The Hogarth Experiment Part 2
The fire raged out of control
and into the night.
Its glow coloured the sky.
Chemicals exploded
as they warmed to boiling point.
Hogarth’s assistant Adam Wright
pulled Hogarth from the flames
and across the lawn.
The clanging of bells
from the Fire Brigade and Ambulance
were soon to be heard.
Hogarth was rushed to hospital
where he would stay for just over a month.
His makeshift laboratory laid
a charred skeleton on his return.
All his work was gone,
destroyed in the fire.
He was a broken man.
He became a recluse in his home.
His hair turned white overnight.
He just sat everyday in his chair
and looked out the window
from dawn to dusk.
No one could reach him;
it was as if his will to live was gone.
Three years later and Hogarth hadn’t changed.
He would get up every morning
and in his chair would sit.
The war in Europe was over
and celebrations now had begun.
The mighty Germany had fallen;
its leader Hitler was now dead.
Soon the troops would be coming home.
The VE day celebrations were getting well into swing.
While on a farm not far from the valley
something strange was happening.
Ernest Rotherham went out to bring in his cattle
from grazing for milking time.
The sight that greeted his eyes made him cry.
There spread across the field
his cattle lay dead everywhere.
He ran back to his farm
and telephoned for the Vet.
The Vet was on call at the moment,
but on his return, they would send him out.
About twenty miles away
Joe Harper the local Vet
was driving down a county lane.
Bushes grew tall on either side
and from behind them;
he could hear a loud hum.
He stopped the car,
but left the engine running.
He opened the door,
got out and peered through the bushes.
A sharp pain like a knife pierced his back.
To be continued…
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Hogarth Experiment Part 1
The year was 1942 and the war in Europe
raged on relentlessly.
Each day men were killed
in battlefields far away.
In a sleepy little hamlet
tucked deep in the Wye Valley,
in a converted shed behind his home
Professor Robert Hogarth worked
in his makeshift laboratory.
His hope was to develop a stimulant
to make plants grow larger and quicker,
thus helping with the food shortage.
Outside the storm clouds gathered
extinguishing the light of the sun.
In the distance, there were rumbles
as the thunder began to roar.
Hogarth worked feverishly
on his latest experiment
as it was almost done.
A pain shot through him,
he gasped and gave out a short cry.
As he fell, he knocked his experiment
across the wooden floor.
The container holding his latest experiment
shattered and its contents leaked
through the floor spilling over everything beneath.
The flame from his Bunsen burner
began a fire that raced out of control.
Flames licked around the building
charring everything in sight.
To be continued…
poem by David Harris
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Casebook Of Oliver Cyriax - Case 1# The Burning Bush (Part 1)
I knocked on his front door
half expecting a weary face
when it opened to greet me.
Instead, Oliver smiled
with a small twinkle in his eyes.
He guided me through to his study,
cluttered in the corners with artefacts
kept as souvenirs from previous cases.
He gestured me to have a seat,
then lifted his briar pipe off the mantle piece,
lit it and then made himself comfortable
in the armchair by the fire.
He looked at me through a cloud of smoke
that billowed from his pipe.
Now Mr Rogers I guess you have read in the newspapers
about the Burning Bush at Little Pebblebury.
Some think it is a religious phenomenon,
while others say it is a warning
and that we should all take heed.
Upon reading the story,
I decided to investigate the Burning Bush myself.
I telephone The Saintly Sovereign Inn at Little Pebblebury
enquiring about a room for the week.
They told me they had one left
because of the interest in their Burning Bush.
I said I would take it
and would travel down that very day.
I arrived at the village
just as the sun was beginning to set.
After settling in my room,
I came down the bar for a meal.
I got to talking to one of the locals
and was quite surprised to learn
that there had been several other ghost fires,
in and around the village the last couple of years.
The first was about two years ago
on a farm about two miles from the village.
It started about dusk as the farmer
was bringing his cattle in from the fields for the night.
As he got closer, he noticed a light
in the barn where he stored his winter hay.
At first, he though his wife
might have left a lamp lit in there,
but as he got closer, he could see the flames.
Leaving the animals in the field,
he ran into the farmhouse
and yelled to his wife to telephone the fire brigade.
He shouted that there was a fire in the barn.
The farmer grabbed a wooden pail
and rushed back out the door.
