En.Citatepedia^®.ro

When The Bell Blew Up

‘THAT’S the boiler at The Bell, mates! Tumble out, Ned, neck and crop—
Never mind your hat and coat, man, we’ll be wanted on the job.
Barney’s driving, Harvey’s stoking—God help all the hands on top!
Bring along the brandy, some one. Don’t stand like an image, Bob;
Grab those shirts—they’ll all be needed. Rugs and candles, that’s all right.
Bet your lives, boys, we’ll have lots of doctor’s work to do to-night!

‘Didn’t she thunder? Scot! I thought the universe had gone to smash.
Take the track through Peetree’s paddock, make the smartest time you know.
Barney swore her plates were rotten, but poor Bill was always rash.’
‘And his missus, heaven help her!—they were spliced a month ago.’
Down the track we raced together, up the hill—then o’er the claim
Saw the steam-clouds hanging thickly, lustrous with the glow of flame.

Boiler-house in hopeless ruins, engines wrecked and smoke-stack gone;
Bricks and shingles widely scattered, and the shattered boiler bare.
‘Five men missed!’ ‘Buck in, you fellows; get your freest action on;
Keep the fire back from the timbers—God knows who is under there.
Sprag that knocker. How it rattles! Braceman’s nowhere—Coleman’s Joe.
Tell them what has happened, Ryan. They will have to wait below.’

As we fought the fires, the women, pale and tearful gathered round.
‘That you, Peter? Thanks to Heaven!’ ‘There’s my Harry! God is good!’
‘Praise the Lord—they’ve got our lad safe! Joe the braceman has been found!
Down between the tips they found him, pinned there by a log of wood.
‘Battery boys are safe. Mack saw them hiding under Peetree’s ricks.
They just up and cut from under when it started raining bricks.’

Only two now—Bill and Barney. Still we laboured might and main
’Mid the ruins round the boiler where the shattered walls were stacked.
Then his wife discovered Barney, dazed and black, but right as rain;
Said he didn’t know what hit him—‘thought the crack of doom had cracked;’
He had landed on the sand-heap, thirty yards or so away.
‘God is mighty good to sinners,’ murmured Geordie. ‘Let us pray.’

Fifty voices called on Harvey, and we worked like horses all,
Delving down amongst the timber, burnt and knocked about, but gay.
‘Lend a hand, here, every man; he’s pinned beneath the outer wall!
All together. Now you’ve got him. Gently does it. That’s O.K.
Scalded! Yes, and right arm broken. Pass some brandy, one of you.
Cheer, ye devils! Give it lip, lads. He’s alive and kicking, too!’

‘Give him air, now. Make a track there. Let him see his missus first.’
‘Where’s his wife?’ The women wondered. She had not been seen all night.
Someone whispered she was timid, that she dared not face the worst.
Harvey smiled despite his troubles. ‘Boys, she’s fainted—she’s all right.’
So we bore him gaily home, and as he saw the gateway near
Bill tried hard to lead the chorus when we gave a rousing cheer.

‘Stop, for God’s sake!’ In the garden, where her life blood tinged the vine,
Prone poor Harvey’s wife was lying, in the moon- light, cold and gray.
There the flying bolt had struck her as she ran towards the mine.
We could guess the truth too well—and near a broken firebar lay.
Carrol, kneeling down beside her, gently raised the wounded head,
And we bent to catch his whisper, and he answered sadly—‘Dead!’

poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let’s Annoy Dad

I have a plan, I have a plan
I said as I washed my paw
Dad will come home and we'll all want some grub
He'll just walk by our dishes
And say, 'No yet.'
If we do it, right
He'll give us some grub
Maybe even some crunchies as well
The two boys raised their heads
'How’s all this going to happen? ' Arthur asked.
'If we annoy dad, I'm sure he'll give in.'
I replied with a grin.
'How do you suppose we annoy him? ' Arthur asked again.
'First I take his pencil and get him out of his chair
And he'll follow me.
We'll plant a toy mouse
So he can tred on. Barney can cry
Say look at my wagger
Dad being soft will give him a cuddle.
He will then give him some treats.
Knowing Dad, he will give us all treats.

Nipping away, I planted the mouse.
Barney curled up and lay to one side.
I pinched Dad’s pencil and ran.
Dad stepped on the mouse and stopped.
Barney cried on queue.
Dad reached down, picked him up,
gave him a cuddle.
Barney sang as he tickled him under his chin.
He carried him to the bed and put him down.
“There you go Barney, ” and stroked him again.
I dropped the pencil and fled down the stairs.
Dad picked up his pencil, ignoring me,
went back to his writing his poetry.
The plan didn't work the way I expected.
No treats, no crunchies, no nothing.
The boys looked at me as I entered the room.

