P’eng-ya Road
I remember fleeing the rebels
through dangerous northern canyons,
the midnight moon shining bright
on narrow P’eng-ya Road.
So poor we went on foot,
we were embarrassed meeting strangers.
A few birds sang in the valleys,
but we met no one returning.
My daughter was so starved she bit me,
she screamed her painful hunger.
I damped her mouth shut tight,
fearful of wolves and tigers.
She struggled hard against me,
she cried and cried.
My son was sympathetic
and searched the wilds for food.
Then five days of heavy rain arrived,
and we trudged through freezing mud.
We had no coats, no shelter,
we were dressed in cold, wet clothes.
Struggling, struggling, we made
but a mile or two each day.
We ate wild fruits and berries,
and branches made our roof.
Mornings we slogged through water;
evenings we searched for skyline smoke.
We stopped at a marsh
to prepare our climb to the pass,
and met a Mr. Sun
whose standards are high as clouds.
We came through the dark
and lamps were lit, gates opening before us.
Servants brought warm water
so we could bathe our aching feet.
They hung paper banners
in our honor.
Mrs. Sun came out with all her children.
They wept for our condition.
My children slept, exhausted,
until we roused them with food.
Our host took a vow
he’d always remain my brother.
His home was made our home,
to provide for every comfort.
Who could imagine in such troubled times
he’d bare his heart and soul?
A year has passed since that fated night.
The Barbarians still wage war.
If I had the wings of the wild goose,
I’d fly to be at his side.
Related quotes
Sonnet # 337
Each morning bright I children see delight.
Each morning dark I children see sad crying.
The mornings bright`ve milk, bread for appetitte.
The mornings dark not e`en water for drinking.
Each night, lo, bright I happy children see.
Each night yes dark I children see so sobbing.
The nights bright`ve beds for when they`re asleep sleep.
The nights are dark not e`en a floor for resting.
So I as if I`d plenty of everything,
A palace my small room, my clothes all gold
Do come to feel I have too much of spring
When there`re children to misery they`re sold.
And then I litte eat, think have a feast
And look at children who their food has ceased.
poem by Luis Estable
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rainy Day
Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the
forest.
O child, do not go out!
The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads
against the dismal sky; the crows with their dragged wings are
silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river
is haunted by a deepening gloom.
Our cow is lowing loud, ties at the fence.
O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.
Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes
as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain-water is
running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who
has run away from his mother to tease her.
Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.
O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry
is closed.
The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly rushing rain; the
water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home
early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.
The evening lamps must be made ready.
O child, do not go out!
The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is
slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo
branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Hungry Squirrel
It is the winter of 2001;
’Tis raining cats and dogs;
A hungry squirrel madly runs,
In frantic search of food!
It can’t control its hunger pangs;
The weather’s damp and cold;
There is no sign of any food;
How can it remain warm?
The guava-fruits have disappeared;
Papayas are unripe;
The Pea-fowls guard the Palmyras;
There are no wild berries.
The squirrel squeaks quite endlessly;
Its warmth is running out;
Perhaps, it thinks of grandpa-days,
Of juicy fruits and nuts.
But soon, the squeaks have feeble gone;
Did the rodent find some food?
Nature often cruel turns,
Leaving the beasts unfed.
The Squirrel hasn’t turned up, of late;
Is it then dead or gone?
Starved to death by Nature dear?
Or perhaps still alive!
While men can go and purchase food,
What can these poor beasts do?
Yet, Mother Nature cares for them,
Much better than me, you!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-16-2001
poem by John Celes
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Typical Victoria Weather
The sun it does seem to be struggling through the dark gray clouds for to shine
And though rain is in the weather forecast the day it is holding out fine
'Tis the typical sort of weather one expects of Victoria's Fall
Threatening to rain very often though on the dry side overall
A flock of silver gulls for food are begging by the forseshore on the pavement of the street
Some of them with part of one or their two legs missing and some others with very sore feet
To infections in their feet they must be quite vulnerable their handicaps with them through their short lives remain
Their crippled feet must feel painful pity for them in their pain
Returning once more to the weather the sun out and shining again
The weather forecaster may have it wrong today 'tis not likely to rain
Nature herself she is fascinating such insights from her we do gain
Yet we know so little about her as her ways as a mystery to us does remain
The scientists are learning from her and artists and writers she does inspire
And she always does fill me with wonder and her I can only admire.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Days
Miserable grey, damp wet Days
Days shorter and winters Long
Long bleak dark Evenings
Evenings as black as pitch.
