When falkland hill puts on his cap, the howe o' fife will get a drap, and when the bishop draws his cowl, look out for wind and weather fowl.
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The Wind O' Death.
Oh! we hae a' to die, dear,
We're a' to gang awa';
We, when Death's wind blows by, dear,
Like apples hae to fa';
Howe'er we may be clinging,
Be green or rosy hinging,
When we hear the wind singing
A glamour's over a'.
We drap unto the ground, dear,
Each frae the boughs we fa',
When we hear the wind sound, dear,
The voice in the wind ca'!
It comes through leagues o' heaven,
A dream-joy to it given,
It comes at morn or even
Wi' the glamour over a'.
We'll wait for it to blow, dear —
How sweet the birdies ca'!
The flowers come and go, dear,
There's peace atween us twa:
The love-light round us clinging,
'Tis sweet, together hinging,
To wait for the wind's singing
Wi' the glamour over a'.
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sestina
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Wouldnt Want It Any Other Way
(ed hill/david frasier)
(track 3 - time 3:51)
Without me
Maybe youd find somebody else
A little wiser
With a lot more wealth
And without you
Its true Id be free
To go chasing all my dreams
Without any strings
But I wouldnt want it any other way
Having you to come home to at the end of every day
Your tender touch puts a smile back on my face
Wouldnt want it any other way
Hard times
May never let up on us
And maybe all well ever have
Will barely be enough
And babe you know
How cold the wind can blow
Loves never let us down
When we needed it the most
And I wouldnt want it any other way
Having you to come home to at the end of every day
Your tender touch puts a smile back on my face
Wouldnt want it any other way
Your tender touch puts a smile back on my face
Wouldnt want it any other way
Wouldnt want it any other way
Any other way
Oh girl
You know I love you more each day
Any other way
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Calvin Campbell
Ye who are kicking against Fate,
Tell me how it is that on this hill-side,
Running down to the river,
Which fronts the sun and the south-wind,
This plant draws from the air and soil
Poison and becomes poison ivy?
And this plant draws from the same air and soil
Sweet elixirs and colors and becomes arbutus?
And both flourish?
You may blame Spoon River for what it is,
But whom do you blame for the will in you
That feeds itself and makes you dock-weed,
Jimpson, dandelion or mullen
And which can never use any soil or air
So as to make you jessamine or wistaria?
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Character is power; it makes friends, draws patronage and support and opens the way to wealth, honor and happiness.
Spring. (From The French Of Charles D'Orleans. XV. Century)
Gentle Spring! in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!
For Winter maketh the light heart sad,
And thou, thou makest the sad heart gay,
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,
The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain;
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
When thy merry step draws near.
Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,
Their beards of icicles and snow;
And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
We must cower over the embers low;
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather.
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
When thy merry step draws near.
Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud;
But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh;
Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly,
Who has toiled for nought both late and early,
Is banished afar by the new-born year,
When thy merry step draws near.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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My Love, She's But A Lassie Yet
My love, she's but a lassie yet,
My love, she's but a lassie yet!
We'll let her stand a year or twa,
She'll no be half sae saucy yet!
I rue the day I sought her, O!
I rue the day I sought her, O!
Wha gets her need na say he's woo'd,
But he may say he has bought her, O.
Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet,
Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet!
Gae seek for pleasure whare ye will,
But here I never miss'd it yet.
We're a'dry wi' drinkin o't,
We're a'dry wi' drinkin o't!
The minister kiss't the fiddler's wife-
He could na preach for thinkin o't!
poem by Robert Burns
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The bush fowl saw the chicken being carved up and laughed. The chicken told the bush fowl to stop laughing. For the same hands now carving up the chicken would be used to carve up the bush fowl.
Mother's Talk
My features form with a change in the weather
Weekend
We can work it out
My features form with a change in the weather
Weekend
We can work it out
When the wind blows
When the mothers talk
When the wind blows
When the wind blows
When the mothers talk
When the wind blows
We can work it out
It's not that you're not good enough
It's just that we can make you better
Given that you pay the price
We can keep you young and tender
Following in the footsteps of a funeral pyre
You were paid not listen now your house is on fire
Wake me up when things get started
When everything starts to happen
My features form with a change in the weather
Some of us horrified
Others never talk about it
But when the weather starts to burn
Then you'll know that you're in trouble
Following in the footsteps of a soldier girl
It is time to put your clothes on and to face the world
Don't you feel your luck is changing
When everything starts to happen
Put your head right next to my heart
The beat of the drum is the fear of the dark
My features form with a change in the weather
song performed by by Tears For Fears from Songs From The Big Chair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Dropped My Draws
I dropped my draws!
And instantly...
We did not care,
Where they were!
I drew her in my mind!
All the time.
On my canvas!
I caught the sunlight on her hair.
Dew dipped in the mornings,
To glisten.
With a hint of tint...
Captured by the setting of the Sun.
And after I was done...
I would collect my drawings,
To begin my long walk home!
High on Russian Hill.
In San Francisco.
And she rushed around from Chestnut.
Brushed against me...
As I turned to lose sight of the Wharf.
We bumped!
And I dropped my draws.
Scattered they flew into the street.
She noticed her image,
On nearly all of them.
She looked at me and grinned.
Within an instant...
We fixed our eyes.
