Dutchman's Call
They had seized the only longboat
When the 'Gelderland' veered round,
As the flames leapt the topgallant,
And then brought the rigging down,
There was panic on the foredeck,
There was panic at the bridge,
When the Royal Charles raked salvoes
She began to roll and pitch.
While the shrapnel from the cannons
Shrieked and tore good men apart,
There were those not so heroic
Who were thinking to desert,
They were Dutch from West Terschelling
Who had never learnt to shoot,
Until the English came to call
On Hans, and Jan de Groot.
They'd left not empty-handed for
The cook, Hans Vandeveer
Had already made provision
For them sailing, free and clear,
With a gallon cask of Advocaat,
Another one of rum,
He called the gunner, Jan de Groot
And said - 'Ve vill be gone! '
They launched the heavy longboat
In the mighty, storm-tossed bay
While the 'Gelderland' went down
With every hand aboard that day,
And they set the only sail to take
Them home to Terschelling,
But Robert Holmes had got there as
The storm was lessening.
The fire ships were many, and
They spread their flames about,
One hundred thirty merchantmen
Went down, without a shout,
The English sacked the little town
The island they called home,
While fleeing, they rowed out to sea
With nowhere left to roam.
The town they'd always called naar huis
Was burning to the ground,
They watched the hated Engelsman
And said: 'Ve'll do zem down! '
They watched their houses burning
As they drifted from the shore,
And pledged 'Ve'll haf our Dutch ravanche
If nuzzing else, I swore! '
For days they drifted aimlessly
Just praying for respite,
When on the second evening
They saw a warning light.
They thought it might be France ahead,
The coast, it could be Spain's,
The morning saw them rowing up
The sluggish River Thames.
The mighty docks and warehouses
Were all deserted then,
The plague had taken everyone,
Or laid them in the ground,
'Vair is ze people? ' said de Groot,
'Zis silence iss bizar....'
Hans Vandeveer just shook his head,
And swigged the Advocaat.
They tied the boat up to a wharf
And then set out on foot,
They roamed the empty, dirty streets,
'Iz not Spain! ' said de Groot;
'Iz not Spain - it iz London! ' said
Hans Vandeveer, 'Look zat! '
For there was stately London bridge,
He hid beneath his hat.
'Zo! London... of ze Engelsman, '
He took a swig of rum,
They both began to chuckle then,
Well zen, let uss haf fun!
They came upon a house that bore
A huge red painted cross,
With 'Please have Mercy on us Lord'
'Vot sez zat? ' Jan looked lost.
They neither of them read a word
Of English or of Dutch,
They'd gone to sea as children, so
Their learning wasn't much,
They beat upon the wooden door,
And heard some cries within,
So thinking there was murder there,
They kicked the old door in.
Two women and a man were there,
A pretty sorry sight,
Dead drunk, dishevelled, tangled hair,
They looked at them in fright,
'Ve come to mak you be all right, '
Said Hans, confused and red,
He offered them the Advocaat,
They gave him gin instead.
'I'm Lady Bubo, ' said the one,
With bright red flaming hair,
And I am Mrs. Onic, ' laughed
The other, who was fair,
The man, who lay flat on his back,
Then raised his head, and swore,
'I'm known as Jack the Rat, my friends,
Bubonic is my whore! '
They laughed and fell about the room
Embracing Jan de Groot,
Who swigged his rum, Hans Vandeveer
Just shrugged, and followed suit,
They hadn't had a woman then
Since back in Terschelling,
But: 'Be my guest, ' said Jack the Rat,
There was no second telling.
The revelry went on all night,
They drank and fell about,
'We want some food, ' said Onic then,
The larder's all cleaned out,
They finally, by making signs
Got Jan to understand,
'Ve go and find zum vittals, zen
Ve come back ven ve can! '
They headed up to Pudding Lane,
A baker's light shone bright,
The smell of new baked bread hung there
So tempting in the night,
They beat and beat upon the door
But no one answered then,
So Hans, he clambered up a pipe
To find the baker's oven.
The coals spilled out, he seized four loaves,
Then turned and ran downstairs,
He jumped out through a window,
Said: 'Ve'd better mak uz scarce! '
They ran the length of Pudding lane
Before they turned about,
To see the smoke, the roaring flames
Burst out the Baker's house.