“So much for your plan.” Barney said.
“Watch how mine goes and learn.”
Jumping off the bed, he went in Dad’s room.
He sat beside Dad, raised a shredder to his knee.
Dad moved him away gently time and again.
Finally Dad gave in, came down stairs.
He picked up our dished one, two and three.
Went to the cupboard where crunchies are kept.
Brought out a tin and put mush in each dish
Food at last.
I must remember how Barney did it.
Might just work for me.
Instead of pinching his pencils, I might sit on Dad's knee.
If Barney can show a shredder and get meal.
Maybe I can annoy Dad that way too.
I will wait until tomorrow. Then try the ploy.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Snifter

After working hard all day
In the office,
How much worse on homeward way
My old cough is!
Barney's Bar is gaily lit,
Let me stop there;
Just to buck me up a bit
Have a drop there.

As I stand beside the screen
Hesitating,
I have thought of how Noreen
Will be waiting;
Baby Patsy in her lap
Gay and laughing,
While at Barney's foaming tap
I am quaffing.

Barney's Bar is mighty bright,
Looks so cheery.
Wonder what I'll drink tonight?
Gee! I'm weary.
Will I have Scotch or Rye?
Bourbon maybe . . .
Then I see with mental eye
Wife and baby.

So I say 'tis malted milk
I'll be skoffin';
Sooth my throttle sleek as silk,
Ease my coughin' . . .
Say, I love them two to death,
Sure they miss me:
With no whisky on my breath
How they'll kiss me!

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tale Of Steven

’TIS the tale of Simon Steven, braceman at the Odd-and-Even,
At The Nations, in the gully. They were sinking in the rock.
Sim was small and wiry rather, and a husband and a father,
But he’s gone and left his family as a consequence of shock.

Shock was Sim’s disease, we reckoned, for it took him in a second,
And no doctor born could dognose what the symptoms were, I think,
But we’re missin’ Sim completely—he could play the whistle sweetly,
And was always very sociable and brotherly in drink.

That was how poor Steven drifted into trouble—being gifted,
He was hungry for an audience, and it led him up to Coy’s;
But his wife made no deductions for the artist, and the ructions
What she raised around that public were just fireworks for the boys.

When she caught him on the liquor, being stronger like and quicker,
She would hammer him in company, which, I take it, wasn’t right;
Yet he bore it like a martyr while his wife played up the tartar,
And she gave her straight opinion of each mother’s son in sight.

Sim had marks of her corrections scattered round in all directions
On his features and his figure, but he didn’t seem to care—
For he thought his missus clearly did her duty by him merely
When she pommelled him for boosing with a poker or a chair.

’Twas a Wednesday, boss, I’m thinking. There’d been much promiscuous drinking
Up the gully, where some city chaps were christening Spooner’s mill;
Sim was dayshift at The Nations, and he missed the grand orations,
But, with help from men and brothers, he contrived to get his fill.

They’d been shooting holes, an’ Steven, when he left the Odd-and-Even,
Carried with him in his pocket here a plug of dynamite.
Sim had put it there to soften—which is done by miners often,
But it’s not the sort of practice that I’d recommend as right.

Well, the braceman didn’t worry after tea that day, nor hurry
To the bosom of his family, but took drink for drink with Mack;
When they aimed him homewards kindly, Steven went the distance blindly,
And his feet performed the lockstitch all the way along the track.

Mrs. Sim was primed and ready, and she met him with a neddy,
And she passed no vain remarks, but aimed an awful blow at him;
Came a sound of roaring thunder—Mrs. Sim was blown from under,
And the universe was ruined, and the sun went out for Sim.

After search in all directions, we found very few selections
Of the widow’s dear departed, but we did the best we could.
For, you see, by passion goaded, and not knowing Sim was loaded,
She’d concussed that plug of dynamite, and blown him up for good.

There was room for no reproaches ’bout the hearse and mourning coaches;
Though we only buried samples, yet we ’lowed for style and tone—
Man’s-size coffin, grave, and preacher for a broken fellow creature,
And we wrote ‘In Death Divided’ at the bottom of the stone.

poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harvey's Brother

Harvey’s Brother.

I paused in, the shade of a carob oak, to smoke a cigarette,
when a rabbit crossed the track, stopped sat on its haunches
and sniffed the air. Do not come nearer, my furry friend
the temptation will be too great and I’ll shoot you. It didn’t,
but I shot it any way, gutted and skinned on the spot, hoped
no one heard the bang the hunting season had yet to start.
At home I cut it into nice pieces added, onion, garlic, parsley
and with butter gently fried it in an iron pan, then I let it
simmer with red wine for some time. I went into my study to
read the papers, the rabbit sat on top of my desk eating
yesterday’s poetry, nice animal grey and blue, with silky fur,
and I thought of a movie called “Harvey.” Back in the kitchen
I put the stew in a dish and gave it to the neighbour’s dog.
Harvey has gone now he doesn’t even appear in my dreams.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Box Car Harry

The railroad dick looked straight at him, eyes unwavering, beady-eyed, menacing, and Harry counted his change to see if there was enough for a bribe; searched his thoughts for an escape route, but he was not as young as he used to be and the dick was young, legs like a deer.