And neither one of us cared,
Where my draws were.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Closing Arguments (Interlude/Skit)
In closing, ladies and gentlemen of the jury
I'm not gonna sit here and bore you with a long, drawn out story
or excuse, of why I think Wyclef is guilty
I'm gonna stand by the exhibits as well as the tapes
And songs such as Jeapordy, Til Novemeber, All the Girls,
and Bubblegoose, which stand side by side with my allegations
I rest my case
OK, uhh, ladiessss, and gentle-men, of the juwy
As you can see nuttin has been proven here today
DEEZ witnesses dey brought ere don't not have evidence
to incriminate my client eh?
If he's not guilty he's innocent
If he's not detrimental to the society therefore he positive!
As I say before, dis case is pure bishop
Your honor see, this, this is exactly what I'm talkin about
I mean I've been meaning to ask this the whole time
Who the hell is Bishop?
Eh?
And and why the hell hasn't he been brought on the stand?
Bishop, bishop, not true, false, bishop
Ohh, bullshit!
Oui
song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Closing Arguments
In closing, ladies and gentlemen of the jury
I'm not gonna sit here and bore you with a long, drawn out story
Or excuse, of why i think wyclef is guilty
I'm gonna stand by the exhibits as well as the tapes
And songs such as jeapordy, til novemeber, all the girls,
And bubblegoose, which stand side by side with my allegations
I rest my case
Ok, uhh, ladiessss, and gentle-men, of the juwy
As you can see nuttin has been proven here today
Deez witnesses dey brought ere don't not have evidence
To incriminate my client eh?
If he's not guilty he's innocent
If he's not detrimental to the society therefore he positive!
As i say before, dis case is pure bishop
Your honor see, this, this is exactly what i'm talkin about
I mean i've been meaning to ask this the whole time
Who the hell is bishop?
Eh?
And and why the hell hasn't he been brought on the stand?
Bishop, bishop, not true, false, bishop
Ohh, bullshit!
Oui
song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mothers Talk
My features form with a change in the weather
Weekend
We can work it out
My features form with a change in the weather
Weekend
We can work it out
When the wind blows
When the mothers talk
When the wind blows
When the wind blows
When the mothers talk
When the wind blows
We can work it out
Its not that youre not good enough
Its just that we can make you better
Given that you pay the price
We can keep you young and tender
Following in the footsteps of a funeral pyre
You were paid not listen now your house is on fire
Wake me up when things get started
When everything starts to happen
My features form with a change in the weather
Some of us horrified
Others never talk about it
But when the weather starts to burn
Then youll know that youre in trouble
Following in the footsteps of a soldier girl
It is time to put your clothes on and to face the world
Dont you feel your luck is changing
When everything starts to happen
Put your head right next to my heart
The beat of the drum is the fear of the dark
My features form with a change in the weather
song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Long ere you cut Falkland-wood with a Pen-knife.
Good Weather
This good weather ruined me,
I resigned in such a weather
From my government job.
I got used to tobacco in such a weather,
I fell in love in such a weather;
I forgot to take home bread and salt
In such a weather;
My disease of writing poems
Recurred in such a weather;
This good weather ruined me.
poem by Orhan Veli Kanik
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I think a bishop who doesn't give offence to anyone is probably not a good bishop.
quote by James Thomson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trouvée
Oh, why should a hen
have been run over
on West 4th Street
in the middle of summer?
She was a white hen
--red-and-white now, of course.
How did she get there?
Where was she going?
Her wing feathers spread
flat, flat in the tar,
all dirtied, and thin
as tissue paper.
A pigeon, yes,
or an English sparrow,
might meet such a fate,
but not that poor fowl.
Just now I went back
to look again.
I hadn't dreamed it:
there is a hen
turned into a quaint
old country saying
scribbled in chalk
(except for the beak).
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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When Ida Puts Her Armor On
When Ida puts her armor on
And draws her trusty blade
The turnips in the bin turn pale,
The apples are afraid.
The quiet kitchen city wakes
And consternation feels,
And quick the tocsin pealeth forth
In long potato peels.
When Ida puts her armor on
The pots and pans succumb,
A wooden spoon her drum-stick is,
A mixing pan her drum;
She charges on the kitchen folk
With silver, tin and steel
She beat the eggs, she whips the cream,
The victory is a meal.
When Ida puts her apron on
Her breast-plate is of blue.
(Checked gingham ruffled top and sides)
Her gauntlets gingham, too;
And thus protected from assault
Of batter, stain and flour
She wars with vegetable foes
And conquers in an hour.
When Ida puts her armor on
She is so fair to see
Her battle with the kitchen folk
Is reproduced in me;
So sweet she is, armed cap-a-pie,
So good her kitchen art
I hardly know which loves her best
My palate or my heart.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Nostalgic wind takes me homebound
Facing strong wind and heavy rain today.
All the vessels in the harbor secured safely.
And the Tugs are in their weather-watch
in case of emergency.
Like a tigress the horrible wind comes
how soft when she is normal
chime like wind bells.
I heard a ship was calling from afar
she is heading to another port
humbly request a shelter in anchorage
until the bad weather get settled.
Though I am alert in the port
I feel like a ship in her pitching & rolling
in the deep sea.
And the the strong wind take me home.
Oh! my loved ones at shore
and I can see them waving happily.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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You can see the fowl's innerness when the wind is blowing.