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The Old Grey Squirrel

A great while ago there was a schoolboy
who lived in a cottage by the sea,
And the very first thing he could remember
was the rigging of the schooners by the quay.
He could watch 'em from his bedroom window
with the big cranes a-hauling out the freight,
And he used to dream of shipping as a sea-cook
and a-sailing for the Golden Gate.

He used to buy the yellow penny dreadfuls,
he'd read 'em where he fished for conger eels,
As he listened to the slapping of the water
the green and oily water round the keels,
There were trawlers with their shark-mouthed flatfish
and the nets a-hanging out to dry,
And the skate the skipper kept because he liked 'em
and the landsmen never knew which ones to fry.
There were brigantines with timber out of Norway
just oozing with the syrups of the pine,
There were rusty dusty freighters out of Sunderland
and clippers of the Blue Cross Line.

To tumble down the hatch into a cabin
was better than the best of broken rules,
For the smell of 'em was like a Christmas dinner
and the feel of 'em was like a box of tools,
And before he went to sleep in the evenings
the last thing that he would ever see,
Was the sailormen a-dancing in the moonlight
by the capstan that stood beside the quay.

Now he's sitting on a high-stool in London,
the Golden Gate is far away,
For they caught him like a squirrel and they caged him,
now he's totting up accounts and turning grey,
And he'll never get to San Francisco
and the last thing that he will ever see,
Is the sailormen a-dancing in the moonlight
by the capstan that stands beside the quay.
To the tune of the old concertina
by the capstan that stands beside the quay.

poem by Alfred Noyes
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Dancing In The Moonlight

Walking in the rain far away from nowhere.
No more noise, just silence and the music thats in my brain.
Walking through the night, a different atmosphere.
No more noise, just silence and the sound thats in my ear.
Im just dancing, dancing in the moonlight.
Im dancing, dancing in the moonlight.
Walking down the hill listening to the trees.
No more noise, just silence and the raindrops on my shoes.
Walking down the beach sparkling lights on the water.
No more noise, just silence and by the way Im feeling free.
Im dancing, dancing in the moonlight.
Im dancing, dancing in the moonlight.
Im dancing, dancing in the moonlight.
Im dancing, dancing in the moonlight.
Im just dancing, dancing in the moonlight.
Im dancing, dancing in the moonlight.
Im dancing, dancing in the moonlight.
Im dancing, dancing in the moonlight.

song performed by by Scooter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode of Abigail

Ode of Abigail

Drops of twinkle rain were expecting you,
to render your nocturnal forms; hex play,
Ode of Abigail on waves sprinkled quay;

Was she a mizzle wraith form, blue bayou,
Drenched form waiting persistent to sway;
Drops of twinkle rain were expecting you;

Pelting on fields upwards to skies, eschew,
smiling dream; form made of soul and clay,
Ode of Abigail on waves sprinkled quay;

Out on the faraway to hold, April's dew
Referred to aboves, winter clouds of gray,
Drops of twinkle rain were expecting you;

Blissful to far, a stare she was, sea view,
redeeming icon and lift, Heaven's display;
Ode of Abigail on waves sprinkled quay;

She was unreached, lady agleam on blue,
perceiving Winter's cold raindrops spray,
Drops of twinkle rain were expecting you;
Ode of Abigail on waves sprinkled quay.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The Escape of the Old Grey Squirrel

Old Grey Squirrel might have been
Almost anything -
Might have been a soldier, sailor,
Tinker, tailor
(Never a beggar-man, though, nor thief).
Might have been, perhaps, a king,
Or an Indian chief.

He remained a City clerk
Doubled on a great high stool,
Totting up, from dawn to dark,
Figures, figures, figures, figures,
Red ink, black ink, double rule,
Tot-tot-totting with his pen,
Up and down and round again -
Curious Old Grey Squirrel.

No one ever really knew
What he did at night,
In his room so near the roof,
Up those steep and narrow stairs.
Old Grey Squirrel wasn't quite
The same as other men.
What he said was always true;
He was like a little child
In a thousand things.
Something shy and delicate,
Cold and grave and undefiled,
Seemed to keep him quite aloof.
You could never call him lonely,
Though he lived with memory there.

When he knelt beside his bed
He had nothing much to say
But the simplest little prayer
Learned in childhood, long ago,
And he didn't know or care
Whether Calvinists might call it
Praying for the dead.

Father, mother, sister, brother -
Memories clear as evening bells;
Yes, the very sort of thing
All your clever little scribblers
Love to satirize and sting,
So let's talk of something else.
He collected stamps, you know,
Commonplace Old Squirrel.