Bright frosty cold Mornings
Mornings glistening in the Sun
Sun shines cold as the Day
Day soon will become night.
Snow crisp and White
White flurries fall from the Sky
Sky as white as the Day
Day fades into a crisp evening.
Days engulfed with Floods
Floods devastating your Home
Home unfit to live In
In shelter we seek comfort.
poem by Hazel Connelly
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First Foot
Two small brown pennies were thrust in his hand,
Some bread, and a lump of coal,
Our Mam had added a sprinkle of salt
‘For luck, ’ she said, and his soul.
‘The Devil is waiting for you out there, ’
She laughed, and shivered for real,
‘You have to be gone when the clock strikes twelve! ’
She let out a little squeal!
It was ninety-nine; it was New Year’s Eve,
Victoria sat on the throne,
Our house a terrace on Coal-Pit Street,
It was cold and damp, but home.
Our Da had gone as the miners go
Under a fall of coal,
His body was left where it fell that day
They closed off the tunnel wall.
He left a couple of likely lads
That’s Joe, and me, right here,
But Joe was the eldest, quite thirteen,
And he with the blackest hair,
The bevy of girls just giggled that night
First foot was always a man,
(It was in the Wales that we knew back then
When the nightmare first began!)
We pushed him out when the clock began
To strike the midnight hour,
The last of the eighteen hundreds, and
We slammed the wooden door,
A lightning bolt gave a mighty flash,
The rain turned into hail,
While the clock, it chimed the first of six
Behind the mantle rail.
The thunder rumbled overhead
It brought us to our knees,
The girls cried out to their mother then,
But she cried out to me,
The door exploded in splinter-shards
A lightning hit, outside,
I rushed through the shattered opening…
Thinking that Joe had died!
The kerb was black and burnt, and all
The street lamps, they were out,
Pieces of tile and chimney pot
Were scattered, round and about,
But Joe, there was no sign of him,
No coins, no bread, no coal,
It was almost as if the Devil came
And swallowed my brother whole!
The police came round the following day
And said: ‘It’s very strange!
Maybe you scared your brother,
Maybe he upped and ran away? ’
For weeks we searched the neighbourhood
Our Mam, she went quite mad,
Hanging on coats of strangers;
She was locked away, it’s sad! ’
That was the last First Foot for me
I’d never answer the door,
If anyone knocked at midnight
I would yell: ‘What you knockin’ for? ’
My kids were told, ‘don’t answer it,
The Devil’s in the wind! ’
And I’d wonder about poor Joseph,
Was he sinner, or was he sinned?
In the old year,1949
A New Year came again,
Full fifty years since my brother Joe
Went missing in the rain,
My kids were grown, were rowdy
And sat up, most playing games,
When a knock at the door at midnight
Came in the midst of ‘Auld Lang Syne.’
My lad, Evan, had answered it
Before he thought, he said,
A lad was on the kerb, with coins and coal,
Some mouldy bread!
‘He had some madness look in his eye,
Stood underneath the light,
I would have let him come in, first foot,
Except that his hair was white! ’
David Lewis Paget
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Poor, Poor Country
Oh 'twas a poor country, in Autumn it was bare,
The only green was the cutting grass and the sheep found little there.
Oh, the thin wheat and the brown oats were never two foot high,
But down in the poor country no pauper was I.
My wealth it was the glow that lives forever in the young,
'Twas on the brown water, in the green leaves it hung.
The blue cranes fed their young all day - how far in a tall tree!
And the poor, poor country made no pauper of me.
I waded out to the swan's nest - at night I heard them sing,
I stood amazed at the Pelican, and crowned him for a king;
I saw the black duck in the reeds, and the spoonbill on the sky,
And in that poor country no pauper was I.
The mountain-ducks down in the dark made many a hollow sound,
I saw in sleep the Bunyip creep from the waters underground.
I found the plovers' island home, and they fought right valiantly,
Poor was the country, but it made no pauper of me.
My riches all went into dreams that never yet came home,
They touched upon the wild cherries and the slabs of honeycomb,
They were not of the desolate brood that men can sell or buy,
Down in that poor country no pauper was I.
