Taking Root
I'd seen Lianne at her cottage door
When I'd walked the old bush track,
The cottage had been abandoned, but
She was gradually bringing it back,
She painted it and she patched it
There was nothing she couldn't do,
I even saw her up on the roof
Repairing a faulty flue.
I simply waved at the girl at first
And she'd smile, and wave on back,
She must have been used to seeing me
On that little-used outback track,
I wondered why she would settle there
In a cottage, out on her own,
I never saw anyone else to share
The place that she called her home.
I stopped, of course, and I spoke to her
Once I'd passed a dozen times,
She said that she loved the fresh, clean air,
That she'd travelled from colder climes,
The sun was warm in the early spring
But I mentioned about the drought,
‘The summer heat is intense out here
With nothing to keep it out.'
What trees there were had died long since
For the lack of a steady rain,
They stood, grey, gaunt and twisted, like
Arthritic men, in pain,
She said she was going to grub them out
And plant fresh trees when she could,
Something with lots of leaves for shade
And water them, well and good.
I mentioned a couple of species that
Would grow at a furious pace,
Like the Australian willow, it
Was known for its speed, and grace,
She'd put some in when I passed again
And we talked of family trees,
She said that her Gran had left the place
To her, to do as she pleased.
‘My people, back in the early days
Were some of the pioneers,
They built this cottage and tilled the soil
And they persevered for years.
But Gran took off for the city once
Her husband took ill, and died,
He's buried out in the back out there,
With his father, by his side.'
She showed me the graves of her forefathers,
The stones were weathered and worn,
She'd tried to tidy them up a bit
Erected a limestone cairn,
‘They came and slaved and suffered here
And died, and followed suit,
That's why I came to save the place,
I felt like taking root.'
I caught a glimpse of her eyes at that
And saw a glimmer of tears,
She was the last of the line of them,
These family pioneers,
She wasn't a striking beauty but
Had passion, guts and grace,
And that's when I fell in love with her
And I told her, to her face.
She smiled and patted my hand: ‘You're sweet,
But you don't know me at all,
Maybe you'll get to know me, if
You keep on coming to call.'
So I did, on into the summer then,
And followed through to the fall,
But then I was sent away for months
To a farm where I couldn't call.
She had no phone, she had no mail
No electricity,
She spent her nights on a garden seat
With a lantern on a tree,
The summer had seen a blistering heat
But the fall brought on the rain,
It was well into winter by the time
I was able to call again.
I found her out in the garden, where
She stood in a sort of trance,
I tried to engage her attention, but
She barely spared me a glance,
Her skin was coloured a shade of grey
And her legs were rough and stark,
Her feet had sunk in the mulch out there
And her ankles looked like bark.
I pulled at her hands but she simply leaned,
She swayed like a sapling bent,
Out from the tips of her fingers grew
Some strange disfigurement,
Her hair was tangled with creepers
That were snaking along her back,
I thought I could wake her with a kiss
But I seemed to have lost the knack.
I left her there in the garden, but
I see her from time to time,
The seasons come and the seasons go
But Lianne continues to climb,
Her clothes fell off, they were rotted through
Now she needs no type of suit,
Lianne's as busy as ever,
As she said, she's taking root.
20 September 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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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Courting Disaster
I was twenty-three when I saw her first,
Without a word of a lie,
She had wandered into the woods by me
With a basket, held on high,
Her auburn hair reflected the sun
And she flashed me a dazzling smile,
That turned my head to the way she led
As I followed her, over the stile.
She skipped along at a steady pace
Weaved in and out through the trees,
Collected the broad-rimmed mushrooms there
As she stopped, and fell to her knees,
Her dress flared out as it caught the wind
And her hair was floated wide,
I hid by a tree, and held my breath
As I thought of her, as a bride.
She had such a look of innocence,
Was free as the birds of the air,
The legs and the grace of a peasant girl
Brought up in the great out-there,
She ran right up to a Woodsman's house
That was hidden by branch and vine,
Then danced right in through the open door,
And then I knew; she was mine!
The door was closed when I finally knocked
But I heard a terrible moan,
And minutes later the door unlocked,
In the hall stood a fusty crone,
She stared at me through her hoary eyes
With never a hint of grace,
‘What do you want? ' she growled at me,
For the shock must have shown in my face.
‘That girl, who danced in a moment back,
I'm here to discover her name.'
