Jungheimer's
In western fields of corn and northern timber lands,
They talk about me, a saloon with a soul,
The soft red lights, the long curving bar,
The leather seats and dim corners,
Tall brass spittoons, a nigger cutting ham,
And the painting of a woman half-dressed thrown reckless across a bed after a night of booze and riots.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Related quotes
Brass lantern lights
So egregious of a western datum to command
of this travel and conquer new, unknown lands,
what an effusive cause of my tidal obsequies,
my galley had taken an imperious route west.
Nomad women named of this, a ghostly route,
nobody had survived to report, or preached,
on new lands that no one before placed his foot,
my monkey shrieks at this analogy bewitched.
I spoke to the steersman to be aware of stars,
that shine south, beyond the parallel of N.27,
because their luminance is evident of storms,
and of the morning rainbow that brings tempest.
Brass lantern lights illuminate to a nowhere,
around the steadfast an immense void to dismiss,
lonely serenity embraces a dim fear, as we stare,
because dark monsters will emerge of the Abyss.
We have a Crucifix to talk to, He maybe listens;
my ancestors were sailors, got lost in deepest sea,
As we bear away, my bitter mouth is curving down,
all we edge to pay a coin, for a darkened grave fee.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Brass Spittoons
Clean the spittoons, boy.
Detroit,
Chicago,
Atlantic City,
Palm Beach.
Clean the spittoons.
The steam in hotel kitchens,
And the smoke in hotel lobbies,
And the slime in hotel spittoons:
Part of my life.
Hey, boy!
A nickel,
A dime,
A dollar,
Two dollars a day.
Hey, boy!
A nickel,
A dime,
A dollar,
Two dollars
Buy shoes for the baby.
House rent to pay.
Gin on Saturday,
Church on Sunday.
My God!
Babies and gin and church
And women and Sunday
All mixed with dimes and
Dollars and clean spittoons
And house rent to pay.
Hey, boy!
A bright bowl of brass is beautiful to the Lord.
Bright polished brass like the cymbals
Of King David’s dancers,
Like the wine cups of Solomon.
Hey, boy!
A clean spittoon on the altar of the Lord.
A clean bright spittoon all newly polished—
At least I can offer that.
Com’mere, boy!
poem by Langston Hughes
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Painting The Walls
painting the walls,
rolling over handprints,
cobwebs, and smoke stains....
over splashes of color,
over peels of time.
painting over the sounds
of voices whispering, laughing....
painting over tears hidden
from the world, from each other.
painting over running, and working,
working all day and half the night.
painting over children, and dreams,
folded like old clothes, and put away.
painting over notes from God,
that were often barely noticed...
painting over the nail that held
up the clock, hands moving slowly,
turning the seasons of living....
painting over the final words,
the last breath held in the hands,
of lives written in the grain....
the testimony of each feeling....
painting the walls,
and brushing the corners,
as if we never lived!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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This Woman
Well she walks like you in so many ways
It's a different look
It's a different time of day
One look in her eyes
How can I make you understand
She's the one good thing that's happened in so many years
There's been so many tears
When we lost the dream
And the winter came
And you said goodbye
And I don't want another reason to cry
You be all you wanna be
You got the longest night
Baby, be alone
I share my dream with someone else
I don't wanna talk about her
This woman - she's tearing my world apart
This woman - don't know what she's doing
This woman - touchs me and I lose control
She's living inside my soul
This woman - I don't even know her name
This woman - don't know what she's doing
This woman goes through me like a hurricane
Falling in love again
To make those long legs mine - is all I care about
She's got so much to give - I got to be the one
I got to have
Someone to hold
I got to make it with that woman
When the nights get hot
And she goes walking by
And the city lights - and the city lights
They make you blind
I go insane
But am I crazy if she feels the same
You believe what you believe
You got the darkest night
Baby , be alone
I take my love to someone else
She was made to measure for me
You be all you wanna be
You got the longest night
Baby , be alone
I share my dream with someone else
I don't wanna talk about her
This woman - she's tearing my world apart
This woman - don't know what she's doing
This woman - touchs me and I lose control
She's living inside my soul
This woman - I don't even know her name
This woman - don't know what she's doing
This woman goes through me like a hurricane
Falling in love again
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Improved Farm Land
Tall timber stood here once, hee on a corn belt farm along the Monon.
Here the roots of a half-mile of trees dug their runners deep in the loam for a grip and a hold against wind storms.
Then the axemen came and the chips flew to the zing of steel and handle--the lank railsplitters cut the big ones first, the beeches and the oaks, then the brush.
