In the decline of the day, near Kentucky river, as we ascended the brow of a small hill, a number of Indians rushed out of a thick cane-brake upon us, and made us prisoners.
quote by Daniel Boone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Kentucky Is My Land
Kentucky is my land
Kentucky is my hope
Kentucky is my heart
Kentucky is my soul.
Kentucky is my mountains
Kentucky is my Earth
Kentucky is my poems
Kentucky is my birth.
As I walk along the river
I watch in wonder as she flows
Up against my Kentucky land
As my Kentucky wind, gently blows.
So I sit and write of her beauty
I sit and write as I hold her hand
As Kentucky is my happiness
Kentucky, is this man.
Kentucky is my wonders
Kentucky is my dreams
Kentucky is my bluegrass
Kentucky is my trees.
Kentucky is the horses
Kentucky is the lakes
Kentucky is the people
Kentucky, I will never forsake.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Kentuckey Gambler
He wanted more from like
Than four kids and a wife
And a job in the dark kentucky mines
A twenty-acre farm
With a shacky house and barn
That's all he had
And all he left behind
At gambling he was lucky
So he left kentucky
Left behind his woman and his kids
Into the gay casino
In nevada's town of reno
Kentucky gambler planned to get rich quick
Kentucky gambler, who's gonna love your woman in kentucky
Who's gonna be the one to give her what she needs
Kentucky gambler, who's gonna raise your children in kentucky
Who's gonna keep them fed and keep shoes on their feet
At the gamblers' paradise
Lady luck was on his side
Kentucky gambler played his cards just right
He won at everything he played
Kentucky gambler had it made
And he should have quit and gone on home that night
But when you love the greenback dollar
Sorrow's always bound to follow
Reno dreams fade into neon amber
And lady luck, she'll leave you on
She'll saty awhile, and then she's gone
You'd better go on home kentucky gambler
But a gambler never seems to stop
Til he loses all he's got
And so, kentucky gambler, he played on
He played til he lost all he won
He was right back where he started from
Then he started wanting to go home
Kentucky gambler, there ain't nobody waiting in kentucky
When you walked out, somebody else walked in
Kentucky gambler, looks like you ain't really very lucky
Seems to me a gambler looses much more than he wins
So you think about it
Kentucky gambler
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kentucky Rose
Words & music: wayne kirkpatrick and michael w. smith
Sun comes up - sunday morn
On the little church where I been since I was born
And there he stood - a hearty smile
You could hear his voice ringing out for a country mile
And he could place your mind at ease
With his tenderness and a heart that aimed to please
A paupers hands - a farmers clothes
Just a preacher man we called kentucky rose
He worked the soul like he worked the land
He spoke in ways that anyone could understand
Simple words of simple faith
And when it came to love, he would go out of his way
A helping hand - a soothing chat
And he practiced what he preached - imagine that
And as far as kindness goes
There was none compared to old kentucky rose
Evening stroll cross shylers bridge
Thats when he saw the boy trapped below that rocky ridge
He knew the danger he would face
But its as if he saved the child only to take his place
For on that ridge of stone and ice
Kentucky met his maker in sacrifice
Why hes gone, God only knows
Maybe for the company of his kentucky rose
So peaceful in his sunday best
He was buried on a hill and laid to rest
When people heard they came in droves
To say their last good-byes to sweet kentucky rose
Now, on that hill one flower grows
They say it is the spirit of kentucky rose
They say it is the spirit of kentucky rose
I believe it is the spirit of kentucky rose...
