Swan Song
Her hair was as black as a starling's tail,
Her cheeks as pale as a swan,
Her eyes, like two slim moonstones, glowed
And her mouth was the Holy Grail.
She'd played in the dirt of the village street
So long ago, so long...
She'd swum in the pools of the mountain stream,
But now, that girl had gone.
While I still rise with the early bird
To tend to my father's fields,
As the only son of an only son
I watched the woman leave.
She cried sweet tears as she said farewell
And vowed to come back, and soon,
But the village streets of a western town
Hold nothing for Ling Xiaodan.
The weeks went by, then the months and years
And I heard of her now and then,
She was dressed in expensive clothes, I heard,
She was driving a shiny car;
She was seen at the Beijing Opera
By a man who worked at the door,
'She glided by like a Queen, ' he said,
'As her dress trailed long on the floor.'
And her wai po, down in the village square
Would brag of her daughter's girl,
'She will snare some man with a million yuan, '
She said, 'not a farmer's son.
Go home to your fields and forget her now,
She's not for an also-ran! '
And laughed, as the tears sprang into my eyes
For the love of Ling Xiaodan.
She came back once to the village street
To her home, as ever we must,
But carefully held her dress up high
To avoid the rubbish and dust,
I stood at the side and she looked at me,
Then turned, looked quickly away,
For Ling Xiaodan and a farmer's son
Had nothing at all to say.
But I saw her once before she left,
Alone by the mountain stream,
Her eyes were sorrowful, in remorse,
Remembering how we'd been.
'I loved you once, as a child, ' she said
'But the world is harsh, and grey...
We do what our fathers want us to,
And my father sent me away.'
I sat by her then, and held her hand,
Stroking her neck, and hair,
And kissed the cheek, so pale and wan,
And I cried in a deep despair.
'You must get on with your life, ' she said,
'Get a wife and a baby son;
I leave tomorrow to see the man
That my father has met in town.'
I heard that she'd wed a businessman,
And cried in the quiet gloom,
My dream had died by the mountain stream,
On that day, in the afternoon.
She worked in a shop her husband owned,
So they said, but I never heard
'Til the body was brought back home again,
That the love of my life was dead.
It seemed that she'd sold her favours there
In the rear of a grimy store,
To any man with the change to spare
While her husband played Mah Jongg.
He'd gambled his fortune, and lost it all
While his wife kept the fool from jail
With what she earned with her hands and hair,
And a mouth like the Holy Grail.
But then, a man who was ill or mad
Put his grimy hands at her throat,
And squeezed the life from the darling neck
That I'd once both loved, and stroked.
They buried her up on the mountainside
By the stream, in sight of her home,
And from where I stand in the paddy fields
I can see her pale white stone.
She'd played in the dirt of the village street
So long ago, so long...
She'd swum in the pools of the mountain stream,
But now, that girl had gone.
I married a woman I barely knew
And she bore me a black-haired girl,
With eyes like two slim moonstones, and...
A mouth like the Holy Grail.
10 March 2006
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Grail
In the village Bellastrino
On the craggy Tuscan hills,
Lies an old abandoned Abbey
And the Church of San Michele,
Though the village was abandoned
There are two who would not go,
The Abbot, Father Grandier,
The Priest, Don Angelo.
The Abbey on the mountain top,
The Church down in the dell,
They'd fought, these two, for twenty years
Consigning each to Hell!
For in the Church of San Michele
Before the village failed,
Down in the crypt, beneath the floor
They'd found the Holy Grail.
A bowl, fine wrought in pale green glass,
There's no room for debate,
The Templar Knights had left it in
Eleven eighty-eight,
They'd always said they would return,
In fact, they never did,
They went to challenge Saladin
And died, as they had lived!
‘It's mine, ' said Father Grandier,
‘Not so, ' said Angelo,
‘I found it and I'm keeping it,
Here, in the Church below.'
‘It should be in the Abbey, '
Father Grandier opined,
‘Its glory on the mountain top…'
‘Not so! The Grail is mine! '
For years the two had tussled
Had approached the Holy See,
The Pope thought it ridiculous
And said: ‘Don't bother me!
We have two dozen of those things,
A heap of rusty nails,
All from the Cross at Calvary
But these are peasant tales.'
A Cardinal then came to call
And tried to sort them out,
Well practiced in diplomacy
He said: ‘No need to shout!
You have a choir each, ' he said
‘Who visit in the spring,
So hold a competition here,
What better way, than sing? '
‘The better choir shall win the Grail
And keep it for a year,
Up in the Abbey's mountain top,
Or down here, if you dare.
Then sing for it each passing year,
Three judges, understood?
If one should win it three years straight
They keep the Grail for good! '
With many muttered mumblings
And hellfire in their eyes,
The Abbot and the priest said yes,
Dissembled with their lies,
They each set out to cheat their way
To keep that Holy Grail,
The Abbot got to pick each judge
He thought he couldn't fail!
The Abbey won the first two years
And held the Grail on high,
While poor Don Angelo despaired,
The time was coming nigh;
They had to sing for it once more,
He knew that if he failed,
The Abbot would, victorious,
Not let him keep the Grail.
