En.Citatepedia^®.ro

At husking time

At husking time the tassel fades
To brown above the yellow blades,
Whose rustling sheath enswathes the corn
That bursts its chrysalis in scorn
Longer to lie in prison shades.

Among the merry lads and maids
The creaking ox-cart slowly wades
Twixt stalks and stubble, sacked and torn
At husking time.

The prying pilot crow persuades
The flock to join in thieving raids;
The sly racoon with craft inborn
His portion steals; from plenty's horn
His pouch the saucy chipmunk lades
At husking time.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Husking Rice

husking rice
a child squints up
to view the moon

poem by Matsuo Basho
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Trauma Of Time

Time Fades The Smile, Not The Pain.
Time Drains The Water Not The Damage From The Rain.
Time Fades The Tomorrow Not The Yesterday.
Time Fades The Cuts But The Scars Never Go Away.
Time Fades The Sweetness Not All The Things Sour.
Time Fades Those Few Precious Moments But Not The Crippling Hour.
Time Fades The Sun, Not It’s Brutal Remains.
Time Fades The Photographs Not There Stains.
Time Fades The Lessons Not All The Things That I’ve Learned.
Time Puts Out The Fire But Not The Days I Burned.
Time Fades The Colors Not The Glaring White.
Time Fades The Bruises Not The Darkness In The Night.
Time Fades The Happiness Not The Tears.
Time Fades The Triumphs Not The Fears.
Time Fades The Storm Not The Ocean.
Time Fades The Memories Not The Emotion.
Time Fades The Dreams Not The Nightmare.
Time Fades The Hand Not The Times You Weren’t There.
Time Fades The Beauty Not The Gloom.
Time Fades The Doors And Windows Not The Empty Room.
Time Fades The Love Not The Empty Lie.
Time Fades The Hello But Never The Goodbye.

poem by Bridgid Patrick
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Joe

A meadow brown; across the yonder edge
A zigzag fence is ambling; here a wedge
Of underbush has cleft its course in twain,
Till where beyond it staggers up again;
The long, grey rails stretch in a broken line
Their ragged length of rough, split forest pine,
And in their zigzag tottering have reeled
In drunken efforts to enclose the field,
Which carries on its breast, September born,
A patch of rustling, yellow, Indian corn.
Beyond its shrivelled tassels, perched upon
The topmost rail, sits Joe, the settler’s son,
A little semi-savage boy of nine.
Now dozing in the warmth of Nature’s wine,
His face the sun has tampered with, and wrought,
By heated kisses, mischief, and has brought
Some vagrant freckles, while from here and there
A few wild locks of vagabond brown hair
Escape the old straw hat the sun looks through,
And blinks to meet his Irish eyes of blue.
Barefooted, innocent of coat or vest,
His grey checked shirt unbuttoned at his chest,
Both hardy hands within their usual nest—
His breeches pockets — so, he waits to rest
His little fingers, somewhat tired and worn,
That all day long were husking Indian corn.
His drowsy lids snap at some trivial sound,
With lazy yawns he slips towards the ground,
Then with an idle whistle lifts his load
And shambles home along the country road
That stretches on fringed out with stumps and weeds,
And finally unto the backwoods leads,
Where forests wait with giant trunk and bough
The axe of pioneer, the settler’s plough.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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An etching

A meadow brown; across the yonder edge
A zigzag fence is ambling; here a wedge
Of underbush has cleft its course in twain,
Till where beyond it staggers up again;
The long, grey rails stretch in a broken line
Their ragged length of rough, split forest pine,
And in their zigzag tottering have reeled
In drunken efforts to enclose the field,
Which carries on its breast, September born,
A patch of rustling, yellow, Indian corn.
Beyond its shrivelled tassels, perched upon
The topmost rail, sits Joe, the settler's son,
A little semi-savage boy of nine.
Now dozing in the warmth of Nature's wine,
His face the sun has tampered with, and wrought,
By heated kisses, mischief, and has brought
Some vagrant freckles, while from here and there
A few wild locks of vagabond brown hair
Escape the old straw hat the sun looks through,
And blinks to meet his Irish eyes of blue.
Barefooted, innocent of coat or vest,
His grey checked shirt unbuttoned at his chest,
Both hardy hands within their usual nest--
His breeches pockets--so, he waits to rest
His little fingers, somewhat tired and worn,
That all day long were husking Indian corn.
His drowsy lids snap at some trivial sound,
With lazy yawns he slips towards the ground,
Then with an idle whistle lifts his load
And shambles home along the country road
That stretches on, fringed out with stumps and weeds,
And finally unto the backwoods leads,
Where forests wait with giant trunk and bough
The axe of pioneer, the settler's plough.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Caw

The January wind

Freezes a crow

In mid-flight

And mid-caw

And suspends it

In the icy blue sky.

