We procured from an Indian a weasel perfectly white except the extremity of the tail which was black: great numbers of wild geese are passing to the south, but their flight is too high for us to procure any of them.
quote by Meriwether Lewis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wild Geese
Wild geese fly overhead
In the wild Autumn weather.
Souls of the newly-dead
Crying and flying together.
Home from the last great fight,
The souls of the Irish farin'
With a wild heart in the night,
A grey eye turned to Erin.
High and high in the sky,
From the red fields of slaughter
Ever they fly and cry
For the brown bog, the grey water.
Wild geese in the wild even,
Steady and strong their flight,
Their beds are made in Heaven,
All of the down white.
They have forgone that bliss
Till they have seen once more
The little land of peace,
Green and bright as of yore.
High o'er the sheep and cattle,
The bogs and the mountains lone,
The souls new-home from the battle
Cry their love and are flown.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Gots A Weasel
Got a weasel -- its a teazel -- mah pleazel -- mah pleazel -- got a weasel
Jumped in.....
Got a weasel -- its a teazel -- mah pleazel -- mah pleazel -- got a weasel
Said somethin to show me the blimp, babe
Got a weasel -- its a teazel -- mah pleazel -- mah pleazel -- got a weasel
I got me this big weasel out!
Weasel, teazel pleazel pleazel
Got a weasel its a teazel mah pleazel
Got a weasel teazel my pleazel got a weasel
Got a weasel its a pleazal mah bay!
Got a weasel -- its a teazel -- mah pleazel -- mah pleazel -- got a weasel
It come through the roof in a blimp!
Got a weasel -- its a teazel -- mah pleazel -- mah pleazel -- got a weasel
Weasel flying upstairs in the air!
Got a weasel -- its a teazel -- mah pleazel -- mah weasel -- got a weasel
I got the weasel jumped in the air!
Weasel, teazel pleazel pleazel
Got a weasel its a teazel mah pleazel
Got a weasel pleazel my pleazel pleazel weasel
Got a weasel its a pleazal mah bay!
Got a weasel -- its a teazel -- mah pleazel -- mah pleazel -- got a weasel
Weasel flyin around up in the ceiling!
Got a weasel -- its a teazel -- mah pleazel -- mah pleazel -- got a weasel
He jumped upstairs and down again!
Yeah!
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XXVI: Though Dusty Wits
Though dusty wits dare scorn astrology,
And fools can think those lamps of purest light
Whose numbers, ways, greatness, eternity,
Promising wonders, wonder do invite,
To have for no cause birthright in the sky,
But for to spangle the black weeds of night:
Or for some brawl, which in that chamber high,
They should still dance to please a gazer's sight;
For me, I do Nature unidle know,
And know great causes, great effects procure:
And know those bodies high reign on the low.
And if these rules did fail, proof makes me sure,
Who oft fore-judge my after-following race,
By only those two stars in Stella's face.
poem by Philip Sidney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Weasel Face
Twenty four hours ago
No one could help me
I'm alone in life
No where to go
So I picked up the phone
Called out for help
Some one please help me
I'm afraid and alone
Weasel face
Weasel face
Weasel face
It's way past midnight
T.V. set is on
It's my only friend
One crisis after another
Ain't no loser or quitter
It's all or nothin' baby
'Cause we fought so hard
For our piece of this world
Weasel face
Weasel face
Weasel face
song performed by by Ramones from Halfway To Sanity
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Goose who Loved Golf
On the flight path down from Quebec
in the recent past, they say,
The lead goose saw a foursome
on the fairway, hard at play.
Their clothing was intriguing
Bright Argyles and Staid plaids
Little lackeys followed them,
carrying their bags.
The goose brigade lost interest
in proceeding South that day.
Instead they landed on the course
intent on watching play.
The lead Goose now spent all his time
At Bethpage, on the Black,
and honked golf commentary
to all his fledgling flock.
This lead Goose was the First,
brave Avian pioneer,
who broke the pattern going South-
instead he wintered here.
The Geese are protected by the law,
so we have no recourse.
We can't hunt down these honkers
who are greasing up the course.
