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Old Town Types No. 22 - The Baker

Our baker, Mr Brackenby, toiler in the night,
Was a lean, tall, glum man whose face was very white;
A brooding man 'twas said of him, and mannerisms odd;
For a grunt of recognition and a rather surly nod
Were all he granted any who came strolling by his shop
In the cool of summer even, when a man might wish to stop
For a bit of neighbor's gossip. But our baker chose to mope
Like one who nursed grave illness or deep grief beyond all hope.

His chirping little 'missus' had the old town's sympathy;
For she loved to hold a customer and let her tongue run free
On stay bits of tittle-tattle; and we said, 'Poor thing,
With a dumb man for a husband, well, she has to have her fling.'
For silent Mr Brackenby, he never seemed to speak
To wife or child or anyone from week to dreary week.
There he sat upon his doorstop, and he stared and stared ahead
Like a being sore afflicted. But he baked good bread.

Yet once a year, on Show Day, some urge removed his gag,
And gloomy Mr Brackenby went out upon a 'jag.'
He visited the taverns from the morn till deepest night
Getting gradually garrulous and gradually 'tight.'
He laughed, he sang, he spent, to talked to any who would hear:
A merry man for just one day and night in all the year.
He sang of 'Champagne Charlie' and 'Where Did You Get That Hat?'
'Belle Mahone,' 'Tarpaulin Jacket,' and a score of songs like that.

Thro' the night he roared and revelled till the daylight broke the spell;
Then our baker, Mr Brackenby, crept back into his shell.
Stale the bread we got that morning; but, for twelve months after that,
In the loaves that came at dawning folk found nought to grumble at.
For he shunned the noisy taverns in the cool of summer eves,
And he squatted on his doorstep in the pose of one who grieves,
With his hand cupped in his white palm, he just stared and stared ahead
Like a man remorse had ravaged. But he baked good bread.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A Spinster At Mass

She came in dressed
in the robe of a mayoress
Her hair, curly and golden
Like that of a Roman goddess
She looked round
Her eyes, large and round
Like that of a fancy bulb.
With them she me espied
In a corner under a deck
of this unnamed Church.
Behold, here's a Pandora
at mass,
As she passed;
Not even the parson
could bypass,
He stood there like a dead
wood and stared and stared
Till his eye balls fell
from its sockets
We stared and stared
And still we stood there
and stared
Till our piety fell.

poem by Efe Benjamin
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The night was creeping on the ground;
She crept and did not make a sound
Until she reached the tree, and then
She covered it, and sole again
Along the grass beside the wall.

I heard the rustle of her shawl
As she threw blackness everywhere
Upon the sky and ground and air,
And in the room where I was hid:
But no matter what she did
To everything that was without,
She could not put my candle out.

So I stared at the night, and she
Stared back solemnly at me.

poem by James Stephens
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About The Bird With A Bleeding Heart

I was the one who taught you once about the bird with a bleeding heart.
How it raised its head, opened its eyes and stared to places beyond its reach.It has kept its dignity in the middle of its pains.
It managed to fly back to its nest and still sang its usual songs in the morning.
At night, like you, it did not sleep, and had a good look at the stars.

It was you who was seated at the last row at the last column of the chairs of the room.
Unlike the rest, it was you who listened most.
You wore a thick, heavy tinted sunglass, and you stared to every movement Of my eyes and lips as i was telling the story.

I had a good glance at you. You shed a tear and then you hid it in your hand.

Time flew. Swiftly.

I received the letter that you sent. You thanked me.
There is no return address, but let me tell you now as you read this poem.

This is our journey together.We are no longer afraid to cry.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The night was creeping on the ground;
She crept and did not make a sound
Until she reached the tree, and then
She covered it, and sole again
Along the grass beside the wall.

I heard the rustle of her shawl
As she threw blackness everywhere
Upon the sky and ground and air,
And in the room where I was hid:
But no matter what she did
To everything that was without,
She could not put my candle out.