Ah, but could you see him there,
When the day's grey work was done,
Poring over his new stamps
With that wise old air;
Looking up the curious places
In his tattered atlas, too
Lands of jungle and of sun,
Ivory tusks and dusky faces,
Whence his latest treasure flew
Like a tropic moth, he thought,
To flutter round his dying lamp. . . .

Visions are not bought and sold;
But, when the foreign mail came in
Bringing his employers news
Of copper, sulphide, zinc and tin
(And the red resultant gold),
Envelopes were thrown away,
So, of course, one clearly sees
He could pick, and he could choose,
Having, as he used to say,
'Very great advantages.'
Rarities could not be bought.
Bus fares don't leave much for spending
On a flight to Zipangu.

All the same, one never knew.
All things come to those who wait -
Isles of palm in rose and blue,
India, China and Peru,
And the Golden Gate.

So he'd turn his treasures over -
Mauve and crimson, buff and cream -
Every stamp an elfin window
Opening on a boy's lost dream.
'Curious, curious, that's Jamaica,
That's Hong Kong (the twopenny red),
I've no doubt they are well worth seeing,
Well worth seeing,' Old Squirrel said.

'Curious' - curious was his word -
Old Grey Squirrel remembered a day
Sitting alone in a whispering fir-wood
(This was in boyhood before they caught him)
Writing a story of far Cathay,
A tale that his friends would think absurd
But would make him famous when he was dead.
'Curious' - thinking of all those years,
All those dreams that had drifted away -
Once, he had thought - but the years had taught him,
Taught him better, and bowed his head.

'Curious' - memory clings and lingers -
Clings - the smell of the fir wood - clings . . .
Through his wrinkled ink-stained fingers,
'Curious, curious,' trickled the tears,
Curious Old Grey Squirrel.

No, you'd hardly call it weeping.
Old Grey Squirrel could not weep.
Head on arm, he might have been
Sleeping; but he did not know.
Most of us are sound asleep;
And, that Christmas Eve, it seems,
He awoke, at last, from dreams.
Gently, as a woman's hand
Something touched him on the brow,
And he woke, in that strange land -
Where he lives for ever now.

All things come to those who wait -
Palms against a deeper blue,
Far Cathay and Zipangu,
And the Golden Gate.

poem by Alfred Noyes
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London River

Half a score o' sailormen that want to sail once more,
Cruising round the waterside with the Peter at the fore!
Half a score o' sailormen the sea will never drown -
Seven days in open boats a-drifting up and down! -
Out to find another ship and sail from London Town!

Half a score o' sailormen broke and on the rocks,
Linking down Commercial Road, tramping round the Docks,
Half a score o' sailormen, torpedoed twice before,
Once was in the Channel chops, once was off the Nore,
Last was in the open sea five hundred mile from shore!

Half a score o' sailormen that want to sail again -
And her cargo's all aboard her, and it's blowing up for rain!
Half a score o' sailormen that won't come home to tea -
For she's dropping down the river with the Duster flying free -
Down the London River on the road to the open sea!

poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Pêcheresse

Down the long quay the slow boats glide,
While here and there a house looms white
Against the gloom of the waterside,
And some high window throws a light
As they sail out into the night.

At dawn they will bring in again
To women knitting on the quay
Who wait for him, their man of men;
I stand with them, and watch the sea
Which may have taken mine from me.

Just so the long days come and go.
The nights, ma Doué! the nights are cold!
Our Lady's heart is as frozen snow,
Since this one sin I have not told;
And I shall die or perhaps grow old

Before he comes. The foreign ships
Bring many a one of face and name
As strange as his, to buy your lips,
A gold piece for a scarlet shame
Like mine. But mine was not the same.

One night was ours, one short grey day
Of sudden sin, unshrived, untold.
He found me, and I lost the way
To Paradise for him. I sold
My soul for love and not for gold

He bought my soul, but even so,
My face is all that he has seen,
His is the only face I know,
And in the dark church, like a screen.
It shuts God out; it comes between;

While in some narrow foreign street
Or loitering on the crowded quay,
Who knows what others he may meet
To turn his eyes away from me?
Many are fair to such as he!

There is but one for such as I
To love, to hate, to hunger for;
I shall, perhaps, grow old and die,
With one short day to spend and store,
One night, in all my life, no more.

Just so the long days come and go,
Yet this one sin I will not tell
Though Mary's heart is as frozen snow
And all nights are cold for one warmed too well.
But, oh! ma Doué! the nights of Hell!

poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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Monsieur Qui Passe

A purple blot against the dead white door
In my friend's rooms, bathed in their vile pink light,
I had not noticed her before
She snatched my eyes and threw them back to me:
She did not speak till we came out into the night,
Paused at this bench beside the klosk on the quay.