Within one human lifetime-
a revolutionary change.
the geese have all stopped flying South
They're students of the game.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The perceived wisdom is that people do not go in large numbers to black-and-white movies anymore - which is a great shame, but I'd love to make a black-and-white movie one day.
quote by Sam Mendes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am a man of black and white
I am a man of black and white,
my name is written on the gates of the sky.
i am a man of black and white
my origin is united, yet two apart.
I speak the language of the whites,
but lost in the language of the blacks.
i am a man of black and white,
my resemblance is same with the blacks.
I am a man of black and white,
i was brought up in the land of the whites.
i am a man of black and white,
my home is in the south-east, in the abode of my black dad.
I am a man of black and white,
i love the aspirations of life.
i am a man of black and white,
although two apart, we are united as one.
poem by Randy Micheal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Robin
Robin and Robin!
Come to my cabin.
We can play in
With fuss and fun.
You can fly being gay
And catch insect prey.
As you like you play:
I won’t be in the way.
A beauty is your tail.
How ably you waggle!
When in air you sail
You are not fragile.
When you sing a song,
By your tail you clang.
You hold it upright,
Swing it down to spread
And gather it up
Like a drum beat,
Much in a rhythm
To your crooning rhyme.
Black in white is good.
White in black is good.
You’re black and white
And are superbly bright.
Chest and dorsal are black.
Ventral is velvet white.
Wings too bear white
You are white by black.
Koel like is Latha;
You are my Asha,
With look seductive
And voice captive.
You are nice to sing..
You’re nicer by wing.
Love, can you spring?
I love you, Robin.
With me, you are free.
Anytime you can flee.
I make you happy
When you are with me.
Don’t feel it a sin
To be with me in.
You will have fun,
Which is your win
Robin and Robin!
Come to my cabin.
I’ll play a tune.
You rest and preen.
28.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wind Was There
I
all was in flight
wild geese in the sky
snow from the sky flying
rivers hastening to the sea
and waves from the midsea
hastening to the shore
horses running from a fence
fences running from the ground
ground fleeing from the sky
and the sky was filled with flying stars
and suns innumerable
daisies springing from the grass
pines fleeing up the mountainside
even the mountain was in flight
less swift than southward geese
or rivers in the spring
less swift than these but fleeing still
stone upon stone scraping in slow erosion
gravel grinding into dust and fleeing before the wind
II
all was in flight
even from a distance I
my flight was faster than a fleeing cloud
I only knew the wind was there
swift and imperious and proud
sharper than fine steel
III
so shall I ever flee
swifter yet swifter
until the speed is such
my spirit shall enkindle with the wind
and then
a brown and crackled leaf I'll fall
my flesh to shrivel into mould
my blood to mingle with the seeping rain
and all my body's flight become a strange return
poem by Bravig Imbs
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Primer For Blacks
Blackness
is a title,
is a preoccupation,
is a commitment Blacks
are to comprehend—
and in which you are
to perceive your Glory.
The conscious shout
of all that is white is
“It’s Great to be white.”
The conscious shout
of the slack in Black is
'It's Great to be white.'
Thus all that is white
has white strength and yours.
The word Black
has geographic power,
pulls everybody in:
Blacks here—
Blacks there—
Blacks wherever they may be.
And remember, you Blacks, what they told you—
remember your Education:
“one Drop—one Drop
maketh a brand new Black.”
Oh mighty Drop.
______And because they have given us kindly
so many more of our people
Blackness
stretches over the land.
Blackness—
the Black of it,
the rust-red of it,
the milk and cream of it,
the tan and yellow-tan of it,
the deep-brown middle-brown high-brown of it,
the “olive” and ochre of it—
Blackness
marches on.
The huge, the pungent object of our prime out-ride
is to Comprehend,
to salute and to Love the fact that we are Black,
which is our “ultimate Reality,”
which is the lone ground
from which our meaningful metamorphosis,
from which our prosperous staccato,
group or individual, can rise.
Self-shriveled Blacks.
Begin with gaunt and marvelous concession:
YOU are our costume and our fundamental bone.
All of you—
you COLORED ones,
you NEGRO ones,
those of you who proudly cry
“I’m half INDian”—
those of you who proudly screech
“I’VE got the blood of George WASHington in MY veins”
ALL of you—
you proper Blacks,
you half-Blacks,
you wish-I-weren’t Blacks,
Niggeroes and Niggerenes.