It's black eyes bulge.

Its caw,

Stuck on high,

Dogs me deep

Into a corn field,

Slicing through

All the crunching and

Rustling of the brittle,

Frost tinged

Corn stalks

Scraping my coat

As I brush by.

poem by Francis Santaquilani
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There's Got To Be A Morning After

I heard it once, smoothed-out
by gallons of coffee,
chest husking like a plow
and pulled it into a basement.
Cardigan-wrapped the next morning
and only then was it true, only then
was I so hungry I could eat at the roots of it,

and lay down like a napping aristocrat
dreaming of pendulums
potbellied, empurpled,
pissing outside, and my
boombox played it again, its notes
encircled by my poor shy ghosts
made quiet speeches to the wind
saluted this song's toasting.

poem by Daniel Nester
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Days Before You Came

Days before you came
Freezing cold and empty
Towns that change their name
And a horn of plenty

Days before you came
Counting breaths inside me
Even crack cocaine
Couldn't start to hide me
Won't you join me now
Baby's looking torn and frayed
Join the masquerade
Join the masquerade
Won't you join me now
Baby's looking to get laid
Join the masquerade
Join the masquerade

Days before you came
It always seemed enticing
to be naked and profane
there is no denying
Days before you came
Thunderbolts and lightning
Each day a brand new vein
Each tourniquet colliding
Didn't what you anyway [x4]

Won't you join me now
Baby's looking torn and frayed
Join the masquerade
Join the masquerade
Won't you join me now
Baby's looking to get laid
Join the masquerade
Join the masquerade
Days before you came [repeat]

song performed by by Placebo from Reinventing The Steel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Huskers

IT was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain
Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass again;
The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the woodlands gay
With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow flowers of May.
Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad and red,
At first a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he sped;
Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued,
On the cornfields and the orchards, and softly pictured wood.
And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night,
He wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow light;
Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the hill;
And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still.
And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of that sky,
Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew not why;
And school-girls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the meadow brooks,
Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet looks.
From spire and barn looked westerly the patient weathercocks;
But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks.
No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's dropping shell,
And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell.
The summer grains were harvested; the stubblefields lay dry,
Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green waves of rye;
But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood,
Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood.
Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere,
Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the yellow ear;
Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant fold,
And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold.
There wrought the busy harvesters; and many a creaking wain
Bore slowly to the long barn-floor is load of husk and grain;
Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down, at last,
And like a merry guest's farewell, the day in brightness passed.
And lo! as through the western pines, on meadow, stream, and pond,
Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond,
Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone,
And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one!
As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away,
And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay;
From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet without name,
Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry huskers came.
Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow,
Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene below;
The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before,
And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er.
Half hidden, in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart,
Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart;
While up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade,
At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played.
Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair,
Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown hair,
The master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth of tongue,
To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking-ballad sung.

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Cockatoos

Now the autumn maize is growing,
Now the corn-cob fills,
Where the Little River flowing
Winds among the hills.
Over mountain peaks outlying
Clear against the blue
Comes a scout in silence flying,
One white cockatoo.
Back he goes to where the meeting
Waits among the trees.
Says, "The corn is fit for eating;
Hurry, if you please."
Skirmishers, their line extendiing,
Shout the joyful news;
Down they drop like snow descending,
Clouds of cockatoos.

At their husking competition
Hear them screech and yell.
On a gum tree's high position
Sits a sentinel.
Soon the boss goes boundary riding;
But the wise old bird,
Mute among the branches hiding,
Never says a word.

Then you hear the strident squalling:
"Here's the boss's son,
Through the garden bushes crawling,
Crawling with a gun.
May the shiny cactus bristles
Fill his soul with woe;
May his knees get full of thistles.
Brothers, let us go."

Old Black Harry sees them going,
Sketches Nature's plan:
"That one cocky too much knowing,
All same Chinaman.
One eye shut and one eye winkin' --
Never shut the two;
Chinaman go dead, me thinkin',
Jump up cockatoo."