The rest is history, my friends,
The fire spread more and more,
And London burned to ashes like
Terschelling had before,
The Dutchmen found their friends were dead,
And they would not get home,
For soon they found that tell-tale sign,
The swelling in the groin.
2 September,2008
(The 342nd Anniversary of the
Great Fire of London, on 2 September 1666) .
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Little Hans
Lead vocal: graham dye
Little hans, little hans, what do you see?
The worlds is full of big surprises
Little hans, little hans, what can they be?
They come in many shapes and sizes
Little boys always love to play
But something is not quite right
Little hans wont come out today
Hes scared of a horse that might bite
Little hans, little hans, what can it be?
Your thoughts are filled with such confusion
Little hans, little hans when will you see?
Youre barking up the wrong conclusion
Professor man asks him oh so nicely
Why will you not come out?
Little hans tells him most politely
What he is thinking about
A ride in a tram, a lily white lamb, raspberry jam
Little hans, little hans, where will you go?
The world is full of compromises
Little hans, little hans, how will you know?
The come in many strange disguises
Professor man shakes his head and wonders
How will he work it out?
Little hans tells him quite precisely
What hes been dreaming about
I jump in the bath, I make myself laugh, I ride a giraffe
Little hans, little hans, I found a clue
I think Ive made the right connection
Little hans, little hans, all I can do
Is give a common sense injection
Little boys grow up just like daddy
Professor man has no doubt
Little hans goes to sleep and wonders
What he was talking about
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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London's Burning
His eyes reflect the golden fire, his pupils burning bright
As he turns away they feel a sudden, crying urge to fight
Big Old Ben has run away, they always thought it might
London's Burning
London's Burning
The chapels down in Kensington are bursting into flames
The children of the neighbourhood are dancing, gone insane
They hug their parent's knees and try to cry away the shame
London's Burning
London's Burning
Members of the royalty rush in to see the Queen
She's rushed off to a bunker, told to wait and not to scream
But all of London's gone aflame, her bunker traps her here
London's Burning
London's Burning
Teenage gangs are on the prowl, they go from place to place
They need no names or calls or shouts, don't need know their race
Just know that all who wear a hood are filled to burst with rage
London's Burning
London's Burning
2 weeks on, the smoke has gone and rebels rule the streets
No-one walks the road at all for fear of who they'll meet
The dead are marked with crosses red and hid with pale sheets
London's Burning
London's Burning
2 more weeks, rotting flesh is all that you can smell
Water's got infected, and the food's all gone as well
The only people left, they wander in a living hell
London's Burning
London's Burning
poem by Matt Pocock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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London Boys
Cow bell strikes another night
Your eyes are heavy and your limbs all ache
You've bought some coffee, butter and bread
You can't make a thing cause the meter's dead
You moved away
Hold your folks you're gonna stay away
Bright lights, Soho, Wardour street
You hope you make friends with the guys that you meet
Somebody shows you round
Now you've met the London boys
Things seem good again, someone cares about you
Oh, the first time that you tried a pill
You feel a little queasy, decidedly ill
You're gonna be sick, but you mustn't lose faith
To let yourself down would be a big disgrace
With the London boys, with the London boys
You're only seventeen, but you think you've grown
In the month you've been away from your parents' home
You take the pills too much
You don't give a damn about that jobs you've got
So long as you're with the London boys
A London boy, oh a London boy
Your flashy clothes are your pride and joy
A London boy, a London boy
You think you've had a lot of fun
But you ain't got nothing, you're on the run
It's too late now, cause you're out there boy
You've got it made with the rest of the toys
Now you wish you'd never left your home
You've got what you wanted but you're on your own
With the London boys
Now you've met the London boys
Now you've met the London boys
Now you've met the London boys
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Post-Prandial
PHI BETA KAPPA
WENDELL PHILLIPS, ORATOR; CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, POET
1881
'THE Dutch have taken Holland,'--so the schoolboys used to say;
The Dutch have taken Harvard,--no doubt of that to-day!
For the Wendells were low Dutchmen, and all their vrows were Vans;
And the Breitmanns are high Dutchmen, and here is honest Hans.
