The Testament
Dig my grave and raise my barrow
By the Dnieper-side
In Ukraina, my own land,
A fair land and wide.
I will lie and watch the cornfields,
Listen through the years
To the river voices roaring,
Roaring in my ears.
When I hear the call
Of the racing flood,
Loud with hated blood,
I will leave them all,
Fields and hills; and force my way
Right up to the Throne
Where God sits alone;
Clasp His feet and pray...
But till that day
What is God to me?
Bury me, be done with me,
Rise and break your chain,
Water your new liberty
With blood for rain.
Then, in the mighty family
Of all men that are free,
May be sometimes, very softly
You will speak of me?
poem by Taras Shevchenko (25 December 1845), translated by T. L. Voynich
Submitted by Mihai Cucereavii
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My Testament
When I am dead, bury me
In my beloved Ukraine,
My tomb upon a grave mound high
Amid the spreading plain,
So that the fields, the boundless steppes,
The Dnieper's plunging shore
My eyes could see, my ears could hear
The mighty river roar.
When from Ukraine the Dnieper bears
Into the deep blue sea
The blood of foes ... then will I leave
These hills and fertile fields --
I'll leave them all and fly away
To the abode of God,
And then I'll pray .... But till that day
I nothing know of God.
Oh bury me, then rise ye up
And break your heavy chains
And water with the tyrants' blood
The freedom you have gained.
And in the great new family,
The family of the free,
With softly spoken, kindly word
Remember also me.
poem by Taras Shevchenko (25 December 1845), translated by John Weir
Submitted by Mihai Cucereavii
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My Testament (Zapovit)
When I die, bury me
On a grave mound
Amid the wide-wide steppe
In my beloved Ukraine,
In a place from where the wide-tilled fields
And the Dnipro and its steep banks
Can be seen and
Its roaring rapids heard.
When it carries off
The enemy’s blood from Ukraine
To the deep blue sea… I’ll leave
The tilled fields and mountains -
I’ll leave everything behind and ascend
To pray to God
Himself… but till then
I don’t know God.
Bury me and arise, break your chains
And sprinkle your freedom
With the enemy’s evil blood.
And don’t forget to remember me
In the great family,
In a family new and free,
With a kind and quiet word.
poem by Taras Shevchenko (25 December 1845), translated by Michael M. Naydan
Submitted by Mihai Cucereavii
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Testament
When I die,
let me rest, let me lie
amidst Ukraine’s broad steppes.
Let me see
the endless fields and steep slopes
I hold so dear.
Let me hear
the Dnipro’s great roar.
And when the blood
of Ukraine’s foes flows
into the blue waters of the sea,
that’s when I’ll forget
the fields and hills
and leave it all
and pray to God.
Until then, I know no God.
So bury me, rise up,
and break your chains.
Water your freedom
with the blood of oppressors.
And then remember me
with gentle whispers
and kind words
in the great family
of the newly free.
poem by Taras Shevchenko (25 December 1845), translated by Alexander J. Motyl
Submitted by Mihai Cucereavii
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Watch My Blood Rain
The blade looks enticing
It's difficult to explain
The ideas of slicing
Watch my blood rain
The cut is deep
Some say I'm insane
It puts me to sleep
To watch my blood rain
The redness is real
I cannot refrain
I know I truly feel
When I watch my blood rain
I sit and I cry
Life is nothing but pain
I ask myself why
I watch my blood rain
My spirit is bound
By this ball and chain
My soul has been downed
Then I watch my blood rain
The anguish is true
My heart has been slain
One day I'll break through
For now I'll watch my blood rain
poem by Haley Nicole
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ocean Land
Before eyes that are blind no more
A sight unseen that tears the soul
All we ever loved and known
Into mass graves is what we're shown"
"We see an ocean once was land"
& So they come to understand
This place where man used to be born
Will be man's water throne
"All that was magical, beautiful,
will be gone"
These measures call for divine intervention
"All the achievements of man,
one will stand all alone"
One that survives the final selection
"The sand in the hour glass,
moves so fast, slow the sand
And nothing that mankind has strived for
will be left in ocean land"
The rain will fall then
Filling the dried land
"Here are we, servants three
flesh and blood
Poor and weak,
hear thou speak of the flood"
It must be a sign
A message from God's hand
song performed by by Orphaned Land
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Romero
When freedom, from the land of Spain,
By Spain's degenerate sons was driven,
Who gave their willing limbs again
To wear the chain so lately riven;
Romero broke the sword he wore--
'Go, faithful brand,' the warrior said,
'Go, undishonoured, never more
The blood of man shall make thee red:
I grieve for that already shed;
And I am sick at heart to know,
That faithful friend and noble foe
Have only bled to make more strong
The yoke that Spain has worn so long.
