Over the Hill
What is over the hill,
I've always wondered and I wonder still.
Are there fields of meadows sweet,
Or forests for the eye to greet,
Are there cottages and farms,
All so quaint with country charms.
Or are there seas and sandy coves,
Lofty cliffs and sheep in droves,
Lakes with water gleaming bright,
Willows weeping at the sight.
Could there be a river wide,
With boats all moored along each side,
Or a canal which peacefully meanders,
Past boathouses with their verandas.
Perhaps there is a town of people,
A large stone church with bell and steeple,
Lots of traffic on the go,
People rushing to and fro.
Maybe there are valleys to discover,
With wonderful birds like the wagtail and plover,
Sparrowhawks and buzzards too,
All these would be splendid to view.
There might be a mansion great,
Built within a large estate,
With room to fish and hunt and shoot,
Such a lifestyle would be a hoot.
But it may not be greener over the hill,
We always think maybe it will,
We are left to guess at what things might have been,
And all we can do is imagine the scene.
But perhaps we are happier where we are,
And not to let all our wild thoughts mar,
What we already have, which is pretty okay,
I think you'd agree, what do you say?
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Journeys end
The stream meanders to and fro.
Here where the cattle come to drink
the yellow cowslips gaily grow.
The weeping willows stooping low
adorn the banks on either side.
The stream continues in its flow.
Past meadows where the cattle graze
and fields where corn is ripening
but here and there red poppies blaze.
The stream now to a river grown
now deep and wide; it gathers strength
Its purpose to itself unknown.
Past cottages which stand alone.
Small villages and market towns
and bridges built of weathered stone.
It has become a thoroughfare
which slices through the city’s heart
With rush and bustle everywhere.
The docks and quays and factories
confine the river in its course.
There is no grass there are no trees.
The river flows on turgidly
until at last it gains release
and flows into the open sea.
But in the distance still the stream
meanders gently to and fro
Where cowslips nod and lovers dream.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Mansion On The Hill
Theres a place out on the edge of town, sir,
Risin above the factories and the fields
Now, ever since I was a child, I can remember
That mansion on the hill
In the day you can see the children playing
On the road that leads to those gates of hardened steel
Steel gates that completely surround, sir,
The mansion on the hill
At night my daddyd take me and wed ride
Through the streets of a town so silent and still
Park on a back road along the highway side
Look up at that mansion on the hill
In the summer all the lights would shine
Thered be music playin, people laughin all the time
Me and my sister, wed hide out in the tall cornfields
Sit and listen to the mansion on the hill
Tonight down here in linden town
I watch the cars rushin by, home from the mill
Theres a beautiful full moon rising
Above the mansion on the hill
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mansion On The Hill
(bruce springsteen)
Theres a place out on the edge of town sir
Risin above the factories and fields
Now ever since I was a child I can remember
That mansion on the hill
In the day you can see the children playing
On a road that leads to those gates of hardened steel
Steel gates that completely surround sir
That mansion on the hill
At night my daddyd take me and wed ride
Through the streets of a town so silent and still
Park on a back road along the highway signs sir
Look up at the mansion on the hill
In the summer all the lights would shine
Thered be music playin people laughin all the time
Me and my brother wed lie down in the tall cornfields sir
Sit and listen to the mansion on the hill
Tonight down here in linden town
I watch the cars rushin by home from the mill
Theres a beautiful full moon rising
Above the mansion on the hill
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Canto XLIX: For the Seven Lakes
For the seven lakes, and by no man these verses:
Rain; empty river; a voyage,
Fire from frozen cloud, heavy rain in the twilight
Under the cabin roof was one lantern.
The reeds are heavy; bent;
and the bamboos speak as if weeping.
Autumn moon; hills rise about lakes
against sunset
Evening is like a curtain of cloud,
a blurr above ripples; and through it
sharp long spikes of the cinnamon,
a cold tune amid reeds.
Behind hill the monk's bell
borne on the wind.
Sail passed here in April; may return in October
Boat fades in silver; slowly;
Sun blaze alone on the river.
