The Ash Grove
Half of the grove stood dead, and those that yet lived made
Little more than the dead ones made of shade.
If they led to a house, long before they had seen its fall:
But they welcomed me; I was glad without cause and delayed.
Scarce a hundred paces under the trees was the interval -
Paces each sweeter than the sweetest miles - but nothing at all,
Not even the spirits of memory and fear with restless wing,
Could climb down in to molest me over the wall
That I passed through at either end without noticing.
And now an ash grove far from those hills can bring
The same tranquillity in which I wander a ghost
With a ghostly gladness, as if I heard a girl sing
The song of the Ash Grove soft as love uncrossed,
And then in a crowd or in distance it were lost,
But the moment unveiled something unwilling to die
And I had what I most desired, without search or desert or cost.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Huckleberry Grove
Shirley was a lady whose teeth were made of gold
She danced before the music and everything it told
Huckleberry Grove
Where the music plays into tomorrow night
Huckleberry Grove
Only fools would need to argue or to fight
Shirley had eight children and each of them were told
You got joy for singing burning in your soul
Huckleberry Grove
Where the idiots can't ease you of your mind
Huckleberry Grove
Take a free train
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene from B-Sides: Seasides & Freerides
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lamentable
Lamentable
Behind my cottage there was an olive grove
someone came knocked down the trees for
a better view, but it wasn’t true they built
four thousand dwellings instead and called
it a security zone. And then they built a wall
so I can’t see my lost olive grove.
The world agree with me this is all wrong,
but tells me I, for the sake of peace, must
understand and give way. I have understood
for sixty years and given way so many times,
and I know now I made a mistake to let their
cattle graze on our common land
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Glorious Gown of Glimmering Gold
A glorious gown of glimmering gold
Encompasses one luminary globe
Against the sky of this still grove
The crickets moan in baritone
Their cellos serenade my soul
In a glorious gown of glimmering gold
Against the sky of this still grove
The light of fireflies erodes
One’s seemingly inert ego
Yet silhouettes still seem to show
The night is more than what’s foretold-
Against the sky of this still grove.
Though man is made in manifold-
He is among the truly whole-
A glorious gown of glimmering gold
Against the sky of this still grove.
poem by Lazarus Knix
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All Dead, All Dead
Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strange But True 1 - The Burning House
There were four of us in the garden,
which overlooked a valley below.
The sunset was moving across the sky,
as the songs of twilight could be heard,
then a siren made us look around.
There below us within a grove of trees,
a spiral of smoke rose to meet the sky.
The house within the grove was burning fiercely;
its glow could be seen by us on higher ground,
but not by those on the lower ground.
We sat and watch in fascination
as there was little we could do.
Because the house was well hidden from the road,
the fire department missed it too.
Eventually when they reached the house, t
he occupants had perished in the flames.
Therefore, begins the story
I have never been able to explain.
A year went by and the charred ruins remained.
Nothing was ever built on the spot
nor the ground ever reclaimed.
The only monument that was left there
was the charred black timber on the ground.
My friends and I were playing
as we usually did in the garden,
overlooking the valley below
when a silence seem to engulf us.
In the distance, the mournful wail of a siren
broke the stillness there.
Looking down into the valley
we were amazed at what we saw,
a spiral of smoke reaching to the sky
within the grove of trees where the house used to be
from a burning building that was no longer there,
exactly how we had witnessed it a year before.
For an hour, we watched fascinated,
until the images we saw began to fade.
Did it all play back for some Anniversary,
or were our minds jut playing tricks on us all?
The question still bothers me
over fifty years from that day.
I will never know the truth,
and the mystery will always stay a mystery.
poem by David Harris
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Song XXX. The Lovely Brown Maid
When May--scented zephyrs breathe gladness around,
Enliv'ning the meadow and grove,
And in each mossy cottage Contentment is found,
Crown'd with health, peace, retirement, and love;
Then far from the village the swains they retire,
At noon to the lonely sweet shade;
Grant me Health, rosy Health, all I ask and desire,
With a smile from my lovely brown maid.
When my flocks bleat around me upon the wide plain,
Contented I lie at my ease;
And at eve I retire, free from sorrow and pain,
To enjoy the soft fragrant breeze:
When music and gladness are heard thro' the grove,
By moonlight I steal from the shade,
And o'er hills and deep valleys unheeded I rove,
For a smile from my lovely brown maid.
Each morn I rise happy, each night I lie down
With a heart free from envy and care;
In my plain humble cottage, far from the gay town
With my neighbours each comfort I share:
I envy no monarch, I boast not of wealth,
No troubles my cot e'er invade:
All the blessings I ask is the blessing of health,
And a smile from my lovely brown maid.
poem by Robert Anderson
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Transformation Scene
A plain building was removed to a pleasant grove, and in a
few weeks it was transformed into the neatest frame
building in town.