God knows precisely what she said--
I left to her the twisted skein,
Though here and there I caught a thread,--
Something, at first, about "the lamps along the Seine,
And Paris, with that witching card of Spring
Kept up her sleeve,--why you could see
The trick done on these freezing winter nights!
While half the kisses of the Quay--
Youth, hope,-the whole enchanted string
Of dreams hung on the Seine's long line of lights."

Then suddenly she stripped, the very skin
Came off her soul,-a mere girl clings
Longer to some last rag, however thin,
When she has shown you-well-all sorts of things:
"If it were daylight-oh! one keeps one's head--
But fourteen years!--No one has ever guessed--
The whole thing starts when one gets to bed--
Death?-If the dead would tell us they had rest!
But your eyes held it as I stood there by the door--
One speaks to Christ-one tries to catch His garment's hem--
One hardly says as much to Him--no more:
It was not you, it was your eyes--I spoke to them."

She stopped like a shot bird that flutters still,
And drops, and tries to run again, and swerves.
The tale should end in some walled house upon a hill.
My eyes, at least, won't play such havoc there,--
Or hers--But she had hair!--blood dipped in gold;
And there she left me throwing back the first odd stare.
Some sort of beauty once, but turning yellow, getting old.
Pouah! These women and their nerves!
God! but the night is cold!

poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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Life Lesson

Listen to all
Listen to none
But remember this thing
You are the one who realize

Learn everything
Learn nothing
But remember this thing
You are the one who understand

Go everywhere
Go nowhere
But remember this thing
You are the one who search

Believe the hard one
Believe the easy one
But remember this thing
You are the one who follow

Think the worst
Think the finest
But remember this thing
You are the one who decide

Read what’s written
Read what’s hidden
But remember this thing
You are the one who feel

See the dark
See the light
But remember this thing
You are the one who watch

Dream the ordinary
Dream the impossible
But remember this thing
You are the one who hope

Try the best
Try the rest
But remember this thing
You are the one who fight

Say it straight
Say it carefully
But remember this thing
You are the one who mean it

Love you care
Love you don’t
But remember this thing
You are the one who give

Live the truth
Live the lie
But remember this thing
You are the one who grow

Do what you desire
Do what’s been ordered
But remember this thing
You are the one who responsible

Touch it rough
Touch it smooth
But remember this thing
You are the one who keep

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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At Houtbay beach

A young girl and an old man
walk down steps
to the stretch
that the beach at Houtbay
throws against the sea.

There are some small fishing boats
in colours of blue,
orange and white
that sails into the sea,

but big white cabin cruisers
bobs up and down
next to the quay
some distance away
as if they are ownerless
while their bosses
play somewhere else.

The smell of sea-pike
roasting on coals
lies on the light wind
and their stomachs growl
of sudden hunger
and here and there
the girl stoops
to pick up shells.

His sturdy boots leaves flat tracts
on the firm sand
and there’s a brown wood walking stick
with a lion head in his hand
and the girl’s
bare foot tracts
run in advance.

The sea swishes in and out
and the wet sand
reflects a bright open day
and the blue water
stretches out
as far as you can see
and it’s as if he gets new power
next to the foaming water.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Dawn Dance

What do you think I saw to-day when I arose at dawn?
Blue Wrens and Yellow-tails dancing on the lawn!
Bobbing here, and bowing there, gossiping away,
And how I wished that you were there to see the merry play!

But you were snug abed, my boy, blankets to your chin,
Nor dreamed of dancing birds without or sunbeams dancing in.
Grey Thrush, he piped the tune for them. I peeped out through the glass
Between the window curtains, and I saw them on the grass -

Merry little fairy folk, dancing up and down,
Blue bonnet, yellow skirt, cloaks of grey and brown,
Underneath the wattle-tree, silver in the dawn,
Blue Wrens and Yellow-tails dancing on the lawn.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Only A Dream

(Van Morrison)
Only a dream
That I had in the night
Only a dream
But It felt so right
We were standing in the moonlight
I was holding you tight
But it was only a dream
Only a dream
And that knocked me off of my feet
Only a dream
It was dancing in the street
And the big band kept on playing
Of Bonaparte's retreat
But it was only a dream
Only a dream
But somebody
Tried to knock it down
Only a dream
But that dream
Keeps hanging around
Only a dream
We were roiling in the snow
Only a dream
And we just couldn't let go
I sat outside the window
It was just like Romeo
But it was only a dream
Only a dream but somebody
Tried to knock it down
Only a dream but that dream
Is still around
Up on Mockingbird hill
And I'm feeling no pain
Ali the birds are singing
Their all so sweet refrain
If I had to do it all over
I'd do the same thing again
'Cos it was only a dream
Oh 'cos it s only a dream
That knocked me off of my feet
Only a dream
We were dancing
Out in the street
And the big band kept on playing
Of Bonaparte's retreat
But it was only a dream
Oh but it was only just a dream
Din but it was only a dream
Oh but it was only a dream
Oh what a dream

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Symphony in Yellow

An omnibus across the bridge
Crawls like a yellow butterfly,
And, here and therem a passer-by
Shows like a little restless midge.