So I stared at the night, and she
Stared back solemnly at me.

poem by James Brunton Stephens
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On the Breadline

In the baked dough of flour, water and yeast
they were chatting merrily while baking.
The robust baker listens; ' flour said' I was in a big field
and then after the crop they took me to a mill and they grind.
Water laughed and said' I don't know where I have come from? '.
Yeast said 'I was a fungus dear; not only in the bakery
in the brewery too a good demand for us.
I heard that they make bread, cake and so many varieties out of us.
Our price goes high everyday and a poor cannot afford.'
History says; Marie.Antoinette said to the poor
'if you cannot eat bread then why don't you try cake? '
And the following day they invaded the fortress Bastile.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Where Were You Last Night

Where were you last night?
You were so uptight
What did you do, who did you see?
Were you with someone
Who reminded you of me?
Where were you last night?
Where were you last week?
Were you up a creek?
Did you stay up pacing the floor?
Got me worried
You ignore me more and more
Where were you last night?
You werent around me
When they found me
Where were you last night?
Youd better stop your messin around
Your name is going round from town to town
Its making me sad
Making me feel bad
Where were you last night?
Where were you last year?
Youre sure as [...]
You werent waiting where you said
You sent someone in your place instead
Where were you last night?
Its getting to me
Making me gloomy
Where were you last night?

song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Baker Man

Well here comes a dance that will never be banned now
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
Yeah, stolen from a story called "The Baker's Man" now
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
(Choo choo choo choo-do choo choo)
It's impossible too sweet to cross the land????
(Patty cake patty cake)
Put your favorite records on and start the show now
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
Abra-cadabra look at everyone go now
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
(Choo choo choo choo-do choo choo)
Alakazam this dance has got to grow now
(Patty cake patty cake)
Well they tell me that it's optional to use your feet
But now you really don't need them if you keep your beat
Well Arthur Murray's gettin' blurry tryin' to learn that jive
When all the kids from coast to coast are really comin' alive
Well go tell the gang what a time you've had now
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
This Friday night we'll start a regular fad now
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
(Choo choo choo choo-do choo choo)
We'll do the Baker 'til it drives us mad now
(Patty cake patty cake)
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
(Choo choo choo choo-do choo choo)
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
Come on and take a lesson now
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
Clap your partner's hands
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
Not too hard
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
Now slap her in the face
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man)
What a disgrace
(Choo choo choo choo-do choo choo)
(Patty cake patty cake)
(Patty cake patty cake baker's man

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Hold Of The Night

Some fresh air will do your good
Get hold of the night
This is the last summer night
Before winter gets here
Still light out side
Isn’t this night incredible?
Or what?
It is too late now
I wished I knew it would had happened ahead of time
So I could get a picture
Of this summer night
Looks like the kids got the idea in the street to get out doors and play the last
Hockey game of the summer
On this spectacular and magnificent night
Get hold of the night
It would be silly to stay
In doors on a magnificent and spectacular summer night
It won’t last long
I kissed the summer good bye

poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Ghost at the Second Bridge

You'd call the man a senseless fool,—
A blockhead or an ass,
Who’d dare to say he saw the ghost
Of Mount Victoria Pass;
But I believe the ghost is there,
For, if my eyes are right,
I saw it once upon a ne’er-
To-be-forgotten night.
’Twas in the year of eighty-nine—
The day was nearly gone,
The stars were shining, and the moon
Is mentioned further on;
I’d tramped as far as Hartley Vale,
Tho’ tired at the start,
But coming back I got a lift
In Johnny Jones’s cart.

’Twas winter on the mountains then—
The air was rather chill,
And so we stopped beside the inn
That stands below the hill.
A fire was burning in the bar,
And Johnny thought a glass
Would give the tired horse a spell
And help us up the Pass.

Then Jimmy Bent came riding up—
A tidy chap was Jim—
He shouted twice, and so of course
We had to shout for him.
And when at last we said good-night
He bet a vulgar quid
That we would see the “ghost in black”,
And sure enough we did.

And as we climbed the stony pinch
Below the Camel Bridge,
We talked about the “Girl in black”
Who haunts the Second Bridge.
We reached the fence that guards the cliff
And passed the corner post,
And Johnny like a senseless fool
Kept harping on the ghost.

“She’ll cross the moonlit road in haste
And vanish down the track;
Her long black hair hangs to her waist
And she is dressed in black;
Her face is white, a dull dead white—
Her eyes are opened wide—
She never looks to left or right,
Or turns to either side.”

I didn’t b’lieve in ghosts at all,
Tho’ I was rather young,
But still I wished with all my heart
That Jack would hold his tongue.
The time and place, as you will say,
(’Twas twelve o’clock almost)—
Were both historically fa-
Vourable for a ghost.

