Men in Green
Oh, there were fifteen men in green,
Each with a tommy-gun,
Who leapt into my plane at dawn;
We rose to meet the sun.
We set our course towards the east
And climbed into the day
Till the ribbed jungle underneath
Like a giant fossil lay.
We climbed towards the distant range,
Where two white paws of cloud
Clutched at the shoulders of the pass;
The green men laughed aloud.
They did not fear the ape-like cloud
That climbed the mountain crest
And hung from ropes invisible
With lightning in its breast.
They did not fear the summer's sun
In whose hot centre lie
A hundred hissing cannon shells
For the unwatchful eye.
And when on Dobadura's field
We landed, each man raised
His thumb towards the open sky;
But to their right I gazed.
For fifteen men in jungle green
Rose from the kunai grass
And came towards the plane. My men
In silence watched them pass;
It seemed they looked upon themselves
In Times's prophetic glass.
Oh, there were some leaned on a stick
And some on stretchers lay,
But few walked on their own two feet
In the early green of day.
(They did not heed the ape-like cloud
That climbed the mountain crest;
They did not fear the summer sun
With bullets for their breast.)
Their eyes were bright, their looks were dull;
Their skin had turned to clay.
Nature had meet them in the night
And stalked them in the day.
And I think still of men in green
On the Soputa track,
With fifteen spitting tommy-guns
To keep the jungle back.
poem by David Campbell
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Related quotes
Of Caterpillars and Childhood
We were childhood playmates
Way back in the late fifties
She was sort of a retardate,
We children were not aware of this.
One day we climbed a guava tree
And Celia (that's her name)
Tried to climb the tree with me
How we enjoyed that racing game!
On a stronger branch I sat
My brother climbed the other
As Celia climbed I noticed that
Green caterpillars were all over!
I jumped off that tree so fast
And my brother followed suit
Celia tried to get off, alas!
A caterpillar stuck to her foot.
She held to a branch in fear
Her hand crushed the green thing there
With a scream she let go, oh dear!
She fell on her back with a holler!
Her grandma came rushing over
As we laughed at the silly crying
But out came our angry Mother
And we were in for a big scolding.
Looking back I have my regret
I have not been able to say 'Sorry'
My friend was one I will never forget
So for her, I write this little story.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Thru The Eyes Of A Child
When I was a child I climbed the tallest tree that I could find
To see all the beauties that GOD left behind.
I've never been to any snow capped mountain
Or ever climbed the highest peak
But he shows me words and lays them at my feet.
I see the baseball field where my friends and I would play
And I see the patch of grass where my head would lay.
I see myself laying there as the world passes by
Counting every cloud that's high up in the sky.
I feel the summer breeze as it passes through my hair
Ever so gentle- much more than I could bare.
I climbed up higher at least sixty feet above the ground
Just so I could hear all those familiar sounds.
The birds singing tunes to delight the ears
Wiping away all those childish fears.
I gazed across the park taking in all the sights
Watching younger children in the sprinklers
Jumping with delight.
I felt myself getting light headed, but not because of the height
But because of the words which I knew I could not fight.
So I climbed down from the tree, and said a little prayer
For the words he had given me
I knew that I must share.
This was my first inkling for what was in store for me
That was when I knew- I had to write poetry.
poem by Louis Rams
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The Song of the Little Hunter
Ere Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry,
Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer,
Through the Jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh--
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!
Very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade,
And the whisper spreads and widens far and near.
And the sweat is on thy brow, for he passes even now--
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!
Ere the moon has climbed the mountain, ere the rocks are ribbed with light,
When the downward-dipping trails are dank and drear,
Comes a breathing hard behind thee--snuffle-snuffle through the night--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter it is Fear,
On thy knees and draw the bow; bid the shrilling arrow go;
In the empty, mocking thicket plunge the spear!
But thy hands are loosed and weak, and the blood has left thy cheek--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!
When the heat-cloud sucks the tempest, when the slivered pine-trees fall,
When the blinding, blaring rain-squalls lash and veer,
Through the war-gongs of the thunder rings a voice more loud than all--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!
Now the spates are banked and deep; now the footless boulders leap--
Now the lightning shows each littlest leaf--rib clear--
But thy throat is shut and dried, and thy heart against thy side
Hammers: Fear, O Little Hunter--this is Fear!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Green, Green, and More Green
There is green everywhere,
even in peoples' hair.Some
on hands, some on shirts.
