Les-Durham smoke
Twas like a transferred odd bargain;
the harbor waited - wraith's silence,
Hope lived in souls - utopian thence,
a notion spelled thrice - and again.
Had sent the mail - my filed advice,
upon moors stood, mist-blurred double-dyed,
the ghosts of sodding souls who died,
dark traveler asked for bride price.
In air he thumped, rhythmic like waves;
and cruel did ask for his death toll;
in town the women wore black stoles,
the 'lost in sea' dwell in void graves;
As Charon hummed, our ship entered,
in this harbor where life's borders,
in verse 'bout cold of rhymed folders;
wake-waters trail was off-centered.
He stood upon the moors - I knew
the wind whipped ropes upon head-mast,
- we drew the guns; he lifted fast;
my shots echoed, debt-law to ensue.
I felt the slug, he moved across,
alread'-a-ghost, on moors he stood;
Tasted the blood - lifted, I should,
red drops dropping on grass and moss.
I lit a rolled Les-Durham smoke,
children were watching me round-eyed;
twas May, perhaps another died,
I heard bells ring and three craws croak.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Merciful Release?
Merciful Release.
The mist descended suddenly.
Totally unexpectedly.
I could not see to find my way
So I decided I should stay
Just where I was. It seemed to be.
The wisest choice
I’m not so certain that it was
I think perhaps that is because.
The clammy fog embraces me
And whispers to me quietly
You have no choice.
If I decide to let you go
I am quite certain you will know.
Not to brave the moors alone
These moors are mine all that I own
and I rejoice.
I have the power to heal or kill
I always had and always will.
These moors are worthy of respect
It is mission to protect.
It whispered sotto voice.
I will remember till I die.
There is no reason I should lie
The day the mist enveloped me
and whispered to me quietly
I hear that voice.
In nightmares to this very day.
Although it let me go my way.
I still retain the memory
Of the lesson taught to me.
The moors own voice.
Although it spoke so quietly
Is etched deep in my memory
I can’t forget although I try
And to this day I wonder why.
It made the choice
To set me free as suddenly
as the mist had captured me.
I don’t suppose I’ll ever know
Why it chose to let me go
I had no choice.
The moors have little time for fools
They can and will enforce their rules
I'm forced to take it seriously
Or pay the price
Tuesday,15 November 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Love Lifted Me
I was sinking deep in sin,
Far from the peaceful shore,
Very deeply stained within,
Sinking to rise no more.
But the Master of the sea
Heard my despairing cry,
>From the waters lifted me.
Now safe am I.
Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help,
Love lifted me.
Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help
Love lifted me.
Souls in danger look above
Jesus completely saves
He will lift you by his love
Out of the angry waves
But the master of the sea
Billows His will obey
He your savior wants to be
Be saved today
Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help,
Love lifted me.
Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help
Love lifted me.
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walcheren Expedition
Ye brave, enduring Englishmen,
Who dash through fire and flood,
And spend with equal thoughtlessness
Your money and your blood,
I sing of that black season,
Which all true hearts deplore,
When ye lay,
Night and day,
Upon Walcheren's swampy shore.
'Twas in the summer's sunshine
Your mighty host set sail,
With valour in each longing heart
And vigour in the gale;
The Frenchman dropp'd his laughter,
The Fleming's thoughts grew sore,
As ye came
In your fame
To the dark and swampy shore.
But foul delays encompass'd ye
More dang'rous than the foe,
As Antwerp's town and its guarded fleet
Too well for Britons know;
One spot alone ye conquer'd
With hosts unknown of yore;
And your might
Day and night,
Lay still on the swampy shore.
In vain your dauntless mariners
Mourn'd ev'ry moment lost,
In vain your soldiers threw their eyes
In flame to the hostile coast;
The fire of gallant aspects
Was doom'd to be no more,
And your fame
Sunk with shame
In the dark and the swampy shore.
Ye died not in the triumphing
Of the battle-shaken flood,
Ye died not on the charging field
In the mingle of brave blood;
But 'twas in wasting fevers
Full three months and more,
Britons born,
Pierc'd with scorn,
Lay at rot on the swampy shore.
No ship came o'er to bring relief,
No orders came to save;
But DEATH stood there and never stirr'd,
Still counting for the grave.
They lay down, and they linger'd,
And died with feelings sore,
And the waves
Pierc'd their graves
Thro' the dark and the swampy shore.
Oh England! Oh my Countrymen!
Ye ne'er shall thrive again,
Till freed from Councils obstinate
Of mercenary men.
So toll for the six thousand
Whose miseries are o'er,
Where the deep,
To their sleep,
Bemoans on the swampy shore.
poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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Watching The Crows
A bushman got lost in a scrub in the North,
And all the long morning the searchers went forth.
They swore at the rain that had washed out the tracks
And left not a trace for the eyes of the blacks;
But, trusting the signs that the blackfellow knows,
A quiet old darkey stood watching the crows.