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kentucky Gambler
He wanted more from like
Than four kids and a wife
And a job in the dark kentucky mines
A twenty-acre farm
With a shacky house and barn
Thats all he had
And all he left behind
At gambling he was lucky
So he left kentucky
Left behind his woman and his kids
Into the gay casino
In nevadas town of reno
Kentucky gambler planned to get rich quick
Kentucky gambler, whos gonna love your woman in kentucky
Whos gonna be the one to give her what she needs
Kentucky gambler, whos gonna raise your children in kentucky
Whos gonna keep them fed and keep shoes on their feet
At the gamblers paradise
Lady luck was on his side
Kentucky gambler played his cards just right
He won at everything he played
Kentucky gambler had it made
And he should have quit and gone on home that night
But when you love the greenback dollar
Sorrows always bound to follow
Reno dreams fade into neon amber
And lady luck, shell leave you on
Shell saty awhile, and then shes gone
Youd better go on home kentucky gambler
But a gambler never seems to stop
Til he loses all hes got
And so, kentucky gambler, he played on
He played til he lost all he won
He was right back where he started from
Then he started wanting to go home
Kentucky gambler, there aint nobody waiting in kentucky
When you walked out, somebody else walked in
Kentucky gambler, looks like you aint really very lucky
Seems to me a gambler looses much more than he wins
So you think about it
Kentucky gambler
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kentucky Woman
Kentucky woman
She shines in her own kind of light
She looks at you once in a day
And whats wrong is alright
And I love her,
God knows I love her
Kentucky woman
She gets to know you
She gets to hold you
Kentucky woman
She aint the kind to turn
At the drop of her name
Well all the things she does
They turn you on just the same
And I love her,
God knows I love her
Kentucky woman
She gets to know you
She gets to hold you
Kentucky woman
I dont want much
The good lords earth beneath my feet
A gentle touch
Cause that one girl in life is sweet and good
There aint no doubt, Im talking about
Kentucky woman
She gets to know you
She gets to hold you
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman she shines in her own kind of light
She looks at you once in a day
And whats wrong is alright
And I love her, yes I do, I love her
Kentucky woman
She gets to know you
She gets to hold you
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grand Rapids
Air -- "Bright Alfaretta"
Wild roved the Indians once
On the banks of Grand River,
And they built their little huts
Down by that flowing river.
In a pleasant valley fair,
Where flows the river rapid,
An Indian village once was there,
Where now stands Grand Rapids.
Indian girls and boys were seen,
With their bow and quiver,
Riding in their light canoes
Up and down the river.
Their hearts were full of joy,
Happy voices singing
Made music with forest birds,
They kept the valley ringing.
Indians have left and gone
Beyond the Mississippi.
They called the river Owashtenong
Where stands this pleasant city.
Louis Campau the first white man
Bought land in Grand Rapids.
He lived and died, an honored man
By people of Grand Rapids.
When Campau came to the valley
No bridge was across the river;
Indians in their light canoes
Rowed them o'er the water.
Railroads now from every way
Run through the city, Grand Rapids;
The largest town in west Michigan
Is the city of Grand Rapids.
poem by Julia A Moore
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My Old Kentucky Home, Good Night!
1 The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home,
2 'Tis summer, the darkies are gay,
3 The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom
4 While the birds make music all the day.
5 The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
6 All merry, all happy and bright:
7 By'n by Hard Times comes a knocking at the door,
8 Then my old Kentucky Home, good night!
9 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
10 We will sing one song
11 For the old Kentucky Home,
12 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.
13 [Solo] They hunt no more for the possum and the coon
14 On the meadow, the hill and the shore,
15 They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
16 On the bench by the old cabin door.
17 The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,
18 With sorrow where all was delight:
19 The time has come when the darkies have to part,
20 Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!
21 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
22 We will sing one song
23 For the old Kentucky Home,
24 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.
25 [Solo] The head must bow and the back will have to bend,
26 Wherever the darkey may go:
27 A few more days, and the trouble all will end
28 In the field where the sugar-canes grow.
29 A few more days for to tote the weary load,
30 No matter 'twill never be light,
31 A few more days till we totter on the road,
32 Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!