He tussled Barney’s hair and said:

“Go there in that thar car and wait for me, got to dump the dick. Wait for my whistle.”
Barney looked up him hesitantly and Harry stammered hoarsely

“Go! ”

Barney scrambled on all fours the way Harry had taught him and quickly disappeared under cover of the dark Chicago night.

Always, the dick against the Bos, the rich against the poor was Harry’s thought, been that way since her was born, the wanders, the lose, the lose people on the road trying to find an odd job and a meal, against the railroad fat cats trying to exterminate the railroad people, who what was just trying to get by.

Harry held his breath and told himself to concentrate and finally turned back to the dick and showed himself, full on so as the dick could get a good look at him. The dick wide-eyed and incredulous stared hard at Harry surprised by the brazenness of the tramp and stood stock still for a moment, prey in the eyes of the predator.

Harry swayed a little left and then a little right like a running back taunting the linebacker, which way boy, am I going to bolt, which way is the question. Harry feinted a dash to the right and the dick crouched right ready for the chase, Harry smiled and then feinted to the left, testing the dick’s reflexes. The dick danced to the left enjoying the thrilling moment before the chase.

Harry guessed Barney had had time to secure himself in the car and then dashed straight toward the dick, who was thoroughly surprised and steeled himself for what he thought would be a crash between the two men. But Harry at the last minute slanted right allowing the dick to remain close behind but not enough to lay hand on him.

He headed for track 13 for the Great Northern line car.
The dick was breathing behind him; Harry could hear his labored breaths, close enough but not close enough to grab, what was what Harry wanted.

He hit the Northern line yard and saw number 13 looming. The dick was laughing behind him yelping with the sheer joy of it all, feeling he had Harry cornered because the Northern lot was a closed in one, a big wall in the back, a closed station and of course cars, most closed.

But Harry was aiming toward 13 and left up into the car and waited for the dick to catch up and see him. Harry looked down at the man’s heaving chest smiling his best Harry smile.

To be Continued

poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tommy's Dead

YOU may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead,
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys,
There's not a blade will grow, boys,
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

Send the colt to fair, boys,
He's going blind, as I said,
My old eyes can't bear, boys,
To see him in the shed;
The cow's dry and spare, boys,
She's neither here nor there, boys,
I doubt she's badly bread;
Stop the mill to-morn, boys,
There'll be no more corn, boys,
Neither white nor red;
There's no sign of grass, boys,
You may sell the goat and the ass, boys,
The land's not what it was, boys,
And the beasts must be fed:
You may turn Peg away, boys,
You may pay off old Ned,
We've had a dull day, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

Move my chair on the floor, boys,
Let me turn my head:
She's standing there in the door, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Take her away from me, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Move me round in my place, boys,
Let me turn my head,
Take her away from me, boys,
As she lay on here death-bed,
The bones of her thin face, boys,
As she lay on her death-bed!
I don't know how it be, boys,
When all's done and said,
But I see her looking at me, boys,
Whenever I turn my head;
Out of the big oak tree, boys,
Out of the garden-bed,
And the lily as pale as she, boys,
And the rose that used to be red.

There's something not right, boys,
But I think it's not in my head,
I've kept my precious sight, boys, --
The Lord be hallowéd!
Outside and in
The ground is cold to my tread,
The hills are wizen and thin,
The sky is shrivelled and shred,
The hedges down by the loan
I can count them bone by bone,
The leaves are open and spread,
But I see the teeth of the land,
And hands like a dead man's hand,
And the eyes of a dead man's head.
There's nothing but cinders and sand,
The rat and the mouse have fed,
And the summer's empty and cold;
Over valley and wold
Wherever I turn my head
There's a mildew and a mould,
The sun's going out overhead,
And I'm very old,
And Tommy's dead.

What am I staying for, boys,
You're all born and bred,
'Tis fifty years and more, boys,
Since wife and I were wed,
And she'd gone before, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

She was always sweet, boys,
Upon his curly head,
She knew she'd never see't, boys,
And she stole off to bed;
I've been siting up alone, boys,
For he'd come home, he said,
But it's time I was gone boys,
For Tommy's dead.