Mynheers, you both are welcome! Fair cousin Wendell P.,
Our ancestors were dwellers beside the Zuyder Zee;
Both Grotius and Erasmus were countrymen of we,
And Vondel was our namesake, though he spelt it with a V.
It is well old Evert Jansen sought a dwelling over sea
On the margin of the Hudson, where he sampled you and me
Through our grandsires and great-grandsires, for you would n't quite
agree
With the steady-going burghers along the Zuyder Zee.
Like our Motley's John of Barnveld, you have always been inclined
To speak,--well,--somewhat frankly,--to let us know your mind,
And the Mynheers would have told you to be cautious what you said,
Or else that silver tongue of yours might cost your precious head.
But we're very glad you've kept it; it was always Freedom's own,
And whenever Reason chose it she found a royal throne;
You have whacked us with your sceptre; our backs were little harmed,
And while we rubbed our bruises we owned we had been charmed.
And you, our quasi Dutchman, what welcome should be yours
For all the wise prescriptions that work your laughter-cures?
'Shake before taking'?--not a bit,--the bottle-cure's a sham;
Take before shaking, and you 'll find it shakes your diaphragm.
'Hans Breitmann gif a barty,--vhere is dot barty now?'
On every shelf where wit is stored to smooth the careworn brow
A health to stout Hans Breitmann! How long before we see
Another Hans as handsome,--as bright a man as he!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leapin' Lizards or How to Get the Most Out Your Geico (so easy a caveman can do it)
Hans Kurt Kubus,58, had a 'thing' for lizards.
This German knows his insurance policies,
- and he is no Neanderthal man who likes gizzards.
Kubus, No, not the video game cubis, attached 44 lizards to his body,
He attempted to smuggle them out of New Zealand, Scott free.
Hans had the geckos and skinks within his underwear,
I don't why men put things in there underwear,
I cannot believe they don't care.
Hans did not attempt to light his britches on fire.
As the Muslim terrorist tried to do as he and others flew to Detroit,
The situation was, at the time, dire.
But Hans was caught, he was not as smart as a caveman,
A caveman in New Zealend.
Hans was arrested and sentenced to two weeks in prison and fined $3,450
-before he was deported back to Germany.
Hans Kurt Kubus might try an asp or viper next time around,
-he will probably take pass.
Hans Kurt Kubus is not as smart as New Zealand caveman, -he is a real dumb a$$.
1-31-10
poem by Joe Rosochacki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Down To London
Stop - whats that sound
Its the death rattle of this rusty old town
Stop - listen again
Its the sound of laughter all along the thames
Hey - whats my line
Do I have to stay here til the end of time
Im - good lookin and bright
I wanna see life after ten at night
So if they ask you where I am
Im in the back of a transit van
In a squat on the earls court road
Gone down to london turning coal into gold
Down to london - down to london
Gone down to london to be the king
Hey - whats your name
The boys back home all seem to look the same
You - should stick with me
And one of us will make it, just you see
Stop - whats that sound
Seems like the sixties are still swingin around
Hey - can you hear me back there
Or is there anybody left to care
So if you ask me where they are
Theyre hanging tough in a soho bar
Playing guitars in the underground
Gone down to london tryin to chase that sound
Down to london - down to london
Gone down to london to be the king
So I ask you should I cry or laugh
Drinking tea in a kings cross caff
A leather jacket against the cold
Gone down to london turning coal into gold
Down to london - down to london
Gone down to london to be the king
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Burning of the Exeter Theatre
'Twas in the year of 1887, which many people will long remember,
The burning of the Theatre at Exeter on the 5th of September,
Alas! that ever-to-be-remembered and unlucky night,
When one hundred and fifty lost their lives, a most agonising sight.
The play on this night was called "Romany Rye,"
And at act four, scene third, Fire! Fire! was the cry;
And all in a moment flames were seen issuing from the stage,
Then the women screamed frantically, like wild beasts in a cage.
Then a panic ensued, and each one felt dismayed,
And from the burning building a rush was made;
And soon the theatre was filled with a blinding smoke,
So that the people their way out had to grope.