‘There is no girl, ' said the ancient hack,
‘You'd better return where you came! '
‘I saw her enter, I must insist,
I'll not be gulled by your lies! '
‘That girl's been dead for a long time back,
You'd better leave now, if you're wise! '
She slammed the door in my face just then
So I wandered back through the trees,
A raincloud covered the midday sun
And I felt the chill of a breeze,
The rain came down as I walked back home,
Climbed over the ricketty stile,
Was drenched to the skin as I wandered in,
And thought to resort to guile.
For days I lingered by that old track,
The place that I'd seen her first,
I felt so miserable, holding back,
As I thought, and feared for the worst,
What if the girl was a sprite, who'd died,
Just as the old crone said?
Try as I might, I couldn't believe,
Nor get her out of my head.
I finally went to the Woodsman's house
And I hid in a patch by the vine,
When suddenly out of the door came tripping
The girl, with her eyes a-shine,
She skipped away with her basket, filled
With linen and loaves and cheese,
And I caught her then in a shady glade
As she stopped, and fell to her knees.
‘I hoped you'd come, ' were the words she said
As she laid a cloth on the ground,
‘I have to hide from that grey old witch
So I go where I'll never be found.'
She broke the bread and she poured the wine
And we ate and drank in the glade,
My mind was filled with a sudden chill
But I thought of fun in the shade.
‘So when are you going to kiss me, then? '
She said when we finished our feast,
‘I've fed your animal spirits, now,
It's time I was paid, at least! '
I kissed her there in the shady glade
And we tumbled there in the leaves,
Then I fell asleep, and she'd gone when I
Awoke, and the heart, it grieves.
I stumbled home, but was feeling faint
I had aches and pains in my head,
I staggered through to the bedroom, then
I found her asleep in my bed,
She woke and sat, and she stared at me
But her face had begun to change,
There were lines and wrinkles around her eyes
And her hair was grey with age.
‘I need you now that my time is short,
Come and rest your weary head, '
I caught a glimpse in the mirror then
And it filled me full of dread,
For the face of a man of middle age
Stared back at me from the glass,
‘Just what have to done to me? ' I said…
‘Do you really have to ask? '
‘I fed on your animal needs, and you
Gave something to set me free,
If you want me to be a bright young thing
Then you must replenish me.'
I saw she aged by the minute there
And she soon let out a moan,
For lying in bed was a figure of dread,
That hoary old witch, the crone!
I'm far too weak to get out of bed,
But Elli goes out on her own,
She carries her basket into the wood
For the mushrooms she eats alone,
My beard is grey and I dread each day
As she bleeds my life from its core,
But she's as lovely as ever she was
At a hundred and twenty-four!
26 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tryst
Ambrose stood at the cottage step
A bouquet in his hand,
He'd come to woo sweet Adeline
From a strange and far off land,
They'd known each other since children, and
They'd made to each a vow:
‘I never will love another more
Than I love you, even now! '
They'd played in the heat of the summer sun,
They'd played in the autumn shade,
But winter carried him far from home
And the love that they'd almost made,
They wrote through spring and the summer's height
They wrote right through to the fall,
But the winter chills saw the postman fill
No letterbox at all.
His letters came back, duly stamped
‘Not known at this address! '
He grieved as the spring made true love sing
Anew in his sorrowing breast,
He bought a ticket and travelled home
Third Class, by Packet Steam,
But fretted all of the way across
For the love of his Adeline.
He knocked at the cottage door where she
Had lived when the world was good,
But the knocker made an echoing sound
On the door, where Ambrose stood,
The flowers she'd tended lovingly
Were dead in the window box,
Except for a patch of colour there,
A clump of forget-me-nots.
He knocked, and then he knocked again,
There came no patter of feet,
Only the sound of silence there
As he felt his own heart beat,
He little knew as he turned away
That a bier stood in the hall,
And the coffin that lay there sombrely
Knew nothing of life at all.
She'd ceased to write when she caught the sight
Of the blood on her handkerchief,
And the winter cough said clear enough
That there'd be no summer heat,
She lay in the coffin, sweetly dressed,
With a note beside her brow:
‘I never will love another more
Than I love you, even now! '
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Little Cottage
A little cottage nestled in the hills,
its roof is thatched
and it windows carry Georgian squares.
In its garden pretty flowers grow;
while in the fields,
seeds of corn are sown.
Snug within its stonewalls
lives a family,
husband, wife and their two sons.
Sadness filled the cottage one day
when the sons were called to war.
Candles were lit; prayers were said
for their safe return.
Years rolled by, paintwork peeled,
but the little cottage was still a home
with its fire warm.