There is green everywhere!
Green, green, and more green.
I think I'm going crazy over green.
If you don't wear green you get pinched,
then you'll start to itch.
So many people are obsessed with green.
Green Spring, green air.Green feet, green wheat, green meat.
Green isn't very neat!
poem by Autumn Howard
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Green, green and green
I want a holiday with a scene
Of green, green and green
A summer of green trees
A landscape of green grass
A view full of green vegetables
The colour green
Is a beauty that must be seen!
From a moving vehicles screen
And while we hold onto those machines
That deprives us of the colour green
Remember they provide us vaccines
As well as help the air to be clean
So for green, green and green
I will travel continents across and in-between
And also to any place that I have never been
I will make it routine
Just to see green, green and green
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Nine Little Goblins
They all climbed up on a high board-fence--
Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes--
Nine little Goblins that had no sense,
And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;
And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat--
And I asked them what they were staring at.
And the first one said, as he scratched his head
With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear
And rasped its claws in his hair so red--
'This is what this little arm is fer!'
And he scratched and stared, and the next one said,
'How on earth do _you_ scratch your head?'
And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge--
Laughed and laughed till his face grew black;
And when he choked, with a final twinge
Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back
With a fist that grew on the end of his tail
Till the breath came back to his lips so pale.
And the third little Goblin leered round at me--
And there were no lids on his eyes at all--
And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he,
'What is the style of your socks this fall?'
And he clapped his heels--and I sighed to see
That he had hands where his feet should be.
Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim,
Bowed his head, and I saw him slip
His eyebrows off, as I looked at him,
And paste them over his upper lip;
And then he moaned in remorseful pain--
'Would--Ah, would I'd me brows again!'
And then the whole of the Goblin band
Rocked on the fence-top to and fro,
And clung, in a long row, hand in hand,
Singing the songs that they used to know--
Singing the songs that their grandsires sung
In the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue.
And ever they kept their green-glass eyes
Fixed on me with a stony stare--
Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise,
And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair,
And I felt the heart in my breast snap to
As you've heard the lid of a snuff-box do.
And they sang 'You're asleep! There is no board-fence,
And never a Goblin with green-glass eyes!--
'Tis only a vision the mind invents
After a supper of cold mince-pies,--
And you're doomed to dream this way,' they said,--
'_And you sha'n't wake up till you're clean plum dead!_'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Green Sky
One time, I asked the shooting stars
So that they swam in the green sky
So that no one can contaminated them
Like what just happened in the blue sky
That cotton cloud was taste so sweet
When they flew in the green sky
When birds still can ate them
Like when that didn't happen in the blue sky
I saw my reflection on the river flow
So beautiful when the green sky is behind me
So bright the reflection is
Like used in the blue sky
I don't know when we would meet
It may be never
But I want to try to see you
I don't want they regret what they have done
Because they never have meet you, green sky
poem by Renaisan Esaeliem
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In Lavender And Green
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With bells about your feet,
And music in your step,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With sunshine in your eyes,
And springtime in your hair,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With softness in your words,
And healing in your touch,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With your name upon my lips,
And delight within your kiss,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
In dreams at midnight’s rest,
Or afternoon’s recline?
Come then to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
At the setting of the sun,
When my days are nearly run?
Still come to me in lavender and green?
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
If I wait at heaven’s door,
As I waited once before,
While you walked to organ’s tune,
On a summer’s afternoon.
Now dressed in springtime hues?
My love, companion, muse,
A vision still I see,
Dressed in lavender and green.
poem by Greg Davidson
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Cunningham's Gap
As I came over Cunningham's Gap
a skin of time peeled off the map
The fern's green ocean overflowed
the hard black surface of the road
and lapped the wheel rims of the dray
and the sweating bullocks where they lay,
and washed the car out of today.
A cloud of cockatoos, snow on the hill
shrieked out of distance and were still.
Cedar, sassafras, bunya pine,
stinging nettle and lawyer-vine
baffled my passage and blocked my sight
as I swarmed the hummocks and climbed the height.
But long months' labour through wood and waste
dropped from my bones as I gazed at last.
round to round, to the rim of the sun,
on a world of richness not yet won;
broad fat pastures and rolling downs,
Wheat fields and Orchards, farms and towns,
ghosts of the future surged at the gate
of time and being and would not wait.
