En.Citatepedia^®.ro

We Lying By Seasand

We lying by seasand, watching yellow
And the grave sea, mock who deride
Who follow the red rivers, hollow
Alcove of words out of cicada shade,
For in this yellow grave of sand and sea
A calling for colour calls with the wind
That's grave and gay as grave and sea
Sleeping on either hand.
The lunar silences, the silent tide
Lapping the still canals, the dry tide-master
Ribbed between desert and water storm,
Should cure our ills of the water
With a one-coloured calm;
The heavenly music over the sand
Sounds with the grains as they hurry
Hiding the golden mountains and mansions
Of the grave, gay, seaside land.
Bound by a sovereign strip, we lie,
Watch yellow, wish for wind to blow away
The strata of the shore and drown red rock;
But wishes breed not, neither
Can we fend off rock arrival,
Lie watching yellow until the golden weather
Breaks, O my heart's blood, like a heart and hill.

poem by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yellow And Rose

Notes:
JT on Sony.com: Botany Bay is where they brought the convicts. . .The dregs of British society who became the finest nation on God's green earth. . . beautiful. Yellow and Rose is a half baked thing about transportation, transformation and Australia.
Yellow and Rose
Yellow and Rose
Yellow and Rose
Oh boy, Botany Bay
Watching the water go by
Here's your home so far away
Here is a tear for your eye
Here is a vast and unknown land
Here are the strangers on the sand
Oh, seeds of the universe ever endeavor to grow
Tiny pieces of everything into the water they go
Everything changes for the strangers on the shore
They are blue and green no more
They are yellow and rose
Down under got the south side
This groovy crazy planet
Watching from the outside
It's as smooth as a gravy sandwich
People play music night for day
One caught the sun in a sekere
Seeds of the universe ever endeavor to grow
Tiny pieces of everything into the water they go
Everything changes for the strangers on the shore
They are blue and green no more
They are yellow and rose
Remember when we thought we were in California
We thought it was the eye of the hurricane
Old gypsy woman she tried to warn you
"You'll be back this way again
Hungry for the rain
It's written in your hand, plain"
Seeds of the universe ever endeavor to grow
Tiny pieces of everything into the water they go
Everything changes for the strangers on the shore
They are blue and green no more
They are yellow and rose
Yellow and Rose
Yellow and Rose
Yellow and Rose

song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yellow & Rose

Notes:
Jt on sony.com: botany bay is where they brought the convicts. . .the dregs of british society who became the finest nation on gods green earth. . . beautiful. yellow and rose is a half baked t
About transportation, transformation and australia.
Yellow and rose
Yellow and rose
Yellow and rose
Oh boy, botany bay
Watching the water go by
Heres your home so far away
Here is a tear for your eye
Here is a vast and unknown land
Here are the strangers on the sand
Oh, seeds of the universe ever endeavor to grow
Tiny pieces of everything into the water they go
Everything changes for the strangers on the shore
They are blue and green no more
They are yellow and rose
Down under got the south side
This groovy crazy planet
Watching from the outside
Its as smooth as a gravy sandwich
People play music night for day
One caught the sun in a sekere
Seeds of the universe ever endeavor to grow
Tiny pieces of everything into the water they go
Everything changes for the strangers on the shore
They are blue and green no more
They are yellow and rose
Remember when we thought we were in california
We thought it was the eye of the hurricane
Old gypsy woman she tried to warn you
Youll be back this way again
Hungry for the rain
Its written in your hand, plain
Seeds of the universe ever endeavor to grow
Tiny pieces of everything into the water they go
Everything changes for the strangers on the shore
They are blue and green no more
They are yellow and rose
Yellow and rose
Yellow and rose
Yellow and rose

song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Yellow Ribbon On The Old Oak Tree

who can forget the yellow ribbon
on that old oak tree? tell me.

tomorrow, i shall wear my yellow cap
my yellow shirt, my yellow brief,
my yellow pants.

my jaundiced eye, my golden yellow ring.
tomorrow, in my country, the sky is yellow.

all steps lead to the yellow brick road.
all fruits are ripe and mellow and yellow.