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Christmas Time

Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Ain't been round since you know when
Christmas time is here again
O-u-t spells "out"
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Ain't been round since you know when
Christmas time is here again
O-u-t spells "out"
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Ain't been round since you know when
Christmas time...[music continues and fades to background]
[spoken]
This is paul mccartney here, i'd just like to wish you everything you wish yourself for christmas.
This is john lennon saying on behalf of the beatles, have a very happy christmas and a good new year.
George harrison speaking. i'd like to take this opportunity to wish you a very merry christmas, listeners everywhere.
This is ringo starr and i'd just like to say merry christmas and a really happy new year to all listeners
[a john lennon pastiche at this point, very hard to understand]

song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hunter’s Song

RISE! Sleep no more! ’T is a noble morn:
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn,
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound,
Under the steaming, steaming ground.
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by,
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky!
Our horses are ready and steady.—So, ho!
I ’m gone, like a dart from the Tartar’s bow.
Hark, hark!—Who calleth the maiden Morn
From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn?
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter’s horn.

Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found,
And over the stream, at a mighty bound,
And over the high lands, and over the low,
O’er furrows, o’er meadows, the hunters go!
Away!—as a hawk flies full at its prey,
So flieth the hunter, away,—away!
From the burst at the cover till set of sun,
When the red fox dies, and—the day is done!
Hark, hark!—What sound on the wind is borne?
’T is the conquering voice of the hunter’s horn.
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, bold voice of the hunter’s horn.

Sound! Sound the horn! To the hunter good
What ’s the gulley deep or the roaring flood?
Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds,
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds.
O, what delight can a mortal lack,
When he once is firm on his horse’s back,
With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong,
And the blast of the horn for his morning song?
Hark, hark!—Now, home! and dream till morn
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter’s horn!
The horn,—the horn!
O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter’s horn!

poem by Barry Cornwall
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Time

Time waits for no Man
what time is it?
time to change your ways.
Time is of the essence
how much time have I got
can you give me more time?
Time ticks by slowly
and time can go really fast
not much time left now.
Take some time out
time to make amends
Isn't it time to say sorry?
The tick tock of time
Old Father Time
as time goes by.
There's always time tomorrow
make the most of your time
don't waste your time.
Time after time after time
isn't it time you learnt?
time you sorted yourself out.
That's it time is up
time to call it a day
see you again sometime?

poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Corn-Stalk Fiddle

WHEN the corn's all cut and the bright stalks shine
Like the burnished spears of a field of gold;
When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine,
And the frost comes white and the wind blows cold;
Then it's heigh-ho! fellows and hi-diddle-diddle,
For the time is ripe for the corn-stalk fiddle.
And when you take a stalk that is straight and long,
With an expert eye to its worthy points,
And you think of the bubbling strains of song
That are bound between its pithy joints —
Then you cut out strings, with a bridge in the middle,
With a corn-stalk bow for a corn-stalk fiddle.
Then the strains that grow as you draw the bow
O'er the yielding strings with a practiced hand!
And the music's flow never loud but low
Is the concert note of a fairy band.
Oh, your dainty songs are a misty riddle
To the simple sweets of a corn-stalk fiddle.
When the eve comes on, and our work is done,
And the sun drops down with a tender glance,
With their hearts all prime for the harmless fun,
Come the neighbor girls for the evening's dance,
And they wait for the well-known twist and twiddle —
More time than tune — from the corn-stalk fiddle.
Then brother Jabez takes the bow,
While Ned stands off with Susan Bland,
Then Henry stops by Milly Snow,
And John takes Nellie Jones's hand,
While I pair off with Mandy Biddle,
And scrape, scrape, scrape goes the corn-stalk fiddle.
'Salute your partners,' comes the call,
'All join hands and circle round,'
'Grand train back,' and 'Balance all,'
Footsteps lightly spurn the ground.
'Take your lady and balance down the middle'
To the merry strains of the corn-stalk fiddle.
So the night goes on and the dance is o'er,
And the merry girls are homeward gone,
But I see it all in my sleep once more,
And I dream till the very break of dawn
Of an impish dance on a red-hot griddle
To the screech and scrape of a corn-stalk fiddle.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Christmas Time Is Here Again

