While bells at twilight toll (parody)
(with apologies to A. E. Housman)
While bells at twilight toll
this day like usual, I am without a soul;
soon in the evening I myself will be gone
whispering for the night to come on.
I cannot blame the bright light
nor your whispering back in the night;
though even if we in this night were still
before we part I would catch a chill.
[Reference: XVII “Bells in the tower at evening toll” by A. E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Whispering
Written by gerry beckley, 1998
Found on human nature.
I hear you in my sleep
Ive fallen in too deep
Sometimes its hard to keep
Secrets, secrets
Its like a breath of air
I feel it everywhere
And still I cant declare
Secrets, secrets
Gotta keep whispering on the phone at night
Gotta keep whispering, gotta get it right
Gotta keep whispering til the morning light
Secrets, secrets
I need you by my side
Cant say I havent tried
Sometimes its hard to hide
Secrets, secrets
Gotta keep whispering on the phone at night
Gotta keep whispering, gotta get it right
Gotta keep whispering til the morning light
Secrets, secrets
Gotta keep whispering on the phone at night
Gotta keep whispering, gotta get it right
Gotta keep whispering til the morning light
Secrets, secrets
Secrets, secrets
Gotta keep whispering on the phone at night
Gotta keep whispering, gotta get it right
Gotta keep whispering til the morning light
Secrets, secrets
Gotta keep whispering on the phone at night
Gotta keep whispering, gotta get it right
Gotta keep whispering til the morning light
Secrets, secrets
Gotta keep whispering on the phone at night
Gotta keep whispering, gotta get it right
Gotta keep whispering til the morning light
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bells Of The Evening
Bells of the evening, o sing to my love
Tell her I miss her, my own turtledove
The streets of the old town are covered with rain
I think I might never know true love again
Im lost with no road signs to guide me
A slave to my whiskey and dreams
Bells of the evening, o bells that I love
Ive got some feelings I long to be rid of
Im not one to ramble; Im not one to boast
Though I had one lover more lovely than most
She was a country girl born to be free
Who took to the city by chance there to find me
Bells of the evening go pealin
Im down here listenin to you
Bells of the evening, o bells of the sea
Tell her that I love her, that Im lost and so lonely
Bells of the evening, your sweet sunday sound
Reminds me of the redwoods and moss covered ground
So if I should wander on back to the coast
Tell her to remember its her I need the most
Im caught by the minstrels misfortune
Of being forever displaced
Bells of the evening, o bells of the sea
Tell her that I love her; that Im lost Im so lonely
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I promise everything (parody)
(with apologies to A. E. Housman)
I promise everything: to friends or art
and what will end, had to begin
as without truth or singleness of heart
I am a mortal man full of sin.
But this lucky love should not pass
when unanswered passion are in the air,
or I will with fate at last.
be able for once in earth’s foundation to care.
[Reference: XII “I promise nothing: friends will part” by A. E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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They say my verse is bad (parody)
(with apologies to A.E. Housman)
They say my verse is bad: no wonder,
its measure too narrow spans
tidings of eternity, and of no tomorrow
neither mine; nor man’s.
Whenever ill-treated I bellow
about what I have not and have got,
for those who read to be of trouble
as if a poet, I am not.
[Reference: “They say my verse is sad, no wonder” by A.E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The mill-stream rushes by (parody)
(with apologies to A. E. Housman)
The millstream rushes by sounding like a disease
in all this I cannot hold my peace,
under the bridge the devil passes by
and tonight with him escaped from hell, here am I.
Who created the world I know but cannot now tell,
“It was made and I am here and the devil out of hell.
My hand shakes because he’s freed,
I never thought that we would meet.
And so, I doubt in all eternity, anyone gone by,
none has suffered here such as I
who could not spend the night alone, the devil isn’t gone
and I can’t even strike my fist; I am standing here like stone.
[Reference: XIX “The mill-stream, now that noises cease” by A. E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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He could not stay with me (parody)
(with apologies to A. E. Housman)
He could not stay with me; and it’s getting me under.
He could not stay with me and I am amazed at his gaze,
I shook his hand and gave my heart in blunder
and went with half my life into my days.
[Reference: VII “He would not stay for me; and who can wonder? ” by A. E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Martha
SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,-- sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,-- would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'Tis fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Christmas (Tuckerman sonnet)
(after A. E. Housman)
Home are the soldiers, they are home and free,
they are home from the far off battlefield
never to a man’s will again to yield
home with loved ones, some friends to see.