Put the shutters up, boys,
Bring out the beer and bread,
Make haste and sup, boys,
For my eyes are heavy as lead:
There's something wrong i' the cup, boys,
There's something ill wi' the bread,
I don't care to sup, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

I'm not right, I doubt, boys,
I've such a sleepy head,
I shall nevermore be stout, boys,
You may carry me to bed.
What are you about, boys?
The prayers are all said,
The fire's raked out, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

The stairs are too steep, boys,
You may carry me to the head,
The night's dark and deep, boys,
Your mother's long in bed,
'Tis time to go to sleep, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

I'm not used to a kiss, boys,
You may shake my hand instead.
All things go amiss, boys,
You may lay me where she is, boys,
And I'll rest my old head:
'Tis a poor world, this, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Drink

Don't drink, boys, don't!
There is nothing of happiness, pleasure, or cheer,
In brandy, in whiskey, in rum, ale, or beer.
If they cheer you when drunk, you are certain to pay
In headaches and crossness the following day.
Don't drink, boys, don't!

Boys, let it alone!
Turn your back on your deadliest enemy-Drink!
An assassin disguised; nor for one moment think,
As some rashly say, that
true
women admire
The man who can boast that he's playing with fire.
Boys, let it alone!

No, boys, don't drink!
If the habit's begun, stop now! stop to-day!
Ere the spirit of thirst leads you on and away
Into vice, shame, and drunkenness. This is the goal,
Where the spirit of thirst leads the slave of the bowl.
No, boys,
don't
drink!

Boys, touch not, nor taste!
Don't think you can stop at the social 'First Glass.'
Too many have boasted that power, alas!
And found they were slaves to this seeming good friend,
And have grown into drunkards and knaves, in the end.
Boys, touch not, nor taste!

Don't drink, boys,
Don't
!
If the loafers and idlers scoff, never heed:
True men and true women will wish you 'God-speed.'
There is nothing of purity, pleasure, or cheer
To be gotten from whiskey, wine, brandy, or beer.
Don't drink, boys,
Don't
!

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lining Track

This song was first released on the all aboard! album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Mo boys, is you right
Done got it right
All I hate about linin track
These ol boys are gonna break my back
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
See eloise gonna line em track
Down in the holler below the fleld
Angels working on the chariot wheel
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
See eloise gonna line em track
Mary and the babe was a sittin in the shade
Thinking on the money that I aint made
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
See eloise gonna line em track
Moses stood on the red sea shore
Gotta batten down the waves with a 2 by 4
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
See eloise gonna line em track
Now if I could I surely would
Stand on the rock where moses stood
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
See eloise gonna line em track
Matthew, mark, luke and john
All them disciples dead and gone
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
See eloise gonna line em track
Mo boys, is you right
Done got it right
All I hate about lining track
These ol boys about to break my back
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
Mo boys, cant you line em (track a lack)
See eloise gonna line em track
Words and music by huddie ledbetter

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Expert

Bill? Oh, him ... Well, he's taken a knock.
Real sad when I spoke to him last;
Sufferin' like from a nasty shock.
Just drivin' a wee bit fast
Round a corner - no chance to halt
Skittles a kid on the road.
An' they're tellin' him now it's all his fault,
'Case he didn't observe the Code.

Code? Wot Code? Why, Bill can drive!
An' they're tellin' him now he was rash.
It's his skill at the wheel kept him alive
And out of many a smash.
And now, this luck. Yes; the youngster died,
But the evidence plainly showed
That Bill was fair on the proper side,
What more could he do with the Code?

Why, I've seen Bill drive on just two wheels,
Miss trees by a coat of paint.
An' now, it's rotten the way he feels
Broke up when they made complaint:
Callin' him careless. Careless? Him?
Why, I've seen him motor a load
At eighty an hour, an' the light all dim.
He didn't learn that from a Code.

But there you are ... One accident more,
One more kid, chancin' to roam,
Knocked stiff in sight of his own house door
One more grief-stricken home
An' poor Bill, eyes still fixed ahead
On that small, still form by the road,
Sayin' over an' over, 'He's dead! He's dead! . . .'
Well - Maybe there is good in a Code.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At half-mast

You didn't know Billy, did you? Well, Bill was one of the boys,
The greatest fellow you ever seen to racket an' raise a noise,--
An' sing! say, you never heard singing 'nless you heard Billy sing.
I used to say to him, "Billy, that voice that you've got there'd bring
A mighty sight more bank-notes to tuck away in your vest,
If only you'd go on the concert stage instead of a-ranchin' West."
An' Billy he'd jist go laughin', and say as I didn't know
A robin's whistle in springtime from a barnyard rooster's crow.
But Billy could sing, an' I sometimes think that voice lives anyhow,--
That perhaps Bill helps with the music in the place he's gone to now.

