They asked a bullfrog, ""Why do you croak all the time?"" He replied, ""I'm enchanted with my voice.""
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Willy The Bullfrog
There once was a Bullfrog named Willy the Bullfrog
And all that he did was croak on a log
Sitting around and having fun
And when he wanted to, he would soak up some sun.
But Willy knew that those days were almost gone
When he saw a bullet killing a fawn
And then in his pond went cans of beer
Then a bullet killed another deer
Then Willy who was full of fright
He hid away until the dark of the night
Then he gathered all the animals for a meeting
Saying hunters are not killing us for the eating
But because in our body runs blood of red
And because their guns shoots bullets of lead,
Many years ago in this land
GOD gave us life with the wave of his hand
There were foxes and herds, oxen and birds
But now our population is dwindling down to none
Ever since I saw that bullet killing a fawn
Then all the animals began to shed a tear
Because they knew then, they had a lot of fear
They wouldn't be able to play and have any fun
They will always be chased and on the run.
Then Willy sadly hopped back to his pond
The place where he was very fond
Then Willy began to speak again
And behind him snuck a bunch of men.
Willy shouted this kind of life I cannot hack
A spear then came ripping through Willy's back.
There once was a Bullfrog named Willy the Bullfrog
And all that he wanted to do was croak on a log
Sitting around and having fun
And when he wanted to, he would soak up some sun.
But Willy and his friends don't live here anymore
Their home and his pond became a department store
Their homes and their lives they had to give
So people of humanity would have a place to live....
There once was a Bullfrog named Willy the Bullfrog
All that he wanted to do was croak on a log
Sitting around and having fun
And every now and then he would soak up some sun.
RANDY L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Conversation with God
One day while I was dreaming I heard a soft like voice
It called me to a pond
and asked to recite
the stories of my childhood
I thought it very strange
Then with deafening noise it came
It took me to the pond and asked me 'what I could see'
'I see me' I replied
'Very good' it said
'Now do you see' it asked
'I see a little child with hair as bright as fire'
'Who is that child' it asked
'It is me' I replied again
'Do you remember what that child was like'
'No' I replied
'Until you become a child again you'll see no more'
'I do not understand' I said
'You will' came the voice
'When' I asked
'When you believe that I am real'
'But you are real' I answered
'Only one who truly believes can understand'
poem by Rachel Branscombe
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Song Of The Croaker
An old frog lived in a dismal swamp,
In a dismal kind of way;
And all that he did, whatever befell,
Was to croak the livelong day.
Croak, croak, croak,
When darkness filled the air,
And croak, croak, croak,
When the skies were bright and fair.
'Good Master Frog, a battle is fought,
And the foeman's power is broke.'
But he only turned a greener hue,
And answered with a croak.
Croak, croak, croak,
When the clouds are dark and dun,
And croak, croak, croak,
In the blaze of the noontide sun.
'Good Master Frog, the forces of right
Are driving the hosts of wrong.'
But he gave his head an ominous shake,
And croaked out, 'Nous verrons!'
Croak, croak, croak,
Till the heart is full of gloom,
And croak, croak, croak,
Till the world seems but a tomb.
To poison the cup of life,
By always dreading the worst.
Is to make of the earth a dungeon damp,
And the happiest life accursed.
Croak, croak, croak,
When the noontide sun rides high,
And croak, croak, croak,
Lest the night come by and by.
Farewell to the dismal frog;
Let him croak as loud as he may,
He cannot blot the sun from heaven,
Nor hinder the march of day,
Though he croak, croak, croak,
Till the heart is full of gloom,
And croak, croak, croak,
Till the world seems but a tomb.
poem by Horatio Alger Jr
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The Frog and the Dog
The big bullfrog said to the wiry weenie dog,
“Come out and sun with me on my nice, nifty log.”
The wiry weenie dog yelped at the big bullfrog,
“I can’t get out there since you’re sitting in a bog.”
Froggie croaked back, “Of that term I’m not fond.
I’ll have you know this log is on a crystal pond.”
The wiry weenie dog, not wanting to appear a dud,
Asked, “Which part is crystal; the moss or the mud? ”
The big bullfrog said to show his irritation,
“Forget it wiry weenie dog. I withdraw my invitation.”
Now the wiry weenie dog really felt mighty bad
And said, “I’m sorry big bullfrog that I made you mad.
I’d like to visit you out on your nice, nifty log,
But my short legs might get stuck since I’m a weenie dog.”
The big bullfrog said, 'Just wait a spell.
Stay where you are since I jump very well.”
After three hops, frog and dog were sitting side by side.
They enjoyed the day together till both were sleepy eyed.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Frogs in chorus
The chorus frogs in the big lagoon
Would sing their songs to the silvery moon.