Tomorrow, the country is yellow.
Yellow for integrity, Yellow for change.
Yellow for justice. Yellow for truth.

One day more, and the sun shall rise
Yellow as ever.Yellow forever.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Murrow Turning Over In His Grave

All the sainted sinners
They pay handsomely
And eventually?
They make the weapons
And they run the prisons
And they sell the justice
Cause being guilty is
Just good business
And well be standing on
The borderline
Aint no one there gonna
Stop it now
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna turn wild
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna run wild
Half-closed eyes
And the countrys deadly
Do you feel the ooze as your brain drains out
From your pneumatic drills and sharpening knives
Blood in the sky
Are you dead or alive?
All the restless people and the bitter green
Well it fakes this gold, makes the spirit mean
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna turn wild
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna run wild

song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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September

WHAT need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone?
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.

poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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September 1913

What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone?
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.

poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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True Love

Farewell, Earl Richard,
Tender and brave;
Kneeling I kiss
The dust from thy grave.

Pray for me, Richard,
Lying alone
With hands pleading earnestly,
All in white stone.

Soon must I leave thee
This sweet summer tide;
That other is waiting
To claim his pale bride.

Soon I’ll return to thee
Hopeful and brave,
When the dead leaves
Blow over thy grave.

Then shall they find me
Close at thy head
Watching or fainting,
Sleeping or dead.

poem by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yellow Man

Very far away in a foreign land
Live the yellow woman and the yellow man
Hes been around for many-a-year
They say they were there before we were here
Eatin rice all day
While the children play
You see he believes
In the family
Just like you and me
Oh, yellow man, oh, yellow man
We understand, you know we understand
He keeps his money tight in his hand
With his yellow woman hes a yellow man
Got to have a yellow woman
When youre a yellow man

song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From the Grave

When the first sere leaves of the year were falling,

I heard, with a heart that was strangely thrilled,

Out of the grave of a dead Past calling,

A voice I fancied forever stilled.

All through winter and spring and summer,

Silence hung over that grave like a pall,

But, borne on the breath of the last sad comer,

I listen again to the old-time call.

It is only a love of a by-gone season,

A senseless folly that mocked at me

A reckless passion that lacked all reason,

So I killed it, and hid it where none could see.

I smothered it first to stop its crying,

Then stabbed it through with a good sharp blade,

And cold and pallid I saw it lying,

And deep—ah' deep was the grave I made.

But now I know that there is no killing

A thing like Love, for it laughs at Death.

There is no hushing, there is no stilling

That which is part of your life and breath.

You may bury it deep, and leave behind you

The land, the people, that knew your slain;

It will push the sods from its grave, and find you

On wastes of water or desert plain.

You may hear but tongues of a foreign people,

You may list to sounds that are strange and new;

But, clear as a silver bell in a steeple,

That voice from the grave shall call to you.

You may rouse your pride, you may use your reason.

And seem for a space to slay Love so;

But, all in its own good time and season,

It will rise and follow wherever you go.

You shall sit sometimes, when the leaves are falling,

Alone with your heart, as I sit to-day,

And hear that voice from your dead Past calling

Out of the graves that you hid away.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monuments

Crystal the desert
Sands sifted in dry air
Sun flecked sparkling.
Wind plays out,
Whistling, weathering rock
Sculpting.
Sand blasts in desert storms.
Fine glass moulds, shapes,
Caresses, smooths.
Forged in the heat of the desert days
Cold of its night.
Making monuments to natures art.
Towers of pink and yellow
Watch over rock strewn plains
Waterless river beds
In silent serenity.

Copyright P H Brookes 2012

poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Piper On The Hills

A CHILD'S SONG
There sits a piper on the hill
Who pipes the livelong day,
And when he pipes both loud and shrill,
The frightened people say
‘The wind, the wind is blowing up,
'Tis rising to a gale.’
The women hurry to the shore
To watch some distant sail.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
Is blowing to a gale.
But when he pipes all sweet and low,
The piper on the hill,
I hear the merry women go
With laughter, loud and shrill
‘The wind, the wind is coming south,
'Twill blow a gentle day.’
They gather on the meadow-land,
To toss the yellow hay.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
Is blowing south to-day.