The shrieks of those trying to escape were fearful to hear,
Especially the cries of those who had lost their friends most dear;
Oh, the scene was most painful in the London Inn Square,
To see them wringing their hands and tearing their hair!
And as the flames spread, great havoc they did make,
And the poor souls fought heroically in trying to make their escape;
Oh, it was horrible to see men and women trying to reach the door!
But in many cases death claimed the victory, and their struggles were o'er.
Alas! 'twas pitiful the shrieks of the audience to hear,
Especially as the flames to them drew near;
Because on every face were depicted despair and woe,
And many of them jumped from the windows into the street below.
The crushed and charred bodies were carried into London Hotel yard,
And to alleviate their sufferings the doctors tried hard;
But, alas! their attendance on many was thrown away,
But those that survived were conveyed to Exeter Hospital without delay.
And all those that had their wounds dressed proceeded home,
Accompanied by their friends, and making a loud moan;
While the faces and necks of others were sickening to behold,
Enough to chill one's blood, and make the heart turn cold.
Alas! words fail to describe the desolation,
And in many homes it will cause great lamentation;
Because human remains are beyond all identification,
Which will cause the relatives of the sufferers to be in great tribulation.
Oh, Heaven! it must have been an awful sight,
To see the poor souls struggling hard with all their might,
Fighting hard their lives to save,
While many in the smoke and burning flame did madly rave!
It was the most sickening sight that ever anybody saw,
Human remains, beyond recognition, covered with a heap of straw;
And here and there a body might be seen, and a maimed hand,
Oh, such a sight, that the most hard-hearted person could hardly withstand!
The number of people in the theatre was between seven and eight thousand,
But alas! one hundred and fifty by the fire have been found dead;
And the most lives were lost on the stairs leading from the gallery,
And these were roasted to death, which was sickening to see.
The funerals were conducted at the expense of the local authority,
And two hours and more elapsed at the mournful ceremony;
And at one grave there were two thousand people, a very great crowd,
And most of the men were bareheaded ad weeping aloud.
Alas! many poor children have been bereft of their fathers and mothers,
Who will be sorely missed by little sisters and brothers;
But, alas! unto them they can ne'er return again,
Therefore the poor little innocents must weep for them in vain.
I hope all kind Christian souls will help the friends of the dead,
Especially those that have lost the winners of their bread;
And if they do, God surely will them bless,
Because pure Christianity is to help the widows and orphans in distress.
I am very glad to see Henry Irving has sent a hundred pounds,
And I hope his brother actors will subscribe their mite all round;
And if they do it will add honour to their name,
Because whatever is given towards a good cause they will it regain.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Drums of Battersea
They can’t hear in West o’ London, where the worst dine with the best—
Deaf to all save lies and laughter, they can’t hear in London West—
Tailored brutes and splendid harlots, and the parasites that be—
They can’t hear the warning thunder of the Drums of Battersea.
More drums! War drums!
Drums of Misery—
Beating from the hearts of men—the Drums of Battersea.
Where the hearses hurry ever, and where man lives like a beast,
They can feel the war-drums beating—men of Hell! and London East.
And the far-off foreign farmers, fighting fiercely to be free,
Found new courage in the echo of the Drums of Battersea.
More drums! War drums!
Beating for the free—
Beating on the hearts of men—the Drums of Battersea.
And the drummers! Ah! the drummers!—stern and haggard men are those
Standing grimly at their meetings; and their washed and mended clothes
Speak of worn-out wives behind them and of grinding poverty—
But the English of the English beat the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of agony—
The big bruised heart of England’s in the Drums of Battersea.
Where in fields slave Englishwomen, Oh! the sound of drums is there:
I have heard it in the laughter of the nights of Leicester Square—
Sailing southward with the summer, London but a dream to me,
Still I feel the distant thunder of the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of Liberty—
Rolling round the English world—the Drums of Battersea.
Oh! I heard them in the Queen’s Hall—aye! and London heard that night—
While we formed up round the leaders while they struck one blow for right!
And the old strength, that old fire, that I thought was dead in me,
Blazed up fiercely at the beating of the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
They beat for victory—
When above the roar of Jingoes rolled the Drums of Battersea.
And where’er my feet may wander, and howe’er I lay my head,
I shall hear them while I’m dreaming—I shall hear them when I’m dead!