Day after day, year after year
they waited for their sons return.
Then came what they dreaded most,
letters laced with black
to say that their sons had fallen
in fields far away
and would not be coming back.
A wreath of black hangs on the door
for their soldier boys
who will come home no more.
Sorrow again gripped the walls.
As years followed,
the little cottage fell into disrepair.
Within this once happy home
only sadness rang.
The husband and wife
grew old in their years,
but always held the memory
of two young lost lives.
Slowly they too faded away.
Now the little cottage
stands silent for all to see.
Falling down from lack of repair,
but always holding memories
of happiness once there.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jane and You and the Hollow Tree.
Jane waited for you
by the narrow road
that led to Linch farm
the water tower visible
against the afternoon sky
of pale blue and white
cold clouds
she was dressed
in a grey coat
and her dark hair
was pinned back
with grips
you noticed
blueness
about her lips
the cold taking toll
wasn't sure
if you would show
she said
the coldness
and such
I said I would
and I say
what I mean
you replied
once you were close to her
she took her hands
out of the coat pockets
and linked her arm
through yours
where shall we go?
she asked
you know it better
around here than I do
you choose
you said
let's go up
the dust track
to the hollow tree
on the way up
to the Downs
she said
ok
you said
and so you walked along
and up the dust track
side by side
and she talked
of the wintery trees
and what birds
there were still about
and how she liked
spring best with the coming
of flowers and birds nesting
and you listened
looking at her
as she spoke
watching her lips move
how when she spoke
her white teeth showed
and now and then
her tongue would show
and it reminded you
of that kiss she gave you
up by Diddling church
as you stood looking
at the grave stones
and she gazed at you
and then kissed
and her tongue
touched yours
and it was like heaven
as if someone
had opened up
your heart
and stuck
their tongue in there
and as you thought
about that kiss
she talked of some girl
of a cowman
who'd got pregnant
and how did that happen?
she asked
and you said nothing
but listened on
and then you reached
the hollow tree
and climbed inside
and sat down
looking out
of the hole
in the side
and it felt cosy
in there
like a small home
and she leaned
in against you
and there was silence
and you looked at her
at her eyes
and hair
and how her lips
were parted
and her white teeth
showed and her tongue
waiting to speak
and you wondered
about that kiss again
and whether
it would happen this time
there in the hollow tree
out of sight
of others
and she showed you
tucked between
her small breasts
a small locket
which used to be
her mother's.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Book of Van den Braak
I stared at the book on the table
Where it lay on the weathered oak,
The cover so black and tarnished,
Tanned in leather through coils of smoke,
Its ancient layers had long been carved
As petals of some grim flower,
Where an evil mildew spread its mould
From the walls of that ancient tower.
The book was set like an altar piece
In that ancient, flagstoned hall,
Catching the feeble rays of light
Through cracks in the old stone wall,
I hastened to look away, but yet
It gripped me in its glare,
Like some old German Grimoire...
Though no title page was there!
I reached for the cover and opened it,
The leather creaked with age,
As it formed with its rotting petals
Into a rose around the page,
The smell of the mildew wafted up
And the chill was damp and stark,
There was nothing but evil in that tower,
In the book of Van den Braak.
I leant right over the book and saw
A woodcut of a lane,
The trees were grim in their winter coats
As the snow gave way to rain,
The mud was thick on the barren leaves
That were mulched from the Autumn's fall,
And I felt it squelch right under my feet
As the wind howled round the hall!
The tower was gone, I stood outside
In the rain and the brooding dark,
Walking along a windswept lane
In the book of Van den Braak,
I saw the light of a cottage there,
Set back in among the trees,
And a woman wailed on the painted step,
My own, my dear Louise!
I ran towards her, through a stream
That babbled beside the lane,
Louise was crying and wailing there,
She muttered: 'I'm not to blame! '
I must have seemed like a phantom there,
I waved, but she couldn't see,
She said, 'you shouldn't have killed him,
I just asked you to set me free! '
A man ran out from the cottage door,
His coat was covered in blood,
He ran his hands through his tangled hair
And fell, to kneel in the mud.
He took her into his arms and cried,
She clung, and called him Mark,
And then when he turned, I saw his face,
I knew him - Van den Braak!
I must have been quite invisible
In the pages of that book,
Or they were a couple of phantoms
Making love as I stood and shook,
I walked around to the cottage door
And peered in out of the rain,
I lay stone dead on the hearthstone there,
A bullet lodged in my brain.