As westward we of late did rove
We beheld in the maple grove
An old church now owned by Peter ;
In town there is no house looks neater,
For those bay windows do look sweeter
Than anything in prose or meter.
poem by James McIntyre
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China Groove
When the sun comes up on a sleepy little town
Down around San Antone
And the folks are risin' for another day
'Round about their homes
The people of the town are strange
And they're proud of where they came
Well, you're talkin' 'bout China Grove
Oh, China Grove
Well, the preacher and the teacher
Lord, they're a caution
They are the talk of the town
When the gossip gets to flyin'
And they ain't lyin'
When the sun goes fallin' down
They say that the father's insane
And dear Missus Perkin's a game
We're talkin' 'bout the China Grove
Oh, China Grove
But every day there's a new thing comin'
The ways of an oriental view
The sheriff and his buddies
With their samurai swords
You can even hear the music at night
And though it's a part of the Lone Star State
People don't seem to care
They just keep on lookin' to the East
Talkin' 'bout the China Grove
Oh, China Grove
song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Grove Of Eglantine
Written by dennis deyoung
Lead vocals by dennis deyoung
Hey you there
Cast an eye this way
You with that young lust virgin smile
Dont pretend that youre quickly melting before my eyes
Thats a lie
cause I see all of you
Quite clearly now
I like our looks your moves you know everything
So when I ring you up in the evening I shall meet you
In the grove of eglantine
Just south of mans delight
Close to a soft flowing stream
In the grove of eglantine
We will join as lovers might
Between the lines of a dream
Your magic lips
Have made me realize
All of the pleasures man can fantasize
So dont pretend that youre sad to see me say goodbye
Thats a lie
Youre a wicked wench...ha
But thanks for all the laughs
You and your young lust virgin smile
And when Im gone for awhile
Ill once more want to meet you
In the grove of eglantine
Just south of mans delight
Close to a soft flowing stream
In the grove of eglantine
We will join as lovers might
Between the lines of a dream
In the grove of eglantine
Just south of mans delight
Close to a soft flowing stream
In the grove of eglantine
We will join as lovers might
Between the lines of a dream
In eglantine...of a dream (fade)
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring Grove Rockets
We are Spring Grove Rockets.
So pull that money out of your pockets.
Because you know that we can stop it you just love to watch us block it.
Because we are the SPRING GROVE ROCKETS
We launch our hearts from the start
So don't try to braek us apart
We are strong
We are brave
We've got you beaten
to the grave
SPRING GROVE ROCKETS
poem by Kayla Nace
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China Grove
Tom johnston
When the sun comes up on a sleepy little town
Down around san antone
And the folks are risin for another day
round about their homes
The people of the town are strange
And theyre proud of where they came
Well, youre talkin bout china grove
Oh, china grove
Well, the preacher and the teacher
Lord, theyre a caution
They are the talk of the town
When the gossip gets to flyin
And they aint lyin
When the sun goes fallin down
They say that the fathers insane
And dear missus perkins a game
Were talkin bout the china grove
Oh, china grove
But every day theres a new thing comin
The ways of an oriental view
The sheriff and his buddies
With their samurai swords
You can even hear the music at night
And though its a part of the lone star state
People dont seem to care
They just keep on lookin to the east
Talkin bout the china grove
Oh, china grove
song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All the Hills and Vales Along
All the hills and vales along
Earth is bursting into song,
And the singers are the chaps
Who are going to die perhaps.
O sing, marching men,
Till the valleys ring again.
Give your gladness to earth's keeping,
So be glad, when you are sleeping.
Cast away regret and rue,
Think what you are marching to.
Little live, great pass.
Jesus Christ and Barabbas
Were found the same day.
This died, that went his way.
So sing with joyful breath,
For why, you are going to death.
Teeming earth will surely store
All the gladness that you pour.
Earth that never doubts nor fears,
Earth that knows of death, not tears,
Earth that bore with joyful ease
Hemlock for Socrates,
Earth that blossomed and was glad
'Neath the cross that Christ had,
Shall rejoice and blossom too
When the bullet reaches you.
Wherefore, men marching
On the road to death, sing!
Pour your gladness on earth's head,
So be merry, so be dead.
From the hills and valleys earth
Shouts back the sound of mirth,
Tramp of feet and lilt of sing
Ringing all the road along.
All the music of their going,
Ringing swinging glad song-throwing,
Earth will echo still, when foot
Lies numb and voice mute.
On, marching men, on
To the gates of death with song.
Sow your gladness for earth's reaping,
So you may be glad, though sleeping.
Strew your gladness on earth's bed,
So be merry, so be dead.
poem by Charles Hamilton Sorley
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Route March
All the hills and vales along
Earth is bursting into song,
And the singers are the chaps
Who are going to die perhaps.
O sing, marching men,
Till the valleys ring again.
Give your gladness to earth's keeping,
So be glad, when you are sleeping.
Cast away regret and rue,
Think what you are marching to,
Little live, great pass.
Jesus Christ and Barabbas
Were found the same day.
This died, that, went his way.
So sing with joyful breath.
For why, you are going to death.
Teeming earth will surely store
All the gladness that you pour.