Tenor singers were out of place,
For every frog was a double bass.
But never a human chorus yet
Could beat the accurate time they set.
The solo singer began the joke;
He sang, "As long as I live I'll croak,
Croak, I'll croak,"
And the chorus followed him: "Croak, croak, croak!"
The poet frog, in his plaintive tone,
Sang of a sorrow was all his own;
"How shall I win to my heart's desire?
How shall I feel my spirit's fire?"
And the solo frog in his deepest croak,
"To fire your spirit," he sang, "eat coke,
Coke, eat coke,"
And the chorus followed him: "Coke, coke, coke!"
The green frog sat in a swampy spot
And he sang the song of he knew not what.
"The world is rotten, oh cursed plight,
That I am the frog that must set it right.
How shall I scatter the shades that lurk?"
And the old man bullfrog sang, "Get work,
Work, get work,"
And the chorus followed him: "Work, work, work!"
The soaring spirits that fain would fly
On wings of hope to the starry sky
Must face the snarls of the jealous dogs,
For the world is ruled by its chorus frogs.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Little Chimney Sweep - Victorian Times
What is above all these chimneys, I asked the young lad,
The chimney sweep boy replied,
Why Sir, it's the sky which is sometimes so blue,
That when I look up and glance at the view,
Such glory cannot be denied.
What lies in that sky then, I asked the young lad,
The boy gazing up now replied,
Oh Sir, clouds and sunshine, at night moon and stars,
Planets like Jupiter, Saturn and Mars,
What wonders out there can be spied?
Is your work very unbearable, I asked the young lad,
Most times Sir, it is, he replied,
From dawn until dusk, I'm climbing to sweep,
The soot from the chimneys, for my food and my keep,
My Master cannot be defied.
Do you 'welcome' the sky, I asked the young lad,
When I'm climbing, I do, he replied,
It's my friend when it's dark and the way up is hard,
Because sometimes I get burn't and then badly scarred,
There's many a time I have cried.
What then do you wish for, I asked the young lad,
With yearning, he slowly replied,
I would love to be free and fly like the birds,
Way up in the sky, and if I had the words,
Write about how I'd feel like inside.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Fall Of The House Of The Liars....
hidden beneath the layers of soil
and heaps and heaps of dry leaves
after several dry seasons
is the bullfrog,
it is kept there for good because when
it starts to croak
on such a deep, determined and truthful voice
our little world will be turning into
chaos...
perhaps out of respect for such a free creature
we promise to set it free
in due time
when the rain is heavy, when thunders roar,
when the flood comes and takes away everything
around this little place
this narrow river
so that when it croaks the truth about us
the rain and thunder may still conceal
what we fear the most
that shame of the future
this scandal,
this fall.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Perpetual Stream Of Sacred Consciousness
I asked the mountain
You are very strong
you will exist till the end of creation
The mountain replied numbly
No, Nay, not so
the water can flow me and
convert me to a plain land
then my existence will vanish
I asked the rock
no one can melt you
the rock also replied numbly
No, Nay not so
the water can melt me
and I will be no more
I asked the trees
the water will destroy you
the tree replied
No, Nay not so
it shall irrigate me and
give me life
I asked each and every creatures
all replied
water is more soft, more rich
and more strong
it can destroy and give life too
it can quench thirst of all
and give life to all
I asked the Water
You are soft and mild
You are rich and strong too
The water replied
No, Nay not so
I may be dried at any time
It is poetry,
a perpetual stream of sacred consciousness
flowing ever and ever
beyond the stars and planets and
even beyond plenty of universe
The Poetry can save me and
pray to God for my survival.
poem by Ramesh Rai
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Benny Bullfrog
So there I am polished heart throat in full puff
I look the part my wad is packed to reimburse.
Ive yet to re-rehearse many moons spent on lovelines lent from
Long-legged pop-eyed fat-necked benny bullfrog.
Final run-through polish up
The flower of loves my buttercup.
Moon in june for you Ill croon
Just like pop-eyed fat-necked benny bullfrog.
Mean piece of muscle Im melvin toad,
I dice with death, across the road.
Hop aboard my lovers leap
Fat-necked quatermass
Who needs a benny bullfrog.
Here she comes (keep a cool head)
My legs numb (keep a cool head)
I cant run (keep a cool head)
High! my names hunky how dyou do
I catch a fly in one swoop
I catch a fly just for you
Thats if you do want me to
But youre not hungry I know
A sixth sense gave me a clue.
I know what else we can do.
(you creep !)
Long-legged pop-eyed fat-necked benny bullfrog.
Wish I was benny bullfrog
Cool as benny bullfrog
Whats the secret, bullfrog?