In shock I turned, I saw the tower,
I ran with all my might,
Back to the Norman Keep and Moat,
Back through the surly night,
The eyes of demons had followed me
From high in the trees of the park,
But I was ready for come-what-may
At the hands of Van den Braak!
Then suddenly, I was in the tower,
Leaning over the book,
When Van den Braak called out that he
Was ready to take a look,
I'd brought the book with the tenants' rents
Of those that lived in the park,
But I stabbed him high in the rib cage there,
And cut his throat in the dark!
I went to his German Grimoire
Fell once more through the open page,
Went looking for my Louise, by now
In the white hot throes of rage,
She sat and wailed on the painted step
And muttered there in the dark...
'I didn't ask you to kill the man,
Just free me from Van den Braak! '
1 April 2010
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her Beautifulness.
There's an empty cottage
at the end of this lane
Jane said
and there's a large apple tree
in the garden
and no one goes there
so maybe we can look
through the windows
and see what's there
sounds good
you said
and she smiled at you
in her shy manner
and brushed her fingers
through her long black hair
and breathed in
the summer air
and there were birds
flying overhead
and a small brook
running along side
the lane
and you felt happy
being there with her
looking at her profile
at the way her eyes
looked about her
and her flowered summer dress
she said her mother made
and the way she swayed
her hips as she walked
and you sensed her nearness
her just being there
just a fingertip away
and when you came
to the empty cottage
she ran ahead and peered
through the windows
and you came along beside her
and looked through the glass
at the emptiness within
and she said
let's see if the doors are locked
and she ran to the door
and pushed but it was locked
and she said
just a chance we could have gone in
and pretended it was ours
and imagined where
we could have put our furniture
and we could have gone up the stairs
and looked out and pretended
it was our bedroom
and we had just married
and then she was silent
and you stood behind her
and touched her arm
and said
let's go pick some apples
and you can pretend
you're going to cook
an apple-pie
for our dinner instead
and she smiled
and gently pressed her lips
on your cheek
a small wet warmness
entered you
and oh
you thought
as she ran to the tree
that she would always be here
just the summer sun
and she in her beautifulness
and 13 year old me.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Taking It Back
I've been away so long I hardly knew the place
Its been too long since I've been gone
Just like a rolling stone I aint got no home
But my boys are back in town
It's been two long years since I've been on the run
From lawyers lovers monies and a lawmans son
You thought it was the last that you heard of me
But you better back up to catch up with me
Cause I'm livin in the fast lane
Speedin like a speed train
Just before I fall, just before I fall off the track
Taking it back
Im taking it back
Taking it back
You took it away took it away
All I can say is we're taking it back
Ive been away so long its good to see your face
Barkeep wont you buy me a round?
We'll raise a glass to the good times past
Then we'll dance this damn place down
Taking it back(Repeat 3x)
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Aging Man
‘The Aging Man’
The aging man sat on the concrete seat
Outside the hidden mountain cottage
The seat where generations had sat before
A family party going on inside the cottage
He sits and ponders his future
As generations have done before
Some chose the priesthood
Others opted for foreign climes
Some had gone to war
None of the family who had left
Had ever returned home
The eldest, as he was, of each generation
Stayed at home on the farm
He thought, this he might change
He wasn’t sure if he wanted
Another family member
Stuck on this mountain
In this out of the way cottage
That they called the family home
But he never felt at home
Someone standing on the doorstep
Shouts come in son
It is your eighteenth birthday party
You should be in here
He went back to the party
The family were in full spirits
Happy to see him grown
How will he tell them
He is going to break with tradition
A heavy burden for one so young
What a weight on his shoulders
For him, the aging man
Michael Micmac Mccrory
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Winter Garden
Winter has visited our garden my love
Trees have been stripped bare and flowers wilt
A frost has been laid upon the ground
Even the birds have taken to flight, away
Amid the silence of the morning I walk
Through our garden which we nurtured
How solemn it now looks without colour
The summer seems but a distant memory
How beautiful it looked back then
How beautiful it will look once more
But now in the mornings drab light
With barren trees and wilted flowers
I walk upon the hardened earth
Which feels like stone beneath my feet
We talked of planting a fruit tree
For flavour and shade in years to come
Now that is an idea in waiting
Till winter has passed, and spring returns
Winter is here in our garden my love
As I watch the vapour of my breath rise
I say your name, a love for all time
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ruined Cottage
None will dwell in that cottage; for, they say
Oppression reft it from an honest man,
And that a curse clings to it. Hence the vine
Trails its green weight of leaves upon the ground;
Hence weeds are in the garden; hence the hedge,
Once sweet with honey suckle, is half-dead;
And hence the gray moss on the apple tree.