You.
poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Incantation
A white well
In a black cave;
A bright shell
In a dark wave.
A white rose
Black brambles hood;
Smooth bright snows
In a dark wood.
A flung white glove
In a dark fight;
A white dove
On a wild black night.
A white door
In a dark lane;
A bright core
To bitter black pain.
A white hand
Waved from dark walls;
In a burnt black land
Bright waterfalls.
A bright spark
Where black ashes are;
In the smothering dark
One white star.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shadow of my Spirit
Shadows appear and disappear-
Faces behind trees are looking and I never knew,
I never believed in closeness being safe and
Eyes opened towards the sky were said to
Perhaps be taking in the beauty of the cherry blossoms or
Following the pathway of the wild geese in flight-
That is what they say and I would never ask because
Eyes opened to the sky are only open momentarily until
They are cast downward, downward ogling the pathway of my footsteps?
Shadows appear and disappear and faces I don't know
Are none but a threat as the pathway of their eyes
Follow the direction that I walk and I never knew, and
I never believed in closeness being safe-
My eyes are opened towards the sky
Only taking in the spirit of my soul
Dancing someplace in the heavens hoping
That this pathway I walk is a safe place to be?
Shadows appear and disappear and
Even when shadows disappear-
I still believe that all eyes are upon me-
Wild geese in flight and blossoming flowers
Can be beautiful to see but they have no souls-
My soul, my spirit lives deep inside my inner core and
It never felt safe and still to this day
Feels like a raging animal locked inside of a cage
Unable to escape? Unable to escape a body on the run-
On the run from a world that only wishes me harm-
My dream has always been to set my spirit free and to
Become a bird and lift my wings to fly high above
In the sky, journeying through the clouds and to touch the sun,
Then find a safe place where no one could take my thoughts away-but
As a bird I find myself with broken wings, and my own shadow is cast upon the ground
Pilfered by evil people who capture my thoughts within their sinister grasps and
This world is not my home-shadows appear and disappear- my own included-
I can see it upon the gravel pathway lying still- I wait until it disappears and
I find myself alone-alone and safe- a bird with broken wings who has lost her shadow but
I am safe in my solitude and when all shadows disappear, I finally have nothing to fear-
My eyes are opened to the sky watching the wild geese in flight-
They have nothing to fear, soaring high up in the sky and they can escape reality as
Their wings are not broken and blossoming flowers may be beautiful and they remain safe because God did not give them spirits to feel the fear?
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Earthbound for M lady Chitra lele
The geese fly south and leave behind
the bitter winter storms to come.
The gather, circle then they fly
a vee formation in the sky.
Exchanging leaders on the way,
almost as if a single mind
controls the flock mysteriously.
I watch and weep as they depart
I have no wings I cannot fly.
I am earth bound I can’t escape
the snow and ice which will confine me
with just my books for company.
Until my feathered friends return.
Their honking cries for which I yearn
will rouse me from my somnolence.
Alerting me to their presence.
I take my ink block and my brush
most carefully no cause for rush.
Inscribe my thoughts in black on white
to signify my great delight.
In my own style of poetry.
To hear again the geese converse.
Not in the style I wrote at court
but poetry of a simpler sort.
To prove I have not lost my skill
and dare to hope I never will.
Until the day they bury me
I will be writing poetry.
No longer in the kings employ
I use my leisure to enjoy
the use of my ability.
To write whatever pleases me.
18-Jul-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
Kushih style
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Numbers..
Numbers are cruel,
When the heart beats ninety per minute,
when pressure is, down very down,
High very high, fluctuating.
Numbers are cruel,
when wearing spectacles,
power can not be adjusted,
must buy a new pair.
Numbers are cruel,
when using Glucometer,
higher the reading,
must control the eating.
Numbers are cruel,
when one has thousand,
sometimes in negatives and
the other has millions.