But have you seen the Second Bridge
Beneath the “Camel’s Back”?
It fills a gap that broke the ridge
When convicts made the track;
And o’er the right old Hartley Vale
In homely beauty lies,
And o’er the left the mighty walls
Of Mount Victoria rise.

And there’s a spot above the bridge,
Just where the track is steep,
From which poor Convict Govett rode
To christen Govett’s Leap;
And here a teamster killed his wife—
For those old days were rough—
And here a dozen others had
Been murdered, right enough.

The lonely moon was over all
And she was shining well,
At angles from the sandstone wall
The shifting moonbeams fell.
In short, the shifting moonbeams beamed,
The air was still as death,
Save when the listening silence seemed
To speak beneath its breath.

The tangled bushes were not stirred
Because there was no wind,
But now and then I thought I heard
A startling noise behind.
Then Johnny Jones began to quake;
His face was like the dead.
“Don’t look behind, for heaven’s sake!
The ghost is there!” he said.

He stared ahead—his eyes were fixed;
He whipped the horse like mad.
“You fool!” I cried, “you’re only mixed;
A drop too much you’ve had.
I’ll never see a ghost, I swear,
But I will find the cause.”
I turned to see if it was there,
And sure enough it was!

Its look appeared to plead for aid
(As far as I could see),
Its hands were on the tailboard laid,
Its eyes were fixed on me.
The face, it cannot be denied
Was white, a dull dead white,
The great black eyes were opened wide
And glistened in the light.

I stared at Jack; he stared ahead
And madly plied the lash.
To show I wasn’t scared, I said—
“Why, Jack, we’ve made a mash.”
I tried to laugh; ’twas vain to try.
The try was very lame;
And, tho’ I wouldn’t show it, I
Was frightened, all the same.

“She’s mashed,” said Jack, “I do not doubt,
But ’tis a lonely place;
And then you see it might turn out
A breach of promise case.”
He flogged the horse until it jibbed
And stood as one resigned,
And then he struck the road and ran
And left the cart behind.

Now, Jack and I since infancy
Had shared our joys and cares,
And so I was resolved that we
Should share each other’s scares.
We raced each other all the way
And never slept that night,
And when we told the tale next day
They said that we were—intoxicated.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Stand-To: Good Friday Morning

I’d been on duty from two till four.
I went and stared at the dug-out door.
Down in the frowst I heard them snore.
‘Stand to!’ Somebody grunted and swore.
Dawn was misty; the skies were still;
Larks were singing, discordant, shrill;
They seemed happy; but I felt ill.
Deep in water I splashed my way
Up the trench to our bogged front line.
Rain had fallen the whole damned night.
O Jesus, send me a wound to-day,
And I’ll believe in Your bread and wine,
And get my bloody old sins washed white!

poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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The Warmth Of The Sand (Demo Version)

Relax and stand, in the warmth of the sand
The day is long and here for us to take for granted
And find ourselves to our knees
The water clear, the tender breeze upon our faces
As we bask in our good graces
Yeah, we all are golden here
In summer, in summer
Where night belongs to lust and lovers
In summer, in summer
And I appear to win you over
You will be mine this year (this year, this year, this year)
The sun is set, and the, the moon is high
The night is long and here for you and I to capture
We float ourselves to the gills, with icy drinks that bolster wills
And we are braver for the moment
Yeah, we all are golden here
In summer, in summer
Where all the girls bare olive shoulders
In summer, in summer
And I appear to win you over
You will be mine this year (this year, this year, this year)
The courtyard where the garden stands
Behind the beach at Crystal Sands
We shed our clothes and felt romantic
Tempted by the moon fantastic
Bright and warm and ours alone
Absolve us from the sins we own
And from one year into another
I think of you and I feel summer
In summer, in summer
Where all the girls bare olive shoulders
In summer, in summer
Where all you hope for is another
In summer, in summer
Where night belongs to lust and lovers
In summer, in summer
And I appear to win you over
You will be mine this year
(this year, this year, this year, this year, this year, this year, this year)

song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Madame Minda

i remember when i was yet so small like a

snail,

mother took me to your house where the roof leaks like a wooden

boat

and i was gazing up my eyes fixed on some stars that night like a

telescope

and mother pinched me in my arm afraid to offend your poverty like a

worm

but then i could not be stopped and i spoke so loud asking mother why are
they so poor like a

rat

and mother silenced me with her hand covering my mouth and you pretended
you did not hear anything like a

pig

you stared at me but i could not be outdone i also stared at you like a white

pegion

that was how it was Madame Minda, we started as two opposing river banks
we never reach each other like you were my broad back and i am a short

hand

that never reached your heart

i never miss you and you never change.Whatever are you i simply keep it
to myself like a

wart.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three Mice Who Hoped

Six mice stared out their door.
The Cat was crouching there.
“Have hope! ” one cried.
“The Dog will come and scare it away! ”
But one mouse ran out, gave up.
In the jaws of Cat he died.

