You can't serve up hearts like cherries jubilee.
quote by Leonard Bailey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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High Cumberland Jubilee / Comin Down Slow
By: jimmy buffett, buzz cason
1971
Maybe leavings better in the afternoon
When the rain dont fall so hard
From where we were we had to look down far below
To see just what went on in our own backyard
Coming down slow without a thing to show
Wondering what went on while we were up there
Mountain roads now asphalt highways that we once called heaven skyways
Children lost what is the cost to get back home again
La la la la la la la la laaaa
La la la la la la la la laaaa
It was a high cumberland jubilee
Such a high cumberland jubilee
It was a high cumberland jubilee
Such a high cumberland jubilee
It was a high cumberland jubilee
Such a high cumberland jubilee
It was a high cumberland jubilee
Such a high cumberland jubilee
It was a high cumberland jubilee
Such a high cumberland jubilee
Yeah
Im goin to climb up in the mountain
Im goin to climb up in the tree
Im goin to climb up in the mountain
Im goin to see what I can see
You know...
It was a high cumberland jubilee
Such a high cumberland jubilee
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Silver Jubilee
To James First Bishop of Shrewsbury on the 25th Year of his Episcopate July 28. 1876
1
Though no high-hung bells or din
Of braggart bugles cry it in—
What is sound? Nature’s round
Makes the Silver Jubilee.
2
Five and twenty years have run
Since sacred fountains to the sun
Sprang, that but now were shut,
Showering Silver Jubilee.
3
Feasts, when we shall fall asleep,
Shrewsbury may see others keep;
None but you this her true,
This her Silver Jubilee.
4
Not today we need lament
Your wealth of life is some way spent:
Toil has shed round your head
Silver but for Jubilee.
5
Then for her whose velvet vales
Should have pealed with welcome, Wales,
Let the chime of a rhyme
Utter Silver Jubilee.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Poem On A Sunday #1
nothing is really useless.
even those who only wait, has that function.
waiting.
and it is a sacrifice, just imagine
you, at the train station,
wanting to leave and be somewhere else,
yet you do what you are assigned to
do that whole week,
waiting. It saddens me.
I tremble to some extent.
Like a heavy thud
of impatient feet, throwing away the shoes
that serve no purpose.
on the other hand, i assure you,
everything has a purpose.
the cup, the saucer, the teaspoon
and the white
sugar & the coffee,
they blend and you take your day
sipping.
in your world,
there are lapses, something glitches
you see slipping moments,
and you sigh.
ah, do not worry,
they also do what you are supposed to do,
they serve us &
you serve them
a bowl of cherries, a can of laughter,
a nugget of wisdom,
and time
this time, we note what ponder can do,
what blankness can paint
what seeds can sorrow grow?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The God that i serve
if you want to serve the God that
i serve you gotta be strong
if you want to serve the God that
i serve you gotta be prepared to live
a holy a life becouse my God is so
holy
if you want to serve the God that i
serve you gotta have a strong a faith
becouse with my God everything is
possible
if you want to serve the God that i serve
you gotta be prepared to serve your
spirit not your flesh
if you want to serve the God that i serve
you gotta fear not
becouse he protects us
day and night
he is a God who doesnt
sleep
if you want to serve the God that
i serve you gotta be prepared
to bring all your deasess
becouse he is jehova rhafa
and he can heal all your deasess
he is jehova jaera the lord my
provider
my God is jehova niecey
strong in battles
he is jehova shalom the God
that will get you the peace of mind
poem by Mathilda Maphori
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Thoughts While Watching A Still Painting Of Pears And Cherries
upon a tray
are the still orange pears
below are the three cherries
and the wilting leaves
i like the way the pears'
way of seducing me into biting it
the cherries compete with
the enticement
the leaves wilt with envy
and here i am watching and not
even allowed to touch anything
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Song of The Coffle Gang
This song is said to be sung by Slaves, as they are chained in gangs,
when parting from friends for the far off South-children taken from
parents, husbands from wives, and brothers from sisters.
See these poor souls from Africa,
Transported to America:
We are stolen, and sold to Georgia, will you go along with me?
