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Striking

It was a railway passenger,
And he lept out jauntilie.
'Now up and bear, thou stout porter,
My two chattels to me.

'Bring hither, bring hither my bag so red,
And portmanteau so brown:
(They lie in the van, for a trusty man
He labelled them London town

'And fetch me eke a cabman bold,
That I may be his fare, his fare;
And he shall have a good shilling,
If by two of the clock he do me bring
To the Terminus, Euston Square.'

'Now,--so to thee the saints alway,
Good gentleman, give luck, -
As never a cab may I find this day,
For the cabman wights have struck:
And now, I wis, at the Red Post Inn,
Or else at the Dog and Duck,
Or at Unicorn Blue, or at Green Griffin,
The nut-brown ale and the fine old gin
Right pleasantly they do suck.'

'Now rede me aright, thou stout porter,
What were it best that I should do:
For woe is me, an I reach not there
Or ever the clock strike two.'

'I have a son, a lytel son;
Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck's:
Give him a shilling, and eke a brown,
And he shall carry thy chattels down,
To Euston, or half over London town,
On one of the station trucks.'

Then forth in a hurry did they twain fare,
The gent, and the son of the stout porter,
Who fled like an arrow, nor turned a hair,
Through all the mire and muck:
'A ticket, a ticket, sir clerk, I pray:
For by two of the clock must I needs away.'
'That may hardly be,' the clerk did say,
'For indeed--the clocks have struck.'

poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Day On The Town

Summer in london, watery sunshine,
A place in the city where I can go sometimes.
To get on a red bus and go anywhere,
See all the sights and not pay the fare,
Summer in london.
Chip on your shoulder, chips in your mouth,
Can you see the old lady, with tickets to tout.
Getting the tourists into their traps,
Taking their money, the shirts off their backs,
Summer in london.
To get in a taxi and go anywhere,
Jump out at the park and not pay the fare.
Watch speakers corner, listen to their talk,
Eating their ice creams, going for a walk.
Summer in london, the weather man said,
Waking up late, got to get out of bed.
So much to do, got to go everywhere
A day on the town and not pay the fare.
Riots in london.

song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Day On The Town

Summer in london, watery sunshine,
A place in the city where I can go sometimes.
To get on a red bus and go anywhere,
See all the sights and not pay the fare,
Summer in london.
Chip on your shoulder, chips in your mouth,
Can you see the old lady, with tickets to tout.
Getting the tourists into their traps,
Taking their money, the shirts off their backs,
Summer in london.
To get in a taxi and go anywhere,
Jump out at the park and not pay the fare.
Watch speakers corner, listen to their talk,
Eating their ice creams, going for a walk.
Summer in london, the weather man said,
Waking up late, got to get out of bed.
So much to do, got to go everywhere
A day on the town and not pay the fare.
Riots in london.

song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hey Porter

(johnny cash)
(c) - (g) - (f)
(c) hey, porter, hey porter! would you tell me the (f) time?
(c) how much longer will it be til we cross that (g) mason dixon line? (c)
At daylight would you tell the engineer to slow it (f) down;
Or better still, just stop the train cause I (g) wanna look a (c) round.
Hey, porter! hey porter! what time did you say ?
How much longer will it be till I can see the light of day ?
When we hit dixie would ya tell the engineer to ring his bell;
And tell everybody that aint asleep to stand right up and yell.
Hey, porter! hey, porter! please, go on and get my bags for me,
I dont need nobody to tell me now that Im in tennessee.
Were not so far from home, you know, and its a-getting light outside
This old train is a-puffin smoke and I have to strain in my eyes
Hey porter! hey porter! please open up the door.
When they stop this train Im gonna get off first cause I cant wait no more.
Tell the engineer I say, thanks a lot. and I didnt mind the fare.
Im gonna set my feet on southern soil, Im gonna breathe the southern air.

song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Eliza

Eliza, tell thy lover why
Or what induced thee to deceive me?
Fare thee well--away I fly--
I shun the lass who thus will grieve me.

Eliza, still thou art my song,
Although by force I may forsake thee;
Fare thee well, for I was wrong
To woo thee while another take thee.

Eliza, pause and think a while--
Sweet lass! I shall forget thee never:
Fare thee well! although I smile,
I grieve to give thee up forever.

Eliza, I shall think of thee--
My heart shall ever twine about thee;
Fare thee well--but think of me,
Compell'd to live and die without thee.
'Fare thee well!--and if forever,
Still forever fare thee well!'

poem by George Moses Horton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Licence porter

Santosh licence porter
make people happy
wth his song and sairy sally.