Where wine flag catches the sunset
Sparse chimneys smoke in the cross light
Comes then snow scur on the river
And a world is covered with jade
Small boat floats like a lanthorn,
The flowing water closts as with cold. And at San Yin
they are a people of leisure.
Wild geese swoop to the sand-bar,
Clouds gather about the hole of the window
Broad water; geese line out with the autumn
Rooks clatter over the fishermen's lanthorns,
A light moves on the north sky line;
where the young boys prod stones for shrimp.
In seventeen hundred came Tsing to these hill lakes.
A light moves on the South sky line.
State by creating riches shd. thereby get into debt?
This is infamy; this is Geryon.
This canal goes still to TenShi
Though the old king built it for pleasure
K E I M E N R A N K E I
K I U M A N M A N K E I
JITSU GETSU K O K W A
T A N FUKU T A N K A I
Sun up; work
sundown; to rest
dig well and drink of the water
dig field; eat of the grain
Imperial power is? and to us what is it?
The fourth; the dimension of stillness.
And the power over wild beasts.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Canto 49
For the seven lakes, and by no man these verses:
Rain; empty river; a voyage,
Fire from frozen cloud, heavy rain in the twilight
Under the cabin roof was one lantern.
The reeds are heavy; bent;
and the bamboos speak as if weeping.
Autumn moon; hills rise about lakes
against sunset
Evening is like a curtain of cloud,
a blurr above ripples; and through it
sharp long spikes of the cinnamon,
a cold tune amid reeds.
Behind hill the monk's bell
borne on the wind.
Sail passed here in April; may return in October
Boat fades in silver; slowly;
Sun blaze alone on the river.
Where wine flag catches the sunset
Sparse chimneys smoke in the cross light
Comes then snow scur on the river
And a world is covered with jade
Small boat floats like a lanthorn,
The flowing water closts as with cold. And at San Yin
they are a people of leisure.
Wild geese swoop to the sand-bar,
Clouds gather about the hole of the window
Broad water; geese line out with the autumn
Rooks clatter over the fishermen's lanthorns,
A light moves on the north sky line;
where the young boys prod stones for shrimp.
In seventeen hundred came Tsing to these hill lakes.
A light moves on the South sky line.
State by creating riches shd. thereby get into debt?
Thsi is infamy; this is Geryon.
This canal goes still to TenShi
Though the old king built it for pleasure
K E I M E N R A N K E I
K I U M A N M A N K E I
JITSU GETSU K O K W A
T A N FUKU T A N K A I
Sun up; work
sundown; to rest
dig well and drink of the water
dig field; eat of the grain
Imperial power is? and to us what is it?
The fourth; the dimension of stillness.
And the power over wild beasts.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Where Are the Birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
‘The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon,
Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Deep in the afternoon?
Even at dusk when the air is still
Or the cool breath heaves from the sea,
I wait for the beat of wings then, Bei Bei
Rushing to comfort me.’
‘The birds were once when the paddy fields
Ran down by the river tides,
When the sky was blue and the air was clean
And the trees reached up to the stars.
The birds were here when the skies were clear
No buildings blocked the view...’
‘But where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Why have they gone from you? ’
‘They left when the smog came rolling in
And the insects died on the ground,
When the grass turned white and the acid rain
Caused all the trees to drown.
They left when the river turned yellow mud
And the fields died under the road,
When men built towers of thirty floors,
They left the town in droves.’
The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon.
‘The birds of Wenzhou took their nests
And travelled to old Hangzhou.
They went to live by a wondrous lake
That tales will tell, is blue...’
‘Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei...
