Battling The Builders
I have to admit that the Great Crested Newt
Is not that good looking and isn't too cute.
But when plans were unveiled for hundreds of homes
To be built on land where the said newts roamed,
Many local residents protested ‘This isn't right! '
And, against the builders, they began a long fight.
The newts lived in a meadow, next to a big pond:
To relocate them all, would have been so wrong.
Pound signs were what the builders were seeing,
But the Planning Committee considered the newts' well-being;
Of destroying the newts' habitat, they weren't big fans,
And so they rejected the building firm's plans.
The Great Crested Newts may be fairly small,
But they battled the builders, who towered so tall.
The newts and local residents won the day,
And they sent the team of builders on their way.
Now the threat of relocation is over and gone,
With their lives, the Great Crested Newts can carry on.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Not In My Backyard
The local residents are all up in arms,
Worried that their town may lose its charm.
With hundreds of new houses, they are faced,
But plans to oppose them, are firmly in place.
Developers have been granted planning permission,
But now, residents are all busy signing a petition.
Faced with losing their precious fields of green,
The local residents are obviously not at all keen.
Worried about the thriving woods and animals,
To oppose the plans, there's been many a call.
By the new plans, will be very greatly affected,
The Great Crested Newt, which is protected.
The proposed plans have been on display
At the local community centre, for many a day.
The new development will obscure the view,
But the developers have argued this isn't true.
Meetings have been held, and the discussions
Have focused upon the possible repercussions.
The council argue that there's a need for progression,
But this has been met by the angry locals' aggression.
The area has remained untouched for many years;
That the new estate will spoil it, there are now fears.
The residents just want to be left to live in peace,
And for all this sudden madness just to cease.
The residents want the developers to see the light,
And hope that they will end up winning the fight.
The locals wish the developers would go away,
But the chances are, that they are here to stay.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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In the dark colony of night, when I consider man's magnificent capacity for malice, madness, folly, envy, rage, and destructiveness, and I wonder whether we shall not end up as breakfast for newts and polyps, I seem to hear the muffled cries of all the words in all the books with covers closed.
quote by Leo C. Rosten
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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4. A Fishy Tale
A haven for wet wildlife
Within our pond there’s load’s
Lots of newts and tadpoles
And many ugly toads
Swimming in among the weeds
A goldfish only one
We once had two shabumkins
But now we haven't none
I found some telltale footprints
Showing heron came to call
He’d eaten our shabumkins
And left us none at all
Last night we kept a vigil
And caught the neighbour’s cat
As he polished off the goldfish
So that’s the end of that
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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The Minimal
I study the lives on a leaf: the little
Sleepers, numb nudgers in cold dimensions,
Beetles in caves, newts, stone-deaf fishes,
Lice tethered to long limp subterranean weeds,
Squirmers in bogs,
And bacterial creepers
Wriggling through wounds
Like elvers in ponds,
Their wan mouths kissing the warm sutures,
Cleaning and caressing,
Creeping and healing.
poem by Theodore Roethke
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Fire At Midnight
I believe in fires at midnight ---
When the dogs have all been fed.
A golden toddy on the mantle ---
A broken gun beneath the bed.
Silken mist outside the window.
Frogs and newts slip in the dark ---
Too much hurry ruins the body.
Ill sit easy ... fan the spark
Kindled by the dying embers of another working day.
Go upstairs ... take off your makeup ---
Fold your clothes neatly away.
Me, Ill sit and write this love song
As I all too seldom do ---
Build a little fire this midnight.
Its good to be back home with you.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Builders Of The City
You never will find their names on a memorial wall
And any memories of them historians never do recall
The builders of the City who lay with the unsung
Many of them came from distant shores and spoke in a foreign tongue
They more than earned every penny that they were ever paid
The builders of the City yet little of their achievements made
Devoted to the family and devoted to the wife
They worked hard so their children could enjoy a better life,
The builders of the City so much to them we owe
Though nothing written about them and of them little we do know
They built the housing estates, City buildings and City Mall
Though nothing of their life achievements is ever made at all
They lay the rail tracks to the City and made the Roadways through the Countryside
Yet in the builders of the City we never do take pride.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Ships that Won't Go Down
We hear a great commotion
'Bout the ship that comes to grief,
That founders in mid-ocean,
Or is driven on a reef;
Because it's cheap and brittle
A score of sinners drown.
But we hear but mighty little
Of the ships that won't go down.
Here's honour to the builders –
The builders of the past;
Here's honour to the builders
That builded ships to last;
Here's honour to the captain,
And honour to the crew;
Here's double-column headlines
To the ships that battle through.
They make a great sensation
About famous men that fail,
That sink a world of chances
In the city morgue or gaol,
Who drink, or blow their brains out,
Because of "Fortune's frown".
But we hear far too little
Of the men who won't go down.
The world is full of trouble,
And the world is full of wrong,
But the heart of man is noble,
And the heart of man is strong!
