Within my own life, I read all the beloved novels by lamps of vegetable oil; I saw the Standard Oil invading my own village, I saw gas lamps in the Chinese shops in Shanghai; and I saw their elimination by electric lights.
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Chan Hitchhikes To Shanghai
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
He took a trip to see his mother,
And she was sick, how he got over, he took pride in everything he did,
Never had a harsh word?
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Works on the snow, works in the wind,
How does he travel? whos with him?
Didnt think chan had a family,
Grew accustomed to a symphony, chan held on to his mystery,
Chan, whaty doin man?
Say chan, I wrote this song about you man,
It goes, chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Chan goes to shanghai,
Miss his cooking, sense of humour,
Miss his timing, his discipline, wee all miss chan but we cant advoid,
Now theres an empty space (? ),
Goin to give to leave his job,
Hes the only man, I wrote this song,
Hey, chan, whaty doin man?
Say chan, I wrote this song about you man,
It goes, chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Hitchhikes, hitchhikes,
To shanghai, hitchhikes, to shanghai,
Chan,
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Chan goes to shanghai,
Chan hitchhikes to shanghai,
Chan, hitchhikes, oh chan, anyway you can
Ha, come back chan, come back chan,
Shanghai chan,
Shanghai chan,
Shanghai chan,
Come back chan..
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fat Man And His Origami
the fat man one day gets fed up with so much noise.
he goes out and faces the traffic
and with his strong determined hands he folds cars into deers
demented streets into stairways
high rise buildings into cliffs and mountains
traffic signs into sunflowers and electric poles into poplar trees
the smog into some breeze from the sea
the crazy world into the hum of an old Chinese village
somewhere in Shanghai he lives there
as Lao Tzu
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Festival Of Lights
Rows of lamps lit up the place.
My home was also covered with lights.
You feared the darkness leaving a trace...
Few candles at the gate would make it right!
Set out for lamps to meet the need of your eyes,
I walked through a world of darker night;
Where amidst noise, the plea of silence had to die
And starved faces with trembling hands stood upright.
While lighting up the facade, we remained unaware
About the darkness within, we didn't care.
poem by Kingshuk Chakraborty
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 11
As I walked through the lamplit gardens,
On the thin white crust of snow,
So intensely was I thinking of my misfortune,
So clearly were my eyes fixed
On the face of this grief which has come to me,
That I did not notice the beautiful pale colouring
Of lamplight on the snow;
Nor the interlaced long blue shadows of trees;
And yet these things were there,
And the white lamps, and the orange lamps, and the lamps of lilac were there,
As I have seen them so often before;
As they will be so often again
Long after my grief is forgotten.
And still, though I know this, and say this, it cannot console me.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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When the lamps in the house are lit it is like the flowering of lotus on the lake.
Impression de Nuit ( London )
See what a mass of gems the city wears
Upon her broad live bosom! row on row
Rubies and emeralds and amethysts glow.
See! that huge circle like a necklace, stares
With thousands of bold eyes to heaven, and dares
The golden stars to dim the lamps below,
And in the mirror of the mire I know
The moon has left her image unawares.
That's the great town at night: I see her breasts,
Pricked out with lamps they stand like huge black towers.
I think they move! I hear her panting breath.
And that's her head where the tiara rests.
And in her brain, through lanes as dark as death,
Men creep like thoughts...The lamps are like pale flowers
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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The River of Desire
On the banks of the River of Desire
The abodes of our Gods are empty
The Gods deserted our village long ago
Leaving behind all the sanctums
Their broken walls yielded fine bricks
For the masonry of our village homes.
The River meandered around our village
Threatening to swallow our temples
Our children have hunger in their eyes
We have no oil to light God’s lamps
The River now threatens to swallow
Our parched paddy fields and our homes.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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Rays are not barred
You are beyond the reach.
I am behind the ditch.
Can we shake hands?
You are upon a tower.
I am on the floor.
Can we hear words?
You are in, door shut.
I am out, in wait.
Can we cross our glances?
You are in a cave.
A new moon night.
Can I search for you?
You are ashore.
I am with no oar.
Can I sail to you?
We are lamps, burning.
Lamps kept apart.
Their rays are yet meeting.
We are not separated
Our union is absolute.
Barrier has no fence.
5.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Lamp-lighting By Nurses
By lamps, you light although daylight,
You light the world of darkened lives
Of ailing patients and dying,
Giving them hope of life quite bright!
The lamps you hold by hand today
Affirm your wish to toil always,
Relieving pain and sufferings
Of sick, diseased brethren all day!
Like ‘Lady with the lamp’ you show
Your heart has love and compassion
For mankind sick and afflicted;
To God, the Healer, you thus bow!
The lamps will show the world around
That nurses are a noble lot
Who sacrifice their lives and time
To make everybody’s health sound!