Wear it who will, in abject fear--
I wear it not who have been free;
The perjured Ferdinand shall hear
No oath of loyalty from me.'
Then, hunted by the hounds of power,
Romero chose a safe retreat,
Where bleak Nevada's summits tower
Above the beauty at their feet.
There once, when on his cabin lay
The crimson light of setting day,
When even on the mountain's breast
The chainless winds were all at rest,
And he could hear the river's flow
From the calm paradise below;
Warmed with his former fires again,
He framed this rude but solemn strain:
I.
'Here will I make my home--for here at least I see,
Upon this wild Sierra's side, the steps of Liberty;
Where the locust chirps unscared beneath the unpruned lime,
And the merry bee doth hide from man the spoil of the mountain thyme;
Where the pure winds come and go, and the wild vine gads at will,
An outcast from the haunts of men, she dwells with Nature still.
II.
'I see the valleys, Spain! where thy mighty rivers run,
And the hills that lift thy harvests and vineyards to the sun,
And the flocks that drink thy brooks and sprinkle all the green,
Where lie thy plains, with sheep-walks seamed, and olive-shades between:
I see thy fig-trees bask, with the fair pomegranate near,
And the fragrance of thy lemon-groves can almost reach me here.
III.
'Fair--fair--but fallen Spain! 'tis with a swelling heart,
That I think on all thou mightst have been, and look at what thou art;
But the strife is over now, and all the good and brave,
That would have raised thee up, are gone, to exile or the grave.
Thy fleeces are for monks, thy grapes for the convent feast,
And the wealth of all thy harvest-fields for the pampered lord and priest.
IV.
'But I shall see the day--it will come before I die--
I shall see it in my silver hairs, and with an age-dimmed eye;--
When the spirit of the land to liberty shall bound,
As yonder fountain leaps away from the darkness of the ground:
And to my mountain cell, the voices of the free
Shall rise, as from the beaten shore the thunders of the sea.'
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Song of the Darling River
The skies are brass and the plains are bare,
Death and ruin are everywhere --
And all that is left of the last year's flood
Is a sickly stream on the grey-black mud;
The salt-springs bubble and the quagmires quiver,
And -- this is the dirge of the Darling River:
`I rise in the drought from the Queensland rain,
`I fill my branches again and again;
`I hold my billabongs back in vain,
`For my life and my peoples the South Seas drain;
`And the land grows old and the people never
`Will see the worth of the Darling River.
`I drown dry gullies and lave bare hills,
`I turn drought-ruts into rippling rills --
`I form fair island and glades all green
`Till every bend is a sylvan scene.
`I have watered the barren land ten leagues wide!
`But in vain I have tried, ah! in vain I have tried
`To show the sign of the Great All Giver,
`The Word to a people: O! lock your river.
`I want no blistering barge aground,
`But racing steamers the seasons round;
`I want fair homes on my lonely ways,
`A people's love and a people's praise --
`And rosy children to dive and swim --
`And fair girls' feet in my rippling brim;
`And cool, green forests and gardens ever' --
Oh, this is the hymn of the Darling River.
