James Macfarlan
'A man's a man for a' that' – how does he know?
Traipsing with his plough, the rural hero,
Swaggering down the lea-rigs, talking to mice,
Sweating his sickly verses to entice
Lassies he'd never see again, strutting
Through the salons in his best breeches, rutting
In a cloud of claret, buttonholing
Lord This, sweet-talking Doctor That, bowling
His wit down levees, bosoms, siller quaichs –
D'ye think he's ever heard the groans and skraighs
Of city gutters, or marked the shapes that wrap
Fog and smoke about them as if they could hap
Homelessness or keep hunger at bay? What,
Not heard or seen, but has he even thought
How some, and many, and more than many, survive,
Or don't survive, on factory floors, or thrive
Or fail to thrive by foundry fires, or try
To find the words – sparks scatter and bolts fly –
That's feeble – to show the new age its dark face?
The Carron Ironworks – how he laughed at the place,
Made a joke of our misery, passed on
To window-scratch his diamond-trivia, and swan
Through country-house and customs-post, servile
To the very gods from which he ought to resile!
'Liberty's a glorious feast,' you said.
Is that right? Wouldn't the poor rather have bread?
Burns man, I'm hard on you, I'm sorry for it.
I think such poetry is dangerous, that's all.
Poetry must pierce the filthy wall
With cries that die on country ways. The glow
Of bonhomie will not let the future grow.
poem by Edwin Morgan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Heather's Lesson
Survive, thrive in difficult situations.
Glow like heather and smile with glory.
Serving deserving, deserve admiration
Survive, thrive in difficult situations.
Exist to help others in habitation
and be protective like heather's story,
Survive, thrive in difficult situations.
Glow your face and smile with glory.
***
Survive, thrive in difficult situations,
Dare to take care of the creatures.
Being selfless give help to everyone;
Survive, thrive in difficult situations.
Tells Heather: serving get admiration.
Smile, while spreading color and flavor;
Survive, thrive in difficult situations,
Dare to take care of the creatures
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Survival
We shall survive distance.
We shall survive space.
But can we survive the loneliness
that we have to face?
We shall survive winter.
We shall survive spring.
But can we survive the guilt
of the wedding ring?
We shall survive long nights.
We shall survive days.
But can we survive the longings
that always and forever stays?
We shall survive suspicion.
We shall survive fear.
But can we survive living
without each other, dear?
We shall survive all of this
if we put our love first.
We shall survive hunger.
We shall survive thirst
only if this love is true.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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This Poetry
this poetry is a hiding place
the only nook left for me
running away from
every creature of the
party,
i take my time
and i do not really mind
what i write
whether i rhyme
this is another monologue
something i keep saying to myself
how can i like this and that
how can i tell you
about what i want to say to you?
there is no way
no place no society
there is no other entrance
or exit
from these tangles and
strangles
it is strange i mumble
i scramble and dabble
talking to myself
and pleasing myself
this is my corner
i keep talking and talking
you watch the tv series
you cry alone and i do not mind
if tears flood in this room
this is my place this is my silence
this is the poetry of escapism
i assume the shape of the bird's wing
i keep on flying without having to find any place
any island any sea any shore
the words keep coming, they do not go anywhere
anyway, that is how it is intended to be
nothing for nothing
talking and talking
somewhere everywhere
alone and everybody
the rain pours heavily on me
no one gets wet no one runs for shelter
no one really cares
halter swelter
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Double Trouble
(Featuring Marty Stuart)
(Travis Tritt/Marty Stuart/Paul Kennerley)
Well I got a buddy at the factory
I know him and he knows me
We were talking on the line today
You wouldn't believe what he had to say
I told him all about you
He said man that's strange she's my girl too
Well hello baby it's me again
You country daddy you sweet boyfriend
Guess what I heard out on the street
Yeah, they say you've been two-timing me
And if it's true you're running 'round
You've got double trouble coming down
You've got double trouble can't you see
You can't be in love with him
And veer around with me
You've got one man in the country
And one man in the town
You've got double trouble coming down
I'm sorry pal I didn't know
Well that's okay she's hit the road
I can't believe she'd be so cruel
Yeah she made us both look like a fool
She played her game until she found
She had double trouble coming down
She had double trouble you and me
Got lots of lovin' left to do
There's more fish in the sea
She had one man in the country
And one man in the town
She had double trouble coming down
She had double trouble can't you see
She couldn't be in love with you
And play around with me
She had one man in the country
And one main in the town
She had double trouble coming down
Yeah she thought that I'd be easy
She thought I'd be her clown
She had double trouble coming down
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only The Strong Survive (Take 22)
I remember my first love affair
Somehow or another the whole darn thing went wrong
My mamma had some great advice
So I thought I'd put it into words of this song
I can still hear her sayin' it
Boy, Oh, I see you're sittin' out there all alone
Cryin' your eyes out 'cos the woman that you love has gone
Oh, there's gonna be, there's gonna be a whole lot of trouble in your life
Oh, so listen to me get up off your knees 'cos only the strong survive
That's what she said, only the strong survive
Only the strong survive,
Oh you've got to be strong, you'd better hold on
Don't go all around with your head hung down
Well I wouldn't let that little girl
No, I wouldn't let her know that she made me feel like a clown
There's a whole lot a girls lookin' for a good man like you
Oh but you'll never meet 'em if you give up now and say that your life is through
Yes she said: Only the strong survive, only the strong survive,
You've got to be a man, you've got to take a stand
Only the strong survive, only the strong survive,
Oh, you've got to be strong, you'd better hold on
'Cos only the strong survive
Only the strong survive, only the strong survive,
Well, you've got to be a man, you've got to take a stand
Only the strong survive, only the strong survive
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dis poetry
Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops
De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots
Dis poetry is designed fe rantin
Dance hall style, big mouth chanting,
Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep
Preaching follow me
Like yu is blind sheep,
Dis poetry is not Party Political
Not designed fe dose who are critical.
Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed
It gets into me dreadlocks
It lingers around me head
Dis poetry goes wid me as I pedal me bike
IÕve tried Shakespeare, respect due dere
But did is de stuff I like.
Dis poetry is not afraid of going ina book
Still dis poetry need ears fe hear an eyes fe hav a look
Dis poetry is Verbal Riddim, no big words involved
An if I hav a problem de riddim gets it solved,
IÕve tried to be more romantic, it does nu good for me
So I tek a Reggae Riddim an build me poetry,
I could try be more personal
But youÕve heard it all before,
Pages of written words not needed
Brain has many words in store,
Yu could call dis poetry Dub Ranting
De tongue plays a beat
De body starts skanking,
Dis poetry is quick an childish
Dis poetry is fe de wise an foolish,
Anybody can do it fe free,
Dis poetry is fe yu an me,
DonÕt stretch yu imagination
Dis poetry is fe de good of de Nation,
Chant,
In de morning
I chant
In de night
I chant
In de darkness
An under de spotlight,
I pass thru University
I pass thru Sociology
An den I got a dread degree
In Dreadfull Ghettology.
Dis poetry stays wid me when I run or walk
An when I am talking to meself in poetry I talk,
Dis poetry is wid me,
Below me an above,
Dis poetry's from inside me
It goes to yu
WID LUV.
poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Have you ever heard a good joke? If you've ever heard someone just right, with the right pacing, then you're already on the way to poetry. It's about using words in very precise ways and using gesture.
The Poor, Poor Country
Oh 'twas a poor country, in Autumn it was bare,
The only green was the cutting grass and the sheep found little there.
Oh, the thin wheat and the brown oats were never two foot high,
But down in the poor country no pauper was I.
My wealth it was the glow that lives forever in the young,
'Twas on the brown water, in the green leaves it hung.
The blue cranes fed their young all day - how far in a tall tree!
And the poor, poor country made no pauper of me.
I waded out to the swan's nest - at night I heard them sing,
I stood amazed at the Pelican, and crowned him for a king;
I saw the black duck in the reeds, and the spoonbill on the sky,
And in that poor country no pauper was I.
The mountain-ducks down in the dark made many a hollow sound,
I saw in sleep the Bunyip creep from the waters underground.
I found the plovers' island home, and they fought right valiantly,
Poor was the country, but it made no pauper of me.
My riches all went into dreams that never yet came home,
They touched upon the wild cherries and the slabs of honeycomb,
They were not of the desolate brood that men can sell or buy,
Down in that poor country no pauper was I.
* * * * *
The New Year came with heat and thirst and the little lakes were low,
The blue cranes were my nearest friends and I mourned to see them go;
I watched their wings so long until I only saw the sky,
Down in that poor country no pauper was I.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flower
She dreams of the country
Her eyes go far away.
She wishes for flowers
He says, perhaps in may.
The city always was gray
The reflections of his eyes.
And she knows he liked it that way
And that way he shall die, well...
Shes always known,
That there was something more.
Theres this hunger in her belly
Like an instinct it tells her that theres something more.
This living shouldnt be called living
cause its really only half a life.
Shes a flower that grows despite cement holes
And she will survive, she will survive.
Shes a rare breed with violet eyes
And leafy limbs.
In conversations she looks for cracks
To dig her roots deep in.
And her ways come up like daisies,
She pushes her head to the sun.
She says I am content here to grow
Despite the steel frost that consumes everyone.
Shes always known,
That there was something more.
Theres this hunger in her belly
Like an instinct it tells her that theres something more.
This living shouldnt be called living
cause its really only half a life.