Don Angelo went down to Rome
And brought a tenor back,
His voice like rich red Tuscan wine
To join his choir's attack,
They sang their hearts out on the day
But saw the judges feign,
And shake their heads, Don Angelo
Had nothing left to gain.
The judge stood up to name the prize,
The Abbot had his way,
The tenor stood and sang a note
Not heard since Jesu's day,
He held it long, unwavering
The Grail began to ring,
A long high-pitched reverberance,
The Grail began to sing.
A minute there, without a breath
The tenor held his tone,
And Grandier stood up, alarmed,
Let out a fervid moan,
The Grail sang on, then shattered
Fell in pieces to the floor,
The judge stood up and shook his head,
Then said - ‘The sing's a draw! '
The Abbey holds the base of it,
Up on the mountain top,
All glued together, like some vase
Bought in the Red Cross Shop.
While down there in the little Church
On a thousand Euro tips,
They're coining them a fortune with
The rim that touched his lips!
1 September 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Karma
He looked down over the valley,
Over the verdant green and trees,
And suddenly felt so humbled
That he sighed, and fell to his knees,
He'd only been out a single day
With the world before him spread,
So still he could hear those prison gates
As they'd clanged behind, in his head.
He'd finished his twenty seven years
He'd paid society's due,
Locked in a cell of eight by ten
For the things that he'd had to do,
He'd shown no mercy to Annabel,
No more to the Widow Peak,
He'd drowned them, just as he meant to do
When they'd met, in less than a week.
He thrilled at the thought of their staring eyes
As he held them down in the bath,
Watching their lives leach out of them,
Just as he'd done with Kath,
There'd been so many, he'd not confessed
But been convicted for two,
The other ten would have got him life
Without reprieve, if they knew.
He went to live in the valley
Rented a cottage under the trees,
Owned by a man called Anderson
Who'd visited him for years,
He'd said he knew of a valley where
He could start his life again,
He'd said, ‘Now here is your second chance,
Back in the world of men! '
He wandered round in the cottage
Took in the bathroom at a glance,
Took in the nice deep marble tub
With a smirk and a rub of his hands,
The village was just a walk away
But he'd give it a day or two,
Then check for a widow or single girl
At the store, as he wandered through.
He spent the night reminiscing
Thinking of all those staring eyes,
Of Kristen Poole, that silly young fool
That he'd fed with outrageous lies,
Her mouth had flapped like a goldfish
As she fought in a bleak despair,
But nearly a foot of water lay
Between her face and the air.
And who was that girl, that Marigold,
That he'd met in the Shop ‘n Save?
He'd thought that her name was Sanderson,
She didn't know how to behave,
She'd said her brother looked out for her
Would interfere with her fun,
But once in a bath of water,
It would only be fun for one.
He lay and stared at the ceiling as
He felt quite suddenly cold,
The name of his mentor Anderson
Came creeping back to his soul,
He heard the rushing of water
Off in the distance, up on the heights,
And made his way to the village
Lying in darkness, deep in the night,
The cottages all were empty
So was the chapel, totally bare,
The door of the shop was open
Nothing but garbage left in there,
He turned and ran up the village street
But the thunder was hard at his heels,
When a wall of water, ten feet high
Rushed over the verdant fields.
They'd opened the sluices at the dam
To flood the Valley at night,
To turn it into a reservoir
For a city that lay nearby,
The villagers had been gone for a month
But they stood and they watched the tide,
Flooding their tiny cottages
While Anderson laughed, and cried!
11 November 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Farewell To
Farewell to the young women I used to know
When I was a younger man decades ago
Some of them are ageing grandmothers today
And some of them childless and single did stay.
Farewell to the first feelings of love I knew
Though the one that I loved to another was true
She did not know I loved her 'twas better that way
Since I've always found words like 'I love you' so hard for to say.
Farewell to my childhood friends the girls and the boys
We had fun together and we played with our toys
We grew up too quickly and got to know care
And we found out about life in the big World out there.
Farewell to the Town Park where we played football
An old memory fading that's nice to recall
Still in my flights of fancy the old Town I see
Though life in the old Town goes on without me.
To the old stream that flowed by my old home a tearful farewell
And those old fields that will long outlive my doggerel
And on the leafy hedgerows in the prime of Spring
The songbirds of Nature did whistle and sing.
Farewell to the past since the past is long gone
And without me life in the old Townland goes on
But fond memories of my boyhood years with me remain
And I often go back down memory lane.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lady Maggie
You must not call me Maggie, you must not call me Dear,
For I'm Lady of the Manor now stately to see;
And if there comes a babe, as there may some happy year,
'Twill be little lord or lady at my knee.
Oh, but what ails you, my sailor cousin Phil,
That you shake and turn white like a cockcrow ghost?
You're as white as I turned once down by the mill,
When one told me you and ship and crew were lost:
Philip my playfellow, when we were boy and girl
(It was the Miller's Nancy told it to me),
Philip with the merry life in lip and curl,
Philip my playfellow drowned in the sea!