* * * * *
The New Year came with heat and thirst and the little lakes were low,
The blue cranes were my nearest friends and I mourned to see them go;
I watched their wings so long until I only saw the sky,
Down in that poor country no pauper was I.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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A Voice On The Wind
I
She walks with the wind on the windy height
When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
And all night long she calls through the night,
'O my children, come home!'
Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud,
Tosses around her like a shroud,
While over the deep her voice rings loud,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
II
Who is she who wanders alone,
When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown?
Who walks all night and makes her moan,
'O my children, come home!'
Whose face is raised to the blinding gale;
Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale,
While over the world goes by her wail,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
III
She walks with the wind in the windy wood;
The dark rain drips from her hair and hood,
And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued,
'O my children, come home!'
Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear,
The owl and the fox crouch back with fear,
As wild through the wood her voice they hear,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
IV
Who is she who shudders by
When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly?
Who walks all night with her wailing cry,
'O my children, come home!'
Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue,
With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung,
Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
V
'Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees,
The mother of Death and of Mysteries,
Who cries on the wind all night to these,
'O my children, come home!'
The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain,
Calling her children home again,
Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Cold Feet
There was a little boy once upon a time
Who in spite of his young age and small size knew his mind
For every copper penny and clover he would find
Make a wish for better days the end of hard times
For no more cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
His clothes were always clean
His face was always scrubbed
There was food on the table enough to fill him up
His house was full of life - his house was full of love
But when winter days arrived
There was never money enough to shod his cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He grew up to be a worker determined to succeed
He made a life for himself, free from worldly wants or needs
But with nobody to share the life hed made
No body to keep him warm at night
When hed go to sleep hed sleep alone with his cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
One night he walked the street looking to the heavens above
Searching for a shooting star a benevolent god
When a woman passing by brushed his arm
He turned and found love
He then wished for the courage to ask this stranger
Who she was to not have cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He thought shed like the party life and want the finer things
So he promised more than he could buy
And he promised her the sun and moon to not have cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He worked day and night his fingers to the bone
Hi worried mind guilty conscience drive him on
He cant give her what she needs
He wants to give her what he thinks she wants
Her sad-eyed face, his empty pockets drive him on and his cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
Hed struggled all his life to be an honest man
Proud that the dirt on his palms was the soil of the land
But some guys he knew from high school days
Said they had a plan to get rich quick
And they could count him in if he dont have cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He thought about their offer accepted it without qualms
Dreamt about the life hed buy
The comfort that would come without cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He decided to tell his wife things would soon turn around
He said the little boy is dead
A man stands with you now without cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
Without cold feet - cold cold cold cold feet
He thought hed set his clock right - he though hed read his watch
He left in such a hurry he didnt think to wish for luck
Makes no difference if youre early - no difference if youre late
When youre out of time - the flowers have been laid
Youre six feet underground
With cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sunderland Calamity
'Twas in the town of Sunderland, and in the year of 1883,
That about 200 children were launch'd into eternity
While witnessing an entertainment in Victoria Hall,
While they, poor little innocents, to God for help did call.
The entertainment consisted of conjuring, and the ghost illusion play,
Also talking waxworks, and living marionettes, and given by Mr. Fay;
And on this occasion, presents were to be given away,
But in their anxiety of getting presents they wouldn't brook delay,
And that is the reason why so many lives have been taken away;
But I hope their precious souls are in heaven to-day.
As soon as the children began to suspect
That they would lose their presents by neglect,
They rush'd from the gallery, and ran down the stairs pell-mell,
And trampled one another to death, according as they fell.
As soon as the catastrophe became known throughout the boro'
The people's hearts were brim-full of sorrow,
And parents rush'd to the Hall terror-stricken and wild,
And each one was anxious to find their own child.
Oh! it must have been a most horrible sight
To see the dear little children struggling with all their might
To get out at the door at the foot of the stair,
While one brave little boy did repeat the Lord's Prayer.
The innocent children were buried seven or eight layers deep,
The sight was heart-rending and enough to make one weep;
It was a most affecting spectacle and frightful to behold
The corpse of a little boy not above four years old,
Who had on a top-coat much too big for him,
And his little innocent face was white and grim,
And appearing to be simply in a calm sleep-
The sight was enough to make one's flesh to creep.
The scene in the Hall was heart-sickening to behold,
And enough to make one's blood run cold.
To see the children's faces, blackened, that were trampled to death,
And their parents lamenting o'er them with bated breath.
Oh! it was most lamentable for to hear
The cries of the mothers for their children dear;
And many mothers swooned in grief away
At the sight of their dead children in grim array.
