In This Village
She has gone to a foreign land!
Because, she has got another man;
And now, i can't find her in this village.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In A Foreign Land
It was a matter of fact that when I paid all my tax
I held my world in the palm of my hand
And all of my debts were causing me to defect
To a land of bananas and sand
So I ran, yes I ran, yes I ran to a foreign land
Here I am, here I am
Here I am in a foreign land
Im so glad we made it
I thought wed never land
I grabbed all my cash
And decided to dash far away
Far away, far away to a foreign land
Here I am, here I am, here I am in a foreign land
Goodbye to all of the rich mans daughters
Goodbye to my debts now Im way cross the water
Far away, far away in a foreign land
Here I am, here I am here I am in a foreign land
La la la la la la
La la la la la la
Please tell my mother and all my ex-lovers
That Ive finally made the grade
Please tell my debtors and the money collectors
That all of my bills will be paid some day
Im away, Im away, far away in a foreign land
Goodbye champagne and caviar set
I wanna slum and drink all the rum I can get
Im away, Im away in a foreign land
Here I am, here I am, here I am in a foreign land
But Im all out of my jack and I cant go back
Im away, far away, far away in a foreign land
La la la la la la
La la la la la la
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Village Ghetto Land
Would you like to go with me
Down my dead end street
Would you like to come with me
To village ghetto land
See the people lock their doors
While robbers laugh and steal
Beggars watch and eat their meals-from garbage cans
Broken glass is everywhere
Its a bloody scene
Killing plagues the citizens
Unless they own police
Children play with rusted cars
Sores cover their hands
Politicians laugh and drink-drunk to all demands
Families buying dog food now
Starvation roams the streets
Babies die before theyre born
Infected by the grief
Now some folks say that we should be
Glad for what we have
Tell me would you be happy in village ghetto land
Village ghetto land
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foreign Lands
You may roam the wide seas over, follow, meet, and cross the sun,
Sail as far as ships can sail, and travel far as trains can run;
You may ride and tramp wherever range or plain or sea expands,
But the crowd has been before you, and you’ll not find ‘Foreign Lands;’
For the Early Days are over,
And no more the white-winged rover
Sinks the gale-worn coast of England bound for bays in Foreign Lands.
Foreign Lands are in the distance dim and dreamlike, faint and far,
Long ago, and over yonder, where our boyhood fancies are,
For the land is by the railway cramped as though with iron bands,
And the steamship and the cable did away with Foreign Lands.
Ah! the days of blue and gold!
When the news was six months old—
But the news was worth the telling in the days of Foreign Lands.
Here we slave the dull years hopeless for the sake of Wool and Wheat
Here the homes of ugly Commerce—niggard farm and haggard street;
Yet our mothers and our fathers won the life the heart demands—
Less than fifty years gone over, we were born in Foreign Lands.
When the gipsies stole the children still, in village tale and song,
And the world was wide to travel, and the roving spirit strong;
When they dreamed of South Sea Islands, summer seas and coral strands—
Then the bravest hearts of England sailed away to Foreign Lands,
‘Fitting foreign’—flood and field—
Half the world and orders sealed—
And the first and best of Europe went to fight in Foreign Lands.
Canvas towers on the ocean—homeward bound and outward bound—
Glint of topsails over islands—splash of anchors in the sound;
Then they landed in the forests, took their strong lives in their hands,
And they fought and toiled and conquered—making homes in Foreign Lands,
Through the cold and through the drought—
Further on and further out—
Winning half the world for England in the wilds of Foreign Lands.
Love and pride of life inspired them when the simple village hearts
Followed Master Will and Harry—gone abroad to ‘furrin parts’
By our townships and our cities, and across the desert sands
Are the graves of those who fought and died for us in Foreign Lands—
Gave their young lives for our sake
(Was it all a grand mistake?)
Sons of Master Will and Harry born abroad in Foreign Lands!
Ah, my girl, our lives are narrow, and in sordid days like these,
I can hate the things that banished ‘Foreign Lands across the seas,’
But with all the world before us, God above us—hearts and hands,
I can sail the seas in fancy far away to Foreign Lands.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land.
quote by Gilbert K. Chesterton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After Rain
After the rain, the forest's sleek, as
Between the pines, the moon startles my heart,
And I smile and think of home, as
A foreign guest in a foreign land.
poem by Yue Fu
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Ahinful
In the thick forest of my own village,
With the light from the moon to guide us on;
But, this valley is 12 feet wide! !