Earth that never doubts nor fears
Earth that knows of death, not tears,
Earth that bore with joyful ease
Hemlock for Socrates,
Earth that blossomed and was glad
'Neath the cross that Christ had,
Shall rejoice and blossom too
When the bullet reaches you.
Wherefore, men marching
On the road to death, sing!
Pour gladness on earth's head,
So be merry, so be dead.
From the hills and valleys earth
Shouts back the sound of mirth,
Tramp of feet and lilt of song
Ringing all the road along.
All the music of their going,
Ringing swinging glad song-throwing,
Earth will echo still, when foot
Lies numb and voice mute.
On marching men, on
To the gates of death with song.
Sow your gladness for earth's reaping,
So you may be glad though sleeping.
Strew your gladness on earth's bed,
So be merry, so be dead.
poem by Charles Hamilton Sorley
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A Redemption Song
Behind a grove of trees is
Filled with shadows..
The rays of light shining
From the heaven light.
Through silhouette of the
Piercing light..
The Light,
Shine through cracks
Shadows of souls wanders
Through trails of heaven
Light..
Wanting..
Trying to find their place
From within a world..
Where shackles held their
Souls,
To wander..
Silhouette of shadows of
Faces..
Gently fading..
Evaporating into heaven
Light.
Rejoicing,
Into the grove of trees
Peaceful faces fades gently
Into the heaven light..
Where the redemption song
Is born
poem by Carolyn Sears
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Peach Grove Next To Abbatoir
Next to an abbatoir
grows a peach grove.
The former has screams.
The latter is silent.
The slaughterhouse
stinks of blood and urine
and solid waste.
The peach grove is fragrant.
The slaughterhouse yields
a maximum 1000 pounds an acre of
food.
The peach grove yields in
trilevel agriculture four hundred
fifty thousand pounds an acre.
The slaughterhouse is labor
intensive and causes many worker
injuries and deaths.
The peach tree requires nothing
but a seed beneath dirt. The sun
and rain and mother earth
do the rest.
The slaughterhouse food causes
cancer, heart disease, food
poisoning, kidney failure, arthritis,
food poisoning fatalities.
The peach grove is God-designed.
poem by Saiom Shriver
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He was burned, so he ran into the bamboo grove, but the grove caught fire.
The Lesson
MY cot was down by a cypress grove,
And I sat by my window the whole night long,
And heard well up from the deep dark wood
A mocking-bird's passionate song.
And I thought of myself so sad and lone,
And my life's cold winter that knew no spring;
Of my mind so weary and sick and wild,
Of my heart too sad to sing.
But e'en as I listened the mock-bird's song,
A thought stole into my saddened heart,
And I said, 'I can cheer some other soul
By a carol's simple art.'
For oft from the darkness of hearts and lives
Come songs that brim with joy and light,
As out of the gloom of the cypress grove
The mocking-bird sings at night.
So I sang a lay for a brother's ear
In a strain to soothe his bleeding heart,
And he smiled at the sound of my voice and lyre,
Though mine was a feeble art.
But at his smile I smiled in turn,
And into my soul there came a ray:
In trying to soothe another's woes
Mine own had passed away.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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I Sowed for Sorrow
In my inner grove, I sowed for sorrow.
Oh, how it grew below my skies,
such marvelous sight in my eyes.
I lived for sorrow -
till it grew too large in my grove,
I wept;
and watered my sorrow with tears.
I sowed for sorrow till it lived
and grew so strong, so fine.
It lived to take away my life...
It lived and then I died.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Sonnets 03: Not With Libations, But With Shouts And Laughter
Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter
We drenched the altars of Love's sacred grove,
Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after
The launching of the colored moths of Love.
Love's proper myrtle and his mother's zone
We bound about our irreligious brows,
And fettered him with garlands of our own,
And spread a banquet in his frugal house.
Not yet the god has spoken; but I fear
Though we should break our bodies in his flame,
And pour our blood upon his altar, here
Henceforward is a grove without a name,
A pasture to the shaggy goats of Pan,
Whence flee forever a woman and a man.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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The Hills Abide
The everlasting hills their secrets keep
concealed in paces where men rarely tread.
Lie mouldering bones of men who are long dead
What caused their death nobody knows or cares.
In quietude and solitary they sleep.
Their skeletons defy the passing years.
The peaceful hills have seen men come and go.
Some few remain but most are passing through
In search of land to settle. Somewhere new.
Where they can raise their crops and live in peace
in the more fertile bottom lands below.
Protected from the winds that never cease.
Across the ancient hills which can endure
as they have done for passing centuries
The heat of summer and the winter’s freeze.
The hardy breed of men who chose to stay.
Were slow and steady men but very sure
they could and would survive in their own way.
The half wild sheep which graze these ancient hills.
Know much more than their shepherds know
of secret trails that wander to and fro.
Across the vast expanse beneath the sky
from sheltered sheepfolds to the flowing rills.
The sheep accept and do not wonder why.
11-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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