Dynamite, wagons, and horses took the stumps--the plows sunk their teeth in--now it is first class corn land--omproved property--and the hogs grunt over the fodder crops.
It would come hard now for this half mile of improved farm land along the Monon corn belt, on a piece of Grand Prarie, to remember once it had a great singing family of trees.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Three Corn Patches
(words & music by leiber - stoller)
I said three corn patches about four cotton fields away
I said three corn patches about four cotton fields away
Lives the prettiest girl in the whole darn u.s.a.
I said a
Shes got big brown eyes and long black wavy hair, mmm
Shes got big brown eyes and long black wavy hair
Shes so beautiful, people it dont seem fair
Well Ive been to chicago, been to new orleans
Yes, Ive been to chicago, been to new orleans
But Id rather see my baby workin in her old blue jeans
I said three corn patches
About four cotton fields away
I said three corn patches
About four cotton fields away
Lives the prettiest girl in the whole darn u.s.a.
I said a
She keeps a big bull dog out in the yard all night
She keeps a big bull dog out in the yard all night
And it barks like a bear oh, but he dont bite
Yeah,
I said three corn patches
About four cotton fields away
I said three corn patches
About four cotton fields away
Lives the prettiest girl in the whole darn u.s.a.
I said a
Gimme three, gimme four
I said three, well four
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Calgary of the plains
Not of the seething cities with their swarming human hives,
Their fetid airs, their reeking streets, their dwarfed and poisoned lives,
Not of the buried yesterdays, but of the days to be,
The glory and the gateway of the yellow West is she.
The Northern Lights dance down her plains with soft and silvery feet,
The sunrise gilds her prairies when the dawn and daylight meet;
Along her level lands the fitful southern breezes sweep,
And beyond her western windows the sublime old mountains sleep.
The Redman haunts her portals, and the Paleface treads her streets,
The Indian's stealthy footstep with the course of commerce meets,
And hunters whisper vaguely of the half forgotten tales
Of phantom herds of bison lurking on her midnight trails.
Not hers the lore of olden lands, their laurels and their bays;
But what are these, compared to one of all her perfect days?
For naught can buy the jewel that upon her forehead lies--
The cloudless sapphire Heaven of her territorial skies.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Only Friends
I went into a saloon last night
and a notice stood out
like a beacon light.
The notice read as follows.
There are no strangers here,
only friends.
There is no frowning,
only smiles.
If you are feeling lonely,
this is the place to come,
as there is always
someone to talk to,
for there are no strangers here,
only friends.
19 April 2008
Note:
The poem was written around a quote that hangs in the saloon of the western town I helped build. The quote: There Are No Strangers Here - Only Friends came from my friend and our Town Mayor Papa Bear (Derek Lewry)
poem by David Harris
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Ah! Strange Inconstant Northern Star
Ah! strange inconstant northern star
That in your trail behind you seem to leave
A trail of frost invisible
Into the long night of the universe
Tall and half-visible strange inconstant star.
I, too will inconstant as you be
And be
A father to new stars from more than one
Roaming restless and macho in the universe
Into the long night of the universe
And then
A million seeds and more will ride
Down the trail of frost invisible
Into the long night of the universe
Tall and half-visible strange inconstant star.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Divisions
Millions for the Mafia! !
And of the chronicles of the wars around us;
But three men and a woman were found alone in the room last night,
And all the bacteria around produced more gas!
Willing,
Completely,
Command,
Divisions,
Abiding!
With a timber cutting machines to expose the forest,
But the young woman was very beautiful,
And the Mafia sold her for money!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Back Row Of The Picture House (Fun Poem 31)
Sitting in the back row
of the picture house the other day,
as the lights went out
the lovers came out to play.
First it was arms around shoulders,
then came the closer move,
it was then the kissing began.
There was more action going on
in the seats in front of me,
than there was on the big screen.
At one point I thought,
I was at a wrestling match.
They need subtitles and an X rating
to describe what happened next.
As I do not have one,
I’ll let your imagination do it for me.
Now when the lights went on
during intermission time.
Each had gone back
to their corners of the ring,
but once the lights went out,
they started all over again.
What was happening off screen
was more interesting than what was on it.
Finally, the movie was over,
and I did not see one bit of it.
There was more happening in the seats
than there ever was on the screen.
Tomorrow I’ll have to come back again
to try to see the big picture through once again.
That will be the third time this week.
poem by David Harris
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Corn Circles
Corn circles
Appearing all over the land
Corn circles
Appearing all over the land
Nobody knows where they come from
Nobody understands
Corn circles
Mysterious symbols in the fields
Corn circles
Mysterious symbols in the fields
No one knows - are they phony
Or maybe are they real?