And like the muse of love in the land of many roses.
Stand, brand, and, strand, band, grand, land, Ireland;
And like the muse of love around a candle stand,
But this moon gives us light in the dark around this village.
Words!
Being with the muse of kindness;
Love!
Being with a child in this village;
Works!
Labouring in pain;
But near at hand to respect your muse! !
For, the light of the moon guides us on in this village.
Plan and scheme,
Hope and dreams,
Works and acts,
And, to secure a place! !
But, Ahinful my lover is still in the thick forest.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why are we, as a nation so obsessed with foreign things? Is it a legacy of our colonial years? We want foreign television sets. We want foreign shirts. We want foreign technology. Why this obsession with everything imported?
quote by Abdul Kalam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Slowly but surely the excrement of foreign poets will come to your village.
Better an ugly duckling from your own village than a beauty from foreign parts.
Moses
Stoney paths underfoot,
And my courage it shook,
Dry mouth and cracked lips,
Will I ever find my way home again?
Walking through mountains high,
Sunset in a desert sky,
A nation in a foreign land,
Hearts broken by Pharaohs hand,
Burning bush, naked truth,
Here lie broken lives,
My heart it aches,
My love she waits,
The cycle of life repeated,
Betrayal not yet depleted,
Will we ever learn,
Bodies become ashes in an urn,
Walking through mountains high,
Sunset in a desert sky,
A nation in a foreign land,
Hearts broken by Pharaohs hand,
My star leads me, shining bright,
My people blinded by it's light,
Oh my visions are so grand,
But will we ever reach the promised land?
April 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Global Village
Global village
Though we are all human
we are made to be different
by forces beyond our clout
Yet they want remake us
in a new image of their choice
in a village too big to be safe
The world they now call
a single village in the globe
with a big brother to match
As long as we are second class
within that large village fashioned
we would be subjected to
someone’s standards
someone’s culture
someone’s technology
someone’s understanding
someone’s world view
someone’s theories and concepts
They try hard in harder ways
to make us part of that village
but we know we are different
and shall strive to leave outside
that fashioned unsafe village
poem by Yusuf Adamu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To The Land
To the land of bribes,
To the land of telephones,
To the land of corruptions,
To the land of trains,
To the land of shops,
To the land of thieves,
To the land of connections,
To the land of drugs,
To the land of trucks,
To the land of cats,
To the land of Banks,
To the land of dogs, To the land of footballers,
To the land of dragons,
To the land of hope,
To the land of ice-cream,
To the land of potatoes,
To the land of chocolates,
To the land of tomatoes,
To the land of apples,
To the land of coffee,
To the land of lights,
To the land of ships,
To the land of birds,
To the land of tigers,
To the land of carpets,
To the land of pillows,
To the land of lions,
TO the land of toys,
To the land of horses,
To the land of beds,
To the land of roses,
To the land of love,
To the land of passion,
To the land of romance;
I never new women do snore until i married one.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pleasant One
Clan by clan,
Kin by kin,
One by one,
The store of Bohan!
And like the coastline of great love.
The scorpion passed by near the lion,
But his best-man took away his wife;
And, the story went out through the village.
Customary,
To entice her;
Of a feast,
To entice him;
But, her bride-mate took away his husband!
And, the story went out through the village.
Pleasant one,
To the land of my birth;
Of mercy and truth,
But this woman is from Bethlehem.
This man is your guest and,
This woman is my guest;
Yes, the one with her hands on the threshold!
But, take me to the land of peace.
A man of substance,
A woman of substance,
To the cave of Adullam;
And like your nakedness in the land of your muse,
But, the story went out through the village.
To the great well of Sechu!
Your mother's nakedness;
To the customary seat,
Your father's nakedness;
To shoot three arrows to this side,
Your brother's nakedness;
To sit by the stone of Ezel,
Your sister's nakedness;
And like the muse of the new moon! !