Big barges full of yellow hay
Are moored against the shadowy wharf,
And, like a yellow silken scarf,
The thick fog hangs along the quay.

The yellow leaves begin to fade
And flutter from the temple elms,
And at my feet the pale green Thames
Lies like a rod of rippled jade.

poem by Oscar Wilde
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Dancing Machine

Dancing, dancing, dancing
Shes a dancing machine
Ah babe
Move it baby
Automatic systematic
Full of color self contained
Tune that shadow to your vibes
Captivating stimulating
Shes such a sexy lady
Filled with space age design
Shes moving grooving
Dancing to the music stop now
Yea
Rythmetic acrobatic
She a dynamite attraction
At the drop of a coin she comes alive, yea
She knows what shes doing
She super bad now
Shes here to really blow your mind
Dancing, dancing, dancing
Shes a dancing machine
Ah babe
Do it baby
Dancing, dancing, dancing
Shes a dancing machine
Ah babe
Move it baby
Shes a dance, dance, dance, dance, dancing machine
Watch her get down, watch her get down
As she do, do, do her thing
Right on the scene
Shes a dance, dance, dance, dance, dancing machine
Watch her get down, watch her get down
As she do, do, do her thing
Right on the scene
Come on babe
Come on babe
Babe
Babe
Shake it baby
Shake it babe
Babe
Babe
Babe
Dance
Dance
Dance
Dance
I like it
I like
I love you
Shes a dance, dance, dance, dance, dancing machine
Watch her get down, watch her get down
As she do, do, do her thing
Right on the scene
Shes a dance, dance, dance, dance, dancing machine
Watch her get down, watch her get down

song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wouldnt Normally Do This Kind Of Thing

Ask me why
Ill say its most unusual
How can I even try to explain
Why today, I feel like dancing
Singing like lovers sing
When I wouldnt normally do this kind of thing
I wouldnt normally do this kind of thing
Ask me when
Ill say it started when I met you
And ever since then
I knew that the past wouldnt last
For right now I think Im running
A race I know Im gonna win
And I wouldnt normally do this kind of thing
I wouldnt normally do this kind of thing
If people say Im crazy
I tell 'em that it's true
I let them watch with amazement
Say it wont last beyond breakfast
Its just a phase hes going through
Denigrate or speculate
On what Im going through
Because it isnt the sort of thing Id normally do
Ask me what
Ill say I think its good for you
Believe it or not
I know where its all leading to
I feel like taking all my clothes off
And dancing to the rite of spring
And I wouldnt normally do this kind of thing
I wouldnt normally do this kind of thing
I wouldnt normally do this kind of
This kind of thing

song performed by by Robbie Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maybe I'll Just Sleep

Maybe I'll just sleep.

Maybe I'll just sleep, because
It's a great thing to do when you're tired.

It's also a great thing to do when you have nothing
Else to do.

It's also a great thing to do when all of your friends
Are out socializing and seeing movies and
Drinking
Which, even if I don't partake, would be fun to watch
And playing in a band
Which
You really want to do but have no
Creative output or
Instrument in reach or
People to play with or
Motivation,
And eating food at wonderful restaurants and walking
Under the stars and saying goodnight to their
Significant others, which
You lack but you don't mind lacking,
Things like that.

It's also a great thing to do when all of your friends
Are skating on crystals and ice or
swimming in everclear waters or
dancing with the girl in the shriveled green dress or
taking themselves apart

piece by
piece.

Maybe I'll just sleep.
Maybe I'll just sleep.
Maybe I'll just sleep.
Maybe I'll just sleep.

Maybe I'll

poem by Adam Harding
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Cradles

Along the quay, the great ships,
that ride the swell in silence,
take no notice of the cradles.
that the hands of the women rock.

But the day of farewells will come,
when the women must weep,
and curious men are tempted
towards the horizons that lure them!

And that day the great ships,
sailing away from the diminishing port,
feel their bulk held back
by the spirits of the distant cradles.

poem by Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
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The Band Played Waltzing Matilda

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be
done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the
cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli
How well I remember that terrible day
the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He us with bullets, he rained us with
shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
And we buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then started all over again
Now those
In mad world of blood, death and fire
And for weeks I kept myself alive

Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was
dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
the green far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me
So they collected the cripples, the wounded
maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
, the blind insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
turned all their faces away
And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving dreams of past glory

The forgotten heroes a forgotten war
And the young people ask , "What are they
marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll a-waltzing Matilda with me?

song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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