Santosh licence porter
as great as Oobbamaa
by his stature
so far as service to
humanity concerned.

Santosh licence porter
is always at the station.
To visit again and again
he called me often.

Santosh licence porter
everybodys friend
everybodys son
As if in the station
he is the moon
he is the sun.

Come to the station
to meet Santosh
how Santosh is there
to enable passenger
to reach their destination.

Santosh is
Santosh and you find
in your village also
if you like to hear song
if you like to make friend
with monk.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Dink's Song

(b.gibson/b.lomax/j.lomax)
This is a blues traditional that has been performed also by bob dylan. jeff performed it several times in his concerts, and he performed it also live on-air for the music faucet, a wfmu radio broadcast, on october 11 1992.
If i had wings like noah's dove
I'd fly up the river to the one i love
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
If i met your man, who was long and tall
I'd hit his body like a cannon ball
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
One of these days and it won't be long
Call my name and i'll be gone
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
I remember one night, a drizzling rain
Round my heart i felt an achin' pain
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well
When i wore my apron low
Couldn't keep you from my do'
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
Now i wear my apron high
Scarcely ever see you passing by
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
Now my apron's up to my chin
You pass my door and you won't come in
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well
If i had listened to what my mama said
I'd be at home in my mama's bed
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well

song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Name Sakes

BUT where's the brown drifter that went out alone ?
-Roll and go, and fare you well-
' Was her name
Peggy Nutten?
' That name is my own.
Fare you well, my sailor.
They sang in the dark, ' Let her go ! Let her go ! '
And she sailed to the West, where the broad waters flow;
And the others come back, but . . . the bitter winds blow.
Ah, fare you well, my sailor.

The women, at evening, they wave and they cheer.
-Roll and go, and fare you well-
They're waiting to welcome their lads at the pier.
Fare you well, my sailor.
They're all coming home in the twilight below;
But there's one little boat. . . . Let her go ! Let her go!
She carried my heart, and a heart for the foe.
Ah, fare you well, my sailor.

The
Nell
and the
Maggie
, the
Ruth
and the Joan,

-'-Roll and go, and fare you well-
They come to their name-sakes, and leave me alone.
Fare you well, my sailor.
And names are kep' dark, for the spies mustn't know;
But they'll look in my face, an' I think it will show;
Peggy Nutten's my name. Let her go ! Let her go!
Ah, fare you well, my sailor.

poem by Alfred Noyes
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Caracas

(clarke / sylvester / hicks)
Gonna fade my jeans in the deep blue sea
Wash my cares away
Feelin the breeze going through the trees
Just the music of the day
Oh, going to caracas
Beautiful town when the lights go down
Dance the night away
Drinkin the wines
Make me feel fine
Thats what the people say
Oh oh caracas
Come to the show
And let yourself go
Theres magic in the air
Come a long way to make your day
Gonna show you that we care
Oh oh going to caracas
Oh Im going to caracas
Almost there, got my ticket, paid my fare
Almost there, stop us if you dare
Oh oh
Almost there, got my ticket, paid my fare
Almost there, yeah stop us if you dare
Verse 1
Oh oh going to caracas
Oh oh going to caracas

song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Size and Tears

WHEN on the sandy shore I sit,
Beside the salt sea-wave,
And fall into a weeping fit
Because I dare not shave -
A little whisper at my ear
Enquires the reason of my fear.

I answer "If that ruffian Jones
Should recognise me here,
He'd bellow out my name in tones
Offensive to the ear:
He chaffs me so on being stout
(A thing that always puts me out)."

Ah me! I see him on the cliff!
Farewell, farewell to hope,
If he should look this way, and if
He's got his telescope!
To whatsoever place I flee,
My odious rival follows me!

For every night, and everywhere,
I meet him out at dinner;
And when I've found some charming fair,
And vowed to die or win her,
The wretch (he's thin and I am stout)
Is sure to come and cut me out!

The girls (just like them!) all agree
To praise J. Jones, Esquire:
I ask them what on earth they see
About him to admire?
They cry "He is so sleek and slim,
It's quite a treat to look at him!"

They vanish in tobacco smoke,
Those visionary maids -
I feel a sharp and sudden poke
Between the shoulder-blades -
"Why, Brown, my boy! Your growing stout!"
(I told you he would find me out!)

"My growth is not YOUR business, Sir!"
"No more it is, my boy!
But if it's YOURS, as I infer,
Why, Brown, I give you joy!
A man, whose business prospers so,
Is just the sort of man to know!