I thought I should have fainted, but I did not faint;
I stood stunned at the moment, scarcely sad,
Till I raised my wail of desolate complaint
For you, my cousin, brother, all I had.
They said I looked so pale—some say so fair—
My lord stopped in passing to soothe me back to life:
I know I missed a ringlet from my hair
Next morning; and now I am his wife.
Look at my gown, Philip, and look at my ring,
I'm all crimson and gold from top to toe:
All day long I sit in the sun and sing,
Where in the sun red roses blush and blow.
And I'm the rose of roses says my lord;
And to him I'm more than the sun in the sky,
While I hold him fast with the golden cord
Of a curl, with the eyelash of an eye.
His mother said 'fie,' and his sisters cried 'shame,'
His highborn ladies cried 'shame' from their place:
They said 'fie' when they only heard my name,
But fell silent when they saw my face.
Am I so fair, Philip? Philip, did you think
I was so fair when we played boy and girl,
Where blue forget-me-nots bloomed on the brink
Of our stream which the mill-wheel sent a whirl?
If I was fair then sure I'm fairer now,
Sitting where a score of servants stand,
With a coronet on high days for my brow
And almost a sceptre for my hand.
You're but a sailor, Philip, weatherbeaten brown,
A stranger on land and at home on the sea,
Coasting as best you may from town to town:
Coasting along do you often think of me?
I'm a great lady in a sheltered bower,
With hands grown white through having nought to do:
Yet sometimes I think of you hour after hour
Till I nigh wish myself a child with you.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Burning Bush
All the widows watch
Through all window sills
Hair raisin in every room
Up the street come a walkin chill
An you ask for nothin
cept to be by my side
See my tears good father
Will they wash it away
All my dirt from your holy feet
No I dont believe it works that way
cause you ask for nothin
cept to be by my side
I seen you in the river
Before God an man
Held by the holy hand of winter
Brought low by winters holy hand
Yes my sister girl
I know that it is true
You see me with the lords eye girl
An you see right through
An you ask for nothin
Is there somethin behind my eyes
I can look good I swear
When the spirit blows
All ore an all through yeah
My wretched bones
An you ask for nothin
cept to be by my side love
I seen you in the river
Before God an man
Held by the holy hand of winter
Brought low by winters holy hand
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Must Have Been Sleeping
'Where are you going, ' I heard her say
As the dream took me straight to the core,
We parked at the side of a very long road
And I got out the driver's door;
'I've never known that, ' I replied, and she sat
On her hands, with the pain of surprise,
'So what you've been saying has never been true! '
The tears rose up in her eyes!
'The road has been long, the road has been wide,
I never knew where I could turn.'
'I thought you were happy with me, ' she said;
There was nothing to say in return.
'I must have been sleeping for seventeen years, '
My voice sounded foreign and coarse,
But I couldn't handle the sighs and the lies,
Or the terrible sound of - 'divorce! '
I walked to the wood at the side of the road,
And followed the pathway around,
I couldn't look back now I'd made up my mind
Though I walked unfamiliar ground,
The clearing was quiet, the birds didn't sing,
A mountain rose up in my view,
I suddenly saw there was no going back
To the comfortable life that I knew.
I cast off my shackles and took a deep breath,
To breathe in both freedom and pride,
My strength was returning, and clearer my eye,
I walked with a bounce in my stride,
The years fell away, I was thirty again,
I stopped then, and sat on a stone,
For darkness was gathering there in the gloom
With that terrible feeling - alone!
I thought of the woman I'd left on the road,
Who'd always been faithful to me,
The tears that she'd shed for a love that was dead
Made me sad, and ashamed to be free,
I thought of the comfort she'd given me when
All my world started going insane,
She'd cooked and she'd cared, and she'd loved and she'd shared
And I'd given her nothing but pain.
I turned on the track, and I made my way back
But I couldn't see where I had been,
I stumbled through thickets and walked into trees
And I fell on my knees on the green.
'I am lost, I am lost, ' I cried into the night
Then I heard her voice, dim, by a tree
And woke to her stroking my face and my brow
As I cried… She was waiting for me!
9 March 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Family History
My father left when I was one,
Or maybe two - I don't recall,
I have no memory of him now,
No memory then, now none at all.
It didn't seem important then
I had my mother, she had me,
And Uncle George would call each day,
Call by most nights, and stay for tea.
I wasn't even curious,
My world was perfect as it was,
We lived beside a village green
And travelled by the village bus.
Our house was large, a mansion set
In Parklands, much too large for us,
Whole wings were closed and boarded in,
My mother said, 'it makes less fuss! '
It wasn't 'til I went to school
That doubts arose about my kin,
The boys would taunt and tease me there,
Would comment on my yellow skin.
They called me 'Squinty' for my eyes,
They looked so different then, to them,
My hair was black and very straight:
'You'll never make an Englishman! '
I asked my mother why I looked
So different, just like chalk and cheese,
She smiled and held me close to her,
And said: 'Your father was Chinese! '
'I met him through your Uncle George,
They served together in some war,
He charmed me once, but then he left,
Went off to fight for Chiang-Kai-shek.'
'I thought that he'd return one day
But truth to tell, he never did,
I heard that he'd been killed before
The White Army had turned and fled.'