Numbers are cruel,
when one is young and fresh,
and the other is old and in mess,
bigger the number, wiser.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wild Geese
Look at the golden dawn
See the sunset
On the silver thorn
Just remember
It was all for you and me
High on the ragged hill
He was dying
And hes dying still
Oh my lord
You were born to set men free
And the mission bells are ringing
As the prisoner finds release
And the love we knew is returning
Like wild geese
And the signal fires are burning
For the everlasting peace
And the love we knew is returning
Like wild geese
Only the closest heart
Could believe that loves
A dying art
After all the
Hungry mouths he fed
Eyes on the gentle one
Looked for the kindness
But they gave him none
Not a sip of wine
Or a crust of bread
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That's Just Ducky
Passed by a duck
Driving a bright yellow car
I couldn't help but wonder
If she'd make it very far;
She went by perfectly
Never veering left or right
Straight and steady
As if in graceful flight;
Impressed was I
To say the very least, for
I've never known any birds to drive
Not even the great and amazing Canadian geese;
Now, ofcourse I have seen many a fowl
Fly right on by
But never a one
Not up in the clear blue sky;
Manys the time I've witnessed our fine feathered friends
Swiftly moving near and far
But oh no, never
At the wheel of a car;
Some things
A person does see, well
Now they just
Cannot be;
But there it was
Plain as rain
A duck driving a car
In the passing lane!
I grabbed
My cell phone
To get its picture
And call home;
It was then I got a closer look
At the feathered bloke
And came to decide
It all must be some sort of demented joke;
A lunatic's game
My mind was playing
An insane egg
My brain was laying;
For I noticed, as the crazy car passed
'PSYCHO-DUCK' read the license plate on the back...
Right then and there I lost all interest
As I realized, this duck was nothing more than a mere 'quack'.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tuning Into Something Wild
Key:-
"a" - anita
"r" - ray
A: tuning into something wild
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: you're feeling something wild now!
R: hey precious, hey burning child
Time to tune to something wild
It's new, it's hot, it's all you're not
Don't turn back, it's all we've got
You're breathless, you're out of step
Time to learn just what is hip
If you think you're in a jumble
That's the way the cookie crumbles
A: tuning into something wild
Tuning into something
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
R: wilder and wilder
A; you can feel it coming!
R: well, maybe so-- we're in a mess
World gone wrong but don't forget
There's a groove that makes you wonder
How the hell they sample thunder
It's glorious, it's boom, boom, boom
Bless the noise that shakes the room
If you think we're getting milder
Brace yourself for something wilder
A: tuning into something wild
Tuning into something
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: hey yeah
R: brace yourself!
Brace yourself!
A: tuning into something wild
Tuning into something wild
Tuning into something wild
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
song performed by by 2 Unlimited
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Submission (in answer to Don Mattera)
I have seen a white old man and woman
turned onto the street,
living in cardboard boxes
with their small white dog
in the new disastrous improved South Africa,
I have seen white people taking their own lives
when black mine owners robbed them of salaries
and there was no job to get,
no living to be made
and they did this
instead of starting to beg.
I have seen white men and women
with university degrees
leaving the country
in numbers that are more than a million
to find a place to have a life
somewhere else in a foreign country,
I have waited for more than a hour queuing
at a local bank to make a cash deposit,
as a payment to someone
and the way that things are going,
with the black economic empowerment
and people not up to doing a simple job,
soon all of private industry
will be falling apart
as the government departments are doing.
I have noticed friends and family members
who were robbed, hijacked in their vehicles,
raped, tortured and killed
while the South African Police
did their very best to make a arrest
and like in all other things
are not up to it.
I know people who live in despair,
who are totally without hope
while the country’s borders
are flung wide open
to the rest of Africa
to first have a chance at a job
and their degrees and experience
in the face of this means nothing
but not one does bend
under the black heel to submission,
at the mercy of God
their lives go on…
[Reference: “Submission” by Don Mattera.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Cabin Tale
THE YOUNG MASTER ASKS FOR A STORY
Whut you say, dah? huh, uh! chile,
You 's enough to dribe me wile.
Want a sto'y; jes' hyeah dat!
Whah' 'll I git a sto'y at?
Di'n' I tell you th'ee las' night?
Go 'way, honey, you ain't right.
I got somep'n' else to do,
'Cides jes' tellin' tales to you.
Tell you jes' one? Lem me see
Whut dat one's a-gwine to be.