But, to lay naked all day and night,
For, i am old and grey-headed.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Homo Podunkensis
As the poor ass that from his paddock strays
Might sound abroad his field-companions' praise,
Recounting volubly their well-bred leer,
Their port impressive and their wealth of ear,
Mistaking for the world's assent the clang
Of echoes mocking his accurst harangue;
So the dull clown, untraveled though at large,
Visits the city on the ocean's marge,
Expands his eyes and marvels to remark
Each coastwise schooner and each alien bark;
Prates of 'all nations,' wonders as he stares
That native merchants sell imported wares,
Nor comprehends how in his very view
A foreign vessel has a foreign crew;
Yet, faithful to the hamlet of his birth,
Swears it superior to aught on earth,
Sighs for the temples locally renowned
The village school-house and the village pound
And chalks upon the palaces of Rome
The peasant sentiments of 'Home, Sweet Home!'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Drowned Out.
Liverpool corporation, water they sought,
community, by surprise they were caught.
Not really consulted,
outrage and protest resulted.
Voices and banners went to the ‘foreign' council,
however, project goes ahead through ' private members bill '
Worries fall on deaf ears,
only to confirm worst fears.
Workers came to start their plan,
nothing could stop the dam.
Water is ‘required'
not true it transpired.
Not strong enough voice in their land,
their village was dammed.
Told to 'leave their dead, or exhume,
the water will be coming soon '
Open the graves,
or lose to the waves.
The injustice of it all,
a tragedy to befall.
An horrendous and heartfelt plight,
unfair, one-sided fight.
Generations split and scattered,
the corporation, water is all that mattered.
Profit for big business,
the little man is powerless.
Water now covers, village no more,
two things for sure.
The people never had the last word,
and the chapel bell will never again be heard......
27/03/06 NP
poem by Guy Lipmore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Neither
They neither listened to me and now,
Their lovers are being sold into slavery in a foreign land! !
But i need to sail on to this land to save them,
For, they are my people.
What are they trusting in? ! !
For they have now set riders on the horses to reach out to them;
But, empty words are no longer needed on this issue,
Because, the land mourns and fades away!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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LANDSCAPE WITH FIGURES by carlos bulosan
Homeward again under foreign stars,
history was a strange gush of wind from memory
that came to echo waterfalls of those years:
home to find the place lost among
galaxies of signs. The hills were gone. The river
trail was forgotten... Trying to remember meadowlark
and those who perished in the vanishing land
(bones in the earth where our parents died poor) ,
the journey fell into heavy tides of flowing
scorn that echoed and reechoed time there.
The sun was most unkind to the place:
history: names of men: patterns of life:
all that distant floodtide heaved and moved,
breaking familiar names that immortal tongues
clipped for the heart to cry, 'Home is a foreign address,
every step toward it is a step toward three hundred years
of exile from the truth...'
It was not homeward
to the first known land, nor escape
to white sea sprays blossoming on inland shore,
nor love leaping the boundaries naked in the soul,
but a vast heritage of war and destruction breaking
too soon for the living and willing to die.
Life is a foreign language. Every man mispronounced it...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Malefactors with
political allegiance
to a foreign land,
who enter another land
prohibited by its laws.
tanka by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today, the rich bottom land of the Misssissippi is under water and no foreign land has sent a dollar to help.
quote by Gordon Sinclair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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237
LANDSCAPE WITH FIGURES by carlos bulosan
Homeward again under foreign stars,
history was a strange gush of wind from memory
that came to echo waterfalls of those years:
home to find the place lost among
galaxies of signs. The hills were gone. The river
trail was forgotten... Trying to remember meadowlark
and those who perished in the vanishing land
(bones in the earth where our parents died poor) ,
the journey fell into heavy tides of flowing
scorn that echoed and reechoed time there.
The sun was most unkind to the place:
history: names of men: patterns of life:
all that distant floodtide heaved and moved,
breaking familiar names that immortal tongues
clipped for the heart to cry, 'Home is a foreign address,
every step toward it is a step toward three hundred years
of exile from the truth...'
It was not homeward
to the first known land, nor escape
to white sea sprays blossoming on inland shore,
nor love leaping the boundaries naked in the soul,
but a vast heritage of war and destruction breaking
too soon for the living and willing to die.
Life is a foreign language. Every man mispronounced it...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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