She mentioned words I'd never heard
'Formosa', 'Tao' and 'Mao Zedong',
'Long March', 'Red Army', words that I
Remembered when no longer young.
I grew determined then to seek
The truth behind my history,
To find my father, where he lay,
Tear back the shroud of mystery.
'Don't do it, son, ' said Uncle George,
'Leave sleeping dogs to sleep the day,
For once you rouse them, sleeping dogs
Will never cease to bark and bay.'
'He's right, ' my mother said, her mouth
Was set, and she looked awful grim,
'You'll bring the terrors of the night
Down on us, if you look for him! '
My mind was set, I disagreed,
With all the folly of the young,
I thought that I could spend my need
And so made plans to see Taiwan.
I only got as far as London,
There I went to the G.R.O.,
Asked for the Births and Deaths they kept
To settle the questions I should know.
But when the book was placed before me
Words - they swam before my eyes,
The father stated at my birth
Was George Hubertus Syndon Wise!
I faltered then, and nearly fell
My heart it plunged to the floor, and then,
The mother plainly written there
Was one they called Wang Shu Qian.
My legs were weak, I barely stood,
My father was an Englishman,
I took a breath and walked the street...
My mother, a daughter of the Han.
I went back home to the mansion then
Ignored my mother upon the stairs,
Headed right up to the West Wing floor
They had boarded and banned me from, for years.
Tore the boards from the door and entered,
Thought I would find just cobwebs there,
But saw bright lights, and heard soft music,
A woman sat in an old wing chair.
I knew, the moment those almond eyes
Met mine, I looked on my mother then,
The tears ran down from her high cheek bones
To stain her dress, Wang Shu Qian.
She'd lived forever behind these doors
All boarded in for a secret's sake,
And George had been with her, now and then
My father, living his life - a fake!
But all about there were artifacts,
Screens and parchments and vellum scripts,
Priceless furniture, paintings, figures,
Dragons, pearls, and the odd Phoenix.
George came stumbling up the stairs
His face dead white when he saw me there,
'My boy... I told you...' he said, then stopped
As grey ran worrying through his hair.
The hoard was that from a Chinese palace,
Wang Shu Qian was a keeper there,
They'd fled the rape of the communists
Taken their baggage with Chiang Kai shek.
'When things are settled we'll give it back, '
My mother told me in Pu Tong Hua,
George translated her every sentence,
Love shone out from his eyes for her.
'Her name is top of their wanted list,
They hired assassins to search for her,
We thought it best to concoct those lies
To protect you from the world out there.'
My sister took on the role of mother,
You were only a baby then,
While Shu Qian despaired to hold you,
Show you love as her only son.
The hoard has since been returned to China,
Both my mothers live openly now,
I've been taking a course in language
Coming to grips with Pu Tong Hua.
My family history seems complete,
I know as much as I need to know,
The dogs are sleeping, skeletons rest
And I won't disturb their sleep - No How!
(Note: The Chinese pronounce Chiang Kai shek
as Jiang kuh sher.
Pu Tong Hua = Pu Tong Hwa = Beijing Dialect.
Wang Shu Qian = Wong Shoe Chee-en) .
25 December 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At Journey's End
I'll not lie down, nor sit and wait
The black-draped barge to float on by,
Nor offer up my throat, like ears of corn
To wait the sickle sigh,
Should death's bleak hooded figure call
He'll find that I have quit the town
And left no forwarding address
That he might use to track me down.
One step ahead, I'll change my name
Then dye my hair a rich dark brown,
Or failing that, I'll shave my head
And raise my brows, an inch around.
I'll grow a beard, or cut it off
If I have grown a beard before
Then take to sailing out from ports
Where Death has sallied forth once more.
I'll dress my woman in long boots
And tie her hair up out of sight,
Then we will slink from town to village
Making love by day, not night.
We'll sleep in hay ricks, fields and barns
While one keeps watch, each turn about,
So if his hood should cause alarms
We'll both be gone by morning light.
We'll trek up mountains, hills and valleys
Everywhere that he's just been,
We'll tail him as he travels onward
Scything through each village green,
And when he corners us at last
We'll drink long from a stirrup cup
And cheat him from his final scene
By leaving life, before he's up.
6 March 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Village
(Van Morrison)
Little village baby, ain't large enough to be a town
From a little village baby, ain't large enough to be a town
Gotta get away from the city
It's gonna bring you down
Heard the voice of the silence, in the evening
In the long cool summer nights
Heard the voice of the silence, in the evening
In the long cool summer nights
Telling me not to worry
Everything's gonna be all right
There's only two kinds of truth
Baby let's get it straight from the start
There's only two kinds of truth
Let's get it straight from the start
It's all what you believe
Baby in your head and your heart
Heard the bells ringing
Voices singing soft and low
Heard the bells ringing
Voices are singing soft and low
Way up in the mountain, little village in the snow
Raining in the forest
Just enough to magnetise the leaves
Raining in the forest
Just enough to magnetise the leaves
We'll go walking baby with the moonlight shining down through the trees
Little village, way up on the mountainside
Little village baby, way up on the mountainside
Way across the ocean with you by my side
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Time When Mother Left For Ozamis
i remember now
it was at that time when mother packed her clothes
and left my father for good
back in the little village where mother
was raised by grandmother
as a naive girl
keeping things to herself.