As I shouted in triumph, the Darling Downs
leapt into life with farms and towns;
Wheat field and orchards, flocks and herds,
grass to the bellies, woke at my words.
the cloud of cockatoos, snow on the hill,
shrieked out of distance and were still,
and the skin of time crept over the map
as I started my car in Cunningham's Gap.
poem by Henry Mackenzie Green
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The Rim Of Green
Green panties, green roses
green tits, green milk.
Green moon, posies in green.
green eyes, green full lips
green face, cheese, green..
Green around the rim,
green limes can but erupt...?
poem by Is It Poetry
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Monroe Louisiana
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
So green, green
Wet-luscious green and alive
So green after the rain
So bright green and clean
Just passing through
On my way to tomorrow
But so green today and yesterday
It was on that stranger's green, green farm
And I didn't stay long
And I didn't expect someone
To fire that shotgun right next to me
The barrel pointed out the front door
Into that green, green world beyond.
There were hot springs
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
Back in 1973.
poem by M.L. Squier
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Icarus - Borne On Wings Of Steel
Early in the morning sunlight
Soaring on the wings of dawn
Here I'll live and die with my wings in the sky
And I won't come down no more
Higher than a bird I'm flying
Crimson skies of ice and fire
Borne on wings of steel I have so much to feel
And I won't come down no more
Sail on, sail on, I will rise each day to meet the dawn
So high, so high
I've climbed the mountains of the sky
Without my wings you know I'd surely die
I found my freedom flyin' high
I've climbed the mountains of the sky
Floating on a cloud of amber
Searching for the rainbow's end
Earth so far below me,
I'm here alone, free
I can't come down no more
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Icarus
Early in the morning sunlight
Soaring on the wings of dawn
Here I'll live and die with my wings in the sky
And I won't come down no more
Higher than a bird I'm flying
Crimson skies of ice and fire
Borne on wings of steel I have so much to feel
And I won't come down no more
Sail on, sail on, I will rise each day to meet the dawn
So high, so high
I've climbed the mountains of the sky
Without my wings you know I'd surely die
I found my freedom flyin' high
I've climbed the mountains of the sky
Floating on a cloud of amber
Searching for the rainbow's end
Earth so far below me,
I'm here alone, free
I can't come down no more
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green Rose
I am a green rose
No one can see me
Because I wont show myself
My real self
All around me are red roses
I am a green rose
Its not impossible to find me
Just try, keep a search
Were am I
Were you can find me
Inside
Not a red rose
I’m a green rose
I’m hard to find
Impossible to think of
Amazing in the inside
Good color
Forget those red roses
I’m a green rose
Different
Different is always better
People like different
Seeing a green rose
Shocks the world
I not like a red rose
Never
Red roses are always the same
Like a clique
There is only one green rose
that’s me
I’m a green rose
Beautiful, Different, Pure Beauty
poem by November Nelson
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The Jungle Bhoys
On the terracing at Parkhead we gather
Watching the Bhoys in green play,
we’ll sing you a song of the Celtic
And of the players who played down Parkhead’s way.
Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
We’re the sound of the Paradise voice
Our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys
We’ve grown in our years with the Celtic
Raised on the history and pride
Wishing we could play for the Celtic
And wear the jersey of the old green & white
Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
We’re the sound of the Paradise voice
Our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys
As we travel to the east end of Glasgow
Wearing our colours of green, white & gold,
We’ll celebrate and sing of the Celtic
Who live forever in our green and white soul.
Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
we’re the sound of the Paradise voice
our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys.
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
we’re the sound of the Paradise voice
our culture; we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys.
Nov’2005
poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Meet Me in the Green Glen
Love, meet me in the green glen,
Beside the tall elm-tree,
Where the sweetbriar smells so sweet agen;
There come with me.
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me at the sunset
Down in the green glen,
Where we've often met
By hawthorn-tree and foxes' den,
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me in the green glen,
By sweetbriar bushes there;
Meet me by your own sen,
Where the wild thyme blossoms fair.
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me by the sweetbriar,
By the mole-hill swelling there;
When the west glows like a fire
God's crimson bed is there.
Meet me in the green glen.
poem by John Clare
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Four Schoolboys And A Dog
The countryside around wore Summer colours
The haycocks in mown meadows standing white
And the pasture fields surrounded by green hedgerows
Resplendent in the afternoon sunlight.
Four School going boys climbed the slopes of Clara mountain
Donal Hickey, Jerry and John Mahony and I
And Donal had his terrier 'Bonzo' with him
On that sunday long ago in mid July.