"It's hardly safe, though, talking here -
I'd best get out of reach:
For such a weight as yours, I fear,
Must shortly sink the beach!" -
Insult me thus because I'm stout!
I vow I'll go and call him out!

poem by Lewis Carroll from Phantasmagoria and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Bear and the Hare

The bear is always bare. I have never seen a bear who was not bare. Or does he or she wear a coat of hair? Where does he or she go to buy a coat of hair so that he or she won't be a bare bear? Coats cost money. Bare bears have no money.

But bears eat honey. Even bare bears eat honey. And this bear had a honey who wanted a coat of hair. So when she said to her honey, 'Honey, I want a coat of hair, but I have no money.', her honey replied, 'Honey, I have no money to buy a coat of hair. But I do have honey. Maybe I can sell my honey for money.' So he sold his honey for money so that his honey could have some money to buy a coat of hair and not be a bare bear.

This bear had a friend who was a hare. This hare has hair. Is he bare? He is not a bare bear but a hare and hares have hair. But he is a funny bunny and likes a sunny spot even when it is hot because he like to have fun in the sun. But this funny bunny could not find a sunny spot to go to have fun in the sun until one day a fair came to town.

The bear and hare of course went to the fair. What a pair! The fair was quite far so the bare bear and the hare with the hair decided to ride the street car. To ride the street car, they had to pay a fare. I say that was quite an affair - to see the bare bear and the hair paying for their fare. The bare bear had no pockets in which to carry any fare. The funny bunny had no honey to sell to get some money to pay the fare so that he could go to the fair. The fare cost ten cents. But that makes no sense. It isn't fair to make a bear who is bare and has no pockets to hold a fare or a funny bunny who has no honey to get money to pay a fare to go to the fair.

Subsequently, the bare bear barely got on the street car after the funny bunny hopped on, the bare bear and the hair were there sitting in chairs riding in the street car to the fair without paying any fare. Along the way they saw a mare. They did not care about the mare. They wanted to get to the fair. Have you every seen a bare bear sitting in a chair? I once saw a bare bear sitting in a chair at a fair but he wasn't bare.

To get into the fair the bare bear and the hair had to pay another fare. And still the bare bear had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. And the funny bunny had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. So what did they do? How did they get into the fair? As I said, I saw the bare bear sitting in a chair at the fair but he wasn't bare.

Tell me if this is a poem. Thanks.

poem by Ben Gieske
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Station

Soaked in grey light
oily blue puddles
shimmer on the platform.
The train is late.
A man shuffles his feet
paper folded under a
brown woolen arm.
The shine on his shoes
would dazzle
in proper light.
A woman searches her
purse -the fare is
in here somewhere.
Keys mimic the sound.
Her dress clings to mystery.
Children playing
the way children do.
Their innocence waning
the way innocence will.
The Porter checks his watch
schedule folded under a
blue woolen arm.
Shoes worn with polish.
Face lined with age and
weathered without mystery.
A grimace or a scowl or
a look
forlorn in the tedium of the station
-trains coming going screeching.
In his station
there is nothing to do
but wait.

poem by Ronald Shields
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London Town

I do believe
I must believe
I think I can begin again
Become again the man I was back when
So Im walking on your streets again
Feeling now as I did then
Ive since become a different man
London town, turn be around
London town, carry me back
O london town, lost and found
And I feel like going back
I can remember lots of time and space
If I lose the name, still I know the faces
Time as come and left its traces
London town, turn be around
London town, carry me back
O london town, lost and found
And I feel like going back
When I grew too old and dull to rock n roll
Like to hold on tight to you darling
And when my fires have all burned out
Id like to think I can still think about
The things I used to sing about
When I was spending all my time alone
By myself and on my own
Seldom seen and quite unknown
London town, turn be around
London town, carry me back
O london town, lost and found
And I feel like going back

song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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World War 24

Porcelain doll
Your mother runs an antique shop
She takes some stuff, I take a lot
We sleep all day
Slow response
I'm feelin' like an afterthought
I guess I'm kinda lost in space
And London's okay
She don't even ask what time it is anymore
Dressed up like its World War 24
Sugar sweet
She loves it when it hits her teeth
The river hides the carousel
In London, oh well
Coma comes
Like bullets from a candy gun
Delivers us into the sun
Of London, my love
She don't even ask what time it is anymore
Dressed up like its World War 24
And if we get too high
We'll burn this town
We'll burn this town
We'll burn this town
Oh, baby, bring me down
Oh, baby, bring me down
Oh, baby, bring me down
Oh, baby, bring me down
I'm all yours
I'm all yours
I'm all yours