There was a parent took home a boy by mistake,
And after arriving there his heart was like to break
When it was found to be the body of a neighbour's child;
The parent stood aghast and was like to go wild.
A man and his wife rush'd madly in the Hall,
And loudly in grief on their children they did call,
And the man searched for his children among the dead
Seemingly without the least fear or dread.
And with his finger pointing he cried. "That's one! two!
Oh! heaven above, what shall I do;"
And still he kept walking on and murmuring very low.
Until he came to the last child in the row;
Then he cried, "Good God! all my family gone
And now I am left to mourn alone;"
And staggering back he cried, "Give me water, give me water!"
While his heart was like to break and his teeth seem'd to chatter.
Oh, heaven! it must have been most pitiful to see
Fathers with their dead children upon their knee
While the blood ran copiously from their mouths and ears
And their parents shedding o'er them hot burning tears.
I hope the Lord will comfort their parents by night and by day,
For He gives us life and He takes it away,
Therefore I hope their parents will put their trust in Him,
Because to weep for the dead it is a sin.
Her Majesty's grief for the bereaved parents has been profound,
And I'm glad to see that she has sent them £50;
And I hope from all parts of the world will flow relief
To aid and comfort the bereaved parents in their grief.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Hunchback in the Park
The hunchback in the park
A solitary mister
Propped between trees and water
From the opening of the garden lock
That lets the trees and water enter
Until the Sunday sombre bell at dark
Eating bread from a newspaper
Drinking water from the chained cup
That the children filled with gravel
In the fountain basin where I sailed my ship
Slept at night in a dog kennel
But nobody chained him up.
Like the park birds he came early
Like the water he sat down
And Mister they called Hey mister
The truant boys from the town
Running when he had heard them clearly
On out of sound
Past lake and rockery
Laughing when he shook his paper
Hunchbacked in mockery
Through the loud zoo of the willow groves
Dodging the park keeper
With his stick that picked up leaves.
And the old dog sleeper
Alone between nurses and swans
While the boys among willows
Made the tigers jump out of their eyes
To roar on the rockery stones
And the groves were blue with sailors
Made all day until bell time
A woman figure without fault
Straight as a young elm
Straight and tall from his crooked bones
That she might stand in the night
After the locks and chains
All night in the unmade park
After the railings and shrubberies
The birds the grass the trees the lake
And the wild boys innocent as strawberries
Had followed the hunchback
To his kennel in the dark.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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On A Cape May Warbler Who Flew Against My Window
She's stopped in her southern tracks
Brought haply to this hard knock
When she shoots from the tall spruce
And snaps her neck on the glass.
From the fall grass I gather her
And give her to my silent children
Who give her a decent burial
Under the dogwood in the garden.
They lay their gifs in the grave:
Matches, a clothes-peg, a coin;
Fire paper for her, sprinkle her
With water, fold earth over her.
She is out of her element forever
Who was air's high-spirited daughter;
What guardian wings can I conjure
Over my own young, their migrations?
The children retreat indoors.
Shadows flicker in the tall spruce.
Small birds flicker like shadows--
Ghosts come nest in my branches.
poem by Eamon Grennan
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The Sound Images Of Innocence
bathing bare on the river
the kids of the neighborhood
they have never seen
the crocodile
and then the go home
together
spreading laughter
along the path of mud
beside the
wild flowers
they pass upon a forest
and climbs some trees
tease the monkeys
and gather the ripe berries
and imitate the wings
of black birds
the chase each other
without the numbers
never mind their shadows
until it gets dark
and then they are home again
their mothers singing songs
their fathers telling stories
about how the tigers roar
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And It Stoned Me
Half a mile from the county fair
And the rain keep pourin' down
Me and Billy standin' there
With a silver half a crown
Hands are full of a fishin' rod
And the tackle on our backs
We just stood there gettin' wet
With our backs against the fence
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Hope it don't rain all day
Chorus:
And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like Jelly Roll
And it stoned me
And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like goin' home
And it stoned me
Then the rain let up and the sun came up
And we were gettin' dry
Almost let a pick-up truck nearly pass us by
So we jumped right in and the driver grinned
And he dropped us up the road
We looked at the swim and we jumped right in
Not to mention fishing poles
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Let it run all over me
Chorus
On the way back home we sang a song
But our throats were getting dry
Then we saw the man from across the road
With the sunshine in his eyes
Well he lived all alone in his own little home
With a great big gallon jar
There were bottles too, one for me and you
And he said Hey! There you are
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Get it myself from the mountain stream
Chorus
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Stoned Me
Half a mile from the county fair
And the rain keep pourin down
Me and billy standin there
With a silver half a crown
Hands are full of a fishin rod
And the tackle on our backs
We just stood there gettin wet
With our backs against the fence
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Hope it dont rain all day
Chorus:
And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like jelly roll
And it stoned me
And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like goin home
And it stoned me
Then the rain let up and the sun came up
And we were gettin dry
Almost let a pick-up truck nearly pass us by
So we jumped right in and the driver grinned
And he dropped us up the road
We looked at the swim and we jumped right in
Not to mention fishing poles
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Let it run all over me
Chorus
On the way back home we sang a song
But our throats were getting dry
Then we saw the man from across the road
With the sunshine in his eyes
Well he lived all alone in his own little home
With a great big gallon jar
There were bottles too, one for me and you
And he said hey! there you are
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Get it myself from the mountain stream
Chorus
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wild Geese
Wild geese fly overhead
In the wild Autumn weather.