she dwells in a house of silence.
it was at that time when father said
that he loves her very much
that losing her would mean his death
but mother was no longer in the house
where we grew.
and of course, mother did not really believe him.
she died ahead of him, and he got drunk everyday, and
he put her picture on top of his chest and he cried all night long
staring at her face, black and white, her hair her mouth.
he died a year after and he was buried just beside her pantheon.
i still wonder if mother would believe him.
the silence is overwhelming. no one sweeps the heaps of leaves
and no wind is strong enough to clean the mounds filled with thick grass.
come summer time, i see white daisies blooming, and a black butterfly
hovers to stop a while. I watch closely this new turn of events.
it is like poetry. Some metaphors. Symbols, and hints. Love's mouth
wanting to say all over again, what the heart has constantly hidden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Popeet - the Lost Child
Near by the silent waters of the Mediterranean,
And at the door of an old hut stood a coloured man,
Whose dress was oriental in style and poor with wear,
While adown his furrowed cheeks ran many a tear.
And the poor coloured man seemed very discontent,
And his grief overcame him at this moment;
And he wrung his hands in agony wild,
And he cried, "Oh! help me, great God, to find my child."
"And Ada, my dear wife, but now she is dead,
Which fills my poor heart with sorrow and dread;
She was a very loving wife, but of her I'm bereft,
And I and my lost child are only left.
And, alas! I know not where to find my boy,
Who is dear to me and my only joy;
But with the help of God I will find him,
And this day in search of him I will begin."
So Medoo leaves Turkey and goes to France,
Expecting to find his boy there perhaps by chance;
And while there in Paris he was told
His boy by an Arab had been sold
To a company of French players that performed in the street,
Which was sad news to hear about his boy Popeet;
And while searching for him and making great moan,
He was told he was ill and in Madame Mercy's Home.
Then away went Medoo with his heart full of joy,
To gaze upon the face of his long-lost boy;
Who had been treated by the players mercilessly,
But was taken to the home of Madame Celeste.
She was a member of the players and the leader's wife,
And she loved the boy Popeet as dear as her life,
Because she had no children of her own;
And for the poor ill-treated boy often she did moan.
And when Popeet's father visited the Home,
He was shown into a room where Popeet lay alone,
Pale and emaciated, in his little bed;
And when his father saw him he thought he was dead.
And when Popeet saw his father he lept out of bed,
And only that his father caught him he'd been killed dead;
And his father cried, " Popeet, my own darling boy,
Thank God I've found you, and my heart's full of joy."
Then Madame Mercy's tears fell thick and fast,
When she saw that Popeet had found his father at last;
Then poor Popeet was taken home without delay,
And lived happy with his father for many a day.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Were Right Girl
Its hard to say how long its been, but once upon a time
You were my best friend, Im sorry I hurt you but I loved him, loved him
You said Id get hurt in the end, you tried to warn me with good advice
Instead of listening, I paid the price, yes I did, you told me back then
You said hell love you, leave you, you said his heart was cold as ice
And you were right girl, yes, he played me for a fool, (you were right girl)
Hmm, it all came true, (you were right girl), I know
I should have known it all along, (you were right girl)
Yes, you were right and I was wrong, I thought you blamed him for your mistakes
That all your put downs were just sour grapes, you told me back then
That theyll be lyin, cryin and it wont be his heart that breaks
And ooh, (you were right girl) you were right girl
He played me for a fool, (you were right girl) oh
It all came true, you were (you were right girl) right girl
Yes, I should have known it all along (you were right girl)
You were right girl, you were right and I was wrong
Oh, what made me think that I was different from you
That I could make him do what he wouldnt do for you
Now you told me back then Id never change him, change him
But hed change me before hes through, and ooh (you were right girl)
You were right girl, he played me for a fool, he really did
(you were right girl) well, it all came true, (you were right girl)
You were so right, I should have known it all along (you were right girl)
Oh, yes, you were right and I was wrong, oh, (you were right girl)
He really played me for a fool, (you were right girl)
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, it all came true (you were right girl)
Yeah, (you were right girl) you were right girl
I should have known it all along, (you were righ girl)
You were right girlfriend, you were right and I was wrong, woo, woo, woo
(you were right girl) you were right my girl, (you were right girl)
You were right my girl, he played me for a great big fool
song performed by by Natalie Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Blue Ridge Mountain Boy
From a shack by a mountain stream
To a room in new orleans
So far from my blue ridge mountain home
The men I meet aint warm and friendly
Like the one in old virginie
Oh they aint real like my blue ridge mountain boy
I was just a little past eighteen
When I came to new orleans
Id never been beyond my home state line
There was a boy who loved me dearly
But I broke his heart severely
When I left my blue ridge mountain boy
Life was dull in my hometown
Lights were out when the sun went down
And I thought that city life was more my style
But nights get lonely away from home
And its easy to go wrong
The men aint kind like my blue ridge mountain boy
New orleans held things in store
Things Id never bargained for
And every night a different man knocks on my door
But late at night when all is still
I can hear a whippoorwill
As I cry for my blue ridge mountain boy
Oh but I can never go back home
Since the boy I love is gone
He grew tired of waiting for me to return
They say he married last october
But I never will get over
Oh the sweet love of my blue ridge mountain boy
Blue ridge mountain boy
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is Your Mama Gonna Miss Ya?