song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brown Paper Bag

Brown paper bag

Squalid incomplete

slumped to the side of the street

Like unwanted sacks of garbage

She left her track her smell

And like the brown paper bag

She had travelled well

She had a whole world in her head

Her first love

The man she wed

And the drink and the smoke

And the four o clock bloke

That returned with a bottle in a brown paper bag

And better days before

When she had carried her first round fruit

When the brown paper bag was waxed new

And he carried his bride to the door

Then the four o clock bloke

Full of stale wine and stale smoke

With a bottle in a brown paper bag

How he called her a hag

And that first punch to the floor

And the brown paper bags fell by her side

Crumpled and stained

And the liquor cans and the four o clock man

Who never spoke

Left her broke

Bones shattered in pieces

Flesh bare to the wind

Body out on the street

Skin tanned dirt brown

Hair matted locks

And two brown paper bags tied with string to her feet

yvette m smith 11.2.09

poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A West Country Ballad

This is the tale of Norton
Who vowed a vow, by zounds,
To catch the varlet Gardiner
And win a thousand pounds.

"Come thither, come thither, my little page,
Whom man call Black Billee,
And saddle me up my jolly brown steed
And bring my pistols three.

"A plan I have within my head,
By which I will surround
The rascal Gardiner and his gang,
And win the thousand pounds!"

Then up he rose, that little black boy,
And grinned he broad grins three:
"You bin catch that fella Gardiner,
You budgeree Peeler be."

Then Norton mounted his jolly brown steed,
And himself was hung about
With chains and ropes and handicuffs,
To catch the rabble rout.

He looked so fierce, when he sallied forth
All booted, spurred and saddled,
That all the little dogs tucked in theire tails
And quickly off skedaddled.

On top of Weddin Mountains stood
Bold General Gardiner,
In cabbage-tree hat and scarlet shirt
And all devoid of fear.

"What dost thou here in my domain
In suchlike warlike gear?"
Then answered Norton: "It's you I seek,
Bold Francis Gardiner.

"Of course thou wilt my prisoner be,
Both thou and all thy force,
And quietly come along with me!"
Grinned Gardiner: "Oh, of course!"

"But tarry awhile, Inspector, Sir,
Become a guest of mine,
Go not so soon, 'tis well-nigh noon,
I prithee stay and dine.

"And thou shalt taste our bushland fare
Of lobster and sardine,
Washed down with many a noggin
Of good Old Tom and gin.

"Give me thy pistols and thy sword,
I'll also take thy watch
To see what was the time of day
When thou did'st Gardiner catch!"

Then Gardiner loudly laughed Ho! Ho!
His merry men laughed He! He!
But Norton laughed a faint Ha! Ha!
The joke he could not see.

Quoth Gardiner: "Please don't leave us yet,
Thy company is so good.
Thou surely would'st not go - besides,
Thou could'st not if thou would.

"Thy solemn word we now must have
That arms thou wilt not bear
'Gainst me, or 'gainst my merry men all -
Then back thou may'st repair."

So his parole he then did give
Bold Norton brave and true,
That arms he ne'er again would bear
'Gainst Gardiner and his crew.

Then rode he home, as the story goes,
Although some people say
It is a tale for the marines,
And he dreamt it as he lay.

And naughty people wink their eyes
And say with many a grin;
"It must have been the lobsters,
Washed down with too much gin!"

poem by Anonymous Oceania
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Ticket To The Moon

Remember the good old 1980s?
When things were so uncomplicated?
I wish I could go back there again
And everything could be the same.
Ive got a ticket to the moon
Ill be leaving here any day soon
Yeah, Ive got a ticket to the moon
But Id rather see the sunrise in your eyes.
Got a ticket to the moon
Ill be rising high above the earth so soon
And the tears I cry might turn into the rain
That gently falls upon your window
Youll never know.
Chorus:
Ticket to the moon (ticket to the moon)
Ticket to the moon (ticket to the moon)
Ticket to the moon (ticket to the moon).
Fly, fly through a troubled sky
Up to a new world shining bright, oh, oh.
Flying high above
Soaring madly through the mysteries that come
Wondering sadly if the ways that led me here
Could turn around and I would see you there
Standing there (and I would see you there, waiting...)
Ticket to the moon
Flight leaves here today from satellite two
As the minutes go by, what should I do?
I paid the fare, what more can I say?
Its just one way (only one way)...
Repeat chorus:
Repeat chorus:

song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ethel Winterbottom

Ethel was an ugly girl
But this was not her fault;
It stemmed from drinking beer with men
While standing in the 'vault.'