May nurses fill the world with cheer!
Like Nightingale, serve sick always;
Your work is more than gold, aye, dear!
Be bold but kind to human race!
Fondly dedicated to the ‘I Batch’
Of IRT SON students and staff
poem by John Celes
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Lines
On observing the light of two lamps in the
Town form a Triangle with a conspicuous
Star in the Evening Sky.
Two lights below and one above—
Two lights that lead astray,
And one that points to blissful rest
After life’s feverish day.
False Lights of Earth! that shine to lure
The wayworn traveller on,
Till in some lonely wild he sinks
And lies in darkness down.
Fair star of night! thy friendly ray,
To erring man is given,
The finger-post of Deity
Marking the road to Heaven!
poem by Caroline Carleton
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Tavern Lit By Lamps
The tavern tables stay lit by the lamps,
These are the lamps of excellence.
My tables collect more money
And the energy is also collected.
May this tavern express the whole joy,
May we enter a real improvement,
And may the gates of this city be for sustenance.
These shopkeepers are so careful, more than you,
Let monsters and werewolves be dignified
And then the worst enemy is around.
The tavern is an absolute sanctuary,
A wonderful way of gambling and dancing.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Cab Lamps
The crescent moon and clock tower are fair above the wall
Across the smothered lanes of ’Loo, the stifled vice and all,
And in the shadow yonder—like cats that wait for scraps—
The crowding cabs seem waiting—for you and me, perhaps.
The cab lamps are watching as they watched for you and me,
The cab lamps are a-watching and they watch unblinkingly.
The sea breeze in Macleay Street and star-angels over all,
But the slinking cabs of darkness keep their watch beside the wall.
Oh! the years we slipped like months—and the months like a day—
When our cabs slid from the stand—touched the kerb and sped away—
Oh! the cloak on girlish shoulders—Oh! the theatres and light!
And the private rooms and supper that were all in a night!
Oh! the rickshaw in Colombo! And the flat that no one knew,
Where the cab lamps watched Haymarket—London cabs for me and you.
Oh! the gay run “Home” by Paris when the world was ours to play
And the wild run back by Frisco that seems all in a day.
Oh! the cab lamps and rose curtains, when the lie called love seemed true,
While an honest wife and husband suffered by the lanes of ’Loo.
Oh! the health and strength and beauty and the money with its power—
And those two good lives we ruined that was all in an hour.
But the night policeman’s coming with a sharp suspicious eye,
And he’d shift us “quick and lively” to the sweet by and by.
So we’ll seek our frowsy bedroom, if the old hag lets us through—
Where our folks died broken-hearted in the cruel lanes of ’Loo.
The cab lamps are watching as they watched across the sea,
The cab lamps are watching, and they watch for you and me.
For you and me they waited, when the thing called love seemed true,
But the bull’s-eye of our midnight must not flash on me—and you.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Street Light
The shine of many city streets
Confuses any countryman;
It flickers here and flashes there,
It goes as soon as it began,
It beckons many ways at once
For him to follow if he can.
Under the lamp a woman stands,
The lamps are shining equal well,
But in her eyes are other lights,
And lights plus other lights will tell:
He loves the brightness of that street
Which is the shining street to hell.
There's light enough, and strong enough,
To lighten every pleasant park;
I'm sorry lights are held so cheap,
I'd rather there were not a spark
Than choose those shining ways for joy
And have them lead me into dark.
poem by John Crowe Ransom
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At Toni’s
Just before I want to drive
through the portcullis at work,
you phone me
and I have to stop
to hear
what’s on you mind.
The roar of the motorbike
makes that I must listen well
to hear what you say
and you want to go to Toni’s
and I wonder if you know
where the new precise are?
I have just cut through the traffic
and parked my bike beyond the house
when you stop at the front gate
and the barking of the dog’s tell me
to catch some speed.
The afternoon sky is clear and bright blue
and its still hot afternoon
and I give you a nice kiss
through the car door
that you open for me.
You are very early
and had left early at work
and the watering
of the vegetable garden,
have to wait till later
and there’s magic
in your smile
At Toni’s which now
is just beyond chamberlain’s
small lamps are already burning
and although we arrive without a booking,
a table is quickly
given to us.
The evening is romantic and peaceful
that’s much better than just nice
while the sun slowly sets
and your eyes
glitter and shine with the lamps.
I wish I could drag hours out
like this with you
and throw a bit of
balsamic vinegar in my plate
while the calamata olives
and pizza
taste heavenly
and you
and the sweet desert
with a cup of strong coffee
make the evening special for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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An Essay or A Simple Biography of Yukio Mishima to Please My Brother Lalith!
First of all I must so grateful to my brother
Who introduced me the greatest Japanese Novelist!