For they beat for men and women, beat for Christ, and you and me:
There is hope and there is terror in the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of destiny—
There’s hope!—there’s hope for England in the Drums of Battersea.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The London Boys
Cow bell strikes another night
Your eyes are heavy and your limbs all ache
Youve bought some coffee, butter and bread
You cant make a thing cause the meters dead
You moved away
Hold your folks youre gonna stay away
Bright lights, soho, wardour street
You hope you make friends with the guys that you meet
Somebody shows you round
Now youve met the london boys
Things seem good again, someone cares about you
Oh, the first time that you tried a pill
You feel a little queasy, decidedly ill
Youre gonna be sick, but you mustnt lose faith
To let yourself down would be a big disgrace
With the london boys, with the london boys
Youre only seventeen, but you think youve grown
In the month youve been away from your parents home
You take the pills too much
You dont give a damn about that jobs youve got
So long as youre with the london boys
A london boy, oh a london boy
Your flashy clothes are your pride and joy
A london boy, a london boy
You think youve had a lot of fun
But you aint got nothing, youre on the run
Its too late now, cause youre out there boy
Youve got it made with the rest of the toys
Now you wish youd never left your home
Youve got what you wanted but youre on your own
With the london boys
Now youve met the london boys
Now youve met the london boys
Now youve met the london boys
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Close to the Edge
My father was a sailor
He was always off the shore,
And I’d watch his sailboat ‘Ransom’
As it gaff-rigged past our door,
And he told me – ‘When you’re old enough
I’ll show you where they dwell,
The mermaids, with their necklaces,
Made out of cockleshells!
Then out on the verandah
He would stare straight out to sea,
Where the sun meets the horizon
Then he’d sit me on his knee,
And he’d tell me tales of Morgan,
Tales of Captain Kidd and Co.,
When they roamed the Caribbean
In the days of long ago.
He would sail out in the summer,
He would sail out in the fall,
He would sail to the horizon
In the mist, and through a squall,
And he always took his bo’sun
‘Shifty’ Dick, who trimmed the sail,
Drank the ‘Ransom’ dry of whiskey,
Lashed his wrist, hard to the rail.
Then one winter, storm capped waters
Beat unceasing on our shore,
And my mother lit the lantern
Kept a vigil by the door.
But the ‘Ransom’ kept its secrets
Never came to shore again,
And my father joined the history
Of all seafaring men!
I grew and took my lessons
In a little trailer-sail,
When my mother wasn’t watching;
She would cry, and she would wail:
‘Don’t you ever let me catch you,
Staring, looking at the sea,
It’s enough I lost your father…’
‘Never fret! You won’t lose me! ’
For years I watched them leaving,
All the magic sailing boats,
Some were worth a clear million,
While some could barely float!
I watched as they sailed out, and then
I watched on their return,
But some were lost forever,
Sunk – Exploded - Overturned!
I bought a gaff-rigged schooner,
It had seen far better days,
But I patched it and I painted it,
I called it the ‘Sea Haze’;
I took it out with friends -
We didn’t venture out too far -
But learnt to jib, and trim the sail,
To run along the shore!
Then finally I headed out
To where it all began,
Beyond the far horizon
Where the ‘Ransom’ cut and ran,
The clouds began to gather
And the shades began to steal,
The waves broke on the forward deck
And I clung to the wheel.
The storm clouds that had gathered
Opened up and thundered rain,
It beat upon the masthead, and it
Lashed the sagging main,
It soaked my tiny cabin and it
Churned the heaving sea,
The waves on the horizon
Lay in wait out there, for me!
I sailed right through some warp of space
Or time, or so it seemed,
For then it was I caught a sight
Out there – a Quinquereme!
The rows of oars were stilled, I saw,
But some unholy moan,
Broke through the madness of the storm
And chilled me to the bone!
And then I saw a Galleass,
And then I saw a tramp,
To port there was a Brigantine
To starboard there, a lamp!
A single lamp to light the way
I took my bearings then,
No sign of a horizon there,
I sailed toward the end!
The sea, it fell away just there
And all I saw was space,
The ancients said the earth was flat,
My heart began to race.
A thousand ships lay still out there
A Cruiser, Barque, a Dredge!