A Winterbottom through and through,
At fighting she was good;
And thick brown stout ran through her veins
Instead of pure red blood.

Yes Ethel was a bruiser,
Just like her dear old dad;
Some people reckoned she
And all her family were mad.

Her tongue was like a bayonet
And she'd cut you to the quick
For any little trifle,
Such as calling Ethel thick.

The town that Ethel came from
Was born of jet-black coal;
A mining town in Lancashire,
A miner every soul.

Where life was hard and cruel
And you needed to be tough;
Where money was hard worked for
Amongst the jet-black stuff.

Men were very lucky
To reach old age round there;
To leave the pit come pension time,
With all your limbs, was rare.

Now Ethel had three sisters,
A father and a brother;
But living hard, and thick brown stout
Had taken Ethel's mother.

She'd had to grow up quickly
And learn to stand her ground;
No funny business was allowed
When Ethel was around.

She gave her brothers blow for blow
And curse for curse as well;
No man would better Ethel
Yes, she gave the miners hell.

But now the lass was getting on
And weary of life's fights,
The daily grind among the coal,
The long and drunken nights.

No one had ever told her
This didn't have to be;
Now Ethel's in the graveyard,
But beautiful and free.

Written Jan 1996

poem by John Carter Brown
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The Nurse's Watch

From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn'

The moon it shines,
My darling whines;
The clock strikes twelve:--God cheer
The sick both far and near.
God knoweth all;
Mousy nibbles in the wall;
The clock strikes one:--like day,
Dreams o'er thy pillow play.
The matin-bell
Wakes the nun in convent cell;
The clock strikes two:--they go
To choir in a row.
The wind it blows,
The cock he crows;
The clock strikes three:--the wagoner
In his straw bed begins to stir.
The steed he paws the floor,
Creaks the stable door;
The clock strikes four:--'tis plain
The coachman sifts his grain.
The swallow's laugh the still air shakes,
The sun awakes;
The clock strikes five:--the traveler must be gone,
He puts his stockings on.
The hen is clacking,
The ducks are quacking;
The clock strikes six:--awake, arise,
Thou lazy hag; come, ope thy eyes.
Quick to the baker's run;
The rolls are done;
The clock strikes seven:--
'Tis time the milk were in the oven.
Put in some butter, do,
And some fine sugar, too;
The clock strikes eight:--
Now bring my baby's porridge straight.

poem by Clemens Maria Brentano
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A Highly-Colored Romance

Ben Green was a New-Hampshire boy,
Who stood full six feet two:
A jovial chap this same Ben Green,
Though he had oft been blue.
He loved a girl named Olive Brown,
Who lived near Bixby's pond,
And who, despite her brunette name,
Was a decided blonde.
"A Highly Colored Romance."
A pink of rare perfection she,
The belle of all the town;
Though Ben oft wished her Olive Green,
Instead of Olive Brown.
And she loved Ben, and said that nought
Should mar their joy serene;
And, when she changed from Olive Brown,
'Twould surely be to Green.
She kept her word in-violet,
And vowed, ere she was wed,
Although when Brown she had Be(e)n Green.
When Green she'd be well read.
But, ah! her young affections changed
To Gray, a Southern fellow;
And Green turned white the news to hear,
Though first it made him yell, oh!
Says he, " How can you lilac this,
When you vowed to be true?
I'll take your fine young lover, Gray,
And beat him till he's blue."
Then Olive Brown to crimson turned,
And said, "Do as you say:
The country long has wished to see
'The Blue combined with Gray.'"
Ben Green to purple turned with rage,
And black his brow as night;
While on the cheek of Olive Brown
The crimson changed to white.
"O cruel Olive Brown!" says Ben,
"I've been dun-brown by you:
Let this 'Grayback' his steps retrace,
And take Greenback, — oh, do!"
Poor Olive Brown, what could she say,
To sea-Green look so sad ?
And so she rose, and said to him,
"I'll go and ask my dad."
. . . .
The years rolled by: Ben's raven locks
For silver did not lack;
And Olive, with her hair of gold,
Was glad she took Greenback.

poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Sea Burthen

A ship swinging
As the tide swings, up and down,
And men's voices singing, -
East away O! West away!
And a very long way from London Town!

A lantern glowing
And stars looking down,
And the sea smells blowing, -
East away O! West away!
And a very long way from London Town!

Lights in wild weather
From a tavern window old and brown,
And men singing together, -
East away O! West away!
And a very long way from London Town!

poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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