He dipped it in the animal drinking trough,
scooping out as much water he could get,
then rushed into the barn
and threw the water on the flames.
Back and forward, he ran
with as much water as he could carry.
The more water he threw on it,
the less the fire seemed to go out.
The fire brigade arrived and aimed their hoses
on the flames to douse them out.
Still the fire raged on.
Nothing it seemed could douse the flames.
Deep into the night they battled it,
then just before the dawn a
nd as suddenly as it appeared the fire disappeared.
Everyone by this time was exhausted;
still an investigation had to be made
to ensure there were no smouldering ambers that would start to blaze.
As they entered,
they found that none of the barn interior,
nor any of the hay was burnt or scorched in anyway.
It was as if there was never a fire there at all,
yet dozens of people had seen it and fought it.
Oliver stopped for a moment to rekindle his pipe.
To be continued…
poem by David Harris
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The Hogarth Experiment Part 6
It is strongly recommended you read Parts 1- 5 before reading this.
Professor Hogarth watched in horror,
at the returning insects
and what they were carrying.
He questioned himself
about what he had done.
His experiment had gone
well beyond what he dreamt.
It had created a horror unimaginable.
Somehow, they had to be stopped
before it went too far,
if it had not happened all ready.
He had to inform the authorities
and tell them everything.
The monstrous creations
had to be destroyed
or the world would be in peril.
Hogarth picked up the telephone,
telephoned the police station,
and explained to the Inspector in charge
everything that had happened.
He said he needed to talk
to someone from the Government,
as these monsters had to be destroyed.
The Inspector said that he would
report everything to the Army
as they were in charge of the situation.
They would be around to see him that night.
Hogarth replaced the telephone
and sat down to wait for the night to call.
Raymond Constantine sat beside the driver
and watched in horror at what was going on.
If the soldiers had not fired upon the swarm
they would have merely passed overhead.
Having killed one the release
of pheromone from its body
acted as an alarm
causing the rest to become more aggressive
and stinging anything near.
All they could do
was to wait and sit it out.
To venture outside of the vehicle
would be certain death.
Hogarth waited and waited.
Slowly the sun began to set.
He could see their silhouetted form
in the moon light returning to the nest.
The forms that they were carrying
made him shudder with despair.
He watched the time
as the hours ticked by.
He felt like telephoning back to the station
and asking where his visitors were.
A knock on the front door
answered his question.
He answered it and let
Captain Alex Walker and Raymond Constantine in.
They explained why they were late.
That they had been attacked and had to wait.
Hogarth explained to them, his experiment
and how he had suffered a heart attack three years previous.
Then how this year things had been growing larger
than normal including the wasps.
He could only guess that there was a nest
under his shed when it was destroyed
and that the experimental serum had leaked into it.
That it had taken three generations of wasps
before it altered their genetic structure
to make them grow as large as they have.
He could only speculate
that they could even grow larger
in future generation.
Constantine nodded
as Hogarth spoke.
His theory sounded wild and imaginative.
He would have taken it as a flight of fancy
had he not seen it for himself.
They had to be destroyed
and quickly before the new queens
had a chance of escaping
and starting new nests.
As they knew where the nest was located,
preparations had to be made
to eradicate completely.
Hogarth and everyone who lived within the house
would have to be evacuated
while this was done.
Evacuation would have to take place tonight.
At HQ Constantine explained
the situation to the chief of staffs
that had gathered.
The RAF would be able to shoot them
out of the skies
as they emerged from the nest in the morning.
On the ground, the Army
would gather flamethrowers
to ensure that the nest was burnt.
It would take a couple of days to prepare.
Over the next couple of days,
the Army gathered a unit of armoured flamethrowers
into the valley
and positioned them around
the opening of the nest.
As the nest would be made of paper,
it should burn quickly.
The only worry they would have
is those within the nest
would come out and swarm.
When this happened,
the flamethrowers would concentrate
on the swarm.
The RAF fighters would shoot
as many as they could down.
The operation would commence
the following morning.
To be concluded…
5 November 2007
poem by David Harris
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The Hogarth Experiment Part 3
Police Constable Broadworth
was sent from the station
to go to see if he could locate Joe Harper
after a frantic phone call from his surgery.
It would seem as if he had missed
several of his appointments,
which was not like Joe at all.
He cycled down the same lane
where Joe Harper’s car was parked.
He could hear his car still running.