The sky is brass and the scrub-lands glare,
Death and ruin are everywhere;
Thrown high to bleach, or deep in the mud
The bones lie buried by last year's flood,
And the Demons dance from the Never Never
To laugh at the rise of the Darling River.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rain On A Scarecrow
Scarecrow on a wooden cross Blackbird in the barn
Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did My grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry there's no legacy for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
The crops we grew last summer weren't enough to pay the loans
Couldn't buy the seed to plant this spring and the Farmers Bank foreclosed
Called my old friend Schepman up to auction off the land
He said John it's just my job and I hope you understand
Hey calling it your job ol' hoss sure don't make it right
But if you want me to I'll say a prayer for your soul tonight
And grandma's on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand
Sometimes I hear her singing "Take me to the Promised Land"
When you take away a man's dignity he can't work his fields and cows
There'll be blood on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Blood on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Well there's ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name
And some nights I feel like dyin' Like that scarecrow in the rain
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Till The Land
till the land, till the land,
plant the seeds, pray for rain.
feed your cows and your pigs,
always stop to give thanks.
close to the earth, the seasons,
to your family, to your heart....
to your neighbors, to your friends, .
do your best, do your part.
till the land, till the land,
plant the seeds, pray for rain.
feed your cows and your chickens,
always stop to give thanks.
from generation to generation,
the traditions handed down.
take care of the land you work,
keep the wheel going 'round.
till the land, till the land,
plant the seeds, pray for rain.
feed your cows and your horses,
always stop to give thanks.
now the times have changed,
you're not needed anymore.
the bank's come to take away
all the things you've stood for.
till the land, till the land,
plant the seeds, pray for rain.
feed your cattle and your family,
always stop to give thanks.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rain On The Scarecrow
Scarecrow on a wooden cross blackbird in the barn
Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did my grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand
Chorus:
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me proud
And son Im just sorry theres no legacy for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
The crops we grew last summer werent enough to pay the loans
Couldnt buy the seed to plant this spring and the farmers bank foreclosed
Called my old friend schepman up to auction off the land
He said john its just my job and I hope you understand
Hey calling it your job ol hoss sure dont make it right
But if you want me to Ill say a prayer for your soul tonight
And grandmas on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand
Sometimes I hear her singing take me to the promised land
When you take away a mans dignity he cant work his fields and cows
Therell be blood on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Blood on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Well theres ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name
And some nights I feel like dyin like that scarecrow in the rain
Chorus:
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me proud
And son Im just sorry theyre just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me so proud
And son Im just sorry theyre just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voices
Listen to the rain fallin' day by day
Listen to the rain fallin' day by day by day
Hey
I hear you calling, voices are here again
I hear you whisper, taking control of me
Watch the dancing shadows run away
All alone once again, afraid
All these faces, changing their shapes on me
I said laid it in my own world, will it ever be free?
Haunted figures around me, I want em' to stay
There always there to protect me, this is one thing you can't take away
Listen to the rain fallin' day by day
Listen to the rain fallin' day by day by day
Yeah!
I hear you calling, voices are here again
I hear you whisper in my own mind, will it ever change?
Voices
Voices
Voices
Voices
I hear you calling
song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voices (acoustic)
Listen to the rain fallin' day by day
Listen to the rain fallin' day by day by day
Hey
I hear you calling, voices are here again
I hear you whisper, taking control of me
Watch the dancing shadows run away
All alone once again, afraid
All these faces, changing their shapes on me
I said laid it in my own world, will it ever be free?
Haunted figures around me, I want em' to stay
There always there to protect me, this is one thing you can't take away
Listen to the rain fallin' day by day
Listen to the rain fallin' day by day by day
Yeah!
I hear you calling, voices are here again
I hear you whisper in my own mind, will it ever change?
Voices
Voices
Voices
Voices
I hear you calling
song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mist Of Time
Mist of Time
Do not spill my blood
On wasteland
Do not bury my last scream
In a grave.
I will walk softly
Across the screen leave no trace
Just a whisper… and
In years to come you will hear
An echo, recalling my name.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Benevolent
‘I’M OFF on the wallaby!’ cries Old Ben,
And his pipe is lit, and his swag is rolled;
‘There is nothing here for us old-time men,
But up north, I hear, they are on the gold.’
And he shuffles off with a feeble stride,
With his ragged swag and his billy black.
He is making tracks for the other side,
O’er the river deep, or the Great Divide;
But at night, dead beat, he travels back.
Then at morn next day he is off again,
With an eager light in his aged eyes,
Tramping away on his journey vain
For the land of promise beyond the rise.
Over the range there is work to do,
There is roaring life at the shanty bars.