Four Primary Schoolgoing boys on Clara mountain
The countryside was beautiful to view
We picked and eat the whortleberries from the heather
The whortleberries small and ripe and blue.
The whortleberries ripe fruits of the heather
In July when ripe so beautiful to eat
You find them on the Cork and Kery mountains
Towards east Kerry from Macroom and Millstreet.
Old Bonzo trailed a fox up through the bracken
The ageing dog had known a better day
He puffed uphill the fox had long since bolted
Perhaps by then a half a mile away.
Twenty minutes later Bonzo came back exhausted
He panted heavy he was out of puff
He lay by his master Donal on the bracken
And stretched himself as if to say enough.
That day we climbed to wooden cross on top of Clara
That overlooked the streets of Millstreet Town
The uphill crawl on energy demanding
Though it was quite an easy journey down.
Our shirt sleeves soiled from the juices of whortleberries
Of Nature's fruits that day we'd ate our fill
And that night I climbed into my bed exhausted
From day of climbing on the bracken hill.
Jerry Mahony and Donal Hickey still in Millstreet
And John Mahony lives in England I've been told
And the boys back then long years beyond their prime day
And by the younger generation seen as old.
And poor old Bonzo he died on the roadway
I heard he was run over by a car
And I am living far away from Millstreet
From the fields by Clara mountain I live far.
Four Schoolboys and a dog on Clara mountain
And the singing lark towards heaven's gate did fly
And the ripened whortleberries tasted juicy
On that sunday long ago in mid July.
The countrysiode around in summer colours
And the haycocks in mown meadows standing white
And the pasture fields surrounded by green hedgerows
Resplendent in the afternoon sunlight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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From A Train
Green and green; and evergreen
in my all, and scurrying
in flickered films
of glimpses, painted green...
and a car in the lane silently shimmers,
as I hear the morning swaying past trees that,
green over green,
silently guard the wet summer sadness,
where cattle stare at the hopping rooks
and do not know
of the things that have been...
or care.
Cloudly and bright:
passing the green.
Where, in my remembrance of once long ago,
I felt the mist
rising unseen from the grass
that was green between green
when we kissed.
So I hum a small phrase
that carries my thoughts
ever and onwards,
listlessly flowing
like the world that is passing
the window beside me
all behind all, so totally green
and all in my knowing
and all in my all
and all in my green.
poem by Peter Jones
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Tonight I Climbed The Wall
(alan jackson)
Our room was filled with silence
I guess wed said it all
I dont when Id seen our bedroom
So long I cant recall
Wed built this thing between us
Im not sure whats the cause
So I sallowed all my pride
And tonight I climbed the wall
Tonight I climbed the wall
And took her by the hand
Wed come too far to fall
Couldnt stand to see it end
So tonight I climbed the wall
Makin love is so much sweeter
When you love the one you hold
After all these years of holdin her
Youd think by now Id know
Now as we lie here together
All our troubles seem so small
Just these satin sheets between us
Cause tonight I climbed the wall
Tonight I climbed the wall
And took her by the hand
Wed come too far to fall
Couldnt stand to see it end
So tonight I climbed the wall
Tonight I climbed the wall
Tonight I climbed the wall
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Green Fields Of Kilmeedy
Those green fields of Kilmeedy I do remember still
They meet the gorse and bracken at the foot of Clara hill
A place of peace and beauty with mountains all around
Scarce touched by man's pollution where Nature's joys abound.
Even in summer in Kilmeedy the dawn comes with a chill
But skylark he is piping above the bracken hill
Through Spring and through the Summer he sings all through the day
And I fancy I can hear him o'er mountains far away.
The robin he is piping on flowering hawthorn tree
Across the miles of distance his music comes to me
And dunnock on the hedgerow and dipper in the stream
And song thrush piping gaily on ash by old bohreen.
All through the Spring and Summer the wildering flowers are seen
But green fields of Kilmeedy not always quite so green
In November and December the winds of Winter blow
And January and February bring frost and sleet and snow.
In mid March in Kilmeedy the first wildflowers appear
And weather still quite chilly though days of bloom are near
But April brings her blossoms and leaves behind her green
And May comes o'er the mountain the summer beauty queen.
Those green fields of kilmeedy I see them every day
And I hear the skylark piping o'er hillsides far away
And dunnock on the hedgerow and the dipper in the stream
And those green fields of Kilmeedy have never looked so green.
poem by Francis Duggan
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