And in the morn, when winter comes,
To keep the piper warm,
The little Angels shake their wings
To make a feather storm
‘The snow, the snow has come at last!’
The happy children call,
And ‘ring around’ they dance in glee,
And watch the snowflakes fall.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
Has spread a snowy pall.
But when at night the piper plays,
I have not any fear,
Because God's windows open wide
The pretty tune to hear;
And when each crowding spirit looks,
From its star window-pane,
A watching mother may behold
Her little child again.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
May blow her home again.

poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The King's Daughter

WE WERE ten maidens in the green corn,
Small red leaves in the mill-water:
Fairer maidens never were born,
Apples of gold for the king’s daughter.

We were ten maidens by a well-head,
Small white birds in the mill-water:
Sweeter maidens never were wed,
Rings of red for the king’s daughter.

The first to spin, the second to sing,
Seeds of wheat in the mill-water;
The third may was a goodly thing,
White bread and brown for the king’s daughter.

The fourth to sew and the fifth to play,
Fair green weed in the mill-water;
The sixth may was a goodly may,
White wine and red for the king’s daughter.

The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed,
Fair thin reeds in the mill-water;
The ninth had gold work on her head,
Honey in the comb for the king’s daughter.

The ninth had gold work round her hair,
Fallen flowers in the mill-water;
The tenth may was goodly and fair,
Golden gloves for the king’s daughter.

We were ten maidens in a field green,
Fallen fruit in the mill-water;
Fairer maidens never have been,
Golden sleeves for the king’s daughter.

By there comes the king’s young son,
A little wind in the mill-water;
“Out of ten maidens ye’ll grant me one,”
A crown of red for the king’s daughter.

“Out of ten mays ye’ll give me the best,”
A little rain in the mill-water;
A bed of yellow straw for all the rest,
A bed of gold for the king’s daughter.

He’s ta’en out the goodliest,
Rain that rains in the mill-water;
A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,
A comb of gold for the king’s daughter.

He’s made her bed to the goodliest,
Wind and hail in the mill-water;
A grass girdle for all the rest,
A girdle of arms for the king’s daughter.

He’s set his heart to the goodliest,
Snow that snows in the mill-water;
Nine little kisses for all the rest,
An hundredfold for the king’s daughter.

He’s ta’en his leave at the goodliest,
Broken boats in the mill-water;
Golden gifts for all the rest,
Sorrow of heart for the king’s daughter.

“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,”
Running rain in the mill-water;
“And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,”
The pains of hell for the king’s daughter.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad Of Cookie McBride

well gather round people
and listen to this
i am a hermit of burial ridge
once i was shaven and worked every day
but the call of the wild just lured me away
singing hi hi ho it's a water a day
on my way to an unmarked grave
hi hi ho it's a water a day
on my way to an unmarked grave
there's pals at my table and mud on the floor
there's bears in the area and wolves at the door
their singing a song about cookie mcbride
who goes out a-trapping and then tails their hide
hi hi hey it's a water a day
on my way to an unhappy grave
hi hi hey it's a water a day
on my way to a rain filled grave
so if you're planning a natural trip
don't call up snooping on burial ridge
the searchers will come and discover your hide
high, wet and hanging like cookie mcbride
hi hi hey it's a water a day
on your way to an unhappy grave
hi hi hey it's a water a day
who will remember the money you saved?
i'm in over your head
you're in over your head

song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truly, Truly, This Is The End

They say deaths an open door
Into another room
Within the city of the dead
(Our New Kingdom)
They say we walk like dreams
Sharing the same breath
Seeing through the same eyes
(A collective spirit)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
They say the Earth it gives no peace
Nor does it take away
We all survive the grave
(Unfortunate eternal)
They say that in times past
A king walked in the sky
Until dethroned by man
(Tribe of Judas)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
This is the end

song performed by by Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The desert was the colour of cinnamon