He will tramp the plains whilst the skies are blue,
And will wander the great wide bushland through,
And be soothed to sleep by the blinking stars.
In the garden gay where the old man roams
Pied poppies sway on their supple stalks,
And the fair white rose on the soft breeze foams,
And the pansies peep by the gravelled walks;
But his brow by the breeze of the hills is fanned,
And the clink of bells to his quick ear comes.
When he shades his eyes with a withered hand,
He sees silent rivers and ranges grand,
Or a still lagoon under silver gums.
‘Are you bound out back, Dan?’ the children cry,
And they peer at him through the fence, and shout
‘Well, it’s so long, Dan,’ as he hobbles by,
With his ‘Ay, ay, sonny lad—tramping out!’
On his back he’s bearing his house and bed,
As he bore them both in his manhood’s pride,
Pressing on each day till his strength has fled
By the force of a dauntless spirit led—
There’s a rush somewhere on the Sydney side.
Though his sight may fail and his limbs give way,
Yet no weakness touches his brave old heart,
And he cries each night: ‘At the break of day
I must strap up bluey and make a start!’
And they humour him; for the time is near
When he’ll tramp no more under changeful skies,
But will leave his travels and troubles here,
Take the track God blazed with His stars, and steer
To the Never Land just across the rise.
poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rise Or Fall
Take action
Gotta raise a fist in blood
Domination
Can't continue acting like jerks
You show me all there's a chance
With only words for defence
There is no freedom to speak, no
Rise or fall
Number one to take the stand
Rise or fall
Take a word from this promised land
Yeah
Your reaction
Sticks and stones are no match for steel
This rebellion
Revolution's in your hands
Now listen
So it's part Apache
Do you know what that means?
Is it a segregation?
Rise or fall
Number one to take the stand
Rise or fall
Take a word from this promised land
Strength in numbers can alter your place
Take the action before it's too late
Make a stand
Give it up
Rise or fall
Number one to take the stand
Rise or fall
Take a word from this promised land
Rise or fall
Number one to take the stand
Rise or fall
Take a word
Take a word from this land
Rise or fall
Rise or fall
song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He fell among Thieves
‘Ye have robb’d,’ said he, ‘ye have slaughter’d and made an end,
Take your ill-got plunder, and bury the dead:
What will ye more of your guest and sometime friend?’
‘Blood for our blood,’ they said.
He laugh’d: ‘If one may settle the score for five,
I am ready; but let the reckoning stand till day:
I have loved the sunlight as dearly as any alive.’
‘You shall die at dawn,’ said they.
He flung his empty revolver down the slope,
He climb’d alone to the Eastward edge of the trees;
All night long in a dream untroubled of hope
He brooded, clasping his knees.
He did not hear the monotonous roar that fills
The ravine where the Yassîn river sullenly flows;
He did not see the starlight on the Laspur hills,
Or the far Afghan snows.
He saw the April noon on his books aglow,
The wistaria trailing in at the window wide;
He heard his father’s voice from the terrace below
Calling him down to ride.
He saw the gray little church across the park,
The mounds that hid the loved and honour’d dead;
The Norman arch, the chancel softly dark,
The brasses black and red.
He saw the School Close, sunny and green,
The runner beside him, the stand by the parapet wall,
The distant tape, and the crowd roaring between,
His own name over all.
He saw the dark wainscot and timber’d roof,
The long tables, and the faces merry and keen;
The College Eight and their trainer dining aloof,
The Dons on the daëis serene.
He watch’d the liner’s stem ploughing the foam,
He felt her trembling speed and the thrash of her screw.
He heard the passengers’ voices talking of home,
He saw the flag she flew.
And now it was dawn. He rose strong on his feet,
And strode to his ruin’d camp below the wood;
He drank the breath of the morning cool and sweet:
His murderers round him stood.
Light on the Laspur hills was broadening fast,
The blood-red snow-peaks chill’d to a dazzling white;
He turn’d, and saw the golden circle at last,
Cut by the Eastern height.
‘O glorious Life, Who dwellest in earth and sun,
I have lived, I praise and adore Thee.’
A sword swept.