Home is the farmer from the working field
where many acres of land lies prepared,
he is at the place where he wants to be
safe under God’s almighty constant shield
free from all kinds of dark iniquity
tranquillity is in the open veldt,
the evening falls, twilight is at hand,
with his cattle all having being cared
and soldier’s dance with a happy band,
close the farmer’s wife is being held
[Reference: XXII “Home is the sailor, home from sea” by A. E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Bells Of Christmas
The bells of christmas go ring-a-ling-ling
They toll for the savior and the peace hell bring
And little children everywhere are caroling
cause the presence of the lord makes their spirits sing
Oh oh oh oh
Bells of christmas
Bells are ringing
Oh oh oh oh
Bells of christmas
Children singing
The bells of notre dame cathedral will chime
And everywhere a princely peace
And there they light the candles up one at a time
For the ones they love at christmastime
Oh oh oh oh
Bells of christmas
Bells are ringing
Oh oh oh oh
Bells of christmas
Children singing
The omnipresent spirit of the world will sing
That christ is born
Oh oh oh
And people of the world are all rejoicing
For the baby jesus born in nazarene
The bells of christmas go ring-a-ling-ling
They toll for the savior and the peace hell bring
And little children everywhere are caroling
cause the presence of the lord makes their spirits sing
Oh oh oh oh
Bells of christmas
Bells are ringing
Oh oh oh oh
Bells of christmas
Children singing
Oh oh oh oh
Bells of christmas
Bells are ringing
Oh oh oh oh
Bells of christmas
Children singing
Ah
Ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
Oh oh oh oh
Ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flower-De-Luce: The Bells Of Lynn. Heard At Nahant
O curfew of the setting sun! O Bells of Lynn!
O requiem of the dying day! O Bells of Lynn!
From the dark belfries of yon cloud-cathedral wafted,
Your sounds aerial seem to float, O Bells of Lynn!
Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight,
O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O Bells of Lynn!
The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland,
Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, O Bells of Lynn!
Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward
Follow each other at your call, O Bells of Lynn!
The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming signal
Answers you, passing the watchword on, O Bells of Lynn!
And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges,
And clap their hands, and shout to you, O Bells of Lynn!
Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations,
Ye summon up the spectral moon, O Bells of Lynn!
And startled at the sight like the weird woman of Endor,
Ye cry aloud, and then are still, O Bells of Lynn!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Say Goodbye
So here we are tonight, you and me together
The storm outside, the fire is bright
And in your eyes I see whats on my mind
Youve got me wild, turned around inside
And then desire, see, is creeping up heavy inside here
And do you feel the same way as I do now
Now lets make this an evening
Lovers for a night, lovers for tonight
Stay here with me, love, tonight
Just for an evening
When we make our passion pictures
You and me twist up as secret creatures
And well stay here
Tommorrow go back to being friends
Go back to being friends, but tonight lets be lovers, we kiss and sweat
Well turn this better thing
To the best
Of all we can offer, just a rogue kiss
Tangled tongues and lips,
See me this way
Im turning and turning for you
Girl, just tonight
Float away here with me
An evening just wait and see
But tommorrow go back to your man
Im back to my world
And were back to being friends
Wait and see me,
Tonight lets do this thing
All we are is waisting hours until the
Sun comes up its all ours
On our way here
Tommorrow go back to being friends
Go back to being friends
Tonight lets be lovers, say you will
And hear me call, soft-spooken
Whispering love
A thing or two I have to say here
Tonight lets go all the way then
Love Ill see you
Just for this evening
Lets strip down, trip out at this
One evening starts with a kiss
Run away
And tommorrow
Back to being friends
Lovers...love...lovers
Just for tonight, one night...love you
And tommorrow say goodbye
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night Of The Wolf
Streets are full of rain
Lightning cracks the sky
Hear a lonely cry, eyes full of pain
Searchin in the darkness
Eyes pierce the night
Calling for her young one
As she walks towards the light
Its the night of the wolf
Hear the cry of the wolf
Streets paved with gold
Night gives out a warning
Theres thunder in her heart
And mother wolf is calling
Searchin in the shadows
For the one she must save
She cries out a prayer
Like a song from beyond the grave
The bells will toll
No one will sleep tonight
While she alone will
Walk the streets tonight
Sun begins to rise
All the streets washed with rain
Still hear her cries
Eyes burnt with pain
Returning to the twilight
Betrayed by the night
Screaming for her young one
As she walks towards the light
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moon Goddess’s Rapture
The soft clouds of night
drift slowly across the moon
as the rhythm of the night
brings a melody of love
to the cool evening air
and kisses are stolen by lovers everywhere.