The scene that greeted him
was not he had expected.
The car was in the lane,
but Joe Harper was no where about.
Broadworth shouted out his name,
but got no reply.
Broadworth dismounted from his bike.
He felt it strange that Jo Harper
would have left his car running.
Broadworth searched the area
after turning off the engine of the car.
Joe Harper was nowhere to be found.
It was as if he had vanished into thin air.
He put his bike in the back of the car,
then drove it to the nearest farm
and telephoned the station
to inform them what he had found.
Even though the war was over
the battery near the town
was still occupied by three men.
It was about a half a mile from the hamlet.
The three privates there
were brewing themselves a cup of tea.
A humming sound unlike anything
they had ever heard grew louder.
They stood up and grabbed their rifles.
They gazed around,
but nothing could they see.
Suddenly shadows passed over them.
Each felt a chill run down their spine.
They loaded theirs rifles and fired
as the shadows came overhead again.
They reloaded and fired a second volley.
The humming sound got louder
as if it was amplified a thousand times.
After they fired each volley
one of the soldiers fell.
There seemed no defence
from these shadows from the sky.
To be continued…
poem by David Harris
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The Hogarth Experiment Part 4
Professor Robert Hogarth sat
and looked out the window,
what he saw each day amazed him.
Where the remnants of his burnt out laboratory,
he watch each day the quickness of the new growth there.
Tiny shrubs were the next day mature plants.
He noted in his journal,
which kept hidden, everything he saw.
Each day the remains of his laboratory
slowly disappeared from sight under a sea of green foliage.
It was not only the plants
that were growing out of proportion.
Other things much more scary had begun to appear.
These made him order that none of his staff
go out during the day under any circumstance.
It was almost dusk when the empty battery was found.
The police notified the Army,
but couldn’t give them no explanation
as to why the soldiers had disappeared,
other than all three men were gone
leaving behind their belongs and their guns.
The Army’s reply was that they would send
their own investigation team down in the morning.
The reports of animal deaths and human disappearances
were mounting and the police were mystified.
They went to the unusual step
of arming their officers on the beat.
Each had to sign for a weapon
and ten round of ammunition
before leaving the station.
Not knowing the threat that had come to the valley,
they were not taking chances.
It was felt that just a truncheon was not enough protection
from what ever was doing the killings adductions.
The night was quiet and no new incidents were reported.
However as the dawn broke
a humming sound broke the stillness of the morning.
John Fairchild and his son Peter
came out of the barn
as several shadows passed over them.
John told his son to get back indoors
as he ran into the barn and grabbed a pitchfork.
Peter ran as fast as he could
to the farmhouse without looking back.
Getting inside he closed the door
and raced to the window to look outside.
He saw his father fighting a giant insect with the pitchfork.
Peter went to the living room
and grabbed his father’s shotgun from the wall,
then went to the drawer where the shotgun shells were kept.
He shoved as many as he could
in his pockets and loaded two into the gun.
He opened the door
to see one of the insects
had knocked his father to the ground
and had its stinger poised.
To be continued…
poem by David Harris
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The Barn at Willoughby's Farm
I have this recurring nightmare where
I'm wandering round a farm,
It's out in the middle of nowhere, just
A milking shed and a barn,
An ancient tractor sits by the house
But the blinds are pulled and drawn,
And it seems that the farmer left this place
Before Jacinth was born.
But ever I see her stand and wave
As she climbed aboard the bus,
Off for a life of adventure, not
Stuck here, like one of us,
She'd always wanted the country life
Away from the city's swell,
The day that she waved goodbye to us
Was my first real glimpse of hell!
‘Once I've settled, I'll write, ' she said,
‘Or else, there's always the phone;
I'll try to ring on a Friday night
When I'll catch you all at home! '
But she didn't ring, and she didn't write
And a month went by so soon,
She'd left in the middle of March, at night,
And then it was almost June!
I called on out to the agency
The office was next to the zoo,
She said they'd found her a pretty farm
That wanted a Jillaroo,
She'd cook and clean for the family,
And then work out on the farm,
Herding the lowing milkers in
To the milking shed by the barn.
The woman flicked through the client file
In a search for Jacinth's name,
She said, ‘That's strange, I've re-arranged
This file, but just the same,
I have no recollection of this
Girl, whatever she's called,
It could be another agency…'
But I thought the woman stalled!