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
Corn circles
Is somebody playing a trick?
Corn circles
Pixies, witches, hoaxers
Take your pick
Throw a few theories out there
See what sticks!
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
Corn circles
Patterns in the gold
Corn circles
Pretty patterns in the gold
Like something out of the future
Or something very old
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peace Everywhere
Peace, everywhere, peace today!
Peace in lands of scruffy trees and pine,
Peace in lands of olives and wine,
Peace in lands where peaks are white,
Peace in lands where fields are bright.
Peace in lands of oasis and sand,
Peace in lands where people band,
Peace in lands where children play,
Peace in lands where people pray,
Peace in lands in the thick of the fight,
Peace in lands ruled by force and might.
Everywhere, everywhere, peace this day!
Pray that all world leaders lead the way,
Encouraging moral people to stand proud and tall,
No government too great, no nation too small.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Long Tall Shorty
They call me the long tall shorty
cause I know what love is all about
They call me long tall shorty
cause I know what love is all about
Well I can tell you where the lights go
Oh, when they go out
Girls, if you get lonely
Dial 4-2-4-6-8-9
Well, girls, if you get lonely
Dial 4-2-4-6-8-9
And your troubles will be over
Ill even give you back you dime
Oh yeah
I like em long, I like em tall
I like em short, and that aint all
Now when I die, dont bury me deep
Just put some women to my head, to my feet
Tell all the world now, to come and peep
Long tall shorty now has gone to sleep
Whoa now
I like em long, I like em tall
Oh yeah
They call me long tall shorty
cause I know what love is all about
They call me long tall shorty
cause I know what love is all about
Well I can tell you where the lights go
Oh, when they go out
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wanna Be Your Girl
Just for one night
You and me
I dressed in pink
And make-up on my face
I will dance for you
I wanna be your slut
Just for one night
Dressed in pink
Like a girl for you
Feeling your eyes on my skin
I will move in a sexy way
So that you will love me
Just for one night
You and I
Tomorrow is another day
But tonight is ours
Dressed in leather
Like a vamp
The girl of your dreams
Just for one night
I will be your slut
poem by Vanity Girl
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Woman Is The Nigger Of The World
Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is...think about it
Woman is the nigger of the world
Think about it...do something about it
We make her paint her face and dance
If she wont be a slave, we say that she dont love us
If shes real, we say shes trying to be a man
While putting her down, we pretend that shes above us
Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with
Woman is the slave of the slaves
Ah, yeah...better scream about it
We make her bear and raise our children
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen
We tell her home is the only place she should be
Then we complain that shes too unworldly to be our friend
Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yeah...alright...hit it!
We insult her every day on tv
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence
When shes young we kill her will to be free
While telling her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb
Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is...if you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yes she is...if you believe me, you better scream about it
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song Of Old Joe Swallow
When I was up the country in the rough and early days,
I used to work along ov Jimmy Nowlett's bullick-drays;
Then the reelroad wasn't heered on, an' the bush was wild an' strange,
An' we useter draw the timber from the saw-pits in the range --
Load provisions for the stations, an' we'd travel far and slow
Through the plains an' 'cross the ranges in the days of long ago.
Then it's yoke up the bullicks and tramp beside 'em slow,
An' saddle up yer horses an' a-ridin' we will go,
To the bullick-drivin', cattle-drovin',
Nigger, digger, roarin', rovin'
Days o' long ago.
Once me and Jimmy Nowlett loaded timber for the town,
But we hadn't gone a dozen mile before the rain come down,
An' me an' Jimmy Nowlett an' the bullicks an' the dray
Was cut off on some risin' ground while floods around us lay;
An' we soon run short of tucker an' terbacca, which was bad,
An' pertaters dipped in honey was the only tuck we had.
An' half our bullicks perished when the drought was on the land,
An' the burnin' heat that dazzles as it dances on the sand;
When the sun-baked clay an' gravel paves for miles the burnin' creeks,
An' at ev'ry step yer travel there a rottin' carcase reeks --
But we pulled ourselves together, for we never used ter know
What a feather bed was good for in those days o' long ago.
But in spite ov barren ridges an' in spite ov mud an' heat,
An' dust that browned the bushes when it rose from bullicks' feet,
An' in spite ov cold and chilblains when the bush was white with frost,
An' in spite of muddy water where the burnin' plain was crossed,
An' in spite of modern progress, and in spite of all their blow,
'Twas a better land to live in, in the days o' long ago.