They’d sailed in space there since the day
They sailed right off the edge!
The ‘Sea Haze’ raced along a line
Just inches from dismay,
I turned the wheel to head back home,
To live another day,
And then I saw the ‘Ransom’ turning
Slowly in the sky,
While ‘Shifty’ Dick, still tethered,
Floated wide and still and dry!
The ‘Sea Haze’ sits at anchor still
Just out from my back door,
She sank a dozen years ago,
Sat down, hard on the shore.
I never stare out at the sea,
The sea I thought I knew,
For who’d believe the earth was flat?
That’s right! – Not even you!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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London Song
Theres a room in a house in a street in a manor in a borough
Thats part of a city that is generally referred to as london
Its a dark place, a mysterious place
And it is said that if youre born within the sound of bow-bells
You have the necessary qualifications to be christened a londoner
[its a cruel place, its a hard place]
But when you think back to all the great londoners
William blake, charles dickens, dick whittington,
Pearly kings, barrow boys, arthur daley, max wall
And dont forget the kray twins
But if youre ever up on highgate hill on a clear day
You can see right down to leicester square [london, london]
Crystal palace, clapham common, right down to streatham hill
North and south, I feel that Im a londoner still [london, london]
Chiswick bridge to newham and east ham
Churchbells ring out through the land
You were born in london, england
[london, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london]
And theres a tap by a reservoir, leading to a stream,
That turns into a river estuary that eventually opens to the sea
[london, london]
And theres a docker by a wharf, sending cargo overseas,
Unloading foreign trade from a large ocean vessel
In the mighty metropolitan port of london
[london, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london]
When I think of all the londoners still unsung
East-enders, west-enders, oriental-enders
Fu manchu, sherlock holmes, jack spock, henry cooper,
Thomas abecket, thomas moore, and dont forget the kray twins
Theres a part of me that says get out
Then one day Ill hear somebody shout
Sounds to me like you come from london town
But if youre ever up on highgate hill on a clear day,
Ill be there [Ill be there]
Yes I will be there [there]
Through the dark alley-ways and passages of london, london
London, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london, london
London, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london, london
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shadow of Elspeth Brown
The sky was grey on that fateful day,
The sun was going down,
I made my way through a field of hay
To the cottage of Elspeth Brown.
She lived alone by the forest there
And studied her ancient tomes,
Her Grimoires, Necronomicons,
And her hearth was filled with bones!
I'd loved the girl for a year or two
And I'd made my interest known,
She was torn, she said, by the spells in her head,
She needed to be alone.
I knew she was seeing another guy
He called when I wasn't around,
‘He's more like the shade of a ghost, ' she said,
‘I raised him, out of the ground! '
She looked distraught as she waved me in,
Her hair was a tangled mess,
A book that featured some ugly Djin
Lay open across her dress.
I've never been one for the ancient arts
Of Magick, or spells and glooms,
But Elspeth wanted to play her part,
Cast spells in the afternoons!
I saw a copy of Crowley there,
A copy of Dragon Noir,
The Grimoire of Honorius
Was scattered across a chair!
‘What horrible Djin have you raised up
From the terrible realm of hell? '
I laughed, but Elspeth began to frown
And conjured another spell!
‘Three bat-wings and a gouty toad
And a strand of a maiden's hair,
A philtre of deadly nightshade stirred
With the leg of a wooden chair!
A third of a pint of hemlock, gathered
Close to the midnight hour…'
The sun was gone and the bright moon shone
Through the door of my lady's bower!
I thought to say it was nonsense,
Raised my eyes and stared in the gloom,
And there was her patient shadow cast
On the whitewashed wall of the room,
A shadow hand ran up through the hair
So tangled, under her cap,
I looked again at my erstwhile friend,
Her hands were down in her lap!
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck
Rise up, and a breathless chill,
The shadow had suddenly straightened up
My heart was standing still,
Two horns curled out of the shadow's head
Distinct on the further wall,
When Elspeth suddenly screamed, and said:
‘My skin's beginning to crawl! '
She spilled the book on the oaken floor,
Jumped up and looked at the wall,
The shadow that she had claimed for her own
Was suddenly eight feet tall,
It raised its hands in a threatening way
Against all physical laws,
I went to say, in a blank dismay:
‘Those fingers look like claws! '
We rushed together, out of the door,
Her screaming, me in fright,
The moon was rising, up in the sky,
You couldn't tell day from night,
The shadow followed, hard on our heels
And spread out over the ground,
I noticed it wasn't attached to her feet,
But followed with never a sound!