I went to call at the depot where
The buses were parked at night,
I looked up the owner driver that
I'd seen when Jacinth took flight,
‘I don't remember the girl, ' he said,
‘But March was a fair way back,
She probably went to Willoughby's Farm
On the Strzelecki track.'
My heart sank into my boots at that,
I'd heard of that barren track,
There wasn't a working farm out there
Just bush and the bleak outback,
I packed up the old Toyota Ute
With a jerry can or two,
And headed on up to the Flinders
As I thought she'd want me to.
They hadn't seen her in Lyndhurst
What was left of the old ghost town,
I drove on up to Farina where
The buildings were falling down,
Then by the track on a tyre that sat
At the edge, on a pile of sand,
‘Five miles to Willoughby's Farm', the scrawl
Was writ in a shaky hand.
The farm was ruined and derelict,
The milking shed and the barn,
The tractor sat in a pile of rust
By the house of the ancient farm,
The roof had gone, had fallen in
But the barn was still intact,
And covered in dust by the old barn door
Was Jacinth's haversack.
I pushed the door and it opened up
With a creak of ages past,
I thought of the sweat on the farmer's brow
As he turned away, at the last,
But there in dry, brown dust of the floor
Was a slight but recent mound,
And a shovel leant by the cattle pen
As I fell on my knees, to the ground!
I have this recurring nightmare where
I'm wandering round a farm,
It's out in the middle of nowhere, just
A milking shed and a barn,
And the tears stream in this dreadful dream
To remember the pain and hurt;
With one last look at the haversack,
The shovel bit into the dirt!
15 August,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Walk Through Fire
(howe/thomas)
I used to see those red tail lights, heading for another town
And wish that I was on my way
Looking back on these summer nights, wasting time, fooling round
And there was nothing here to make me stay
But that night I met you, the night you came through made me realise
Theres no way I can leave, you made me believe
And now when I look in your eyes
Chorus:
I could walk through fire, I can feel it burning
And I could walk through fire, (to get) right back to you
And as the flames get higher, you know Ill get stronger
Baby I could walk through fire
Its crazy how these things work out, I used to think I had no chance
And I somehow thought youd slip away
You pulled me through the fear and doubt, gave me all Im looking for
Everything I needed to stay
How could something so good, something so simple, get serious
How could someone so right come into my life, and now I just want you to
Know
Chorus:
I could walk through fire, I can feel it burning
And I could walk through fire, (to get) right back to you
And as the flames get higher, you know Ill get stronger
Baby I could walk through fire
And I would go anywhere, I would do anything, I do what you want me to
You know that I would, I want you to know this, whenever you need me
Ooh wherever you are, no matter how far, you know Ill be coming for you
Chorus:
I could walk through fire, I can feel it burning
And I could walk through fire, (to get) right back to you
And as the flames get higher, you know Ill get stronger
Baby I could walk through fire
Baby I could walk through fire, right back to you
And I could walk through fire, and I could walk through fire
And I could walk through fire, right back to you, yeah
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Casebook Of Oliver Cyriax - Case 1# The Burning Bush (Part 3)
As the news, spread about the burning bush
visitors began to flock to Little Pebblebury.
They were amazed at the sight that greeted them.
Rumours soon began to spread
that someone had heard a voice
coming from the bush.
This prompted speculation
that Christ was warning of his return.
The locals were by now
used to the sight and paid little
or no attention to it,
except to direct visitors to it.
After my lengthy discussions
with several of the locals,
I returned to my room
and began to plan what I was going to do the next day.
I decided the best course of action
was to start where the phenomena first began.
The next morning after having a good English breakfast,
I started out with my camera to the farm
where the first of the ghost fire was first noticed.
The farmer was a very obliging fellow.
He took time away from his duties
to show me the barn in which the ghost fire was
and explained in detail everything that went on that night.
I took a number of photographs
and thanked him for his time.
My next stop was to see the local Constable.
I explained to him what I was doing
and he was happy to help me
in every way he could.
He said the mystery of the fires
had baffled him
and any assistance in solving their cause
was more than welcome.
He took me out to the field
where the fire he was involved in
and showed me where the tramp had fallen asleep.
I examined the area quite thoroughly
and found a small black box
wedged in the bark of one of the trees.
I slipped it in my pocket to examine it later.
I thanked the Constable for his time
and told him I would let him know if I found out anything.