Five mice stared out their door.
Still the feline purred.
“Have hope! ” one cried.
”The Dog will be here soon! ”
But one mouse could wait no more.
In the jaws of Cat she died.

Four mice stared out their door.
The Cat was waiting for them, too.
“Have… hope…” one said.
But one mouse snapped and darted out.
And soon, in jaws of Cat, was dead.

Three mice stared out their door.
The Cat sat ready, claws extended.
“Have… h-hope…” one said.
But one mouse squealed and started –
The one who’d spoken held her down.
“Have hope! ”

For hours more the three mice sat.
The watched, trembling, the mighty Cat.
But still: “Have hope! ” they cried.
Then came the Dog.
The Cat scurried away to hide.
The mice were free at last.

poem by Sophia White
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Window Shopper

I stood before a candy shop
Which with a Christmas radiance shone;
I saw my parents pass and stop
To grin at me and then go on.
The sweets were heaped in gleamy rows;
On each I feasted - what a game!
Against the glass with flatted nose,
Gulping my spittle as it came;
So still I stood, and stared and dreamed,
Savouring sweetness with my eyes,
Devouring dainties till it seemed
My candy shop was paradise.

I had, I think, but five years old,
And though three-score and ten have passed,
I still recall the craintive cold,
The grimy street, the gritty blast;
And how I stared into that shop,
Its gifts so near and yet so far,
Of marzipan and toffee drop,
Of chocolate and walnut bar;
Imagining what I would buy
Amid delights so rich and rare . . .
The glass was misted with my sigh:
"If just one penny Pop could spare!"

And then when I went home to tea
Of bread and butter sparsely spread,
Oh, how my parents twitted me:
"You stood for full an hour," they said.
"We saw you as we passed again;
Your eyes upon the sweets were glued;
Your nose was flattened to the pane,
Like someone hypnotized you stood."
But when they laughed as at a joke,
A bitterness I could not stem
Within my little heart awoke. . . .
Oh, I have long forgiven them;
For though I know they did no own
Pennies to spare, they might, it seems
More understanding love have shown
More sympathy for those vain dreams,
Which make of me with wistful gaze
God's Window Shopper all days.

poem by Robert William Service
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Letter To Hermione

People stared at the makeup on his face
Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace
The boy in the bright blue jeans
Jumped onto the stage
And lady stardust sang his songs
Of darkness and disgrace
And he was alright the band was altogether
Yes he was alright the song went on forever
And he was awful nice
Really quite out of sight
And he sang all night long
Femme fatales emerged from the shadows
To watch this creature fair
Boys stood upon their chairs
To make their point of view
I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey
And lady stardust sang his songs
Of darness and dismay
And he was alright the band was altogether
Yes he was alright the song went on forever
And he was awful nice
Really quite paradise
And he sang all night long
Oh how I sighed when they asked if I knew his name
And he was alright the band was altogether
Yes he was alright the song went on forever
And he was awful nice
Really quite paradise
And he sang all night long

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Halcyon And After

It was May or June, I met you:

Business, something or other.
Your study, when you showed me in
Was full of the sun, drenched with gold:
From work strewn across tables, chairs
You turned to me and smiled -
And I was dazzled.
You made me tea with bergamot
And we talked and talked, all the things
Our loved ones dare not hear.

At last, when I stood up to go
I saw your eyes diving back,
Sad and wise, into shafts of light
And I thought: 'She is the one.
I can tell her anything'.

But humid grey clouded the sun
That day your skirt revealed your legs:
I stared too long.
Your smile became a laugh
And you sheathed your tongue.
From then on, we were colleagues.