The stars dot an ebony sky
like jewels on a regal crown
while deep in the undergrowth
crickets enhance the night
as their calls mingle among
the light by a fireflies dance.
The babbling brook tells tales
to the whispering trees
of love’s romantic encounters
under the moon goddess’s rapture
that captures all in her sight
while she looks down at night.
7 August 2010
poem by David Harris
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Ceol Sidhe
When May is here, and every morn
Is dappled with pied bells,
And dewdrops glance along the thorn
And wings flash in the dells,
I take my pipe and play a tune
Of dreams, a whispered melody,
For feet that dance beneath the moon
In fairy jollity.
And when the pastoral hills are grey
And the dim stars are spread,
A scamper fills the grass like play
Of feet where fairies tread.
And many a little whispering thing
Is calling the Shee.
The dewy bells of evening ring,
And all is melody.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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Evening Coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
Atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
It really dont matter much, which way I go.
But remember to pull over in the storm.
Have you seen the evening coconut
Bobbing on the bay?
Standing on the waters edge of stone
Someone there besides you
To hear the words you say
To show you things your eyes have never known.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
While atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fancy’s knell (parody)
(with apologies to A.E. Housman)
When sailors were home from the harbour
every Thom, Dick and Harry
a man would call the friend in his favour
and both would send for thee.
And in little animal like prances
across the meadow no one could wait
to jive with envious glances
whenever you played for Harry and his mate.
Tom, Dick and Harry had frolicking little pleasures
and with ladies content they were
to visit them without proper measures
even the old to dare
and you so intensely playing
that every second woman would weep
while the light of youth was decaying
and with no one you would sleep.
No one took your fancy,
not even glamorous girls with skins in tan,
not even big bosomed Nancy
or slender little Fan;
and to whatever girl would lift her glances
you stayed totally mute,
while everybody at the dances
were humming with your flute.
Your days as a man between the women was numbered
and you did not meet anyone at the surf
and nowhere between them slumbered
even in smooth green miles of turf,
even in grass and clover
you like the sun at night would fade
wishing to get a conversation over
to hide in the lofty shade.
While women on you advances
you lift your flute to play:
come ladies learn the dances
and let you all be away.
Tomorrow you will be witty
and away you will be
pretty and dirty
but it will not be from me.
[Reference: XLI Fancy’s knell by A.E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Bells - A Collaboration
The bells! — ah, the bells!
The little silver bells!
How fairy-like a melody there floats
From their throats. —
From their merry little throats —
From the silver, tinkling throats
Of the bells, bells, bells —
Of the bells!
The bells! — ah, the bells!
The heavy iron bells!
How horrible a monody there floats
From their throats —
From their deep-toned throats —
From their melancholy throats!
How I shudder at the notes
Of the bells, bells, bells —
Of the bells!
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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The pleasure reminds him of a summer evening in a real city, maybe Copenhagen, where he once stayed for a couple of days. Over there the night does not suddenly pounce, it feels its way gently. There the veil of twilight stretches for three or four hours, as though the evening aspires to reach out and touch the dawn.
Amos Oz in Don't Call It Night (1994), translated by Nicholas de Lange
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Easter Hymn (in answer to A.E. Housman)
Where on that hill of Calvary ages ago you were slain
You died there to quench man’s pain,
although still your bright light
shines down in every day and every dark night
some men still walk in sin
as they did by choice from the very begin.
Although the grave is empty and the stone rolled by
and You are the creator God, sitting in glory up high,
there You remember the savagery of man
the tears, agony and blood of your salvation plan,
the way you were crucified, the way you gave your life
and in sincerity still gives man a choice in this almost endless strive.
[Reference: Easter Hymn by A.E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Written on a Summer Evening
The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the people to some other prayers,
Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
More harkening to the sermon's horrid sound.
Surely the mind of man is closely bound
In some blind spell: seeing that each one tears
Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs,
And converse high of those with glory crowned.
Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp,
A chill as from a tomb, did I not know
That they are dying like an outburnt lamp, -
That 'tis their sighing, wailing, ere they go
Into oblivion -that fresh flowers will grow,
And many glories of immortal stamp.
poem by John Keats
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