33 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
34 We will sing one song
35 For the old Kentucky Home,
36 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.
poem by Stephen C. Foster
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Back up the Hill
As I walked down to the river today
I met a man with no legs in a chair
we spoke about life and he stood tall in a way
as I walked down to the river
As I walked on I met a blind girl
who gave me directions just over the hill
for someone like me who was lost she could see
as I walked on to the river
Down by the banks I met a small child
whose mother and father had recently died
and he splashed around with a heartful of life
down by the banks of the river
As I looked in the river I saw a young man
a reflection of me if you understand
who thought he would end it as he coudn't cope
as I looked into the river
Considering the people I met on the way
they didn't give up I heard myself say
and though I believed that I'd been through the mill
I laughed at the river, and walked back up the hill.
poem by Charles M. Moore
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The Church On Comiaken Hill
for Sydney Pettit
The lines are keen against today's bad sky
about to rain. We're white and understand
why Indians sold butter for the funds
to build this church. Four hens and a rooster
huddle on the porch. We are dark
and know why no one climbed to pray. The priest
who did his best to imitate a bell
watched the river, full of spirits, coil
below the hill, relentless for the bay.
A church abandoned to the wind is portent.
In high wind, ruins make harsh music.
The priest is tending bar. His dreams have paid
outrageous fees for stone and mortar.
His eyes are empty as a chapel
roofless in a storm. Greek temples seem
the same as forty centuries ago.
If we used one corner for a urinal,
he wouldn't swear we hadn't worshipped here.
The chickens cringe. Rain sprays chaos where
the altar and the stained glass would have gone
had Indians not eaten tribal cows
one hungry fall. Despite the chant,
salmon hadn't come. The first mass
and a phone line cursed the river.
If rain had rhythm, it would not be Latin.
Children do not wave as we drive out.
Like these graves ours may go unmarked.
Can we be satisfied when dead
with daffodils for stones? These Indians--
whatever they once loved or used for God--
the hill--the river--the bay burned by the moon--
they knew that when you die you lose your name.
poem by Richard Hugo
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Old Town Types No. 16 - Mr Tank
'Twice one are two; twice two are four.'
I can still hear it floating thro' the old school door:
Those childish voices falling, rising in rhythmic chant,
In a room where heat is prevalent and ventilation scant.
'Twice nine are eight-teen.' And, presiding o'er the scene,
Like a demon in a 'panto,' blackavised and racked with pain,
Urging on the chorus faster, towers Mr Tank, the master,
With his mutton-chop whiskers and his cane
His cruel, thrice-accursed rattan cane.
Some incurable affliction soured his spirit, it was said;
For, above his brow, an ever-present plaster decked his head.
'Twice one are two; twice two are four -'
And suddenly the master disappeared behind the door.
For 'twas said, too, his affection had instilled a predilection
For too-frequent nips of liquor on the sly now and again.
And they boded fell disaster for gaunt Mr Tank, our master,
With his mutton-chop whiskers and his cane
His ever-swinging, torture-bringing cane.
He 'kept us in' one afternoon till summer dusk came down,
While, as the elder scholars knew, he liquored in the town,
And a dozen big boys rushed him as he swayed in at the door,
And they poured ink on his whiskers as he grovelled on the floor.
And we small kiddies stood about, mouths agape, eyes popping out,
To see our dreaded teacher branded with this shameful stain.
For no idol could loom vaster than grim Mr Tank, the master,
With his mutton-chop whiskers and his cane.
But they broke to bits his terrifying cane.
'Twice one are two, twice two are four'
The chant arose next morning, while, across the ink-stained floor,
Mr Tank, ashamed but savage, glowered at the trembling class . . .
But my thoughts of him grow gentle as the mellowing seasons pass.