Getting back to the Inn,
the night clouds were beginning
to start closing in.
I had something to eat at the bar
before retiring to my room.
I no sooner got into it
when there was a knock on the door.
Moving to the door, I answered it.
I opened it and was astounded
at the person who was standing there
It was and old friend Martin West and fellow colleague
from the United States.
We had met about twenty years previous
while I was investigating a mystery
over in his country.
It was through that investigation
that he took up researching the world of phenomena.
He has even written
and published several books on the subject.
He explained that he had heard
about the Burning Bush and had come to investigate
it was just after it had started.
He had taken samples of the soil and the bush.
The tests all came back normal.
There were no abnormalities in the bush or earth
to suggest anything neither.
He told me he was completely stumped too.
We talked until eleven
catching up on what we had both been doing.
Finally, he left and I lifted out the small metal box
I had found earlier.
I examined it thoroughly
and opened it to find a small battery inside.
As luck would have it,
the battery was the same size as the one in my torch.
I inserted my battery in it
and what happened next made me shudder.
To be concluded…
25 November 2007
poem by David Harris
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Ain't Gonna Work On Your Farm No More
I ain’t gonna work on your farm no more
I ain’t gonna scrub all your floors,
I ain’t gonna take all your friends who ignore
what I do when they hide behind doors
where they pay no attention to stuff that I think,
and say, when they pay me a dime,
that I ain’t entitled to spend it on drink,
or ladies who show me good time.
I ain’t gonna work for your children or friends
who preach of the law and the Lord,
and hear all those messages God never sends
to people with who He is bored,
like I am. I ain’t gonna work on your farm,
instead I will write me a song,
and pray that its words will all sound the alarm,
for I expect to be back before long.
Mark Z. Barabak (“He’s Digging ‘Farm, ’” LA Times, June 26,2008) writes that Barack Obama’s favorite Bob Dylan song is “Maggie’s Farm, ” performed in 1995 at the Newport Festival, when he turned electric and never looked back:
I AIN’T GONNA WORK ON MAGGIE’S FARM NO MORE
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I wake up every morning
hold my hands and pray for rain
I've got a head full of ideas
driving me insane
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
He hands you a nickel
he hands you a dime
He asks you and your friends
if you're having a good time
He blames you every time you slam the door
Well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
He stubs his cigarette out in your face just for kicks
his bedroom window is made out of bricks
And the National Guard are standing at his door
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
She talks to all the servants about man and God and law
and everybody swears she's the brains behind Pa
She's sixty-eight, but claim's she's twenty-four
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I try so hard to be just who I am
but everybody wants you to be just like them
They say 'see, while you're playing I get bored'? ?
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
6/26/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coming Home
It's a long and lonely highway.
When you're traveling all alone.
I was on my way to nowhere.
But now i'm coming home.
I'm coming home.
I've been running through the fire.
I've been running for so long.
If i took it any higher.
Baby i would be still be gone.
But now i'm coming home, coming home.i'm coming home.
Coming home, coming home, i'm coming home.
Well my home was really never.
On a far and distant shore.
If i stayed away forever.
I could never miss you more.
And so i'm coming home,coming home.i'm coming home.
Coming home,coming home,i'm coming home.
I think of all these years gone by.
Never even wondered why.
I never touched the ground.
All the time that's come and gone.
All the nights i've been alone.
And now i'm homeward bound.
I heard the thunder over canaan.
And i've heard the angels cry.
And their voices came revealing
"as you live,so will you die."
I'm coming home,coming home,i'm coming home.
I'm coming home,coming home,i'm coming home.
Coming home, coming home, i'm coming home
I'm coming home
I'm coming home, coming home, coming home...
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Casebook Of Oliver Cyriax - Case 1# The Burning Bush (Part 2)
The smoke from his pipe
rose up like a small cloud.
For a long time afterwards, t
he fire in the barn
was referred to as a ghost fire.
The next ghost fire happened
almost six months later to the day
in the midst of the summer sun.
A passing tramp had rested
for a while in a field
and fell asleep against a tree
as the grass around him suddenly came alive
with flames that burnt close to his feet.
The local Constable was riding passed
saw the flames and dismounted from his bike.
Racing into the field,
he tried to beat out the flames with his jacket.
Still the flames danced around the tramp,
whom was asleep and unaware.