One once dwelt there, who, in his youth,
Had been a soldier; and, when many days
Had passed, he sought his native village,
And sat down, to end his days in peace.
He had one child, a little laughing thing,
Whose dark eyes, he said, were like her mother's,
She had left buried in a strange land.
And time went on in comfort and content;
And that fair girl had grown far taller
Than the red-rose tree, her father planted
On her first English birth-day. He had trained it
Against an ash, till it became his pride,
It was so rich in blossom and in beauty.
It was called the tree of Isabel. 'Twas an appeal
To all the finer feelings of the heart
To mark their quiet happiness; their home,
In truth, the house of love; and, more than all,
To see them on the Sabbath, when they came,
Among the first, to church. And Isabel,
With her bright colour and her clear blue eyes,
Bowed down so meekly in the house of prayer;
And, in the hymn, her sweet voice audible.
Her father looked so fond of her, and then,
From her looked up so thankfully to heaven.
Then their small cottage was so very neat,
Their garden filled with fruits and flowers and herbs;
And in the winter there was no fireside
So cheerful as their own.
But other days
And other fortunes came - and evil power;
They bore against it cheerfully, and hoped
For better times; but ruin came at last,
And the old soldier left his dear home,
And left it for a prison. 'Twas in June,
One of June's brightest days; the bee, the bird,
The butterfly, were on their lightest wings;
The fruits had their first tinge of summer light;
The sunny sky, the very leaves seemed glad;
But the old man looked back upon his cottage,
And wept aloud. They hurried him away,
And the dear child, that would not leave his side!
They led him from the sight of the blue heaven
And the green grass, into a low dark cell,
The windows shutting out the blessed sun
With iron grating; and, for the first time,
He threw him on the bed, and could not hear
His Isabel's good night.
But the next morn
She was the earliest at the prison gate,
The last on whom it closed, and her sweet voice
And sweeter smile made him forget to pine.
She brought him every morning fresh wild flowers,
But every morning he could mark her cheek
Grow paler and more pale, and her low tones
Get fainter and more faint; and a cold dew
Was on the hand he held. One day he saw
The sun shine through the grating of his cell,
Yet Isabel came not. At every sound
His heart-beat took away his breath;
Yet still she came not near him. One sad day
He marked the dull street, through the iron bars,
That shut him from the world. At length,
He saw a coffin carried carelessly along;
And he grew desperate. He forced the bars;
And he stood on the street, free and alone.
He had no aim, no wish for liberty;
He only felt one want - to see the corpse,
That had no mourners. When they set it down,
Ere it was lowered into the new-dug grave,
A rush of passion came upon his soul;
He tore off the lid, and saw the face
Of Isabel, and knew he had no child.
He lay down by the coffin quietly -
His heart was broken!
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home, Sweet Home
The childhood home wherein children, we stayed;
The cottage old in which we ate and prayed;
The humble garden, on our own, we laid;
The roof that leaked in rain, though rent was paid!
The tranquil place where parents gave us love;
The wonderful compound, where we worked, ‘wow! ’
The trees and plants that grew by heaven’s grace;
The sun, moon, rain, at which we loved to gaze!
That was the lovely place, in which we lived;
The home we kept quite clean and chores were shared;
Our parents slogged for us and deeply cared;
We sometimes fought although amity ruled!
Our father’s strictness taught us good conduct;
Our mother’s fondness disciplined our mind;
The help we rendered, made us feel the warmth;
Home, sweet home, was great despite some faults!
Home, sweet home, brings memories evergreen;
Comfortable, our mother’s house, had been;
Those days were most pleasant, despite our toil;
We lost our hearts upon that very soil!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home Again In My Heart
One in a million in a lonely town,
Two hundred people trying to keep me down,
Ive taken all I can, I aint lookin back.
Small town boy in a back yard lot,
Cant make a living with the luck Ive got
Im gonna leave it all, I aint looking back.
Thats the way I remember, it seemed to me when I was young.
But I can still see the leaves slowly fall to the ground,
And the snow on the trees as the winter comes down.
Still I go home again in my heart.
My father worked hard on the railroad track;
37 years cut across his back,
He gave it all he had for what he believed.
Like every other kid that came before,
I grew up believing there was something more
And I still believe, I still believe.
Thats the way I remember, it seemed to me when I was young.
But I can still see the leaves slowly fall to the ground,
And the snow on the trees as the winter comes down.