The last time that I seen him was the day he rode away;
He was goin' acrost the plain to catch the train for the East next day.
'Twas the only time I ever seen poor Bill that he didn't laugh
Or sing, an' kick up a rumpus an' racket around, and chaff,
For he'd got a letter from his folks that said for to hurry home,
For his mother was dyin' away down East an' she wanted Bill to come.
Say, but the feller took it hard, but he saddled up right away,
An' started across the plains to take the train for the East, next day.
Sometimes I lie awake a-nights jist a-thinkin' of the rest,
For that was the great big blizzard day, when the wind come down from west,
An' the snow piled up like mountains an' we couldn't put foot outside,
But jist set into the shack an' talked of Bill on his lonely ride.
We talked of the laugh he threw us as he went at the break o' day,
An' we talked of the poor old woman dyin' a thousand mile away.

Well, Dan O'Connell an' I went out to search at the end of the week,
Fer all of us fellers thought a lot,--a lot that we darsn't speak.
We'd been up the trail about forty mile, an' was talkin' of turnin' back,
But Dan, well, he wouldn't give in, so we kep' right on to the railroad track.
As soon as we sighted them telegraph wires says Dan, "Say, bless my soul!
Ain't that there Bill's red handkerchief tied half way up that pole?"
Yes, sir, there she was, with her ends a-flippin' an' flyin' in the wind,
An' underneath was the envelope of Bill's letter tightly pinned.
"Why, he must a-boarded the train right here," says Dan, but I kinder knew
That underneath them snowdrifts we would find a thing or two;
Fer he'd writ on that there paper, "Been lost fer hours,--all hope is past.
You'll find me, boys, where my handkerchief is flyin' at half-mast."

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Says Mister Doojabs

Well, eight months ago one clear cold day,
I took a ramble up Broadway,
And with my hands behind my back
I strolled along on the streetcar track—
(I walked on the track, for walking there
Gives one, I think, a distinguished air.)

'Well, all of a sudden I felt a jar
And I said, 'I’ll bet that’s a trolley car,'
And, sure enough, when I looked to see
I saw it had run right over me!
And my limbs and things were so scattered about
That for a moment I felt put out.

Well, the motorman was a nice young chap!
And he came right up and tipped his cap
And said, 'Beg pardon,' and was so kind
That his gentle manner soothed my mind:
Especially as he took such pains
To gather up my spilt remains.

Well, he found my arms and found my head,
And then, in a contrite voice, he said,
'Say, mister, I guess I’ll have to beg Your pardon,
I can’t find your left leg,'
And he would have wept, but I said,
'No! no! It doesn’t matter, just let it go.'

Well, I went on home and on the way
I considered what my wife would say:
I knew she would have some sharp reply
If I let her know I was one leg shy,
So I thought, on the whole, ’twould be just as well
For my peace of mind if I didn’t tell.

Well, that was the first thing in my life
That I kept a secret from my wife.
And for eight long months I was in distress
To think that I didn’t dare confess,
And I’d probably still feel just that way
If it hadn’t come ’round to Christmas Day.

Well, in good old customs I still believe,
So I hung up my stocking Christmas Eve;
(A brand-new left one I’d never worn.)
And when I looked in it Christmas morn
There was my leg, as large as life,
With a ticket on it, 'From your wife.'

Well, my wife had had it stored away
In cotton, since last Easter Day,
When she ran across it, quite by chance,
In the left hip-pocket of my pants;
And the only reproachful thing she said
Was, 'Look out or some day you’ll lose your head.'

poem by Ellis Parker Butler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rattling Boy from Dublin

I'm a rattling boy from Dublin town,
I courted a girl called Biddy Brown,
Her eyes they were as black as sloes,
She had black hair and an aquiline nose.

Chorus --

Whack fal de da, fal de darelido,
Whack fal de da, fal de darelay,
Whack fal de da, fal de darelido,
Whack fal de da, fal de darelay.

One night I met her with another lad,
Says I, Biddy, I've caught you, by dad,
I never thought you were half so bad
As to be going about with another lad.

Chorus

Says I, Biddy, this will never do,
For to-night you've prov'd to me untrue,
So do not make a hullaballoo,
For I will bid farewell to you.

Chorus

Says Barney Magee, She is my lass,
And the man that says no, he is an ass,
So come away, and I'll give you a glass,
Och, sure you can get another lass.

Chorus

Says I, To the devil with your glass,
You have taken from me my darling lass,
And if you look angry, or offer to frown,
With my darling shillelah I'll knock you down.

Chorus

Says Barney Magee unto me,
By the hokey I love Biddy Brown,
And before I'll give her up to thee,
One or both of us will go down.

Chorus

So, with my darling shillelah, I gave him a whack,
Which left him lying on his back,
Saying, botheration to you and Biddy Brown,--
For I'm the rattling boy from Dublin town.

Chorus

So a policeman chanced to come up at the time,
And he asked of me the cause of the shine,
Says I, he threatened to knock me down
When I challenged him for walking with my Biddy Brown.