When you 's ole, yo membry fails;
Seems lak I do' know no tales.
Well, set down dah in dat cheer,
Keep still ef you wants to hyeah.
Tek dat chin up off yo' han's,
Set up nice now. Goodness lan's!
Hol' yo'se'f up lak yo' pa.
Bet nobidy evah saw
Him scrunched down lak you was den--
High-tone boys meks high-tone men.
Once dey was a ole black bah,
Used to live 'roun' hyeah some whah
In a cave. He was so big
He could ca'y off a pig
Lak you picks a chicken up,
Er yo' leetles' bit o' pup.
An' he had two gread big eyes,
Jes' erbout a saucer's size.
Why, dey looked lak balls o' fiah
Jumpin' 'roun' erpon a wiah
W'en dat bah was mad; an' laws!
But you ought to seen his paws!
Did I see 'em? How you 'spec
I 's a-gwine to ricollec'
Dis hyeah ya'n I 's try'n' to spin
Ef you keeps on puttin' in?
You keep still an' don't you cheep
Less I 'll sen' you off to sleep.
Dis hyeah bah 'd go trompin' 'roun'
Eatin' evahthing he foun';
No one could n't have a fa'm
But dat bah 'u'd do' em ha'm;
And dey could n't ketch de scamp.
Anywhah he wan'ed to tramp.
Dah de scoun'el 'd mek his track,
Do his du't an' come on back.
He was sich a sly ole limb,
Traps was jes' lak fun to him.
Now, down neah whah Mistah Bah
Lived, dey was a weasel dah;
But dey was n't fren's a-tall
Case de weasel was so small.
An' de bah 'u'd, jes' fu' sass,
Tu'n his nose up w'en he 'd pass.
Weasels 's small o' cose, but my!
Dem air animiles is sly.
So dis hyeah one says, says he,
'I 'll jes' fix dat bah, you see.'
So he fixes up his plan
An' hunts up de fa'merman.
When de fa'mer see him come,
He 'mence lookin' mighty glum,
An' he ketches up a stick;
But de weasel speak up quick:
'Hol' on, Mistah Fa'mer man,
I wan' 'splain a little plan.
Ef you waits, I 'll tell you whah
An' jes' how to ketch ol' Bah.
But I tell yow now you mus'
Gin me one fat chicken fus'.'
Den de man he scratch his haid,
Las' he say, 'I'll mek de trade.'
So de weasel et his hen,
Smacked his mouf and says, 'Well, den,
Set yo' trap an' bait ternight,
An' I 'll ketch de bah all right.'
Den he ups an' goes to see
Mistah Bah, an' says, says he:
'Well, fren' Bah, we _ain't_ been fren's,
But ternight ha'd feelin' 'en's.
Ef you ain't too proud to steal,
We kin git a splendid meal.
Cose I would n't come to you,
But it mus' be done by two;
Hit's a trap, but we kin beat
All dey tricks an' git de meat.'
'Cose I 's wif you,' says de bah,
'Come on, weasel, show me whah.'
Well, dey trots erlong ontwell
Dat air meat beginned to smell
In de trap. Den weasel say:
'Now you put yo' paw dis way
While I hol' de spring back so,
Den you grab de meat an' go.'
Well, de bah he had to grin
Ez he put his big paw in,
Den he juked up, but--kerbing!
Weasel done let go de spring.
'Dah now,' says de weasel, 'dah,
I done cotched you, Mistah Bah!'
O, dat bah did sno't and spout,
Try'n' his bestes' to git out,
But de weasel say, 'Goo'-bye!
Weasel small, but weasel sly.'
Den he tu'ned his back an' run
Tol' de fa'mer whut he done.
So de fa'mer come down dah,
Wif a axe and killed de bah.
Dah now, ain't dat sto'y fine?
Run erlong now, nevah min'.
Want some mo', you rascal, you?
No, suh! no, suh! dat 'll do.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Slow Eternal Kiss
With a sleek boyish haircut
Framing a perfectly lovely face,
She stood beneath the streetlight
With her pyramid earrings sparkling.
We were wild escaped pirates
From a photograph or black and white movie;
The slow eternal kiss.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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