We are stolen and sold to Georgia, go sound the jubilee.
See wives and husbands sold apart,
The children's screams!-it breaks my heart;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
O, gracious Lord? when shall it be,
That we poor souls shall all be free?
Lord, break them Slavery powers-will you go along with me?
Lord, break them Slavery powers, go sound the jubilee.
Dear Lord! dear Lord! when Slavery'll cease,
Then we poor souls can have our peace;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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High Cumberland Jubilee
Maybe leaving's better in the afternoon
When the rain don't fall so hard
From where we were we had to look down far below
To see just what went on in our own backyard
Coming down slow without a thing to show
Wondering what went on while we were up there
Mountain roads now asphalt highways
That we once called heaven skyways
Children lost what is the cost to get back home again
La La La La La La La La Laaaaa
La La La La La La La La Laaaaa
It was a high Cumberland Jubilee
Such a high Cumberland Jubilee
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goodbye To Tolerance
Genial poets, pink-faced
earnest wits—
you have given the world
some choice morsels,
gobbets of language presented
as one presents T-bone steak
and Cherries Jubilee.
Goodbye, goodbye,
I don’t care
if I never taste your fine food again,
neutral fellows, seers of every side.
Tolerance, what crimes
are committed in your name.
And you, good women, bakers of nicest bread,
blood donors. Your crumbs
choke me, I would not want
a drop of your blood in me, it is pumped
by weak hearts, perfect pulses that never
falter: irresponsive
to nightmare reality.
It is my brothers, my sisters,
whose blood spurts out and stops
forever
because you choose to believe it is not your business.
Goodbye, goodbye,
your poems
shut their little mouths,
your loaves grow moldy,
a gulf has split
the ground between us,
and you won’t wave, you’re looking
another way.
We shan’t meet again—
unless you leap it, leaving
behind you the cherished
worms of your dispassion,
your pallid ironies,
your jovial, murderous,
wry-humored balanced judgment,
leap over, un-
balanced? ... then
how our fanatic tears
would flow and mingle
for joy ...
poem by Denise Levertov
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There is a Garden in Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt, with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Champion (1619)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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There Is A Garden In Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still,
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Campion
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The Girl with the Cherries
The girl
who used to open
the markets
and lock the day.
The girl with the cherries
is flying away…
And they soared
like rainbows.
The traders' faces
stretched.
The passers by
sank their hearts.
And somebody
smiled,
gathered the pastels
and went on.
poem by Bozhidar Pangelov
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Chocolate Cherries Is Much Safer?
she told me eating
chocolate cherries
is much safer
perhaps I prefer
getting drunk drinking
in alcohol sour cherries
drinking the second
the third one would
love to share
artists might define
this drinking
as frustration eating
how quickly spirit
frustration times
slip away passing
Dedicated to Miroslava Odalovic.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Dead Heart
We dont serve your country
Dont serve your king
Know your custom dont speak your tongue
White man came took everyone
We dont serve your country
Dont serve your king
White man listen to the songs we sing
White man came took everything
We carry in our hearts the true country
And that cannot be stolen
We follow in the steps of our ancestry
And that cannot be broken
We dont need protection
Dont need your land
Keep your promise on where we stand
We will listen well understand
Mining companies, pastoral companies
Uranium companies
Collected companies
Got more right than people
Got more say than people
Forty thousand years can make a difference to the state of things
The dead heart lives here
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cherry-Ripe
THERE is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Campion
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Clap Yo Hands
Verse
Potter:
Come on, you children, gather around -
Gather around, you children.
And we will lose that evil spirit
Called the voodoo.
Nothin but trouble, if he has found,
If he has found you, children -
But you can chase the hoodoo
With the dance that you do.
Let me lead the way.
Jubilee today!
Hell never hound you;
Stamp on the ground, you children!
Come on!
Refrain
Clap-a yo hand! slap-a yo thigh!
Halleluyah! halleluyah!
Evrybody come along and join the jubilee!
Clap-a yo hand! slap-a yo thigh!
Don t you lose time! dont you lose time!
Come along-its shake yo shoes time
Now for you and me!