Souls of the newly-dead
Crying and flying together.
Home from the last great fight,
The souls of the Irish farin'
With a wild heart in the night,
A grey eye turned to Erin.
High and high in the sky,
From the red fields of slaughter
Ever they fly and cry
For the brown bog, the grey water.
Wild geese in the wild even,
Steady and strong their flight,
Their beds are made in Heaven,
All of the down white.
They have forgone that bliss
Till they have seen once more
The little land of peace,
Green and bright as of yore.
High o'er the sheep and cattle,
The bogs and the mountains lone,
The souls new-home from the battle
Cry their love and are flown.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Handful
I have only a handful of flour in a jar,
So come for it and let me provide you with food and water as well;
Because out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks,
And i am ready to help you through this struggling time of yours.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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First Water
First Water
The water had its beginning before earthly time began
Before even the first born God would call man.
The Creator knew the value and significance of water
Just as the second human creation we call a daughter.
Man certainly does not live by bread alone
But along side the children who sleep at home.
Man can survive without food for a very long time
But not for long without water for the vine.
The universal one covered earth with two thirds water
Still not as miraculous as the gift of a daughter.
More bounty in the water than in the soil
How expressive is the holy one when we toil.
A green tree grows on coral with a great deal of salt
A desire of the eternal God who has no fault.
The Creator put birds in the sky and fish in the sea
Saving the land for man's children and family.
Water cleans, heals and provides
Mother nature gives, replenishes and renews; with each new tide
02-19-06 Aho Speaks
..
poem by AHO Speaks
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Man's Rule
I have searched for love,
Only to find hatred.
I searched for acceptance,
Only to find prejudice.
I searched for peace,
Only to find war,
I searched for freedom,
Only to be sentenced,
I looked for shelter,
But only found an open wintery sky.
I searched for water,
But nothing could quench my thirst.
The lord beckoned me,
From his throne on high.
They treated you with hatred,
But bath in my love.
They treated you with prejudice,
But my son I accept you.
They brought you war,
But I shall give you peace.
They imprisoned you,
But I shall give you freedom.
You slept under an open wintery sky,
But here shelter in my paradise.
They did not quench your thirst,
But I shall let you drink from my own cup.
poem by Talmadge Rogalla
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Out in the Cold
Out in the cold mid the dreary night,
Under the eaves of homes so bright:
Snowflakes falling o'er mother's grave
Will no one rescue, no one save?
A child left out in the dark and cold,
A lamb not sheltered in any fold,
Hearing the wolves of hunger bark,
Out in the cold! and out in the dark
Missing to-night the charming bliss,
That lies in the mother's good-night kiss;
And hearing no loving father's prayer,
For blessings his children all may share.
Creeping away to some wretched den,
To sleep mid the curses of drunken men
And women, not as God has made,
Wrecked and ruined, wronged and betrayed.
Church of the Lord reach out thy arm,
And shield the hapless one from harm;
Where the waves of sin are dashing wild
Rescue and save the drifting child.
Wash from her life guilt's turbid foam,
In the fair haven of a home;
Tenderly lead the motherless girl
Up to the gates of purest pearl.
The wandering feet which else had strayed,
From thorny paths may yet be stayed;
And a crimson track through the cold dark night
May exchange to a line of loving light.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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