The desert was the colour of cinnamon,
the hills in the distance were blue,
were rolled up like pan cakes
and I was searching for a stopping place
near to some water
the air was a metallic blue, the sand yellow;

time here came to a standstill
where the desertedness catches you sometimes,
in this barren landscape where decay just brings
more and more sand
and dust clouds hang lingering over everything
while the wind flutters and dust hits everywhere.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Canary Yellow Canoe

In my canary yellow canoe - my yellow canoe
I want to go tripping in my canary yellow canoe
The eastmain, coppermine, back river too
In my canary yellow canoe
In my canary yellow canoe - yellow canoe
I want to run rivers in my canary yellow canoe
The desmoines river, rupert river, george river too
In my canary yellow canoe
In my canary yellow canoe - mellow yellow canoe
I want to go tripping in my canary yellow canoe
Chebugema, peace river, resolute too
In my canary yellow canoe
In my canary yellow canoe - my elephant too
I want to go tripping in my canary yellow canoe
Churchill, yellowknife, ross river too
In my canary yellow canoe

song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Shift in Perception 2

I used to hate colour yellow.
It made my complexion look sallow.
And reminded me of jaundiced eyes,
Stubborn stains that won’t go despite
Trying every trick.
It used to make me sick.

Ugly yellow top cabs,
Yellow fumes in chemistry lab,
But now that I have mellowed
I have spotted beautiful yellows.

It is the colour of spring and sunshine,
That is our life line.
Bright mustard fields,
Sunny daffodils,
Cheerful sunflowers,
Clusters of Amaltas,

Marigolds and yellow roses,
Daisies and buttercups,
Elegant yellow glaidioli,
That fascinate me as I pass by
And feel compelled to stop
at the florists shop.

Butter scotch ice cream,
Mango sliced and diced.
Golden yellow apples,
And musk melons,
Pale yellow peach liqueur,
A must after dinner.

Yellow candle flames,
Brass temple bells,
Brightest colour of the spectrum
It catches everyone’s attention
It’s the colour that now lifts my mood
How could I hate it I find myself brood

Just a change in mental association
How it alters one’s perception.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heel On The Shovel

Im diggin you a shallow grave
An to the sun your face Ill raise
Im diggin you a shallow grave
One hundred buzzards buzzin
I seen death hangin from the tallest tree
Eyes closed no lookin back at me
Ye they came an took him in the night
The one who kissed em was greed
O everyone will see
An everyone will know
Boy you reap what you sow
Im diggin you a shallow grave
An on your rotten bones Ill raise
Yellow daisies
For my true loves hair
One hundred buzzards buzzin
I see death runnin from his majesty
O lord where is the fear in me
In between your praying hands
You hold the skeleton key

song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heel On A Shovel

i'm diggin' you a shallow grave
an to the sun your face i'll raise
i'm diggin' you a shallow grave
one hundred buzzards buzzin'
i seen death hangin' from the tallest tree
eyes closed no lookin' back at me
ye they came an took him in the night
the one who kissed em was greed
o everyone will see
an everyone will know
boy you reap what you sow
i'm diggin' you a shallow grave
an on your rotten bones i'll raise
yellow daisies
for my true loves hair
one hundred buzzards buzzin'
i see death runnin' from his majesty
o lord where is the fear in me
in between your praying hands
you hold the skeleton key

song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On a Friend's Escape from Drowning off the Norfolk Coast

Came up that cold sea at Cromer like a running grave
Beside him as he struck
Wildly towards the shore, but the blackcapped wave
Crossed him and swung him back,
And he saw his son digging in the castled dirt that could save.
Then the farewell rock
Rose a last time to his eyes. As he cried out
A pawing gag of the sea
Smothered his cry and he sank in his own shout
Like a dying airman. Then she
Deep near her son asleep on the hourglass sand
Was awakened by whom
Save the Fate who knew that this was the wrong time:
And opened her eyes
On the death of her son's begetter. Up she flies
Into the hydra-headed
Grave as he closes his life upon her who for
Life has so richly bedded him.
But she drove through his drowning like Orpheus and tore
Back by his hair
Her escaping bridegroom. And on the sand their son
Stood laughing where
He was almost an orphan. Then the three lay down
On that cold sand
Each holding the other by a living hand.

poem by George Barker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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