Have they forsaken you? ’
8 November 2005
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Letter In The Mail
If I could go down now
While the whole town is sleeping
See the sun creeping up on the hill
I know the river and the railroad
Would run through the valley still
I guess it never was much to look at
Just a one-horse town
The kind of place young people want to leave today
Store fronts pretty much boarded up
Main street pretty much closed down
The church bell still rings on sunday
Old folks still go
The young ones listen on the radio
Saturday night nothing but a stray dog running wild
Like nobodys child
And little by little, light after light
Thats how it died
They say you never go home again
Thats no lie
Its like a letter in the mail
To a brother in jail
Its a matter of time
Until you can do a little bit better time
It used to be part of the heartland
Awful proud and strong
But deep, deep down peaceful and serene
When people used to talk about the country
Thats what they used to mean
I might go down come the weekend
Go on my own
Drop off annie and the baby
Maybe drive alone
Pay my last respects to a time
That has all but gone
We said, mama come look at the mountain
Fire in the sky
Its lit up like the fourth of july
The mill burning down
The jobs leaving town
The trains rolling by
And little by little, light after light
Thats how it died
They say you never go home again
Thats no lie
Its just a letter in the mail
To a brother in jail
Its a matter of time
Until you can do a little bit better time
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lineson Thorold
McCready the great Irish Tragedian said, the view from Thorold
was the finest in America.
Thorold is famous for its mills,
And the grand view from off its hills-
A view so charming and extended,
Natures beauties sweetly blended.
Poetic thoughts it doth awake
To view Ontario's broad Lake,
And husbandmen have their reward in
Fruits of this provincial garden.
For from the hill you see below
Gardens, where choice fruits do grow,
The landscape all within your reach
Doth both produce the grape and peach.
McCready said, in the New World
The finest view was from Thorold.
You see St. Catharine's charming town
And steamers sailing up and down.
And you can see, on a clear day,
All along Toronto Bay;
And you clearly see the haze
Where Niagara doth amaze.
And glance where Grimsby's gardens yield,
Or view Beamsvill's fruitful field ;
Then this thought yon can advance,
This is Canada's sunny France.
You see Niagara's ancient town *
Though,it has lost its old renown ;
And you have a splendid view
Of boats on old canal and new.
* Niagara, once the capital and business centre of Upper Canada, and also
an important fortress. It is located at the mouth of the Niagara river.
poem by James McIntyre
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The Lofty Sky
To-day I want the sky,
The tops of the high hills,
Above the last man's house,
His hedges, and his cows,
Where, if I will, I look
Down even on sheep and rook,
And of all things that move
See buzzards only above:-
Past all trees, past furze
And thorn, where nought deters
The desire of the eye
For sky, nothing but sky.
I sicken of the woods
And all the multitudes
Of hedge-trees. They are no more
Than weeds upon this floor
Of the river of air
Leagues deep, leagues wide, where
I am like a fish that lives
In weeds and mud and gives
What's above him no thought.
I might be a tench for aught
That I can do to-day
Down on the wealden clay.
Even the tench has days
When he floats up and plays
Among the lily leaves
And sees the sky, or grieves
Not if he nothing sees:
While I, I know that trees
Under that lofty sky
Are weeds, fields mud, and I
Would arise and go far
To where the lilies are.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Like And Want
In our life there are always things
that we like and want.
We think the things we like
will lead us to a better life.
Within these thoughts, we forget
the wonderful things we have.
There is an old saying
the grass is always greener
on the other side of the hill,
but when you get there
you find it is the same
as what you left behind.
Therefore, we must first examine
and compare all the things we have
against the things we want.
The results may surprise you
as you have more than you thought.
13 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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As I Imagine
What's over the mountain I do not know?
I've never traveled there.
And so in my mind it can be anything
as into the distance I stare.
I'm sure it must be beautiful
with valleys of green below,
cottages built on rolling hills
and endless streams that flow.
The air must be cleaner, the grass much greener
and all of my imaginings
tell me to be there would validate my thoughts
of a place that's fit for Kings.
And this is what the mind can do,
create any scene it desires.
And so I choose to imagine beauty,
of this one never tires.
So to keep this picture the way I perceive it
I will not travel there.
This way I'm free from disappointment
as I continue to stare.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Fishees Underwater
Fish have many pretty colors, they live beneath the waves
Some fish seem to swim in schools while others live in caves
Some are short and some are small and some are stringy thin
Some of them are wide and tall and some just dig right in.
There's not much light beneath the waves of all our great big seas,
But all the fish don't seem to mind, they somehow still can see
Plants live down there, under water and make things seem so nice,
That all the fishes dance around and always check things twice.