Lennon/McCartney/Harrison/Starkey)
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Ain't been round since you know when
Christmas time is here again
O-U-T spells "out"
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Ain't been round since you know when
Christmas time is here again
O-U-T spells "out"
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Christmas time is here again
Ain't been round since you know when
Christmas time...[music continues and fades to background]
[spoken]
This is Paul McCartney here, I'd just like to wish you everything
you wish yourself for Christmas.
This is John Lennon saying on behalf of the Beatles, have a very
Happy Christmas and a good New Year.
George Harrison speaking. I'd like to take this opportunity to wish
you a very Merry Christmas, listeners everywhere.
This is Ringo Starr and I'd just like to say Merry Christmas and a
really Happy New Year to all listeners
[a John Lennon pastiche at this point, very hard to
understand

song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Merry Merry Xmas

Peace to the world from the new kids on the block, we are here,
Were spreading all our joy, spreading all our love and our cheers.
Cheerful sleigh bells ring, choir children sing,
Its peace and love and harmony we bring.
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
To all our sisters and brothers
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Let all of the world join our hands.
Theres a feeling in the air, its beginning to look like christmas everywhere.
Hear the gentle sounds of the snowflakes trickle down without a care.
People stop and stare, the christmas tree is there,
A star on top which nothing cant compare.
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Its all about peace and understanding
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Let all of the world lend a hand
A time for me, a time for you,
Theres enough of love to last our whole life through
Hail, merry...

song performed by by New Kids On The Block
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Merry, Merry Christmas

Peace to the world from the new kids on the block, we are here,
Were spreading all our joy, spreading all our love and our cheers.
Cheerful sleigh bells ring, choir children sing,
Its peace and love and harmony we bring.
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
To all our sisters and brothers
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Let all of the world join our hands.
Theres a feeling in the air, its beginning to look like christmas everywhere.
Hear the gentle sounds of the snowflakes trickle down without a care.
People stop and stare, the christmas tree is there,
A star on top which nothing cant compare.
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Its all about peace and understanding
Hail, merry christmas, merry, merry christmas
Let all of the world lend a hand
A time for me, a time for you,
Theres enough of love to last our whole life through
Hail, merry...

song performed by by New Kids On The Block
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ring Out, Solstice Bells

Now is the solstice of the year,
Winter is the glad song that you hear.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Have the lads up ready in a line.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Join together beneath the mistletoe.
By the holy oak whereon it grows.
Seven druids dance in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Praise be to the distant sister sun,
Joyful as the silver planets run.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out those bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Ring on, ring out.
Ring on, ring out.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time

Time
is your presence.
Time
is your smile.
Time
is your kindness.
Time
is when you linger.
Yet
Time
is also my Enemy.
Time
is the prison guard stopping my dreams.
Time
laughs at me.
Time
is gone in a blink.
Time
is but a mist.
Time
vanishes so quickly.
Time
is not my own.
Time
is not on my side.
Time
wants to run.
Time
wants to stop running.
Time
is my tears.
Time
is my frustration.
Does time have emotions?
Is time a she?
Does she ever get sad
or discouraged like me?
Is time a he?
Does he like to tell me
how I failed yet again,
as I ran late,
and he kept a scorecard?
Does time give grace?
Does time care?
Is time just a hand on a clock,
a page in a book,
or a note from the past?
Time has so many facets
and so many faces.
I wish I could
be on the same team
as time
but somehow it seems
he always rejects me.

poem by Julie A Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Time Fades Away

Fourteen junkies too weak to work
One sells diamonds for what theyre worth
Down on pain street, disappointment lurks
Son, dont be home too late.
Try to get back by eight
Son, dont wait till the break of day
cause you know how time fades away.
Time fades away
You know how time fades away.
All day presidents look out windows
All night sentries watch the moonglow
All are waiting till the time is right
Son, dont be home too late
Try to get back by eight
Son, dont wait till the break of day
cause you know how time fades away.
Time fades away
You know how time fades away.
Back in canada I spent my days
Riding subways through a haze
I was handcuffed, I was born & raised
Son, dont be home too late
Try to get back by eight
Son, dont wait till the break of day
cause you know how time fades away.
Time fades away
You know how time fades away.
Thirteen junkies too weak to work
One sells diamonds for what theyre worth
Down on pain street disappointment lurks.
Son, dont be home too late
Try to get back by eight, eight
Son, dont wait till the break of day
cause you know how time fades away.
Time fades away
You know how time fades away.
Time fades away
You know how time fades away

song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time Passes Slowly

Time passes slowly up here in the mountains,
We sit beside bridges and walk beside fountains,
Catch the wild fishes that float through the stream,
Time passes slowly when youre lost in a dream.
Once I had a sweetheart, she was fine and good-lookin,
We sat in her kitchen while her mama was cookin,
Stared out the window to the stars high above,
Time passes slowly when youre searchin for love.
Aint no reason to go in a wagon to town,
Aint no reason to go to the fair.
Aint no reason to go up, aint no reason to go down,
Aint no reason to go anywhere.
Time passes slowly up here in the daylight,
We stare straight ahead and try so hard to stay right,
Like the red rose of summer that blooms in the day,
Time passes slowly and fades away.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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