Shes a flower that grows despite cement holes.
And she will survive, she will survive.
In the end these steel cages will consume us
And like coffins ignorance will take us in and
Fashion dont mean anything
cause fashion cannot be our friends.
And when all else fades away
And the city falls into its sleep.
Well still have flesh, blood, bones and
Our soul to deal with so we should
Dig our roots deep.
Always known,
That theres something more.
Theres this hunger in our bellies
Its like an instinct it tells us that theres something more.
This living shouldnt be called living
cause its really only half a life.
Shes a flower that grows despite cement holes.
And we will survive, we will survive, we will survive, we will
Survive.
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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City Man You'd Best Go Back To Town
City man you'd best go back to town
If living in the country gets you down
And though the songbirds sing with voices sweet
You'd much prefer the noisy city street.
These rural towns are quiet as quiet can be
There's so little to do and less to see
Save go into a pub and drink your fill
And come out feeling much more lonely still.
Pleasant is the music of the thrushes
And fragrant is the scent of flowering bushes
Here the air is pure and free of taint
But you would rather live midst smoke and paint.
City man you miss your city kin
You've little in common with rural men,
You've little love for peaceful country life,
You'd much prefer to live where noise is rife.
You are like a fisherman ashore
He find inland life is quite a bore
Unhappy the poor fisherman will be
Until he returns to his beloved sea.
City man the city's calling you
Go bid the lonely countryside adieu,
Your urge for city living's always strong
It is where a man is raised that he belong.
City man go back to your own kind
And leave this sense of loneliness behind
Country life it isn't to your taste
Go back home to the city in a haste.
poem by Francis Duggan
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So what is so strange about saying I want Barack Obama to fail if his mission is to reconstruct and reform this nation so that capitalism and individual liberty are not its foundation? I want the country to survive. I want the country to succeed.
quote by Rush Limbaugh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poetry Of The Old
THE POETRY OF THE OLD
The Poetry of the old
Is a smaller poetry
A more fragile poetry
A quieter poetry.
The Poetry of the old
Does not raise its voice
It sings to itself softly
And does not really hope to be heard.
The poetry of the old
Is a quiet poetry
And its name
Is mostly ‘Sadness’.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Verses Wrought
I do not know just how or when, God will send something to my pen,
From something that's on my heart, a thought God desires to impart,
Throughout my day, just as I go, thoughts from above seem to flow,
While I begin with simply a thought, by The Spirit verses are wrought.
It is The Lord God, Who blesses me, with these verses, that you see,
As these words that I pass along; the credit for all, does truly belong,
To The Lord God, Who reigns above, inspiring the verses, I speak of,
These very words, which I pen, that God has me share with other men.
God pens verses from my prose, through ways only The Spirit knows,
This when God's Spirit is inclined, to guide these thoughts in my mind,
In ways which only The Spirit can, as my Lord fills just an ordinary pen,
God blessing me, with His choice, to use my pen, instead of my voice.
Blessings, I hope to pass your way, with verses, on what I have to say,
As The Lord moves upon my heart, regarding thoughts I wish to impart,
From my thoughts God takes words, and He compiles them into verse,
Through ways that only God can do, so that I may share them with you.
Sharing with many through my life, the Truth and Grace of Jesus Christ,
Sharing Truths, you may have heard, that you find in God's Holy Word,
And Grace, which God bestows on us, when we follow The Lord Jesus,
All this as my Savior blesses me, while He guides me home to Eternity.
Poetry holds the veil
Poetry, like Joseph, draws a written veil across its face,
Poetry speaks from behind the shawl of its own intrigue.
My beloved would know my plight if he read my verse,
He would sense my pain if he heard my cries.
Poetry, like the brow of my beloved, it is a sea of beauty,
Fitting for those of vision to reflect upon.
Poetry, like Mount Sinai of Moses, has witnessed the divine,
Struck by his figure, it shattered into shards.
Poetry uncovers the cravings of an aggrieved people,
For the foolish lover, my book of verse is a vow of maddened love.
Poetry is revealed in the realm of truth,
Each line invokes a voice of an unseen world.
Ardent like the roses, Yahya, I am too immersed
When I recite verses about his well-formed physique.
poem by Yahya Dukagjini
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Our Differences With Poetry
You balance yourself on these lines as the sentence is clear,
It differed from all the worldly possessions to the eye
As each eye was indoctrinated, each eye blinked to the sight
Of the sentences that were temporary, always exact and narrow
As well as sounding a whole quiet exception.
The power of poetry is great, as I have seen you with my perception
As perceiving is all I do in the face of danger, the dangerous words
Are an enemy to my own poetry. Your poetry is not my poetry.
Rather it is an inclination to sour beliefs and irresolute structures,
I am for one cynical, and I am also afraid lest a man decide to act on my word
With difference, and betrayal.