It moved around, ran by her side,
And then I saw it ahead,
She stopped in horror, whatever she'd done,
She'd summoned a Djin from the dead!
‘You'll have to set up an undo spell, '
I knew that she was to blame,
‘I can't, ' she muttered, ‘I don't know how,
He was here before you came! '
She wandered back to the cottage at last,
‘It's only a shadow, ' she said,
‘I shouldn't be worried, it won't hurt me! '
I turned on my heel, and fled!
I'm such a coward with magical things,
I ran full pelt all the way,
Then lay in dread, hid under my bed
‘Til the sun came up, next day!
I finally plucked the courage up
To return to the cottage there,
I stood in the yard, and called on out:
‘Elspeth - come out if you dare! '
A shadow stood in the hallway
And my heart, it turned to stone,
As I read the note on the lintel post,
‘I want to be left alone! '
The sun was high in the morning sky
As I looked on down at my feet,
There wasn't a sign of a shadow there,
My heart then skipped a beat,
For there on the inner whitewashed wall
And beyond the hallway Djin,
I could see two shadows, making love,
But I hadn't the nerve to go in!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grev Joachim Moltke-Bregentved
Tænk kun paa ham hvis Støv er Graven bragt,
Erindring, udfold heel din Blomsterpragt!
Et Smiil sad i hans Øie, om hans Mund,
Det lyste fra den rene Hjerte-Bund.
Husk Julens Glæder, naar han spøgte glad;
Saa rigt og stort er Hjertets Mindeblad.
Hos Eder lykkelig og glad han stod,
For Danmarks Sag, han Hjemmets Hjem forlod.
Den vaade Jord og Nattens kolde Vind,
Skjød Dødens Kugle i hans Hjerte ind.
Sit unge Liv han glad for Danmark gav.
De Runer vil' vi riste paa hans Grav!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From the Bush
The Channel fog has lifted –
And see where we have come!
Round all the world we've drifted,
A hundred years from "home".
The fields our parents longed for –
Ah! we shall ne'er know how –
The wealth that they were wronged for
We'll see as strangers now!
The Dover cliffs have passed on –
In the morning light aglow –
That our fathers looked their last on
A weary time ago.
Now grin, and grin your bravest!
We need be strong to fight;
For you go home to picture
And I go home to write.
Hold up your head in England,
Tread firm on London streets;
We come from where the strong heart
Of all Australia beats!
Hold up your head in England
However poor you roam!
For no men are your betters
Who never sailed from home!
From a hundred years of hardships –
'Tis ours to tell the cost –
From a thousand miles of silence
Where London would be lost;
From where the glorious sunset
On sweeps of mulga glows –
Ah! we know more than England,
And more than Europe knows!
Hold up your head in London,
However poor you come,
For no man is your better
Who never sailed from home!
Our "home" and foreign fathers,
Where none but men dared go,
Have done more for the White Man
Than England e'er shall know!
poem by Henry Lawson
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London
It was november 4th
I last held your hand
It seemed our time would last forever
You said dont ever leave
I thought youd never go
I wish I could just remember your name...
Youre just a memory now
Like all the ones before
But with your pain Ive had to suffer
Your eyes alight with flame
As the picture burns
I hear the screams from long ago
They cry remember, blood-red streaks on
Velvet throats at night
The streetlights fanned our trail of fame
Through
London london
The memories will never leave me
London london
All I see is you
London london
The cries in the night
Keep bringing me to
London london
Calling out to me
Oh theres some things in life I could never face
The worst is being alone
Sometimes I wish I could have taken your
Place my love
You know I dont want to live forever
Oh let me see you standing in the
Shadows once again
Well walk the streets like long ago in
London london
The fire in your eyes will be bringing me to
London london
All I need is you
The cries in the night keep ringing on in
London london
Calling out to you
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballad Of Rose Red
Rose Red was the name they gave her
because of her flaming hair.