Over the pass the voices one by one
Faded, and the hill slept.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Somewhere In The Jungle
There it stands way up high
A million bodies piled to the sky
Arms and legs, feet and hands
Impossible to understand
Countless heads, ears and eyes
Never hear, never cry
Tribal chants, tribal war
Tribal death, tribal gore
And the scaveggers are feeding
Cuz the killing fields are bleeding
Not a single soul is breathing
Cuz the Serengetti's bleedin'
And the scaveggers are feeding
Cuz the killing fields are bleeding
Not a single soul is breathing
Cuz the Serengetti's bleedin'
Listen somewhere in the jungle
You can hear the devil laughing
Somewhere
African genucide
Brother kill brother
Side by side
Wild animals show their teeth
And run away in disbelief
And the scaveggers are feeding
Cuz the killing fields are bleeding
Not a single soul is breathing
Cuz the Serengetti's bleedin'
And the scaveggers are feeding
Cuz the killing fields are bleeding
Listen somewhere in the jungle
You can hear the devil laughing
Somewhere
Somewhere the rivers will flow with blood
The mothers will cry their tears
They watch their sons die
Listen somewhere in the jungle
You can hear the devil laughing
Somewhere
Listen somewhere in the jungle
You can hear the devil laughing
Somewhere
Listen somewhere in the jungle
You can hear the devil laughing
Somewhere
Cuz the Serengetti's bleedin'
Listen somewhere in the jungle
You can hear the devil laughing
Somewhere
Somewhere the rivers will flow with blood
The mothers will cry their tears
They watch their sons die
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roaring higher
My fire in heart is aggressive
Keeps burring all time
Roaring higher! Roaring higher!
My fire can destruct the jealous world
Till it end fortunate and convenient
Roaring higher! Roaring higher!
My fire can create the ability
To create the gentle heart with success
Roaring higher! Roaring higher!
My fire can be the spirit
To light up the heart in the darkness
Roaring higher! Roaring higher!
poem by Swetha Reddy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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SONG OF THE CLOUDS (from The Clouds)
CLOUD-MAIDENS that float on forever,
Dew-sprinkled, fleet bodies, and fair,
Let us rise from our Sire's loud river,
Great Ocean, and soar through the air
To the peaks of the pine-covered mountains where the pines hang as tressed of hair.
Let us seek the watch towers undaunted,
Where the well-watered cornfields abound,
And through murmurs of rivers nymph-haunted,
The songs of the sea-waves resound;
And the sun in the sky never wearies of spreading his radiance around.
Let us cast off the haze
Of the mists from our band,
Till with far-seeing gaze
We may look on the land.
Cloud-maidens that bring the rain shower,
To the Pallas-loved land let us wing,
To the land of stout heroes and Power,
Where Kekrops was hero and king,
Where honor and silence is given
To the mysteries that none may declare,
Where are gifts to the high gods in heaven
When the house of the gods is laid bare,
Where are lofty roofed temples, and statues well carven and fair;
Where are feasts to the happy immortals
When the sacred procession draws near,
Where garlands make bright the bright portals
At all seasons and months in the year;
And when spring days are here,
Then we tread to the wine-god a measure,
In Bacchanal dance and in pleasure,
'Mid the contests of sweet singing choirs,
And the crash of loud lyres.
poem by Aristophanes
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The Blackwater In Flood
The Boggeragh hills white in January snow
In ancient Duhallow where the Blackwater flow
Through that old flat countryside by Derrinagree
On it's way through North Cork on it's way to the sea.
The Blackwater in flood it has a mighty roar
As it rumbles along to the Atlantic shore
It floods across the land like a great inland tide
And in water covers the fields of it's banks either side.
The Blackwater in flood is amazing to see
Awe inspiring that's how it did seem to me
As it rages through Dromtarriffe in flood waters of brown
Through the flat countryside on towards old Mallow Town.
The Blackwater in flood it inspires awe and fear
When it bursts it's banks tis not safe to go near
Swollen by heavy rains and the melting of snow
To human or beast mercy it does not show.
Memories of cold January of frost, snow, Wind and rain
And of the Blackwater in flood with me does remain
It submerges the fields like a great inland tide
As it rages it's way through the old countryside.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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