They say the sea sings dirges,
But I would say to you
That the wild wave's song's a paean
For the men that battle through.
poem by Henry Lawson
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When We Were Young
I remember when I was a little child,
Both, you and I, used to run free and wild.
We plaited each others long, blonde hair.
Back then, our lives were free from care.
We spied both the butterfly and the ladybird,
And ate dainty tarts filled with lemon curd.
We jumped in puddles in our Wellie boots.
We searched in ponds for frogs and newts.
We both believed in fairies and in witches.
Monopoly money became our worldly riches.
Knees were scraped, and secrets were shared.
In awe, at coloured rainbows, we both stared.
We used to love playing out in the snow,
Which made our cheeks and fingers glow.
We played at ‘houses', ‘hospitals' and ‘shops'.
We performed plays with costumes and props.
We went on day trips down to the seaside,
Where we explored treasures left by the tide.
When our mums called us in for tea,
‘Just five minutes more? ' was our plea.
We played happily together, side by side,
And we gave each other piggy-back rides.
We used to pretend that our dolls could talk.
We drew on pavements with coloured chalk.
We pretended that we were beautiful princesses:
We wore gorgeous frocks, and had pretty tresses.
Often, we used to go paddling in the local stream,
Where we spotted fish, which had a silvery gleam.
For the future, we made so many plans,
And pretended to travel to far off lands.
We used to enjoy baking fairy cupcakes,
And the autumn leaves, we used to rake.
We built and we furnished secret dens,
And coloured pictures with felt-tip pens.
We never ever worried about wet weather;
The days, back then, seemed to last forever.
We spent so much of our time playing together:
It was as if our souls were, somehow, tethered.
We thought that these days would last and last:
We never thought they would become the past.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Go Let It Out
Paint no illusion, try to click with whatcha got
Taste every potion cos if yer like yerself a lot
Go let it out, go let it in, go let it out
Life is precocious in a most perculiar way
Sister psychosis dont got a lot to say
She go let it out, she go let it in, she go let it out
She go let it out, she go let it in, she go let it out
Is it any wonder why princes & kings
Are clowns that caper in their sawdust rings
And ordinary people that are like you and me
Were the keepers of their destiny
Im goin leaving this city, Im goin drivin outta town
Your comin with me the right time is always now
To go let it out, go let it in, go let it out
To go let it out, go let it in, go let it out
Is it any wonder why princes and kings
Are clowns that caper in their sawdust rings
Cos ordinary people that are like you and me
Were the builders of their destiny
Were the builders of their destiny
Were the builders of their destiny
Were the builders of their destiny
So go let it out - go let it in
Go let it out - dont let it in
Go let it out - go let it in
Go let it out - dont let it - dont let it in
song performed by by Oasis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rob And Paul The Builders
It's been said you'll find a builder on almost every street
I know of two from Upwey Rob Leerveld and Paul Monteith
They often work together though sometimes on their own
And through the mountain suburbs as builders they are known.
Ask Denise Housiaux about them she says how great they are
That to find their very equals one would have to travel far
They built her house in Kallista she heaps upon them praise
A good job earns you more work and in the long run pays.
Rob Leerveld and Paul Monteith proud of the work they do
The job that is hard on one man is made easier by two
Throughout the mountain suburbs good reports of them abound
Of Rob and Paul the builders the word has gone around.
Rob Leerveld and Paul Monteith different as chalk and cheese
Yet in each others company they seem so much at ease
There must be truth in the saying that opposites agree
For they go well together and work in harmony.
The Dutchman and the Aussie quite different it would seem
But when they work together they make a mighty team
And it's true you'll find a builder on almost every street
But you won't find any better than Leerveld and Monteith.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Fairy Land ii
YOU spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong;
Come not near our fairy queen.
Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!
Never harm,
Nor spell nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.
Weaving spiders, come not here;
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm nor snail, do no offence.
Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!
Never harm,
Nor spell nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Footpaths
I was filled with hope and I wrote this ode,
When I observed a footpath next to a road.
For as they built roads for people to strive,
and towards growth and progress joyously drive.
The builders did not conveniently forget,
Those who cannot drive yet.
It occured to the building souls,
To build for those walking towards their goals.
Moving, although slightly slow,
Perhaps enjoying the journey more.
In due time everyone shall shift from footpath to road,
And this shall seem like a meaningless ode.
But I hope roads are never the only things on the builders' minds,
For even footpaths are important for mankind..
poem by Sameer Daniel Gardner
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Frogga
Long long ago
In a faraway land
Lived a frog named
Mr. Stikitung Grand
Near a meander
In his little mud house
In rain you could hear him Croak,
Looking for a spouse
Rains came and went
But he never got a single mate
He tried every trick a frog could
Still no one fell for his bait
He would keep
Harnessing his vocals
Polishing his webbed digits and
Perfecting his focal
While his efforts were appreciated
And some found it cute
The girls still went out
With the true frogs, the slimy smooth
With Mr. Grand being so different
All warts and moles
Others wondered how
He would ever father tadpoles
Mr. Grand with his huge eyes
And big mouth could do very little
All these hurdles made Him
Too depressed and shittle
While there were uncertainties
Looming large on his life
Fellow amphibians were betting
On his chances of getting a wife
For termites said the caecilians
Calling others to join the hoot
For worms said salamander and
For cricket said the newt.