Chorus

So the policeman took Barney Magee to jail,
Which made him shout and bewail
That ever he met with Biddy Brown,
The greatest deceiver in Dublin town.

Chorus

So I bade farewell to Biddy Brown,
The greatest jilter in Dublin town,
Because she proved untrue to me,
And was going about with Barney Magee.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clarence Fawcett

The sudden death of Eugene Carman
Put me in line to be promoted to fifty dollars a month,
And I told my wife and children that night.
But it didn't come, and so I thought
Old Rhodes suspected me of stealing
The blankets I took and sold on the side
For money to pay a doctor's bill for my little girl.
Then like a bolt old Rhodes accused me,
And promised me mercy for my family's sake
If I confessed, and so I confessed,
And begged him to keep it out of the papers,
And I asked the editors, too.
That night at home the constable took me
And every paper, except the Clarion,
Wrote me up as a thief
Because old Rhodes was an advertiser
And wanted to make an example of me.
Oh! well, you know how the children cried,
And how my wife pitied and hated me,
And how I came to lie here.

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nora, the Maid of Killarney

Down by the beautiful Lakes of Killarney,
Off times I have met my own dear Barney,
In the sweet summer time of the year,
In the silvery moonlight so clear,
I've rambled with my sweetheart Barney,
Along the green banks of the Lakes of Killarney.

The Lakes of Killarney are most lovely to be seen
In the summer season when nature's face is green,
Especially in the beautiful silvery moonlight,
When its waters do shine like silver bright;
Such was the time when me and my Barney
Went to walk by the purty Lakes of Killarney.

My Barney was beautiful, gallant, and gay,
But, alas, he has left me and gone far away,
To that foreign country called Amerikay;
But when he returns we will get married without delay,
And again we will roam by the Lakes of Killarney,
Me and my sweetheart, charming Barney.

And until he returns I will feel rather sad,
For while walking with Barney I always felt glad;
May God send him home again safe to me,
And he will fill my sad heart with glee,
While we walk by the Lakes of Killarney.

I dreamt one night I was walking with Barney,
Down by the beautiful Lakes of Killarney,
And he said, "Nora, dear Nora, don't fret for me,
For I will soon come home to thee;
And I will build a nice cabin near the Lakes of Killarney,
And Nora will live happy with her own dear Barney."

But, alas, I awoke from my beautiful dream,
For, och, if was a most lovely scene;
But I hope it will happen some unexpected day,
When Barney comes home from Amerikay;
Then Barney will relate his adventures to me,
As we walk by the silvery Lakes of Killarney.

We will ramble among its green trees and green bushes,
And hear the sweet songs of the blackbirds and thrushes,
And gaze on its lovely banks so green,
And its waters glittering like crystal in the moonlight's sheen;
Och! how I long to be walking with Barney,
Along the green banks of the Lakes of Killarney.

Of all the spots in Ireland, Killarney for me,
For 'twas there I first met my dear Barney:
He was singing, I remember, right merrily;
And his singing filled my heart with glee,
And he said, "Nora, dear Nora, will you walk with me,
For you are the prettiest girl I ever did see."

"Now, Barney," I said, "you are just mocking me,
When you say no other girl like me you can see";
Then he said, "Nora, you are the only girl I do love,
And this I do swear by the saints above,
I will marry you, dear Nora, without delay,
When I come home from Amerikay."

But when Barney landed in Amerikay,
He courted another girl without dismay,
And he married her in the month of May,
And when I heard it I fainted away;
So maidens beware of such men as Barney,
Or else they will deceive ye with their flattering blarney.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jesus Was An Alien

Never survive at your no-go grocery store
And if you believe that boy will sit down and I will
Tell you more
Lee harvey oswald, well you know he had to have known
Charlie manson, only wanted to make his house a home
Chorus:
Jesus was an alien, flying through space
God was an astronaut, who said boy, I like your face
So the story begins...
Girl I love you, well the check is in the mail
Found religion inside myself, I drank the blood, the
Flesh was stale
Reach in your pockets and give us all you can
Know the one thats going to heaven, is gonna be the
Richer man
(chorus) x 2
I see ya shakin boy, do ya find it hard to believe
That the one you been living for would cut your wrists
To watch you bleed
Found out the truth is a lie, and it makes you feel
Unwell
Say the church of all mighty God is all we have to
Save us from hell
(chorus) x 2
If you find some error in the lyrics,
Would you please submit your corrections to me? thank
You.

song performed by by Matchbox 20
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freight Train

Well I just came down from Chippewa
I had a station wagon and a hundred dollars
I was thinkin' about the girl I'd lost a year before
I hadn't seen her for some time
I thought that I might go on by
When your memory came floodin' in
And you closed that door

[CHORUS:]