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Its Croaking Shows Its Presence! !
The croaking echoes through the neighborhood,
the blasting croaking echoes as braying,
sometimes as barking, another time as whistling,
the sounds of croaking may crack our heads,
in the tropical region where it rains,
every other day and musical begins,
with the mono syllabic cricket,
house lizards join them occasionally,
The frogs repeats one day and one night,
as the Native American folklore says,
brother sun agreed and the bear hibernated,
the frogs repeat one day and one night,
it may not be alive the next day,
unnecessary croaking,
is being heard by something,
that slithers and hungry,
its croaking showed its presence,
right to the mouth of that reptile.
In the middle of the meetings,
some of us croak to show our presence,
Croak the wrong information,
out of our peanut brains,
sometimes we croak in the viva verse,
mostly something the invigilators unaware,
fail us then and there,
keeping quiet, sometimes good,
people assume that we know many things,
Politicians croak,
clergies croak,
our teachers croak,
our parents croak,
our children croak,
you and I croak,
our nature make us to croak,
most of the times we get caught,
because we croak a lot.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunflowers After Sex.
After the sex she stood
In front of the Van Gogh
Painting and gazed. Never
Saw that last night, she said.
It was dark, Max replied.
She touched the painting
With her fingers. Why have
A painting of flowers when
You can go out and buy some?
She asked. They last longer this
Way, he replied. So did you
Paint this? She asked in a state
Of semi undress, her eyes sleepy,
Her hair in a mess. No, Van Gogh
Did, he replied. Is he a friend of
Yours? She asked rubbing her breasts.
He sighed and shook his head. No,
Van Gogh painted that many years
Ago, now he’s dead. It’s a bit yellow,
She said, looking at the painting
Closer, what are those yellow flowers
Supposed to be? Sunflowers, he said,
They’re big flowers; people grow them
For real. She raised her eyebrows and
Pulled a face. What about that drink?
She asked. Sure, Max replied pouring
Her gin in a tall glass. She took, sipped
And winked an eye. What about more
Sex? She sighed. Sure, Max, looking at
Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, boringly replied.
poem by Terry Collett
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And Pussy cat
Pussy pussy cat pussy cat
Where have you been
And pussy cat replied
He had been to London
To look at the queen
Again I asked Pussy cat
Where have you been
And pussy cat replied
He had been to Odisha
To look at English
Rule of Nabin.
Pussy cat pussy cat
Further I asked where
Have you been and
Pussy cat replied
He had been to see
Odia people who are fool
And how odia people
Still remain cool
Pussy pussy cat
I asked where have
You been and pussy cat
Replied he had been
To India to see
The democratic rule.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Ch 04 On The Advantages Of Silence Story 14
A fellow with a disagreeable voice happened to be reading the Quran, when a pious man passed near, and asked him what his monthly salary was. He replied: ‘Nothing.’ He further inquired: ‘Then why takest thou this trouble?’ He replied: ‘I am reading for God’s sake.’ He replied: ‘For God’s sake do not read.’
If thou readest the Quran thus
Thou wilt deprive the religion of splendour.
A Cat And Mouse tale
My young niece asked me
what animal would I like to be?
would I be a great big Polar Bear
or a Dolphin swimming in the sea?
How about being a Camel in the desert
or buzz about like a busy busy bee
then again I may want to live in a jungle
be a monkey swinging from tree to tree?
She said she really loves amphibians
so she'd be a toad or a giant Bullfrog
or an animal that likes to roll around in mud
like a Hippopotamus or a Warthog.
But in the end she changed her mind
as she decided she'd want to be a mouse
so in that case I replied to her
I'll be a big cat and chase you round your house!
poem by Kevin Halls
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The Heart Shaped Sea
Babe its time to tell me that its over, tell me that its over, its plain to see. and this time we wont be starting over, no crying on your shoulder into the heart shaped sea. oh youve been
Nning from our door and youve been enchanted by the gracious voice of love.
Babe its time to look me in the eyes, time to say goodbye, its clear to me. and this time I wont let you down, you can turn around, Ill set you free. oh youve been a-sailing from our shore
Ouve been enchanted by someone from afar.
Babe its time to gather all the harvest, to pray before the winter and sail the heart shaped sea. oh youve been a-running from my love and youve been enchanted by the powers up above.