When the frosty moon was shinin' o'er the ranges like a lamp,
An' a lot of bullick-drivers was a-campin' on the camp,
When the fire was blazin' cheery an' the pipes was drawin' well,
Then our songs we useter chorus an' our yarns we useter tell;
An' we'd talk ov lands we come from, and ov chaps we useter know,
For there always was behind us OTHER days o' long ago.
Ah, them early days was ended when the reelroad crossed the plain,
But in dreams I often tramp beside the bullick-team again:
Still we pauses at the shanty just to have a drop er cheer,
Still I feels a kind ov pleasure when the campin'-ground is near;
Still I smells the old tarpaulin me an' Jimmy useter throw
O'er the timber-truck for shelter in the days ov long ago.
I have been a-driftin' back'ards with the changes ov the land,
An' if I spoke ter bullicks now they wouldn't understand,
But when Mary wakes me sudden in the night I'll often say:
`Come here, Spot, an' stan' up, Bally, blank an' blank an' come-eer-way.'
An' she says that, when I'm sleepin', oft my elerquince 'ill flow
In the bullick-drivin' language ov the days o' long ago.
Well, the pub will soon be closin', so I'll give the thing a rest;
But if you should drop on Nowlett in the far an' distant west --
An' if Jimmy uses doubleyou instead of ar an' vee,
An' if he drops his aitches, then you're sure to know it's he.
An' yer won't forgit to arsk him if he still remembers Joe
As knowed him up the country in the days o' long ago.
Then it's yoke up the bullicks and tramp beside 'em slow,
An' saddle up yer horses an' a-ridin' we will go,
To the bullick-drivin', cattle-drovin',
Nigger, digger, roarin', rovin'
Days o' long ago.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Paul Bunyan
He rode through the woods on a big blue ox,
He had fists as hard as choppin' blocks,
Five hundred pounds and nine feet tall...that's Paul.
Talk about workin', when he swung his axe
You could hear it ring for a mile and a half.
Then he'd yell'Timber!' and down she'd fall...for Paul.
Talk about drinkin', that man's so mean
That he'd never drink nothin' but kerosene,
And a five-gallon can is a little bit small...for Paul.
Talk about tough, well he once had a fight
With a thunderstorm on a cold dark night.
I ain't sayin' who won,
But it don't storm at all...round here...thanks to Paul.
He was ninety years old when he said with a sigh,
'I think I'm gonna lay right down and die
'Cause sunshine and sorrow, I've seen it all...says Paul.
He says, 'There ain't no man alive can kill me,
Ain't no woman 'round can thrill me,
And I think heaven just mught be a ball'...says Paul.
So he died...can we cried.
It took eighteen men just to bust the ground,
It took twenty-four more just to lower him down.
And we covered him up and we figured that was all...for Paul.
But late one night the trees started shakin',
The dogs started howlin' and the earth started quakin',
And out of the ground with a 'Hi, y'all'...comes Paul!
He shook the dirt from off his clothes,
He scratched his butt and wiped his nose.
'Y'kknow, bein' dead wasn't no fun at all'...says Paul.
He says, 'Up in heaven they got harps on their knees,
They got clouds and wings but they got no trees.
I don't think that's much of a heaven at all'...says Paul.
So he jumps on his ox with a fare-thee-well,
He says, 'I'll find out if there's trees in hell.'
And he rode away, and that was all...we ever seen...of Paul.
But the next time you hear a 'Timber!' yell
That sounds like it's comin' from the pits of hell,
Then a weird and devilish ghostly wail
Like somebody's choppin' on the devil's tail,
Then a shout, a call, a crash, a fall--
That ain't no mortal man at all...that's Paul!
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Inniskeen Road: July Evening
The bicycles go by in twos and threes -
There's a dance in Billy Brennan's barn to-night,
And there's the half-talk code of mysteries
And the wink-and-elbow language of delight.
Half-past eight and there is not a spot
Upon a mile of road, no shadow thrown
That might turn out a man or woman, not
A footfall tapping secrecies of stone.
I have what every poet hates in spite
Of all the solemn talk of contemplation.
Oh, Alexander Selkirk knew the plight
Of being king and government and nation.
A road, a mile of kingdom, I am king
Of banks and stones and every blooming thing.
poem by Patrick Kavanagh
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Far In a Western Brookland
Far in a western brookland
That bred me long ago
The poplars stand and tremble
By pools I used to know.
There, in the windless night-time,
The wanderer, marvelling why,
Halts on the bridge to hearken
How soft the poplars sigh.
He hears: no more remembered
In fields where I was known,
Here I lie down in London
And turn to rest alone.
There, by the starlit fences,
The wanderer halts and hears
My soul that lingers sighing
About the glimmering weirs.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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