The Constable yelled at him,
but the tramp did not arouse from his slumber.
The Constable looked around
and off to his left noticed a stream.
He ran across to it and filled his helmet with water.
Running back he threw the water over the tramp.
The tramp woke up startled and looked around.
He stood up and asked the Constable,
just what he thought he was doing
throwing water over him.
Watch out for the fire
the Constable shouted back.
The tramp scratched his head
and asked what he was talking about.
The fire, the fire, the Constable replied.
What fire? The tramp asked.
It was only then that the Constable realised
that the fire was no longer there.
He was mystified how it disappeared.
It was about six months after that,
another ghost fire occurred
in the very Inn where I was staying.
The bar was crowded
when suddenly against one of the walls
a fire started and seemed to burn ferociously.
The first thing the customers did
was to start throwing their drinks against the wall
in hope to dampen the flames.
They met with little success
and the fire brigade was called.
The bar was evacuated
and the firemen came in with their hoses,
which like the drinks had no success on the flames.
As with all the other incidents
the fire raged for several hours
before dying away of its own accord.
The investigation that followed
found nothing had been burnt or scorched.
There seemed no earthly reason
for the mysterious fires that engulfed things,
but never harmed any of them.
Then last month the burning bush began.
When it was discovered,
an attempt was made to extinguish it,
but failed like the ones before.
Presently each night ever since
the bush ignites itself and burns for several hours
before disappearing again.
Oliver paused for a few moments,
stroked his chin
and puffed a couple of times on his pipe.
To be continued…
poem by David Harris
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Let the scoundrels return
Like a lightning bolt
coming out of a blue sky
there are bombs falling
in a field where maze
stand green and ripe in neat rows
and craters are left and the field is on fire.
A few more bombs fall exploding
between cattle grazing in the field
and some are blasted to pieces
and the cows in terror forget about their milk.
The farmer is woken from his afternoon nap
and grabs his hunting rifle.
“We hit the wrong target”
the flight leader confirms
and the farmer waits with a gun in hand
on the planes to return and says:
“let the scoundress return.”
poem by Gert Strydom
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Prayer For Elizabeth
In the morning
of my memory
you bake
apple pies.
And grow very tired
and sit very still
and sit very silent
as the camera
undresses reality
leaves you
alone
sculpted sunlight
naked as a
lonely as a
photograph.
In the evening
of my memory
the touch of
your hand asks:
'Donall? '
The cradle of my arm
answers:
'Yes, Elizabeth? '
And although nothing is
said:
the fire's glow
nods & knows
the quiet secrets
we share
between us.
In the night
time of my memory
now when darkness
sees you
(again a little girl)
hear you tell
how you thought
every woman
dressed in black
on the white ribbons
of distant roads
was your Mammy
walking towards you
though she had gone
and never come back
(the grownups mentioned Heaven)
from the Spring sunlight
and the white white clothes
drying on the currant bushes
(her heart stopped its beating
your heart skipped a beat)
and the rope fell from
your hand
and the game was left
unplayed
and everyone forgot about
the white white clothes
and...they rotted on
the currant bushes.
Now in the night
time of my memory
when I long to touch
your hand
(and my heart
misses you)
and the fire smiles
upon my face
and the shadows
fall upon
the empty chair
then thought
becomes you
and you
become a memory
and your memory
becomes my prayer.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nineteen-Sixty-Five
What a year,
seems lke yesterday,
March 29,1965
is a day not
to forget.
My Wife Diana
and I had went
out to eat that night
awaken to a fire.
it was across
the alley from us
flames 100 feet high
fire trucks, oh so many.
We went back to
bed, but not for
long I'm afraid.
She went into labor
oh so much yelling
she did that night.
Diana's parents
lived downstairs,
they rushed us
to the hospital,
as we drove up
i looked up and
said this is
wrong hospital.
So he drove few
more blocks
we made it in time.
Placed her in wheel chair,
and into E.R.
I waited and paced
the floor, so many
smokes i had.
sometime later
in early AM doctor came and
told me it was
a girl.
Her dad said we
should call her
Christine, since
we could thank
Christ for getting
there safe.
So her name became
Christine Lynn Foulk
and I was so proud
to be a father
for first time.
Today March 29,2007,
Christine you are 42,
but will always
remember that
special day
so many years ago,
Happy birthday daughter.