Remeber you yelled at me ' Read his The sea of fertility, a cycle of four novels and his tetralogy, 'Spring Snow, Runaway Horses, The temple of dawn and The decay of Angel.'
Sorry brother I have a small volume of second hand books
And I couldn't find those?
I work as a Graveyard shift Cashier for a convenient store
From 1155PM to 700 AM!
And my beloved leaves in the morning for a Montessori
And struggles there with kids!
We're two slow trains of the opposite tracks in the life shuttle?
I do scribbling in my whole life.
I bought his short novel recently from a junk book shop
'The sound of Waves' set in a remote village in Japan
It tells of Shinji, a young fisherman
And Hatsue the beautiful daughter of the wealthiest man in the village.
I promise you to finish this book and I remember you told
'Mishima committed seppuku(ritual suicide)
At the age of 45!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Pray Sincerely
There may exist various types of lamps
They'd have been from different camps.
They may exist made of various materials
They may be made for the Imperials.
They may exist in divergent shapes
In multifarious forms even as of grapes.
They may exist in many hues predominant
Made of disparate colours prominent.
They may contain oils multiform
Each with a varying viscosity norm.
They may hold distinct types of wicks
Each made of diverse sticks and picks.
Though the lamps are amply diversified
In all aspects they are one from inside.
And when all of them are ignited
Lo! They are in the same way lighted!
All have the same light energy of flame
A gas in excited state, the plasma—to name.
All forms of lamps from their foundation
Emit the same brilliant illumination.
There may exist different views of the Divine
And different paths may exist to reach the Divine.
But the mode of approach to attain the goal
Is our sincere effort to pray with heart and soul.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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A London Thoroughfare. 2 A.M.
They have watered the street,
It shines in the glare of lamps,
Cold, white lamps,
And lies
Like a slow-moving river,
Barred with silver and black.
Cabs go down it,
One,
And then another,
Between them I hear the shuffling of feet.
Tramps doze on the window-ledges,
Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks.
The city is squalid and sinister,
With the silver-barred street in the midst,
Slow-moving,
A river leading nowhere.
Opposite my window,
The moon cuts,
Clear and round,
Through the plum-coloured night.
She cannot light the city:
It is too bright.
It has white lamps,
And glitters coldly.
I stand in the window and watch the
moon.
She is thin and lustreless,
But I love her.
I know the moon,
And this is an alien city.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Shanghai'd In Shanghai (US Version)
Standing on a corner in downtown L.A.
Waiting for the man to come along
She comes up to me and says "too bad, too sad"
You know that he's been dead and gone.
L.A. lady, kinda shady
She picked him up and took him home
I woke up groggy my sight was smoggy
And I knew that it had been blown
Early in the morning sitting in a hotel
Moscow's looking fine through the wine
Spaced out I crashed out
When the K.G.B. came on the line.
It's a cold one, bein' sent down
It's gotta be fifty below
Mama here's a postcard to let you know
I'm in a saltmine and looking for coal
Shanghai'd in Shanghai
Stood on in Tuscon
Ripped off and kicked right out the bed
Flyin' across the desert from Texas to Tuscon
But we're headed for a southern star
The captain says it's fine in Havana
This dude behind me needs a cigar.
He's a big one, he's got a big gun
I guess we better go along
Mister we've got a gig in Arizona
Second billing to the Rolling Stones
Shanghai'd in Shanghai
Stood on in Tuscon
Ripped off and kicked right out the bed
Shanghai'd in Shanghai
Laid low in 'Frisco
Done in and left behind for dead
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer Song
THERE are white moon daisies in the mist of the meadow
Where the flowered grass scatters its seeds like spray,
There are purple orchis by the wood-ways' shadow,
There are pale dog-roses by the white highway;
And the grass, the grass is tall, the grass is up for hay,
With daisies white like silver and buttercups like gold,
And it's oh! for once to play thro' the long, the lovely day,
To laugh before the year grows old!
There is silver moonlight on the breast of the river
Where the willows tremble to the kiss of night,
Where the nine tall aspens in the meadow shiver,
Shiver in the night wind that turns them white.
And the lamps, the lamps are lit, the lamps are glow-worms light,
Between the silver aspens and the west's last gold.
And it's oh! to drink delight in the lovely lonely night,
To be young before the heart grows old!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Fragment: Satan Broken Loose
A golden-winged Angel stood
Before the Eternal Judgement-seat:
His looks were wild, and Devils' blood
Stained his dainty hands and feet.
The Father and the Son
Knew that strife was now begun.
They knew that Satan had broken his chain,
And with millions of daemons in his train,
Was ranging over the world again.
Before the Angel had told his tale,
A sweet and a creeping sound
Like the rushing of wings was heard around;
And suddenly the lamps grew pale--
The lamps, before the Archangels seven,
That burn continually in Heaven.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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