On the fateful day Mr. Grand got fed up
And was waiting to call it a night
When he heard a hiss
Loud enough to give him a fright
Hello said the snake why are you
In such a spiritual gloom
Come let us find out someone
Who can help you groom
Frog was surprised at snake’s kindness
And overwhelmed at his warmth
While his kinds were busy ridiculing him
Snakes words soothed him like a balm
At first he was cautious and
Kept a safe distance from the snake
But the snake kept saying he was hurt
That Mr. Grand still took his efforts as fake
I have nothing to lose thought Mr. Grand
And reached out for the help
Yum thought the snake and gulped Mr. Grand
Before he could think or yelp
Salamanders, newts, all of his fellow beings
Saw this but not a single tear was shed
Guess this comes with living a life
So cold blooded
There was a crocodile, who saw it all
Hidden behind a pier
Some say he was the only one who
Did shed some tears.
poem by Soma Mukherjee
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The founding fathers were not only brilliant, they were system builders and systematic thinkers. They came up with comprehensive plans and visions.
quote by Ron Chernow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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the great wall
separating us from builders
laughters
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Hope
When we went singing down the road,
In days when want was not a goad,
Dull care behind us flinging,
No step we stayed, no joy we missed,
To hearken to the pessimist,
But gaily went on singing.
We'd faith in this great country then;
We'd hope in her great, stalwart men,
Who built a worthy nation.
Hope? Hope was ever in our hearts,
For we seemed cast for Builders' parts
And there was our salvation.
But what has changed our outlook now?
With weary eyes and furrowed brow
The uphill road we're facing.
But why? This land is still aflame
With promise of great hope and fame.
Must age be youth disgracing?
Oh, let's go singing up the road,
Although we bear a heavy load.
What good is grieving bringing?
Still, just beneath this happy ground
Is wondrous fortune to be found.
So let us go on singing.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Walls
With no consideration, no pity, no shame,
they have built walls around me, thick and high.
And now I sit here feeling hopeless.
I can't think of anything else: this fate gnaws my mind -
because I had so much to do outside.
When they were building the walls, how could I not have noticed!
But I never heard the builders, not a sound.
Imperceptibly they have closed me off from the outside world.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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R.I.P story poem
Here where once there used to be.
A quiet village cemetery
A hallowed place in which to find
Tranquillity and peace of mind.
The graveyard served the village well
Though for how long no man can tell.
I’m sad to say the village died.
The land on which they all relied.
Suddenly lost fertility.
The people facing poverty.
Saw no good reason they should stay
and one by one they moved away.
To other places far from here
they seemed to simply disappear
to destinations we don’t know.
They had no choice they had to go
Houses fell into disrepair
because there was no one to care.
The passing years were none too kind.
There’s very little left to find.
Bar rotten floorboards here and there.
Weeds in profusion everywhere
The churchyard too is over grown
with brambles hiding each gravestone.
A long forgotten tragedy
a piece of ancient history.
The city suburbs must expand
and in their search for building land.
The greedy eyes are cast this way.
They know they will not have to pay.
The true worth of this empty land,
The kind of price it will command.
When it is cleared ready to build.
They hope their coffers will be filled.
But fate has other plans in mind
and to their great surprise they’ll find
That they have made a grave mistake.
The profits which they hope to make.
Will not now materialise.
Because they failed recognise.
The old grave yard as hallowed ground
Despite the evidence they found.
They wantonly destroyed head stones
showed no respect for buried bones.
It makes me happy to report
the vaunted plans all came to naught.
Because some archaeologists
Researching local history lists
Discovered this old cemetery
and they decided it must be.
Preserved in perpetuity
for generations yet to be.
The greedy men had lost their cash
Their dreams of profit turned to ash
the damage done for no reward.
The good folk who were buried here
can sleep in peace they need not fear.
That their rest will be disturbed.
The greedy builders have been curbed.
A happy ending to my tale
Their efforts were to no avail.
It seems that fate itself decreed
they must be punished for their greed.
Wednesday,28 July 2010 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I do feel we can create more jobs and opportunities for Jersey City residents, but in the spirit of free enterprise, I do not think it is right to force companies to hire a fixed percentage of local residents.
quote by Vincent Frank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Paper
the paper is a stage
for mind to act out
its dreams, draw
people to the possible
as well as the impossible
the paper could hold
the whole universe
on this stage is born
all the world's great
philosophers, builders
dramatists, musicians
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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