Wish I was a freight train baby
Wish I was a diesel locomotive
I'd come whistlin' down your track
Crashin' in your door
Wish I was a freight train baby
Wish I didn't have a heart
And you'd need a shovel for the coal
Just to get me started
Wish I was a freight train baby
Wish I was a freight train

Well every time I talk to you
And I hear your jealous lies
I feel like I've been left abandoned
On some old railway side
And every time I hear your voice
My water just gets cold
My stoker will not stoke
And my boiler will not boil

[CHORUS]

Well every time I fell behind
And I could not get ahead
I wish someone would pull the lever
And give me a little sand
And every time I slip behind
Even further back
I wish some switchman would come out of the fog
And change my track

Wish I was a freight train baby
Wish I was a diesel locomotive
I'd come whistlin' down your track
Crashin' in your door
Wish I was a freight train baby
Wish I didn't have a heart
And you'd need a shovel for the coal
Just to get me started
Wish I was a freight train baby
Wish I was a freight train . . .

song performed by by Kasey Chambers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Betsey and I Made Up

GIVE us your hand, Mr. Lawyer: how do you do to-day?
You drew up that paper—I s'pose you want your pay.
Don't cut down your figures; make it an X or a V;
For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.

Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,
Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;
And if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive,
They'd 've tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to drive.

No—for I was laborin' under a heavy load;
No—for I was travelin' an entirely different road;
For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,
And seein' where we missed the way, and where we might have been.

And many a corner we'd turned that just to a quarrel led,
When I ought to 've held my temper, and driven straight ahead;
And the more I thought it over the more these memories came,
And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame.

And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind,
Of little matters betwixt us, where Betsey was good and kind;
And these things flashed all through me, as you know things
sometimes will
When a feller's alone in the darkness, and every thing is still.

"But," says I, "we're too far along to take another track,
And when I put my hand to the plow I do not oft turn back;
And 'tain't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in two;"
And so I set my teeth together, and vowed I'd see it through.

When I come in sight o' the house 'twas some'at in the night,
And just as I turned a hill-top I see the kitchen light;

Which often a han'some pictur' to a hungry person makes,
But it don't interest a feller much that's goin' to pull up stakes.

And when I went in the house the table was set for me—
As good a supper's I ever saw, or ever want to see;
And I crammed the agreement down my pocket as well as I could,
And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good.

And Betsey, she pretended to look about the house,
But she watched my side coat pocket like a cat would watch a mouse:
And then she went to foolin' a little with her cup,
And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up.

And when I'd done my supper I drawed the agreement out,
And give it to her without a word, for she knowed what 'twas about;
And then I hummed a little tune, but now and then a note
Was bu'sted by some animal that hopped up in my throat.

Then Betsey she got her specs from off the mantel-shelf,
And read the article over quite softly to herself;
Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old,
And lawyers' writin' ain't no print, especially when it's cold.

And after she'd read a little she give my arm a touch,
And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much;
But when she was through she went for me, her face a-streamin' with tears,
And kissed me for the first time in over twenty years!

I don't know what you'll think, Sir—I didn't come to inquire—
But I picked up that agreement and stuffed it in the fire;
And I told her we'd bury the hatchet alongside of the cow;
And we struck an agreement never to have another row.

And I told her in the future I wouldn't speak cross or rash
If half the crockery in the house was broken all to smash;
And she said, in regards to heaven, we'd try and learn its worth
By startin' a branch establishment and runnin' it here on earth.

And so we sat a-talkin' three-quarters of the night,
And opened our hearts to each other until they both grew light;
And the days when I was winnin' her away from so many men
Was nothin' to that evenin' I courted her over again.

Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us,
Her lamp all trimmed and a-burnin' to kindle another fuss;
But when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores,
My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out-of-doors.

Since then I don't deny but there's been a word or two;
But we've got our eyes wide open, and know just what to do:
When one speaks cross the other just meets it with a laugh,
And the first one's ready to give up considerable more than half.

Maybe you'll think me soft, Sir, a-talkin' in this style,
But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while;
And I do it for a compliment—'tis so that you can see
That that there written agreement of yours was just the makin' of me.

So make out your bill, Mr. Lawyer: don't stop short of an X;
Make it more if you want to, for I have got the checks.
I'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told,
For I've got a wife at home now that's worth her weight in gold.

poem by Will Carleton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Salomé

The play was called Salomé, and we
Thought it was an omen when
The girl that played the leading part
Was stricken with the mumps,
So we had to get a new one, and we
Called on Mrs. Newman, who was
Thirty, going forty, and too
Large around the rump.

There was little we could choose from
In the cast, if we should lose one,
So the stand-ins were recruited from
The Geriatric Home,
There was Barney, who'd gone missing
On a trip to Little Gissing, though
His body had returned, he'd left
His faculties to roam.

