The Dig Tree
How could this be, that after months of hell,
Of blasting heat and sands of deserts crossed,
That now but this blazed coolibah to tell
The wretched men, for them all hope is lost.
There on its trunk the message cut so clear
That but nine hours before their comrades left,
And they now weak, can sense the end is near
As Burke regrets the folly that had cleft
His party all those months before, when he
Had dashed with King and Gray and Wills
To reach the gulf, now but this wounded tree
To mark where buried store, such bitter pills
That at the end of this great quest delay
The deaths of brave men, starved and weak,
Abandoned on this melancholy day
By Bullah Bullah on the Cooper Creek.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Oooo...Oooo-Oooo Wee Ow-ouch!
'I'm more dominant and not the weak one.
More dominant and not the weak one.
I'm more dominant and not the weak one.
More dominant and not the weak one.'
Oooo...
Oooo-Oooo wee ow-ouch!
'More dominant and not the weak one.
I'm more dominant and not the weak one.'
Oooo...
Oooo-Oooo wee ow-ouch!
She says I'm on a pacifier.
Unreliable with too many needs.
She says I'm heat under the sheets...
But she's the one who buys the food we eat.
She says I'm not dependable at all.
And by herself she does the best she can alone,
To make all ends meet!
When bill collectors call.
And,
She's more dominant and not the weak one.
More dominant and not the weak one.
Oooo...
Oooo-Oooo wee ow-ouch.
More dominant and not the weak one?
More dominant and not the weak one?
Submissive when she comes to the bed.
Prepared to get her needs met!
And I am ever ready.
I've lost my job and the kids are fed.
I do the best I can...
But I'm not making the bread.
And my ego's thinly spread.
When the work I've done is meager.
And the words I hear from her...
Are wrestling in my head.
'I'm more dominant and not the weak one.
More dominant and not the weak one.'
OW!
'...dominant and not the weak one.
More dominant and not the weak one.'
OW!
'...dominant and not the weak one.
More dominant and not the weak one.'
And if I leave my family...
I'll lose my life instead.
'I'm more dominant and not the weak one.
More dominant and not the weak one.'
OW!
'...dominant and not the weak one.
More dominant and not the weak one.'
OW!
'...dominant and not the weak one.
More dominant and not the weak one.'
Oooo...
Oooo-Oooo wee ow-ouch.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forever
it's been days and months
it'll be years...forever
no one leaves unless they're left
the abandoned don't like
emptiness they stay with
filled with days and months
days and months and years
forever
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remembering Jong.....
she predicts
six months only she said
we cannot last that long
and we hear it
but are not bothered
we believe somehow
and it is basic
nothing lasts forever
we work so hard
we forget the hours of the day
she goes around
talking
three months are all she had
and then she was buried by those
who pity her
and give her the much needed understanding
i am one of those who
send her off
to the other side of this world
i utter friendship
i keep it
what i can hand her with dignity
is just the forgetting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One month Anniversary (1)
In months time
Time flew by
So fast, so quick
So many memories already
From first kiss in the Drive way
To First date at TGI's
To my first photo booth pictures
To Caving at Devils den
To already having many developed pictures
To being with a great person for one months time
Memories fly, but time is cherished
Having these memories with you means everything
Knowing you're there to tell me Morning
Knowing you're there to tell me Night
Everything we do makes me smile
And makes me realize everythings worthwhile
So here's to a month
A month so great
A month with no debate
A month with no regrets
I'm hope you've enjoyed it as much as i have
I hope for another month and more
Happy One month anniversary
poem by Tanner Gallman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't call a tree a tree
Don't call a tree a tree
The world is full
Of grace and silent laughter
Constellations
Of dusty flowers arise
From air so thin
So icy-blue
Through all the heat and sweat
Of noisy day
The petals are the wings
For us to fly away
Some time
One day
They cringe and shrink and fall
To dust
To rust
The wings are weak
Are weak enough for us
Don't call a tree a tree
poem by Sveta Guralnik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bible Stories: Esther (Part II)
The king forgot what Vashti did
And how he had condemned her act;
As planned, he sought to choose a queen
Anew from beautiful virgins!
Mordecai reared a girl, Esther-
A young woman of great beauty.
The daughter of Aminadab,
Brother of his own dear father!
Gai - eunuch in-charge of women,
Had liked Esther specially as
She was the one most favorite!
Esther did not reveal her past
Nor her antecedents to him.
She did as per Gai’s instructions
And lived in the fear of the Lord.
All women were cared for one year,
Before they’re sent to see the king;
Six months’ of oil of myrrh treatment,
Six months’ of perfumes, cosmetics;
And they could go again only
If the king summoned them once more.