I might as well bin blind
Thought I owned this world and all its time
Made up my mind not to love again
Live my life a single man
Lady luck she came my way
Turned my night into day
She went huff and blew my little house down
She went puff ya she spun me around
She played rough ya she took me to town
All I did was fool around
And my whole world came tumblin' down
Is your mama gonna miss ya now you're gone?
Is your mama gonna miss her little rollin' stone?
Is mama gonna cry now she's alone?
Cause mama's little girl ain't goin' home!
Ya-she's goin' with me
I couldn't be found - couldn't be heard
You couldn't trap this free bird
I loved to fly shoulda heard me sing
You came along and flapped your wings
Had my eyes on the road foot on the floor
Tell me "hey who's that knockin' at my door?"
She went huff and blew my little house down
She went puff ya she spun me around
She played rough ya she took me to town
All I did was fool around
And my whole world came crumblin' down
Is your mama gonna miss ya now you're gone?
Is your mama gonna miss her little rollin' stone?
Is mama gonna cry now she's alone?
Cause mama's little girl ain't goin' home!
I said stop and she said go
Looks so good I can't say no
Now we've gone and lost control.
song performed by by Bryan Adams from Waking Up The Neighbours
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For What She Had Done
She had to die.
This Omoo knew.
He also knew he could not kill her.
Not even try to kill her.
Those eyes. Would look at him. Not even try.
So, what to do?
There was one Ung. Who lived in a cave.
Beyond the hard mountain. A foul cave.
Far from the village.
Ung, who hunted with stones.
Who killed with his hands.
Who had killed two saber-tooths.
And one great bear, whose skin he now wore hanging from his hairy shoulders.
And Ung had killed men. Many men.
And, it was said, a woman.
Ung, who took the fresh meat left upon the flat rock for the Spirit of the Sky.
And the Spirit of the Sky would go hungry.
And bring pain and darkness to the village.
But none dare say words to Ung.
Who had killed two saber-tooths.
And one great bear. And men, many men.
And, it was said, a woman.
He went to Ung.
Yes, said Ung, I will kill her.
For what she has done, said Omoo.
For equal weight, said Ung, in bear meat or lizard skins.
She is a large woman, said Omoo.
Equal wait, said Ung. Now you must come and show her to me, that I may kill her.
I cannot, said Omoo.
Then how will I know her?
Her hair is long, said Omoo.
Her eyes burn like the pools of night.
Many have the long hair, said Ung.
Many have eyes like the pool of night.
She will be bathing, said Omoo.
Tomorrow, as the sun dies,
She will be bathing. Washing her long hair at the falling water.
Many women will be bathing, said Ung.
Many long-haired, night-eyed women.
How will I know it is she?
Omoo thought.
Ah, he said, she will be carrying flowers.
Bright hill flowers, that I shall gather and place in her hands, before she goes to bathe at the falling water.
Then you will know her.
Then you will kill her.
For equal weight, said Ung.
Yes, said Omoo, for equal weight.
And so was begun the custom
Of giving bouquets and corsages.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wattle & Daub
She lived right next to the forest
In a cottage of wattle and daub,
A roof of bark and a floor of dirt
With a whisk of milk, absorbed,
Her man had died of a heart attack
For over a year, he'd gone,
Had left her to fend for herself out there
In the shade of a ghostly gum.
He lay right under a stringy bark,
She'd dug the grave herself,
Had made a cross with her loving hands
Deep planted at his head,
On lonely nights she would sit out there
And whisper him under the stars,
'Oh Jim, where now are your strong, brown hands,
Where now are your loving arms? '
She didn't cry, for she couldn't cry
For her heart had turned to stone,
Her love was buried and six feet down
With crumbling flesh and bone,
Her eyes were hard as the hardest flint,
Her lips a fine white line,
And when the stars came out at night
She would look for the slightest sign.
She looked for a heaven beyond the stars,
She looked for the eyes of God,
She knew that he watched her as she slept,
He watched where her steps had trod,
She prayed for her days to end in peace
And soon, for she was alone,
She carved a notch in the mantelpiece
Each day, since her love had flown.
She bucketed water from the creek
That trickled on past her door,
It once was a raging river bed
But that had been back, before...
Before a neighboring farmer dammed,
And quelled the flowing stream,
Had turned her husband's protests down
With a sneer, and words obscene.
Her Jim had worked then twice as hard
To irrigate his feed,
The cattle had died in the summer months
On the parched ground of their need,
He worked from the time the sun came up
To the time that the stars came out,
And in the end, collapsed and died
From the toil of a man-made drought.