She grew up in a time of turmoil
where children were taken from their beds.
When her only son was stolen and butchered,
something snapped within her head.
She turned her attention to the seas
and pirates life she led.
With cutlass and pistol,
her wrath swathed through the Spanish Main.
A price as big as her rivals
was placed upon her head,
but no one was fool enough to collect it
fearing the wrath of Rose Red.
Her mighty ship the Dragon Queen
sailed without hindrance and impunity.
Treasures of captured ships lined
the Dragon Queen’s hold,
then back to her island home
was the course she chartered
for where her other treasures
lie buried there somewhere.
This secret was only hers
because she alone buried it there.
Anyone who saw where
never lived to tell the tale.
She was savage with her wrath
as she sought out the murderers
of her only son.
Year after year, she sought them down
whether on land or at sea
with her lasting vengeance.
One by one, the murderers fell
from those who had committed it
to those from which their orders fell.
Rose Red gave them their appointment
with the devil they served.
Fear ran among them
of this woman with flaming hair
who struck without warning.
She rode the seas for years
pillaging the greedy as her victims fell.
Now only one remained,
the highest of them all
and the most guarded as well.
He being the King of Spain,
but Rose Red was not
afraid of his army or him.
Into port she sailed one night
guns firing from fore to aft
until no ship was left afloat.
The guns then turned on the town
crumbling each building in turn
until only the palace was left standing.
Then into town, they went
with only one prize to seek.
The palace stood untouched
no holes within its walls
as the pirates strode against it.
First through the main gate
leaving no one left alive
except for the slaves.
Whose freedom they gave
until the king was cornered.
He stood among his treasures
to defend them with his might.
Rose Red strode into the chamber
to face his cowering body
pleading for mercy to be.
She looked at the coward
and lifting her pistol to finish
what had to be done.
The shot echoed in the chamber
and the body slumped down
no more would anyone loose their children
to this wicked crooked crown.
The king was dead and the evil hordes he had sown
where now facing what they gave to others
a hole in the ground.
The treasures were left along with the crown
Rose Red’s vengeance was now complete.
Back to the ship, they strode
sailing out to the oceans free.
No longer did they have
a bounty on their heads
now the king was dead.
They were free to do now as they pleased.
4 September 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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London Pool
London Pool's in London town,
Ay, boys! O boys!
London Pool's in London town,
Where the great ships anchor down!
O to shake the canvas free,
Hear the cordage cheerily
Whistling to the open sea
Down from London Pool, O!
London Pool's a crowded place,
Ay, boys! O boys!
London Pool's a crowded place,
Crafts and crews of every race!
O to hear the clanking chain
Trail along the wharf again, -
Hear the tautening ropes astrain
Down from London Pool, O!
London Pool's a gallant sight,
Ay, boys! O boys!
London Pool's a gallant sight,
Toil by day and glare by night!
O to shake our heels and go, -
Feel the four free winds ablow,
Hail the lights of long ago
Down from London Pool, O!
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Hans and Fritz
Hans and Fritz were two Deutschers who lived side by side,
Remote from the world, its deceit and its pride:
With their pretzels and beer the spare moments were spent,
And the fruits of their labor were peace and content.
Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one day,
And, lacking a part of the Geld, — as they say, —
Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan
To help him to pay for his beautiful roan.
Fritz kindly consented the money to lend,
And gave the required amount to his friend;
Remarking,—his own simple language to quote,—
"Berhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note."
The note was drawn up in their primitive way, —
"I, Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars to-day;"
When the question arose, the note being made,
"Vich von holds dot baper until it vas baid?"
"You geeps dot," says Fritz, "und den you vill know
You owes me dot money." Says Hans, "Dot ish so:
Dot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay,
Und I prings you der note und der money some day."
A month had expired, when Hans, as agreed,
Paid back the amount, and from debt he was freed.
Says Fritz, " Now dot settles us." Hans replies,
"Yaw: Now who dakes dot baper accordings by law ?"
"I geeps dot now, aind't it?" says Fritz ; " den, you see,
I alvays remempers you baid dot to me."
Says Hans, "Dot ish so: it vas now shust so blain,
Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows again."
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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