It was the turn of Esther then
To go and meet the king one day;
She was the most favored of all
And did what Mordecai told her;
The king fell in love with Esther!
He married her and crowned her queen
In a seven-days’ wine party.
He stopped taking taxes thereaft!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Weak
(1) Lost in time
I can't count the words
I said when I thought
They went unheard
All of these harsh thought
So unkind
"Cause I wanted you
I wanted you
And now I sit here
I'm all alone
So here sits a bloody mess
Tears fly home
A circle of angels
Deep in war
'Cause I wanted you
I wanted you
Weak as I am
No tears for you
Weak as I am
No tears for you
Deep as I am
I'm no one's fool
Weak as I am
So what am I now
But love's last home
I'm all of the soft words
I once owned
If I opened my heart
There'd be no space for air
'cause I wanted you
I wanted you
Weak as I am
No tears for you
Weak as I am
I'm too much for you
Deep as I am
I'm no one's fool
Weak as I am
With this changing soul
In this weak old heart
Oh baby, ain't I too much for you
With this changing soul
In this weak old heart
Oh baby, ain't I too much for you
[Repeat (1)]
Weak as I am
No tears for you
Weak as 'I'm nobody's fool
Deep as I am
No tears for you
Weak as I am
Weak as I am
I'm too much for you
Weak as I am
No tears for you
Weak as I am
I'm nobody's fool
Weak as I am
Weak as I am
Weak as I am
Weak as I am
Weak as I am
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Soldier's Sense of Love!
Life sans love is hell........ indeed;
But love is painful pleasure........!
Taking pain love gives pleasure;
For this pleasure all forget all pain!
Life sans friends is a long desert!
Friends are oases in world life;
They are umbrella against rain!
Friendship is another form of love!
Sense of justice is mark of a soldier;
Soldier treats enemies as friends
After war everyday at line of control!
Soldier's mercy is too human love!
Both in love and war nothing is fair or foul;
But brave soldier shows mercy to weak
Even in war as a mark of human love....!
Mark of brave soldier is sense of human love!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Get Weak
When Im with you
I shake inside
My hearts all tangled up
My tongue is tied its crazy
Cant walk, cant talk, cant eat, cant sleep
Oh, Im in love, oh Im in deep cuz baby
With a kiss you can strip me defenseless
With a touch I completely lose control
til all thats left of my strength is a memory, wo...
I get weak when I look at you
Weak when we touch
I cant speak when I look in your eyes
I get weak when youre next to me
Weak from this love
I cant speak when I look in your eyes
I get weak
Convincing eyes, persuasive lips
The helpless heart just cant resist their power
You know youve got a hold over me
You know youve got me where I want to be cuz lover
Like a wave you keep pulling me under
How Ill ever get out of this I dont know
I just know theres just no way to fight it, wo...
I get weak when I look at you
Weak when we touch
I cant speak when I look in your eyes
I get weak when youre next to me
Weak from this love
Im in deep when I look in your eyes
I get weak I get weak I get weak
Just a kiss you can strip me defenseless
Just a touch I completely lose control
til all thats left of my strength is a memory, wo...
I get weak when I look at you
Weak when we touch
I cant speak when I look in your eyes
I get weak when youre next to me
Weak from this love
I cant speak when I look in your eyes
I get weak I get weak I get weak
song performed by by Belinda Carlisle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shelia Loves Deeply
I want you to tell me that you need me-
is that so hard?
I want you to see me and not turn away.
I carve sometimes even a gentle glance
or better
a soft touch and softer voice saying
'are you ok? '
Rejection cuts like a dull knife
and kindness is a hurtful stranger
when not freely given and often
even if a substitute
for love
abandoned
Seeing you retreat inward
crushes my soul
and make me feel weak-
to weak to make it stop-
too weak to reach out-
and draw you out-
to weak to even cry sometimes.
No greater pain
than the pain of feeling unloved;
no greater din
than the din of silence.
No arm shorter than
the one which one
which wants to reach out
but is always too short from the lover in retreat
no hand ghostlier than the one which reaches out just after you have turned away.
So sex even is spiritless
yet it is better than
the cigarettes and beer
haze in which I sometimes find you
at three am TV snowing.
Worse, for any woman
or any man
beyond even all this
is the unmistakable sense
that you long for that something else
foraging with your eyes
to some stranger passer-by;
and I cannot re-direct
those longing looks
back my way
intoning in my soul;
'Don't you see
I am the one who loves you.'