So off with your poet-hood, and me my own route,
The guess of talking thoughts is upon us from the rear
And I am in doubt as to the position I am in.
I have no more argument. Enough.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe
COME all ye lads and lassies and listen to me a while,
And I’ll sing for you a verse or two will cause you all to smile;
It’s all about a young man, and I’m going to tell you now,
How he lately came a-courting of the Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe.
Said he, “My pretty fair maid, will you come along with me,
We’ll both go off together, and married we will be;
We’ll join our hands in wedlock bands, I’m speaking to you now,
And I’ll do my best endeavour for the Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe.”
This fair and fickle young thing, she knew not what to say,
Her eyes did shine like silver bright and merrily did play;
She said, “Young man, your love subdue, for I am not ready now,
And I’ll spend another season at the foot of the Sweet Brown Knowe.
Said he, “My pretty fair maid, how can you say so,
Look down in yonder valley where my crops do gently grow,
Look down in yonder valley where my horses and my plough
Are at their daily labour for the Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe.”
“If they’re at their daily labour, kind sir, it’s not for me,
For I’ve heard of your behaviour, I have, indeed,” she said;
“There is an Inn where you call in, I have heard the people say,
Where you rap and call and pay for all, and go home at the break of day.”
“If I rap and call and pay for all, the money is all my own,
And I’ll never spend your fortune, for I hear you have got none.
You thought you had my poor heart broke in talking with me now,
But I’ll leave you where I found you, at the foot of the Sweet Brown Knowe.”
poem by Anonymous English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Poetry
1
poetry can be
like a sky filled with wrangling clouds
or as a sky without a wisp
2
in poetry there are no
clichés in thought and phrase;
and what is left there is
the resplendent and the living
3
poetry leaves one
rich inside
and ordinary outside
4
the fool defines poetry
and poetry defies all definitions
5
poetry entertains, inspires;
poetry tickles, distracts, and shapes and frees -
but its true intent, no one knows
6
many lines, and countless lines
many pages, and thick volumes
don’t make poetry
7
if one had no coins
one cannot buy bread;
but not all the world’s wealth
can bring you poetry
8
Oh no!
Not another love poem!
Oh no!
Not another poem about oneself!
9
rhyme, technique and meter
and tricks of prosody
don’t make poetry: passion does
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I thought
I thought I saw his face to day.
In the wake of the sun.
And then I heard the Lord say.
His work here is done.
I thought I heardhis voice today.
And luagh your joyfull luagh.
Then I heard the Lord say.
There is peace dear one at last.
I though I felt your touch in the breeze that rustled by.
And then I heard the lord say.
The spirit never dies.
I thought I saw my broken hart.
In the cresent of the moon.
And then I heard the lord say.
I am coming soon.
I thought that you had left me
for the stars above.
And then I heard the lord say.
He has left you with his love.
I thought that I would miss you so.
And never find my way.
Then I heard the lord say.
He is with you every day
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Give me blood
'Give me blood, I will give you freedom'
The great son and patriot gave invitation with slogan
I shall take you to the shore of liberty
You deserve it by right and not by charity
Was it vision, love for country or pure wisdom?
These words can be heard seldom
Have we not bartered our freedom to few members?
Hardly few may find place now to remember
Country has become house hold of few
They have little time spare or no time or view
It is forced dynastic rule with no future for people
Praise the dynasty, have blessings and rule
Whom do we blame for such down fall?
The self rule for people without dashing against wall
Was it calculated move to pass on the helm of affairs?
Still to term it as great struggle and very fair
Country passing in turmoil and hungry foxes cry foul
Not responding to conscience and searching soul
Who else can rise from the grave and lead us to dreamland
Where our forefathers promised us a free land
Why did they all sacrifice life for nothing?
Was it the only aim to gain something?
They may be watching helplessly from heaven
In which way our heroic struggle has been proven?
Why all tall promises are made everyday?
The poor have nothing to fill in belly for a day
Life has become cheap and no means to lead a way
What are they all talking of subway, highway or motor way?
We shall be true republic and in every sense secular
We shall have not only peace and security in particular
But will power to quench the thrust of millions of hungry
All these only after firing at restless mob turning angry
We have nothing to offer poor a shelter
We have no planning to see welfare and cater
We can swallow not in millions but only in billions
One corrupt player watches another to enter on stage from pavilion
The freedom has become joke and an instrument
To establish rule of scoundrels with money and muscle movement
Where from all these countless money are poured in
What is there to rejoice on any republic day for win?
Let us not shed any tears or feel sad for departed souls?
They were not scammers, statute politicians but idiots and fools?
Why no father advised them what will be fate of their freedom struggle?
The country will be turned in wrestling ground and free for grab in jungles
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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