The farmer up by the dam had said
That he'd take her land for free,
She'd never be able to stay out there
Alone, she would turn and flee,
Then he would double his pasture
And would open the dam to flood,
And let his cattle to roam abroad
By the cottage of wattle and daub.
Now during the long drawn evenings
And deep in the forest's shade,
She could hear strange noises, threatening,
As they howled across the glade,
She loaded the shotgun Jim had left,
And kept it inside the door,
She'd not be driven from off the land
Where her husband lay, forlorn.
One night a shadowy figure came
Strode out of the darkening wood,
Crossed the creek in the evening mist
In a cape with a long black hood,
It howled and jittered like one possessed
She opened the cottage door,
Then blanched as she saw it light a torch
And the flames begin to roar.
She went to reach for the shotgun then
But a hand caught fast her wrist,
Lifted the gun and pointed it,
She stood with her hand on her breast,
Her heart was pounding, her legs were weak
As she watched the phantom stand,
He shrieked in fear as he saw the gun
In a strong, brown pair of hands.
The blast took one of his legs clean off,
The phantom fell with a scream,
The shotgun dropped to the earthen porch
She thought it a crazy dream,
She turned to look for the strong brown hands
That she knew as well as her own,
But the porch was clear, and she felt no fear
For her husband had come home.
The dam was breached in a minute or so,
The torrent then flooded down,
Washed the remains of the farmer to
The lowlands, where he drowned,
She went out back and buried the gun
With a smile in her eyes, like stars
Looked up to the skies, and saw God's eyes
And round her, two loving arms!
4 June 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Long Time Gone
Well I been gone a long time
The time has passed us by
And I know it won't be long 'till I get home
I see your smilin' face, well I just can't erase
All those good ol' happy days when we were 'lone.
Well I'm comin' through the mountains
On my way back home
I see that snow fallin' on that good old mountain ground
And I know it won't be long, I'm in your lovin' arms
We'll live together and things 'll be better for you
a' you and me, a' can't cha see?
Woman, I been a long time gone
To be a thousand miles from home
I know I've done you wrong
And I know it won't be long,
I'm in your lovin' arms
Woman, been a long, I been a long time gone.
When I hit that mountain road
I got five miles left to go.
I smell that good old mountain air and old and pine trees
And as she stood alone with a pretty white dress on,
I felt that good old mountain air blowin' up a breeze.
Woman, I been a long time gone
To be a thousand miles from home
I know I've done you wrong
And I know it won't be long,
I'm in your lovin' arms
Woman, been a long, I been a long time gone.
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He Called Her In
I
He called her in from me and shut the door.
And she so loved the sunshine and the sky!--
She loved them even better yet than I
That ne'er knew dearth of them--my mother dead,
Nature had nursed me in her lap instead:
And I had grown a dark and eerie child
That rarely smiled,
Save when, shut all alone in grasses high,
Looking straight up in God's great lonesome sky
And coaxing Mother to smile back on me.
'Twas lying thus, this fair girl suddenly
Came to me, nestled in the fields beside
A pleasant-seeming home, with doorway wide--
The sunshine beating in upon the floor
Like golden rain.--
O sweet, sweet face above me, turn again
And leave me! I had cried, but that an ache
Within my throat so gripped it I could make
No sound but a thick sobbing. Cowering so,
I felt her light hand laid
Upon my hair--a touch that ne'er before
Had tamed me thus, all soothed and unafraid--
It seemed the touch the children used to know
When Christ was here, so dear it was--so dear,--
At once I loved her as the leaves love dew
In midmost summer when the days are new.
Barely an hour I knew her, yet a curl
Of silken sunshine did she clip for me
Out of the bright May-morning of her hair,
And bound and gave it to me laughingly,
And caught my hands and called me '_Little girl_,'
Tiptoeing, as she spoke, to kiss me there!
And I stood dazed and dumb for very stress
Of my great happiness.
She plucked me by the gown, nor saw how mean
The raiment--drew me with her everywhere:
Smothered her face in tufts of grasses green:
Put up her dainty hands and peeped between
Her fingers at the blossoms--crooned and talked
To them in strange, glad whispers, as we walked,--
Said _this_ one was her angel mother--_this_,
Her baby-sister--come back, for a kiss,
Clean from the Good-World!--smiled and kissed them, then
Closed her soft eyes and kissed them o'er again.
And so did she beguile me--so we played,--
She was the dazzling Shine--I, the dark Shade--
And we did mingle like to these, and thus,
Together, made
The perfect summer, pure and glorious.
So blent we, till a harsh voice broke upon
Our happiness.--She, startled as a fawn,
Cried, 'Oh, 'tis Father!'--all the blossoms gone
From out her cheeks as those from out her grasp.--
Harsher the voice came:--She could only gasp
Affrightedly, 'Good-bye!--good-bye! good-bye!'
And lo, I stood alone, with that harsh cry
Ringing a new and unknown sense of shame
Through soul and frame,
And, with wet eyes, repeating o'er and o'er,--
'He called her in from me and shut the door!'
II
He called her in from me and shut the door!