We are the ghost ship
drifting upon the dead sea
and yet
curse me for the time being-
I'd rather drift in this maelstrom
with you
than anyone else;
so deep is my love.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Marula tree trunk
Strong winds blow against the Marula tree trunk,
They come with miscellaneous objects,
Light and heavy,
And use them to break the Marula tree trunk,
But nothing happens to the Marula tree trunk,
Light and heavy rains come,
The Marula tree smiles,
For the plentiful rain water will make
It stronger and taller,
Animals come and sleep under and on top
Of the Marula tree,
Lean and rub their itching bodies
Against the Marula tree trunk,
Relieve themselves against it,
But nothing happens to the Marula tree trunk,
The human race use the Marula tree for shade
Against the merciless summer heat of the Limpopo sun,
And eat or make beer with Marula,
But, alas! One vicious human being returned,
And chopped it,
Off goes the faithless Marula tree trunk,
To be scorched by the everlasting home burning fires.
poem by Niki Nicholas Nkuna
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The Horrors of Majuba
'Twas after the great Majuba fight:
And the next morning, at daylight,
Captain Macbean's men were ordered to headquarters camp,
So immediately Captain Macbean and his men set out on tramp.
And there they were joined by the Blue Jackets and 58th men,
Who, for unflinching courage, no man can them condemn;
And that brave little band was commissioned to bury their dead,
And the little band numbered in all about one hundred.
And they were supplied with a white flag, fit emblem of death,
Then they started off to O'Neill's farm, with bated breath,
Where their comrades had been left the previous night,
And were lying weltering in their gore, oh! what a horrible sight.
And when they arrived at the foot of Majuba Hill,
They were stopped by a Boer party, but they meant no ill,
Who asked them what they wanted without dismay,
And when they said, their dead, there was no further delay.
Then the brave heroes marched on, without any dread,
To the Hill of Majuba to collect and bury their dead;
And to see them climbing Majuba it was a fearful sight,
And much more so on a dark pitch night.
And on Majuba there was a row of dead men,
Numbering about forty or fifty of them;
There were also numbers of wounded men lying on the ground,
And when Captain Macbean's party gazed on them their sorrow was profound.
Oh, heaven! what a sight of blood and brains!
While the grass was red all o'er with blood-stains;
Especially at the edge of the Hill, where the 92nd men were killed,
'Twas there that the eyes of Macbean's party with tears filled,
When they saw their dead and dying comrades in arms,
Who were always foremost in the fight during war's alarms;
But who were now lying dead on Majuba Hill,
And, alas! beyond the aid of all human skill.
They then went about two hundred yards down the Hill,
And collected fourteen more bodies, which made their blood run chill;
And, into one grave, seventy-five bodies they buried there,
All mostly 92nd men, who, I hope, are free from all care.
Oh! think of that gallant British band,
Who, at Majuba, made such a heroic stand,
And, take them altogether, they behaved like brave men,
But, alas! they were slaughtered like sheep in a pen.
Poor fellows! there were few of them left to retire,
Because undauntedly they faced that murderous fire,
That the mighty host poured in upon them, left and right,
From their numerous rifles, day and night.
The conduct of the 92nd was most brave throughout,
Which has always been the case, without any doubt;
At least, it has been the case in general with the Highland Brigade,
Because in the field they are the foremost, and seldom afraid.
And to do the British justice at Majuba they behaved right well,
But by overwhelming numbers the most of them fell,
Which I'm very sorry to relate,
That such a brave little band met with such a fate.
The commanders and officers deserve great praise,
Because they told their men to hold Majuba for three days;
And so they did, until the most of them fell,
Fighting nobly for their Queen and country they loved right well.
But who's to blame for their fate I'm at a loss to know,
But I think 'twas by fighting too numerous a foe;
But there's one thing I know, and, in conclusion, will say,
That their fame will be handed down to posterity for many a day!
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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I remember when I first came to Washington. For the first six months you wonder how the hell you ever got here. For the next six months you wonder how the hell the rest of them ever got here.
quote by Harry S. Truman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daughter
9 months i carried you
An 9 months i waited for you
9 months later
With 6 hours of labor
Here you are
So cute an so small
My little girl you are
3 years i held you
In my arms you were
In fear and tears
Were you wrapped safely in my arms
Now nearly 4 years later i lose you
My little girl taken away
You were tortured an beaten
left alone to die
You came of a crime
An i didnt love you any less
You changed my life so much
An as fast as you came
You left me so soon
I spend my days down
Crying every minute without you
When i should be holding you
Showing that i love you
That i will always be there
But instead i cry an cry
Placing flowers on a grave for you
My daughter you were made
My daughter you became
My daughter you are
Whether here or far away
My daughter you will always be
poem by Kerrie Maurer
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2 Weeks
14 Days left
336 hours
Until the end of this chapter
The chapter of hell in my life
2 weeks until I leave
8 hours a day
8 hours of hell in this school
Dealing with ignorance driven by people
Pushing back judgmental walls
After all 8 years in this prison
All I have is 2 weeks,14 days,336 hours left inside this hellhole
Now I can’t figure out what to do
Skip graduation, or stand on the stage and face the music?