Still I go home again in my heart.
But I can still see the lightning on a warm summer night
And the rain on the roof when I close my eyes;
I can still hear us laughing on the front porch in the dark.
There are days when I know that Ive traveled so far
That Ill never find the road leading back to the start,
Still I go home again in my heart
Still I go home again in my heart
In my heart, in my heart
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lalani
I swore, when my wife took off one night
That I'd never love again,
She'd left a note by the candlelight:
'I've been seeing other men! '
I stood in shock, I couldn't move,
Stood rooted to the floor,
And after I'd pulled the blinds, I cried,
Then locked the cottage door.
The love that she'd sworn, just shadows;
The plans that we'd made, just sand,
My life had become a darker place
By the scrawl from a woman's hand.
The cottage was wreathed in silence, it
Was still, like a living tomb,
The only sounds were my echoing steps
As I paced there, in the gloom.
I spent, God! How many weeks? I sat
Just stared at a blank, white wall,
I didn't dare venture out, but drank,
I tried to forget it all,
But then I'd walk at the lonely beach
Where we'd skipped to a lovers tune,
The light of love had been in my eyes
As she'd danced to a harvest moon.
The autumn passed in a drunken haze
The nights were becoming chill,
I warmed myself in the comforting blaze
Of a wood fire on the hill,
But then one night as the breakers crashed
And spent themselves on the reef,
I heard the sounds of a woman's moans
Rise up from the lonely beach.
The storm was whipping the rising crests,
The wind soughed through the trees,
I made my way to the beach, and there
She crawled on her hands and knees,
I picked her up, and carried her back
To the cottage, and there I saw
The sea had savaged her body there,
Dragged over the rocky shore.
There was no clothing of any sort,
Her skin was a pearly white,
But scraped and marred, she was loveliness
As she even bled in the night,
I washed and tended her every cut
And I held my breath in the gloom,
I couldn't believe my fortune there
As she lay in my own front room.
I wrapped her up in a robe, to save
Embarrassment for us both,
She slept content for an hour or two
While I watched, and prayed and hoped,
Then just at dawn, she opened her eyes
Took one brief glance at me,
Then muttered a word, she said, 'La-la...'
Again, said: 'La-lani.'
For days she lay in a fever, and
I fed her on fish and bread,
I tried to get her to talk to me
But she only shook her head,
She'd had a cut on the side of her neck
That had healed, some time before,
But opened up as I stared at it,
So she hid it under her hair.
Within a week she was up and out,
Was dancing along the beach,
She'd smile, and tease me to chase her there,
I laughed, first time for weeks;
She peeled the robe off as she danced,
Came naked into my arms,
Then kissed and smothered me way out there
With all of her womanly charms.
I thought that she might be deaf and dumb,
She never attempted a word,
But showed affection by patting my arm,
By nodding and shaking her head.
The slit on her neck stayed open, and
I looked at the other side,
Where one of the same had marred her skin,
She dropped her eyes, and sighed.
I'd said I never would fall in love
Again, and that was true,
But that was before Lalani,
I was smitten, and that she knew.
I told her then that I wanted her,
Said I loved her more than life,
I didn't care that she couldn't speak,
I'd take her for my wife.
She smiled, but then looked troubled,
Dropped her head down onto her chin,
I found her down at the water's edge
Where the tide was coming in,
She opened her mouth and sang a note
As mournful as the grave,
Like the tone of a bell in a waterspout,
Or an underwater cave.
And there in the shallows rose a man
With skin like a silver fish,
With eyes like a giant halibut,
And teeth for tearing flesh,
He leapt right out of the water,
Seized her arm and dragged her in,
I shouted her name, 'Lalani...'
But they'd gone, and the sea was calm.
In terror, I launched my boat, and revved
The engine out in the bay,
I circled the shallow waters,
Then I headed on out to sea,
I stopped at last, and stared straight down
To the weed on the ocean floor,
It was then that I saw Lalani
Swimming under the surface there.
She floated, feet below me,
Looking up, and she waved goodbye,
The fish man waited down below
As she turned - I thought I'd die!
She sank to the depths, and out of sight,
I knew that she'd gone for good...
I'll burn the cottage one moonless night,
Love's not in my neighborhood!
22 July 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stalker
She looked demure as she came on board
And sat in a corner seat,
And Paul looked up from his paper as
She crossed her legs in the heat,
The blouse she wore had a bunch of lace,
Her skirt rose over the knee,
And a length of thigh had caught his eye
As the train had gathered speed.