On the sands of time
You are only a pebble;
Remember, trouble must be treated
Just like a rebel;
Send him to the debble!
Clap-a yo hand! slap-a yo thigh!
Halleluyah! halleluyah!
Everybody come along and join the jubilee!
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If Life Is A Bowl Of Cherries (Fun Poem 45)
If life a bowl of cherries
why do I always end up with the pips?
Why is it on a bright and sunny day
does it always rain on me?
Why is it when I go to climb a ladder
the one I get has no rungs?
I once had a car
that I used to like to drive,
others liked to drive it too
and they nicked it three times.
We have all heard
of the dive dropping birds,
well they use my car
to do their practicing on.
My world is so upside down
that I never know if
I’m coming or going,
nor where I’ve been.
So the next time you pass
a bowl of cherries
could you please leave a couple for me?
The pips are rather hard
and the stick in my teeth.
14 November 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Is Just A Bowl Of Cherries
People are queer, theyre always crowing, scrambling and rushing about;
Why dont they stop someday, address themselves this way?
Why are we here? where are we going? its time that we found out.
Were not here to stay; were on a short holiday.
Life is just a bowl of cherries.
Dont take it serious; its too mysterious.
You work, you save, you worry so,
But you cant take your dough when you go, go, go.
So keep repeating its the berries,
The strongest oak must fall,
The sweet things in life, to you were just loaned
So how can you lose what youve never owned?
Life is just a bowl of cherries,
So live and laugh at it all.
Life is just a bowl of cherries.
Dont take it serious; its too mysterious.
At eight each morning I have got a date,
To take my plunge round the empire state.
Youll admit its not the berries,
In a building thats so tall;
Theres a guy in the show, the girls love to kiss;
Get thousands a week just for crooning like this:
Life is just a bowl of . . . aw, nuts!
So live and laugh at it all!
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Public servants
People seek posts to serve from
So that they can serve you better
And get more than they serve.
15.04.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The men and women who serve this great nation, whether they are stationed in Iraq, Fort Riley, or the Korean Peninsula, or they serve us at home as our community first responders, serve because they believe in America.
quote by Kathleen Sebelius
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gotta Serve Somebody
You may be an ambassador to england or france,
You may like to gamble, you might like to dance,
You may be the heavyweight champion of the world,
You may be a socialite with a long string of pearls
But youre gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
Youre gonna have to serve somebody,
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the lord
But youre gonna have to serve somebody.
You might be a rock n roll addict prancing on the stage,
You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage,
You may be a business man or some high degree thief,
They may call you doctor or they may call you chief
But youre gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
Youre gonna have to serve somebody,
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the lord
But youre gonna have to serve somebody.
You may be a state trooper, you might be a young turk,
You may be the head of some big tv network,
You may be rich or poor, you may be blind or lame,
You may be living in another country under another name
But youre gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
Youre gonna have to serve somebody,
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the lord
But youre gonna have to serve somebody.
You may be a construction worker working on a home,
You may be living in a mansion or you might live in a dome,
You might own guns and you might even own tanks,
You might be somebodys landlord, you might even own banks
But youre gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
Youre gonna have to serve somebody,
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the lord
But youre gonna have to serve somebody.
You may be a preacher with your spiritual pride,
You may be a city councilman taking bribes on the side,
You may be workin in a barbershop, you may know how to cut hair,
You may be somebodys mistress, may be somebodys heir
But youre gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
Youre gonna have to serve somebody,
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the lord
But youre gonna have to serve somebody.
Might like to wear cotton, might like to wear silk,
Might like to drink whiskey, might like to drink milk,
You might like to eat caviar, you might like to eat bread,
You may be sleeping on the floor, sleeping in a king-sized bed
But youre gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
Youre gonna have to serve somebody,
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the lord
But youre gonna have to serve somebody.
You may call me terry, you may call me timmy,
You may call me bobby, you may call me zimmy,
You may call me r.j., you may call me ray,
You may call me anything but no matter what you say
Youre gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
Youre gonna have to serve somebody.
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the lord
But youre gonna have to serve somebody.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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