I am a farmer
I am a farmer
who are up before first light
and I drink my coffee
between the cows in the stable
where milking machines
are doing their thing sucking
and I pour cream into the black.
A few eggs from my own chickens
and sheep chops from the animals
that grazes right over the farm
is great for breakfast.
Later I walk down to the fields
or ride on Umfaan
my Arabic stallion
to see
if the keepers
are tending the cattle
and where they are grazing.
Sometimes I can stay for hours
in the grassland
and look at the bushes
about me
and the serenity
of it all climbs very deep
down into my heart.
I am as strong as the earth
that I love
and help to hack holes
right through iron stones
with a pickaxe
where the new fence
pole after pole
is beginning to stand.
I am pitched into this Africa
just like this
and have nowhere else
to go to
and my hands are hard as rock
from years of work
and years of resistance
against the sun and weather
and I love my farm
and my country.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boiling Point
Boiling Point
What no shame
Broken Dreams
What no shame
I have come for you
Since I was to die
Boil to unknown sights
Make believe broken dreams
Broken dreams
Boiling point
Point of no return
Fears and dreams disguise
Lifes noose
Can I
Face the chair (electric chair I assume)
Face the chair
Face the chair
Boiling point
Falling to darkness
Where the sky turns red
Turns into stark features
Letting you wish you would live
You wish you would live
What no shame
Boiling point
Broken dreams
What no shame
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Many Angels
Theres an angel on a ribbon
Hanging from the armoire door
Theres a cupid with his feet crossed
On the bird cage by the door
Theres a baby angel drummer
His eyes are open wide
And two more tiny cherubs
On the mantle side by side
Too many angels
Have seen me crying
Too many angels
Have heard you lying
There are photographs of children
All in their silver frames
On the window sills and tabletops
Lit by candle flames
And upon their angel faces
Lifes expectations climb
Where the moment has preserved them
From the ravages of time
Too many angels
Have seen me crying
Too many angels
Have heard you lying
Bring the morning on
Voices sing of day
I want to step out in the morning sun
Through the flood of tears
I want this darkness gone
Your sweet face appears
These apparitions coming one by one
But theres no end in sight
Only the dead of night
And too many angels
Too many angels
Have seen me crying
Too many angels
Have heard you lying
Too many angels
Bring the morning on
Voices sing of day
I want to step out in the morning sun
Through the flood of tears
I want to greet the dawn
Cast away these fears
Forget about the things we could have done
Bring the morning on
Voices sing of day
I want to watch the children as they run
Through the broken years
I want this darkness gone
Your sweet face appears
These apparitions coming one by one
But theres no end in sight
Only the dead of night
And too many angels
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What The Captain Said
They made the fire so they want it to spread
the fire, the fire, the fire
They fan the flame to the forest bed
and the flames grew
higher, and higher, and higher
Remember what the captain said by the oceanside
where we took our ride
'We want no more soldiers dead, so come see us by the fire; '
Prometheus desire, the fire
by the fire, as the flames grow higher
We lay upon our riverbed, upon the Styx
the mosh pit Styx upon the pyre
Eyes wide, quartered dry, heads to the sky
and they watch the flames grow higher, and higher,
the fire
poem by Jay Bradley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fire Man
It was shortly after the Second War,
The rubble lay in heaps,
The bombs no longer dropped,
But where they had was bombed for keeps!
The lads ran wild in the undergrowth
That had been a stately home,
And gangs laid claim to the sacred turf
That they liked to call their own.
The gang of Harriman Somers claimed
An isolated patch,
Complete with an air raid shelter with
A concrete roof to match,
From up there, high on the roof they spied
The whole of the country wide,
To warn of approaching rival gangs
They posted guards outside.
When Raymond Kirk came wandering
On home through the bridle track,
The 'Razors' saw their chance to vent
Their anger on a 'Drak',
They seized him there, and bound him up,
And threw him on the pile
Of dry, and flammable tinder wood
They'd saved up for a while.
But there beside the shelter wall,
An unexploded bomb,
Was lying on its side, they'd claimed it,
Lying on its own.
When Harriman lit the tinder wood
And Raymond screamed in turn,
The 'Razors' laughed and taunted him,
They said: 'You're gonna burn! '
The fire spread to the shelter and
That one incendiary
Exploded, showering phosphorus
Across from fire to tree,
The 'Razors' fled in their burning clothes,
They left young Kirk to his cries,
He spent a year in the hospital
With flames behind his eyes.
