just come, over and over, again and again
We've had more than our share of Hitler and Stalin
Never forgetting the terrible reign of Saddam Hussein
The world would be blessed if a dictator we'd never see
There would be less war, pain, death, and no refugees.
poem by Patricia Cox Napoli
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The Farewell
IT was a' for our rightfu' King
We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' King
We e'er saw Irish land,
My dear--
We e'er saw Irish land.
Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain;
My love and native land, farewell,
For I maun cross the main,
My dear--
For I maun cross the main.
He turn'd him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore;
And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With, Adieu for evermore,
My dear--
With, Adieu for evermore!
The sodger frae the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main;
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,
My dear--
Never to meet again.
When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep,
I think on him that 's far awa',
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear--
The lee-lang night, and weep.
poem by Robert Burns
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Up in the Morning Early
Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly;
Sae loud shrill`s I hear the blast,
I`m sure it`s winters fairly.
CHORUS:Up in the morning`s no for me,
Up in the mornings early;
When a` the hills are cover`d wi` snaw,
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.
The birds sit chittering on the the thorn,
A` day they fare but sparely;
And lang`s the night frae e`en to morn,
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.
CHORUS: Up in the morning`s no for me,
Up in the mornings early;
When a` the hills are cover`d wi` snaw,
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.
poem by Robert Burns
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