Now, when hard-won knowledge fails me, straight an olden dread assails me,
And, a phantom cane, descending sharply stirs my wits again,
And I bless stern Tank, the master, with his strip of sticking-plaster,
And his mutton-chop whiskers, and his cane
Most especially, his wisdom-waking cane.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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It'll All Work Out
one day we'll be trailing
in an ol' kentucky home,
treading through the mountains
just to see the other side,
someday we'll be fishing
in the river of kenai,
knee deep in that cool water
just to catch the best of fish,
one day we'll be laughing
when our lives are almost gone,
knowing that we've lived
in our ol' kentucky home.
poem by Brooklynn Dyer
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Kentucky Woman
Written by: neil diamond
Kentucky woman
She shines with her own kind of light
She looks at you once
And a day thats all wrong looks all right
And I love her
God knows I love her
Kentucky woman
If she get to know you
She goin to own you
Kentucky woman
Well, she aint the kind
Make heads turn at the drop of her name
But something inside
That shes got turns you on just the same
And I love her
God knows I love her
Kentucky woman
If she get to know you
She goin to own you
Kentucky woman
I dont want much
The good lords earth beneath the feet
A gentle touch
Of that one girl and life is
Sweet and good
There aint no doubt
Hey, Im talking about
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
I dont want much
The good lords earth beneath the feet
A gentle touch
Of that one girl and life is
Sweet and good
There aint no doubt
Hey, Im talking about
Kentucky woman
If she get to know you
She goin to own you
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Colonel Buffalo Bill
Who's got the stuff that made the Wild West wild?
Who pleases ev'ry woman, man and child?
Who does his best to give the customers a thrill?
-Who?
Colonel Buff'lo Bill
Who's got the show that gets the most applause?
Five hundred Indians and fifty squaws
Ten feature acts and there's the special feature still
-Who?
Colonel Buff'lo Bill
Did you ever see a cowboy rope a steer?
-No, we haven't
Or an Indian with feathers throw a spear?
-No, we haven't
Or a marksman shoot an earring from an ear?
-No, we haven't
Did you ever see a hold up?
-No, sir
Then gather closer
And let me give you some of the atmosphere
The hour is midnight and all is still
We see the stagecoach climbing up a hill
Going along a mountain trail carrying passengers and mail
Never suspecting danger as they roll along
The watchful driver is in his seat
His trusty rifle lying at his feet
Some of the passengers inside seem to be dozing as they ride
Never suspecting there is something really wrong
Suddenly there's a shout
-What is it all about?
What is it all about you ask? It's Indians
-Indians!
Indians
-Indians!
Very notable, cut your throat-able Indians
-Indians!
Just when they've taken ev'ryone by force
Who makes an entrance on a big white horse?
Who starts a' shootin' till there's no one left to kill
-Gen'ral Grant?
No! Colonel Buff'lo Bill!
-Certainly this is quite a thrill, better than all the vaudeville
-Let us be on the go and see the show with Buff'lo Bill
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forgotten River
The forgotten river,
Lonely in the thick forest waitinf for your love;
The forgotten river,
Lovely and nicely prepared for your muse in the thick forest;
But, the big ship has now collided on the high seas! !
Maturiy of character,
Along the coast of Italy! !
But, it is an extraordinary thing that someone recommended for you;
For, i am the forgotten river in the thick forest.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We’re Indians First and Lastly!
We’re Indians firstly!
And that’s the way, we’re known all o’er the globe;
And that is what we tell the world around;
This is our primary identity.
We’re Indians firstly!
We may belong to any state by birth;
Then come our language, creed, community;
We’re Indians primarily!
We’re Indians firstly!
United are we by the tricolor;
The soil is one, though states be many;
We’re Indians basically!
We’re proud of our rich our Indian heritage;
Our thirst is quenched by rivers of India;
Our hunger is appeased by crops grown here;
We’re Indians first and ultimately!
Let none dare try to sow seeds of discord;
The Indian’s free to live in any state;
When asked, let always be our reply,
‘We’re Indians firstly!
God gave one sun and moon to all of us;
We live under the sky, our common roof;
We enjoy freedom got by same ‘Struggle’!
We’re Indians all, firstly!
We’re Indians firstly!
Our patriotism is Indianness;
Our pride’s in being born as Indians;
We’re Indians first and lastly!