At home he sat in a wheelchair with
A hundred grafts of skin,
His hands were runny like plasticene
His legs were scarred and thin,
For five long years he waited there,
He learned to walk, and then
He took to strolling on through the woods
To ease his mind of pain.
The summer of '51 was hot,
The country was in drought,
Flames were seen in the woods whenever
Kirk came wandering out,
The 'Razor' gang were now young men,
With girlfriends, some with wives,
They'd all forgotten the burning, but
That fire would rule their lives.
A car went up in a blaze one night,
A 'Razor' member's pride,
And only once they had put it out
Did they find the corpse inside.
It was Dicky Johns, (who had found the bomb) ,
They had to go by his teeth,
His fellow 'Razors' crossed themselves,
It was - 'Rather him than me! '
Then Andy Craig, his terraced house
Went up before the dawn,
The flames were seen three streets away,
They found him on the lawn.
He'd fallen out of the window, all
Ablaze, like a glowing torch,
His wife's remains, when they smashed the door
Fell out on the tiled porch.
And through the crowd, at every fire
One face was seen to glide,
For Raymond Kirk turned up to grin
At the bodies, burned inside,
And then, while he was walking home
He'd touch a hedge or brush,
And a flame would spurt from his fingertips
To ignite a burning bush.
At Harriman Somers' wedding, Kirk
Watched moodily, the bride,
He waited until they were good and drunk
Then forced his way inside,
She looked so fine in her wedding dress,
All virgin white, and lace,
He'd wait 'til Harriman turned his back
And then he'd seek her face!
He asked her to dance, so radiant,
She smiled at his crippled hands,
She wanted to be so kind to him,
Was this one of Harriman's friends?
When Somers saw who had twirled her round
To the music, he went pale!
He held his breath, but the dance of death
Would end his fairytale.
Kirk had stopped, he held the dancer's
Hands above her head,
He stood quite still, but held her 'til
Her soul was filled with dread,
But then he called out loud and clear,
'Remember? It's my turn!
You told me once, now I'm telling you,
Your bride is gonna burn! '
The bride then suddenly opened up
Her mouth, and gave a roar,
As flames burst out from her throat
And burned her dress, and singed her hair.
Then Kirk stood back as she swiftly turned
To a torch of instant flame,
While Somers screamed to his burning love,
And called out Raymond's name!
'Fire Man! The Fire Man! It's him,
Just bring him down! '
The crowd seized hold of him by his hair
And dragged him to the ground,
They threw him into the garden pool
And held his body down,
Though a flame flared under the water still
'Til Raymond Kirk had drowned.
13 July 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Back Home Again
This song appears on fifteen albums, and was first released on the back home again album, and has also been released on the favourites, the greatest hits vol 2, voice of america, john denver (it
), the very best of john denver (double cd), the rocky mountain collection, the country roads collection and country classics albums. live versions appear on the live in london, the live at the
Y opera house, the wildlife concert and the best of john denver live albums. an updated studio version also appears on the love again and a celebration of life albums.
Theres a storm across the valley, clouds are rollin in
The afternoon is heavy on your shoulders
Theres a truck out on the four lane a mile or more away
The whinin of his wheels just makes it colder
Hes an hour away from ridin on your prayers up in the sky
And ten days on the road are barely gone
Theres a fire softly burnin, suppers on the stove
But its the light in your eyes that makes him warm
Hey its good to be back home again
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long-lost friend
Yes n hey, its good to be back home again
Theres all the news to tell him, howd you spend your time
Whats the latest thing the neighbors say
And your mother called last friday, sunshine made her cry
You felt the baby move just yesterday
Hey its good to be back home again - yes it is
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long-lost friend
Yes n hey, its good to be back home again
Oh the time that I can lay this tired old body down
Feel your fingers feather soft upon me
The kisses that I live for, the love that lights my way
The happiness that that livin with you brings me
Its the sweetest thing I know of, just spending time with you
Its the little things that make a house a home
Like a fire softly burnin supper on the stove
The light in your eyes that makes me warm
Hey its good to be back home again
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long-lost friend
Yes n hey, its good to be back home again
Hey its good to be back home again - you know it is
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long-lost friend
Hey, its good to be back home again
I said hey its good to be back home again
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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