The night I saw you last
I walked you home half way:
We practised conversation,
Venturing nothing.
Suddenly, you slipped from my side:
I watched you walk to your future
Through summer dark and street lights,
May and June, another year.

poem by Richard George
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Hold My Hand

Today, when she comes in,
Ill be standing at the door, and I wont say any more.
I know that shes been there.
Its not the way I look at her, its the way she looks at me.
Yes you can hold my hand any other night,
Hold my hand, its gonna be all right.
Hold my hand any other night of the week,
Its all right.
Hold my hand any other night,
Hold my hand, its gonna be all right.
Hold my hand any other night of the week,
Its all right.
Hold my hand.
Hold my hand.
Hold my hand.
When she lays on my bed,
Its not me shes thinking of, its just me that really cares.
My time, I know is out,
And shell be walking through that door,
And shell lie again tomorrow night.
Yes you can hold my hand any other night,
Hold my hand, its gonna be all right.
Hold my hand any other night of the week,
Its all right.
Hold my hand any other night,
Hold my hand, its gonna be all right.
Hold my hand any other night of the week,
Its all right.
Hold my hand.
Hold my hand.
Hold my hand.
Hold my hand.

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Street Corner

Here, where the thoroughfares meet at an angle
Of ninety degrees (this angle is right),
You may hear the loafers that jest and wrangle
Through the sun-lit day and the lamp-lit night;
Though day be dreary and night be wet,
You will find a ceaseless concourse met;
Their laughter resounds and their Fife tongues jangle,
And now and again their Fife fists fight.

Often here the voice of the crier
Heralds a sale in the City Hall,
And slowly but surely drawing nigher
Is heard the baker's bugle call.
The baker halts where the two ways meet,
And the blast, though loud, is far from sweet
That with breath of bellows and heart of fire
He blows, till the echoes leap from the wall.

And on Saturday night just after eleven,
When the taverns have closed a moment ago,
The vocal efforts of six or seven
Make the corner a place of woe.
For the time is fitful, the notes are queer,
And it sounds to him who dwelleth near
Like the wailing for cats in a feline heaven
By orphan cats who are left below.

Wherefore, O Bejant, Son of the Morning,
Fresh as a daisy dipt in the dew,
Hearken to me and receive my warning:
Though rents be heavy, and bunks be few
And most of them troubled with rat or mouse,
Never take rooms in a corner house;
Or sackcloth and ashes and sad self-scorning
Shall be for a portion unto you.

poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Ma Baker

She was the meanest cat
In old chicago town
She was the meanest cat
She really moved them down
She had no heart at all
No no no heart at all
She was the meanest cat
Oh she was really tough
She left her husband flat
He wasnt tough enough
She took her boys along
cos they were mean and strong
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she taught her four sons
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - to handle their guns
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she never could cry
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - but she knew how to die
They left a trail of crime
Across the u.s.a.
And when one boy was killed
She really made them pay
She had no heart at all
No no no heart at all
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she taught her four sons
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - to handle their guns
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she never could cry
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - but she knew how to die
She met a man she liked
She thought shed stay with him
One day he formed with them
They did away with him
She didnt care at all
Just didnt care at all
- here is a special bulletin.
Ma baker is the fbis most wanted woman.
Her photo is hanging on every post office wall.
If you have any information about this woman,
Please contact the nearest police station...
- dont anybody move! the money or your lives!
One day they robbed a bank
It was their last foray
The cops appeared too soon
They couldnt get away
And all the loot they had
It made them mighty mad
And so they shot it out
Ma baker and her sons
They didnt want to hang
They died with blazing guns
And so the story ends
Of one who left no friends
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she taught her four sons
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - to handle their guns
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she never could cry
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - but she knew how to die
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she taught her four sons
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - to handle their guns
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she never could cry
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - but she knew how to die

song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pane Caldo

Rising in the morning
like warm bread,
from a bed
in America,
the aroma
of my baking
reaches you
in Italy,
rocking in your boat
near the Ponte Longo,
cutting through the glitter
of yesterday's moonlight
on your sunstruck
canal.

My delicious baker-
it is you
who have made
this hot bread
rise.
It is you
who have split the loaf
and covered it with butter.

I prayed to the moon
streaking the still lagoon
with her skyblue manna;
I prayed for you
to sail into my life,
parting the waters,
making them whole.

And here you come,
half captain, half baker-

& the warm aroma of bread
crosses
the ocean
we share.

poem by Erica Jong
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