‘Some girls were there for the taking, '
Paul had thought, and he shook his head,
They weren't alive to the dangers that
Their wiser mothers would dread,
So many girls were assaulted
On the track that led to the train,
They needed a good Samaritan;
Outside, it started to rain.
A man came into the carriage
Sat across on the other aisle,
He tried to catch her attention with
Some twisted sort of a smile,
He made a pointed remark, at which
She scowled, but made no reply,
But Paul sat watching and listening
To the man with the evil eye.
The girl stood up as the train pulled in
To the village of Little Cross,
And the man got ready to leave the train
But waited, ‘til she'd got off,
So Paul jumped up on a whim, and thought
To follow, and keep her safe,
He'd keep his eye on this other guy
Be there for her, just in case.
The track led over some common land
Then wandered into a wood,
The girl ploughed on, didn't look back
Though Paul had thought that she should,
The man took off on a side track then
And soon was lost to his view,
Where the ground was covered with thickets
Sparkling still with the morning dew.
The girl had vanished ahead of him
Round a bend in the beaten track,
Paul was hurrying after her
When he heard a sound at his back,
He turned and he saw the girl approach
And knew that he was in strife,
For glittering in her hand he saw
The long curved blade of a knife.
She stabbed him once, she stabbed him twice
She stabbed him a dozen times,
She snarled, ‘Is this what you wanted, No?
Well isn't that a surprise! '
He toppled back as she scythed at him
And tried to catch at his breath,
The words, ‘I thought to protect you, '
Left unsaid, in the throes of death.
They took his wallet, they took his ring
As his blue eyes glazed at the sky,
‘He thought that I was the stalker, ' grinned
The man with the evil eye,
She turned to him an excited smile
And murmured, ‘Gee, that was fun!
Let's take the train to the Junction, Joe,
And get us another one! '
17 November 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Water Tower
I sit and stare at this empty page,
The wind howls long at the winter eaves,
The cloud is heavy, and black with rage
As squalls dance in through the myrtle leaves.
While deep inside in the cottage gloom
My love lies weary, cocooned in dreams,
I hear her cry in the darkened room
Call out one name from a nightmare scene.
‘Michelle, ’ she mutters, then groans aloud
I grit my teeth at the open door,
The wind it eddies in dust and leaves
And echoes long at the water tower.
‘Michelle, Michelle, ’ it grumbles and groans,
‘Michelle, ’ it whispers, then skips and howls;
My love rolls over in deepest sleep
While I keep watch through the early hours.
The storm comes in and the rain drives down,
Batters at windows and roof in vain,
The wires whine in a humming frown:
‘Michelle, Michelle, ’ is its one refrain.
And tears roll at my weathered cheek
The clock chimes five at the early hour,
Michelle once crawled from her bed, asleep,
And went to climb at the water tower.
Her hair was black as a raven’s coat
Her eyes set back in that tiny face,
Three winters long was her spell of dreams
Before she crept to that dreadful place.
Three winters long was our fairy child
Who lisped and chattered from heart to heart,
The cottage door had a faulty latch –
I’d always meant to replace that part.
But now, awake from her nest of dreams
I see my love at the open door,
I wait in hope, but her eyes are ice;
She’s staring out at the water tower.
Then I look down, and the page is full,
I’ve scribbled the words of an ancient rhyme,
Over and over and over again –
‘I’ll fix the latch when I get the time.’
And she goes back to her bed to cry
While I sit frozen beside the door,
The latch still rattles, the door’s ajar;
I’ve punched three holes in the water tower.
13 June 1999
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strangers in Time
I'll ever remember the day she left
In a storm, I was so unkind,
I'd hurled the dinner right over her head
At the wall, and it blew her mind!
‘That's it! ' she muttered, and grabbed her bag
Went sailing out of the door,
With never a backward glance at me
Or our lives, forever more!
I sat for a week, just waited, thinking
Soon she'll be coming home,
Sat in the dark and hated, loved,
Then thought I'd better atone,
So I took to the streets, her mother's house
But of her, there wasn't a trace,
I tried her sister and brother's homes
And they slammed the door in my face.
Louise had walked right out of my life
And she wouldn't be coming back,
My world collapsed in a fit of tears
But I had to accept the fact,
I walked unthinking into the road,
Was hit by the local bus,
I vaguely remember the ambulance bell
And waking up in a truss.
There was something odd in that hospital,
I couldn't quite pin it down,
The ward was the long, old-fashioned sort
In a seedy part of town,
I noticed the nurse's uniforms
Were odd, like they used to wear
Back in the fifties, as a kid
I'd had tonsillitis there.