And I went wandering alone again--
So lonely--O so very lonely then,
I thought no little sallow star, alone
In all a world of twilight, e'er had known
Such utter loneliness. But that I wore
Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair
To lighten up the night of my despair,
I think I might have groped into my grave
Nor cared to wave
The ferns above it with a breath of prayer.
And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face
That bent above me in my hiding-place
That day amid the grasses there beside
Her pleasant home!--'Her _pleasant_ home!' I sighed,
Remembering;--then shut my teeth and feigned
The harsh voice calling _me_,--then clinched my nails
So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained,
And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who pales
In splendid martyrdom, with soul serene,
As near to God as high the guillotine.
And I had _envied_ her? Not that--O no!
But I had longed for some sweet haven so!--
Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride
Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide
Where those that loved me touched me with their hands,
And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped
Smooth fingers o'er my brow, and lulled the strands
Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped
My yearning face and kissed it satisfied.
Then bitterly I murmured as before,--
'He called her in from me and shut the door!'
III
He called her in from me and shut the door!
After long struggling with my pride and pain--
A weary while it seemed, in which the more
I held myself from her, the greater fain
Was I to look upon her face again;--
At last--at last--half conscious where my feet
Were faring, I stood waist-deep in the sweet
Green grasses there where she
First came to me.--
The very blossoms she had plucked that day,
And, at her father's voice, had cast away,
Around me lay,
Still bright and blooming in these eyes of mine;
And as I gathered each one eagerly,
I pressed it to my lips and drank the wine
Her kisses left there for the honey-bee.
Then, after I had laid them with the tress
Of her bright hair with lingering tenderness,
I, turning, crept on to the hedge that bound
Her pleasant-seeming home--but all around
Was never sign of her!--The windows all
Were blinded; and I heard no rippling fall
Of her glad laugh, nor any harsh voice call;--
But clutching to the tangled grasses, caught
A sound as though a strong man bowed his head
And sobbed alone--unloved--uncomforted!--
And then straightway before
My tearless eyes, all vividly, was wrought
A vision that is with me evermore:--
A little girl that lies asleep, nor hears
Nor heeds not any voice nor fall of tears.--
And I sit singing o'er and o'er and o'er,--
'God called her in from him and shut the door!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flawed Fidelity
‘Life is a great disappointment, ' mused
The sailor on the quay,
And he sighed again, and frowned, and then
Looked sadly out to sea,
‘We start by thinking it wonderful
With a whole wide world out there,
But the world is thin, and it hems you in
If you have no love to share! '
The man he'd met on the promenade
Stood silent by his side,
The sun dipped into the ocean on
Its slow but stately ride,
The Moon, the queen of the evening rose
To light the Milky Way,
‘I shouldn't have gone to sea, but then
She'd have left me anyway! '
The man in the cheap and shoddy suit
Had nodded in the gloom,
His thoughts were locked in the high rise block,
That he'd left that afternoon,
She'd pushed him out on the balcony
Still dressed in her negligée,
‘You'd better not come around again,
He's coming home today! '
‘I thought I could go and roam, while she
Sat patient, waited here,
The love in her eyes had gone, when I
Came back, the following year,
We muddled along for two more years,
She couldn't look in my eyes,
When I asked her who she was seeing
All I got was a pack of lies! '
The man in the cheap and shoddy suit
Thought of his wife at home,
He'd told her about some meeting, but
He'd wandered the streets alone,
Hoping she'd keep their rendezvous
Continue their brief affair,
And he thought of her long and shapely legs
And the fragrance of her hair.
‘Marriage can be a terrible bind,
We think it will last for life, '
He said to the sailor, dredging up
Some thoughts of his faithful wife,
‘But wives get dull with the passing years
And they lose that vital spark,
So a man must find a lover…'
They both nodded, in the dark.
‘I said that I'd meet her here, at six, '
He checked his watch again,
‘She said to stay, she would get away
If she could, by half past seven.'
‘Mine should be any moment now,
Her man has gone for the night,
She says that she's dull and bored at home,
But she's feisty, and she's bright! '
They parted then at the quay, each walked
Some way, then stood in the glow,
Of a dimly lit street standard
Lighting the sombre street below,
Then a woman walked up to the sailor,
Gave him kisses, long and deep,
While the man in the cheap and shoddy suit
Went pale, and began to weep!
22 August 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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False Eyelashes
(Bob Tubert & Demetrius Tapp)
Folks back home think I'm a star now when they hear my records play
They say there home town girl made good and she'd go a long long way
Mom wonders why I don't drive back in that big fine car I own
The truth is I don't have a car and I'm ashamed to go back home
A pair of false eye lashes and a tube of cheap lipstick
A pair of worn out high heel shoes and a dress doesn't fit
These are all my possessions all I have to my name
And a record played in my home town is my only claim to fame
I'm so glad that dad can't see me now, his favorite little girl
Singing in this dingy place on the wrong side of the world
And I'm glad that I can't see the boy that offered me his name
For I was blind and turned from him in this empty search for fame
A pair of false eye lashes and a tube of cheap lipstick
A pair of worn out high heel shoes and a dress doesn't fit
These are all of my possessions, all I have to my name
And a record played in my home town is my only claim to fame
Yes a record played in my home town is my only claim to fame
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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