That answer has left me then came back
In just 2 week I’ll be gone never to set foot inside again
In just 14 days I’ll leave and never turn back
In just 336 hours, my face will be erased from this place
2 weeks until I graduate from 8th grade
Why now, it must end sooner
In just 2 months I’ll be in high school
2 weeks…
14 days… 336 hours…
The memory of me will be gone
poem by Marcellus Watts
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The Voyagers
HOW was it with the Genoese,
What feeling filled his heaving breast,
When far across the morning seas
He saw the island of his quest?
Perchance beyond the forest crown
And shining sands of that new clime
He saw a light of long renown
That blazed across the Seas of Time.
Or maybe, in that hour grown wise,
He would have bartered there and then
His life for some sweet life that lies
In utter peace unnamed of men.
For what is Fame, however brave,
Beside the charms of endless peace —
The cool, sweet quiet of the grave,
To be, and having been, to cease?
We quest not like the Genoese;
But, after sailing under skies
That bend and brood o'er lonely seas,
We light at last on some surprise.
Our eyes grow large, we stand amazed,
The past is past, our youth is gone,
The fronting hope that boldly blazed
Before our eyes grows pale and wan.
For every man must come to this,
With aching heart and eyes unsealed
That he shall know the thing he is,
And wonder at himself revealed.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Not Enough
Theres nothing you can say
Nothing you can do
Theres nothing in between
You know the truth
Nothing left to face
Theres nothing left to lose
Nothing takes your place
When they say
Youre not that strong
Youre not that weak
Its not your fault
And when you climb up to your hill
Up to your place
I hope youre well
Theres nothing left to prove
Theres nothing I wont do
Theres nothing like the pain
I feel for you
Nothing left to hide
Nothing left to feel
I am always here
When they say
Youre not that strong
Youre not that weak
Its not your fault
And when you climb up to your hill
Up to your place
I hope youre well
What you want
What you lost
What you had
What is gone is over
What you got
What you love
What you need
What you have is real
Its not enough
Its not enough
Its not enough
Its not enough, Im sorry
Its not enough
Its not enough
Its not enough
Its not enough...
When they say
Youre not that strong
Youre not that weak
Its not your fault
And when you climb up to your hill
Up to your place
I hope youre well
Its not enough
No
Its not enough
Its not enough
song performed by by Our Lady Peace
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Cophetua The First
Said Jove within himself one day,
‘I'll make me a mistress out of clay!
These ninefold spheres of chiming quires,
Though little things and therefore sweet,
Too Godlike are for my desires:
My pleasure still is incomplete.
The gust of love is mystery,
Which poorly yet the heavens supply.
Now where may God for mystery seek
Save in the earthly, small, and weak?
My work, then, let me crown and end
With what I ne'er shall comprehend!’
And so the unfathomable Need,
Hell's mock, Heaven's pity, was decreed.
And, with perversity immense
As all his other affluence,
Jove left his wondering Court behind
And Juno's almost equal mind,
On low and little Earth to seek
That vessel infinitely weak,
(The abler for the infinite honour
He hugely long'd to put upon her,)
And, in a melancholy grove,
Found sighing his predestined Love,
A pretty, foolish, pensive maid,
The least of heaven-related things,
Of every boy and beast afraid,
But not of him, the King of Kings.
He look'd so measurelessly mild,
And so he flatter'd her, poor child,
By lifting with respect her hand
To his salute benign and grand,
That, when he spoke, and begged to be
Instructed in her wishes, she,
Having a modest minute tarried,
Lisp'd, ‘I should like, Sire, to be married.’
But, when he smiling ask'd, ‘Whom to?’
She blush'd and said, she scarcely knew.
Then Jove named Shepherds, Lords, and Kings
To her free choice; for all such things
Were his and his to give; but these
She shook her curls at. ‘Hard to please
Is my small Cousin, but my nod
Shall call from heaven some splendid God—’
‘Ah, Maker mine, no God will do
That's not as great a God as you!’
Thereat Jove laugh'd: ‘As least of things
Alone can sate the King of Kings,
So the least thing, it seems, that I
Alone of Gods can satisfy!’
And, fading in her flushing arms,
He blazed for ever from her charms.
Thenceforth the maiden sang and shone,
Admired by all and woo'd by none,
For, though she said she was a sinner,
'Twas clear to all that Jove was in her,
And, but for that deep pagan night,
She would have been a Carmelite.
poem by Coventry Patmore
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A time still left
You have no time left to make about turn
You have gone weak to run
What else you can now?
The question is where and how?
Who will you take with?
What will you try to seek?
The time has reduced from months to weeks?
You may witness fall from highest peak?
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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