Some fish swim deep down there, others they just won't
Some of them seem unafraid, but most of them just don't
Some fish have large shiny teeth, some have none at all
Some of them swim hastily, while others only crawl.
Of all the fish and animals my favorite is a star fish
If I find one on the beach, I stop and make a wish
I pick them up and throw them back, far out into the ocean
And hope they learn to not return, or repeat that silly notion.
poem by Daniel Lloyd Kennedy
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A Mansion On The Hill
Tonight down here in the valley
Im lonesome and o how I feel
As I sit here alone in my cabin
I can see your mansion on the hill
Do you recall when we parted
The story to me you revealed
You said you could live without loving
In your loveless mansion on the hill
Ive waited all through the years love
To give you a heart true and real
Cause I know youre living in sorrow
In your loveless mansion on the hill
The light shine bright from yer window
The trees stand so silent and still
I know youre alone with your pride dear
In your loveless mansion on the hill
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Great, Wide, Beautiful, Wonderful World
Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,
With the wonderful water round you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast--
World, you are beautifully drest.
The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree,
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.
You friendly Earth! how far do you go,
With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow,
With cities and gardens, and cliffs, and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?
Ah, you are so great, and I am so small,
I tremble to think of you, World, at all;
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
A whisper inside me seemed to say,
"You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot:
You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"
poem by William Brighty Rands
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A Mansion On The Hill
Hank williams
Tonight down here in the valley
Im lonesome and oh, how I feel
As I sit here alone in your cabin
I can see your mansion on the hill
Do you remember when we parted?
The story to me you revealed
You said you could live without love, dear
In your loveless mansion on the hill
Ive waited all through the years. love
To give you a heart true and real
Cos I know you are living in sorrow
In your loveless mansion on the hill
The light shines bright from your window
The trees stand so silent and still
I know youre alone with your pride, dear
In your loveless mansion on the hill
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dancing On The Hill-Tops
Dancing on the hill-tops,
Singing in the valleys,
Laughing with the echoes,
Merry little Alice.
Playing games with lambkins
In the flowering valleys,
Gathering pretty posies,
Helpful little Alice.
If her father's cottage
Turned into a palace,
And he owned the hill-tops
And the flowering valleys,
She’d be none the happier,
Happy little Alice.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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A Long Ride
driving along an open road
nowhere special to go
nothing but fields on my left and right
not another car in sight
the sun is shining bright
dont think i'll go home tonight
wind blowing thru my hair
i really dont care
got a cd on
all my thoughts are gone
i love a long ride
with or without anyone by my side
sometimes i'll come to a small town
stop for lunch and look around
and if im tired and its late
i'll stay the night my drive can wait
i'll meet new people there
hear the stories they like to share
then when i ready and done
i'm in my car and gone
probably never again to pass thru
my memories will have to do
poem by Sandy Nobody
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Go down and drink the tranquil seas
Go down and drink the tranquil seas
Of a million rocky coves,
Stand up on a high point,
See the motionless deceptive sea
And a few unhurried looking boats
Like directionless targets.
Clamber about and hurt your feet.
Walk on the wild hill
Exhausted lie still,
Sleep the afternoon away.
It`s all part of time,
A circling rhyme,
Let the wind
Have it`s own way.
Gorse bushes and stony fields
Heather and weeds.
A serene arrogant
Hawk flies,
Soaring and
Dipping in the wind.
poem by Peter Vealey
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Poem In October
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.
My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.
A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.
Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.
It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of sun light
And the legends of the green chapels
And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and sea
Where a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Sang alive
Still in the water and singingbirds.
And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart's truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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It Happened in an Isolated Bay In 1931
Voices calling in the early morning
so we jump up and getting dressed
rush to tall wide windows
that overlook the bay
In the twilight of the morning
we watch the water slip away
and soon the sand and muddy
bottom and all the fish lie bare
People went out collecting fish
they built a fire and cooked
the fish in a great big pot
the children were happy
We watched all day and wondered
Will the stars now leave the sky
will the sun and all the planets…
We can never forget that day
poem by Sean Joyce
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