There was more than plenty of time to think
And I went back through my life,
Went back to every decision I'd made
Right up to losing my wife,
If I'd just done this, or just said that
I'd have taken a different tack,
So many ways I'd mishandled things
With no chance of going back.
And there, behind each second of time
Was a choice that we'd have to make,
Two paths had always been open to us
What path did the other path take?
Could there be a parallel universe
Where the other half of me,
Had made those different decisions,
Was alive, but happy and free?
It took three months for my wounds to heal
Then I found myself in the street,
It wasn't the town I remembered, though,
It had changed, perceptively,
And I was feeling much younger
So much fitter than before,
A glimpse of my face in a mirror, caught
And shocked me to the core!
I went to the university
And there I saw Louise,
Just as I'd seen her years before
And she waved and smiled at me,
Or I thought she did, but she passed me by
Went up to another man,
Kissed him there in the quad, and then
Walked off with him, hand in hand.
I was back in a parallel universe
Before she'd become my wife,
And now I remembered, Andy Cole
Had caused me a lot of strife,
We'd both gone after the same Louise
In the end, she'd chosen me,
But not before he had done with her,
Walked off, and set her free.
I followed them at a distance to
The place where they shared a flat,
I noticed she wore a wedding ring
And I thought that that was that!
I'd come too late in this scheme of things
That had taken another line,
I walked by her, but she knew me not,
We were simply strangers in time.
Then suddenly I was back at home
And closing the old front door,
I could smell Louise's cooking, it
Was a dish I'd come to abhor,
I took my place at the table and
She handed me the plate,
I said, ‘It smells delicious, dear! '
I'm the master of my fate!
7 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Autumn Hello's
Sometimes for others at autumn time period,
Is time for goodbyes when summertime flys,
For autumn is next in season time keeping,
And summer is over and moonlight shines sooner,
To see the autumn early sunset,
Is the time to travel back,
Leaving behind the bright nights,
And early dawnings,
Summertime goodbyes,
And hello to,
Autumn hello's,
Makes some lovers cry,
For time to fly,
When moonlight shines sooner,
And summer nights no more linger,
Tis, when summertime lovers kiss and say goodbye,
Flying back to where they are from,
Leaving each other to fly back home,
Back to the regular days and events,
Back to the mudane schedule,
That made you book and fly away,
Yet, then you settle back in and think,
Of the times you had in summertime joys,
While others of all season,
Settle in and snuggle,
Planning their future together,
Knowing to each in all seasons,
While the whims and joys,
Of summertime loves,
Comes to a halt,
When both part and fly home,
Till,
Mabey they might meet up again,
When autumn, winter and spring has been,
Unless,
In that time and along the way,
They meet an autumn hello,
That keeps them,
Home,
Like all the rest,
That meet and fall in love,
That lasts for more than autumn hello's.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is Spring Time
It is Spring Time
It is spring time.
I can smell it in the air.
I can smell the flowers.
I can smell the grass.
I can touch the grass.
I can touch and taste the vegetable growing in the garden.
The weather is changing.
The weather is warming up.
The trees are blossoming.
The flowers are blossoming.
It is spring time.
Easter has passed.
Beltane has passed.
Spring and May is here.
This is the time to tend to your garden and planted some flowers.
Some people pray to God to protect their garden.
Some people pray to Mother Nature for protect.
I do both and I thank God for this planet.
It is Spring Time.
The animals and bugs come out to play.
The frogs jump around the pond.
The wildflower comes out.
The sky is clean and blue.
The sun is shining.
The horses are running free.
The sunflowers are growing.
When seasons the earth also changes it is a beautiful way.
Nature is every where.
It is spring time.
There is rain and storm.
The trees have leaves and it arms.
The trees are ancient.
An apple falls down from the trees.
This is what thinks spring time is for me.
Spring time is beautiful.
Spring time is when nature is beautiful.
It is spring time.
Spring time is here.
The rabbits come out, and hop round.
The bees are collection honey for us.
The tulips are blossoming.
The roses are blossoming, and looking so beautiful.
The lavender is purple and bright.
Spring time is a time to celebrate.
Spring time is a time to clean our environment.
It is spring time.
Spring time is a time when rain falls.
Spring time is the time when the seasons changes.
Spring time is when the plants grow.
Spring time is my favorite season.
Spring time is the time to be happy.
It is spring time.
poem by Crystal Chown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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