Then Madge and Mavis Murray were
Recruited in a hurry to
Supply their famous curry
To the audience, at the break.
When we asked them of the Matron
She said, 'go ahead and take them! '
For the ulcers of our Patron had
Been keeping her awake.

The rehearsals were exciting, and
The changes rung like lightning
'Til the player playing Herod slipped
And fell right off the stage.
So we had to bring on Barney, who'd
Been in the British Army, but
Who didn't like the guy who played
The Prophet in the play.

They had been out there with Rommel,
One a Private, one a Colonel,
In the Regimental Journal
Barney didn't get his say.
Now he got to play King Herod who
Would see this Prophet buried
When Salomé asked the Prophet's head
Delivered on a tray.

I was worried about Barney, who
I thought a little barmy,
Then the printer spelt - 'Salami'
On the program for the play.
I was livid, I was raging,
It was so humiliating
That I almost cancelled everything
And gave the show away.

On the night they raised the curtain
Our Salomé was uncertain,
When she did the dance of seven veils
The audience had cheered.
There were only twenty seven from
The village, Little Bevington,
She'd quite forgot her underwear
And quickly disappeared.

I called for intermission while
I handled the confusion, but
The blushing Mrs. Newman wouldn't
Come back on the stage,
So she stood behind the curtain and
Called out to Barney Burton
'I only want the Prophet's head
Delivered on a tray! '

Barney seemed to quiver, almost
Like he'd lost his liver,
Then he turned toward the Prophet
And he grabbed him by the beard.
Then he pulled him right toward him
And he grabbed the Captain's sword and
Then he flashed and gashed and gored him,
I said 'Stop! ' - He never heard!

A sudden hush descended, this
Was not what we intended,
Then the sword came down to part
The Prophet from his skinny neck,
Then the head fell on the table as
The neck began to gurgle,
And the audience sat stunned until
A few began to clap.

We all were still as statues as they
Clapped and threw their hats, and so
We turned like cornered rats, and smiled,
And then we took a bow.
But then, from out the kitchen was
The clash of dish and fish in as
The Murray sisters claimed the stage -
'You want your curry now? '

The audience, long scattered, sit
At night, when people chatter, and
They talk about Salomé and
The sight they saw that night;
'When that seventh veil came orf an'
We could see it was an orphan,
Did you see her belly button - Gawd!
Now wasn't that a sight! '

I have given up directing since the
Police have quit dissecting all the
Aspects of Salomé that just
Didn't come out right.
Though I tried to resurrect it so
They wouldn't disrespect it, but
I couldn't get a man to play
The Prophet, on the night.

poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Breaking It Gently

ALL WAS UP with Richard Tanner—
‘Wait-a-Bit’ we called him. Dead?
Yes. The braceman dropped a spanner,
Landed Richard on the head;
Cracked his skull, sir, like a teacup,
Down the pump-shaft in the well.
Braceman hadn’t time to speak up,
Tanner never knew what fell.

Tell the widow? Who’d go through it?
No one on the shift would stir;
But Pat Ryan said he’d do it—
‘Nately break the news to her.’
Pat’s a splitter, and a kinder
Heart I never wish to know.
Stephens told him where to find her,
Begged him gently deal the blow.

In a very solemn manner
Ryan met the dead man’s wife—
‘Mornin’ to yez, Widdy Tanner!’
Says he gravely, ‘Such is life!’
‘I’m no widow!’ says she, prying
For the joke in Ryan’s eye.
‘’Scuse me, mum,’ says Paddy, sighing,
‘’Scuse me, mum, but that’s a lie.’

‘That remark would be repented
If Dick Tanner heard,’ says she.
‘Meanin’, mum, the late lamented
Party av that name?’ says he.
Still the widow missed the notion,
Wonder only filled her eye;
So Pat smothered his emotion,
Gulped, and had another try.

‘’Tis like this, ye see, me honey,
I’ve been sint t’ let ye know
Ye’ve inherited some money—
Twilve ’r fifteen pounds ’r so.
Through a schame av Providence’s,
Which no mortal man could dodge;
Poor Dick’s funeral expenses
Have fell due, mum, at the lodge!’

poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lava

Hot lava comes down big monkey goes floatin
On a boiler coming down like rain (oh yeah)
Hot lava cools down [big babble lectric cap(? )]
Going [loco(? )] with the boiling ?
[got lava I mean always take(? )] ready to serve
With the hand.... .... you lost and you found
[got light it goes inside some boulder ....(? )]
He wants nothing but the [tip(? )] on your crown piggy! pi-ggy!
Hot lava, lava
piggy!
[big kick a mule piston banged up and lets boil er(? )]
[like patty and the people in mind(? )]
Big boiler make hot gray matter not ....
Like the [dragon poppin two inside(? )]
piggy! pi-ggy!
Hot lava, lava
piggy! pi-ggy!
Hot lava
Hot lava

song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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