All Indians are our brothers and sisters;
We love our fellowmen as our brethren;
Same blood of oneness flows within us all;
We’re Indians first, always, ultimately!
‘Jai Hind! Jai Bharat! Jai bharatiya! Jai bharatvaasi!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-2-2010
poem by John Celes
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The Warmth Of The Will
the days passed
they all rushed
as though someone is
dying and we all want
to save him
we do not notice the
markings on the walls
the strips of paper on
the pavements
we all rushed
because life is waiting
when we reached there
the gloom is growing
and we begin to ask
why and where and when
the moment came when
breathing stops
like an edge of a ruler
where measure is cut
we paused and that was the
time when we all begin to
stop thinking
about the where the when and the
why
what was important has become
insignificant
like air or sunlight or dew
or grass for the goats
or river for the horse
o twig for the dragonfly
the reason has gone like mist
upon the hill
it has surrendered to the
warmth of the will.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The child’s imagination
Asked to write about Indians’ poverty,
An American child wrote long ago
That most Indians owned small or old cars
And that their servants wore tattered clothes.
12.08.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Hunters Of Men
HAVE ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men?
The lords of our land to this hunting have gone,
As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn;
Hark! the cheer and the hallo! the crack of the whip,
And the yell of the hound as he fastens his grip!
All blithe are our hunters, and noble their match,
Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch.
So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men!
Gay luck to our hunters! how nobly they ride
In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride!
The priest with his cassock flung back on the wind,
Just screening the politic statesman behind;
The saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayer,
The drunk and the sober, ride merrily there.
And woman, kind woman, wife, widow, and maid,
For the good of the hunted, is lending her aid:
Her foot's in the stirrup, her hand on the rein,
How blithely she rides to the hunting of men!
Oh, goodly and grand is our hunting to see,
In this 'land of the brave and this home of the free.'
Priest, warrior, and statesman, from Georgia to Maine,
All mounting the saddle, all grasping the rein;
Right merrily hunting the black man, whose sin
Is the curl of his hair and the hue of his skin!
Woe, now, to the hunted who turns him at bay!
Will our hunters be turned from their purpose and prey?
Will their hearts fail within them? their nerves tremble, when
All roughly they ride to the hunting of men?
Ho! alms for our hunters! all weary and faint,
Wax the curse of the sinner and prayer of the saint.
The horn is wound faintly, the echoes are still,
Over cane-brake and river, and forest and hill.
Haste, alms for our hunters! the hunted once more
Have turned from their flight with their backs to the shore:
What right have they here in the home of the white,
Shadowed o'er by our banner of Freedom and Right?
Ho! alms for the hunters! or never again
Will they ride in their pomp to the hunting of men!
Alms, alms for our hunters! why will ye delay,
When their pride and their glory are melting away?
The parson has turned; for, on charge of his own,
Who goeth a warfare, or hunting, alone?
The politic statesman looks back with a sigh,
There is doubt in his heart, there is fear in his eye.
Oh, haste, lest that doubting and fear shall prevail,
And the head of his steed take the place of the tail.
Oh, haste, ere he leave us! for who will ride then,
For pleasure or gain, to the hunting of men?
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Andy the Night-Watch
In my Spanish cloak,
And old slouch hat,
And overshoes of felt,
And Tyke, my faithful dog,
And my knotted hickory cane,
I slipped about with a bull's-eye lantern
From door to door on the square,
As the midnight stars wheeled round,
And the bell in the steeple murmured
From the blowing of the wind;
And the weary steps of old Doc Hill
Sounded like one who walks in sleep,
And a far-off rooster crew.
And now another is watching Spoon River
As others watched before me.
And here we lie, Doc Hill and I
Where none breaks through and steals,
And no eye needs to guard.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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At a tiny station in New Albany, Indiana, which is right across from the river from Louisville, Kentucky, where I grew up. The Louisville stations were loath to hire beginners, so I had to go across the river.
quote by Bob Edwards
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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