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I cannot forget a conversation that I had with an elderly couple from the tribe. They asked me whether I would kill them after I had finished. When I asked them why they asked that, they replied, Because you white men always do!
quote by Roland Joffe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rise Of The Enchanted
Enchanted words, and enchanted saying, enchanted words that has no meaning. Enchanted words that goes afar, enchanted saying that brings you to the stars. Rise of the enchanting is beautiful as my Lord, for it is as seeing into a woman's eyes, and love at first sight, everything is now on one accord. This is the freedom men as spoken of the freedom to be, enchanted with the mind for all to see. For as others have tried many have surpassed, the diverse mind that comes with many tests. What is the enchantment of which you so humbly speak, for it is freedom, the freedom of the meek. For I am enchanted but holding back I shall, until I show my true feelings for one I can appeal. I am enchanting and I am free, but not free to be, as tough it is my ecstasy, but I have the freedom, because freedom is free, but not enchanted I may not be, for to be free I have to be enchanted, because to be enchanted is to be free. May I be enchanted grant me thee, shall I be enchanted, shall I be free, for this is my rise, this is my plea, this is my enchantment I always wanted to see, the enchantment within me, my rise of enchanting, the enchantment for all to agree, because finally I am free.
poem by Augustus Gatlin
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The Enchanted Wood (Part 1)
Within the moonlight raptures
where the imps and fairies play
deep within the enchanted wood
where no lovers ever enter
especially after dark,
They say there is a witches curse
that will befall all who enter.
Once you have entered
you will never be seen
or heard of again.
Thus, so it has been
throughout the centuries,
a place where no one goes.
Once a poor orphan
with rags upon his feet
had nothing to gain or lose
started walking down the path
that leads to the enchanted wood.
People yelled a him to stop,
but their voices he ignored
and stepped across the threshold
and into the enchanted wood.
He saw no dangers as he walked,
but heard whispery voices
and could have sworn
hidden eyes followed his every move.
Deeper into the wood he walked
he had no fear of being forgotten
as he had no one to begin with
and the witches curse meant nothing.
Finally he came to a clearing
where he stopped and rested for a while,
he leant against a tree
closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Upon wakening, he felt
that there was something wrong.
He looked around
but there was no one to be seen.
As he stood up, he noticed
that all his clothes he wore
were no longer rags but brand new.
“You cannot marry a princess
wearing rags my boy.”
Said a voice from above him.
He looked up and all there was an owl.
“Don’t worry laddie
I am the one who is speaking.
Now if you will follow me.”
The owl then swooped down
and flew in front of him.
He followed the owl
deeper into the enchanted wood.
He questioned not his guide,
but just followed him quietly.
He wondered what was going on
a princess, a wedding
and of course, a talking owl
and what of the witches curse?
The owl suddenly landed
and looked up at the lad.
“What is your name laddie? ”
“Charles Hamilton, Mr Owl.”
“Yonder you see that Castle,
you must go there,
they are waiting for your arrival.”
“But how did they know I was coming? ”
“Never mind that you just keep walking.”
The owl said and flew off.
The lad did as he was told
and slowly the castle grew closer.
He could hear trumpets sound
as he neared the main gate.
“Who goes there? ” A stern voice asked.
“Charles Hamilton.” The lad replied.
“Lord Charles has arrived! Lord Charles has arrived! ”
To be continued:
16 April 2011
poem by David Harris
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Narrative Set in a Blank House
I've felt quite lonely lately.
It really puts the plight of the lonely in perspective.
I don't like it much.
It's rather boring.
You see, not much happens to a lonely man.
Anyhow, I have a friend named Ted.
He lives in Halifax.
Disliking the weather, I gave him a call.
I said, 'Hello, Ted. How are you? '
'Quite alright.' I think he said something like that.
'I feel a bit lonely, ' I said after a bit.
I recall him chuckling. 'What for? '
'I don't know.'
'Well, ' he replied, 'you got me, you know.'
'I think.' I recall pausing, to think.
I just wasn't sure. You know how that is, right?
'What do you mean? ' he asked, as a friend would ask.
'Well, ' I replied,
'I think you are why I'm lonely.'
He laughed again. Ted was a laugher.
'Why's that Jim? '
I paused again. 'Because you died, Ted.
Ten years ago.
And I'm standing here, receiver in hand,
The tone in my ears,
And your voice in my head.'
He paused. I paused. We both paused.
There was pausing enough to stop time.
And then he said, 'Wow, you must be lonely.'
I am.
poem by Leon Agnew
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The Way To The City
A CITIZEN CAME ACROSS A NATIVE AND SAID, WHICH WAY I BEG OF THEE' LEADS TO THE CITY? HE ASKED THE NATIVE WHO REPLIED! OH, EVERY WAY BUT THIS WAY! AND THE SURPRISED CITIZEN ASKED CURIOUSLY, WHAT MEAN YOU BY THAT STATEMENT? AND THE NATIVE REPLIED, WELL, THIS WAY LEADS TO MY NATIVITY, THAT MUCH I AM SURE OF!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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