The solemn old blackman stood silently by;
He stood like a statue, his face to the sky.
Black Billy was out of the bearings—we thought—
If he looked above for the bushman we sought;
For we rather suspected the spirit would go
In—well, quite another direction, you know.
Most bushmen on solemn occasions will joke,
And unto Black Bill ’twas the super who spoke.
He asked, as he cocked his red nose in the air—
“You think it old Harrison sit down up there?”
“I’m watching the crows. Where the white man lies dead
The crows will fly over,” the blackfellow said.
The blackfellow died, and long years have gone round
Since the day when old Harrison’s body was found;
But still do I see, in my vision at night,
A faint figure come like a shadow in sight,
And nearer and nearer it comes till it grows
Like the form of that blackfellow—“watching the crows”.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Over The Falls
They broke out in laughter again,
His lip beaded with sweat as they strapped him in,
And he stood by and waited to be called.
The talk was of times that had gone by
And the quantity and quality of women they lie.
His eyes welled with wet and his mouth had gone dry.
As he stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited like the others before
For his turn to go over the falls.
He got up and tried it again.
For lack of persistence is surely a sin.
As he stood by and waited to be called,
He looked to the lightning with glee
And admired his vessel for its symmetry,
Feeling twelve units shy of a bachelors degree.
As he stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited like the others before
For his turn to go over the falls.
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Phantom Ball
You remember the hall on the corner?
To-night as I walked down street
I heard the sound of music,
And the rhythmic beat and beat,
In time to the pulsing measure
Of lightly tripping feet.
And I turned and entered the doorway-
It was years since I had been there-
Years, and life seemed altered:
Pleasure had changed to care.
But again I was hearing the music
And watching the dancers fair.
And then, as I stood and listened,
The music lost its glee;
And instead of the merry waltzers
There were ghosts of the Used-to-be-
Ghosts of the pleasure-seekers
Who once had danced with me.
Oh, 'twas a ghastly picture!
Oh, 'twas a gruesome crowd!
Each bearing a skull on his shoulder,
Each trailing a long white shroud,
As they whirled in the dance together,
And the music shrieked aloud.
As they danced, their dry bones rattled
Like shutters in a blast;
And they stared from eyeless sockets
On me as they circled past;
And the music that kept them whirling
Was a funeral dirge played fast.
Some of them wore their face-cloths,
Others were rotted away.
Some had mould on their garments,
And some seemed dead but a day.
Corpses all, but I knew them
As friends, once blithe and gay.
Beauty and strength and manhood-
And this was the end of it all:
Nothing but phantoms whirling
In a ghastly skeleton ball.
But the music ceased-and they vanished,
And I came away from the hall.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Take and be prepared for my friend C.P
The desert plains of ice and snow are not a place I’d choose to go.
Nor sandy wastes under the sun dry deserts don’t suit everyone.
The high plateaus of the Andes; I can assure you will not please.
Perhaps I’m choosy but I find such desert places most unkind.
I much prefer the moors I roam which welcome me. I feel at home.
Although they’re barren, wild and bleak I find the solitude I seek.
Each to his own I must suppose. My own high moors are what I chose.
I listen when they speak to me, I understand them easily.
They can be dangerous it’s true. You can take risks if you choose to.
I don’t take risks I know the rules. The high moors have no time for fools.
I have been sometimes weather bound by sudden mists which cloak the ground.
I have sufficient sense to see my moors are merely testing me.
Mistakes the moors will not forgive, I am prepared so I survive.
A wise man gives the moors respect but fools don not but they expect.
Tolerance for their carelessness their stupid unpreparedness.
The moors are not the enemy they judge all men impartially.
Some learn by hard experience there’s limits to their tolerance.
But others pay the penalty. Killed by their own stupidity.
06/09/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Afternnon that Summer.
Despite the fact
that other local kids
were in the hay barn playing
Jane stood at the barn doors
looking in apprehensively
and you stood beside her
waiting for her to move in
or say something
but she just stood looking in
are we allowed in to play?
she asked
sure as long as we don't
cause damage to the hay bales
you replied
and she sniffed the air
and moved in
and looked around
the huge barn
with its semi dark
and smells of hay
and captured sun
and warmth
the other kids played
but took no notice
of Jane or you
as you entered
closed the doors
and moved around
the hay strewn floor
haven't you been
in a hay barn before?
you asked looking
at her bright summer dress
and white socks and sandals
yes years ago
she said
as she paused
at the edge
of the nearest hay bale
and sat down
and you sat beside her
in the semi dark
with sunlight making
small light through cracks
and holes in the walls
I don't like mice and rats
she said
and I saw one once
in another barn
and it frightened me
you sat in silence
for a few moments
taking in the air and smells
and then the other kids
ran off out side
into the sunlight
talking of playing
down by the pond
and catching things
you sat still
until their voices died off
and then she said
why have you
brought me in here?
you looked at her eyes
in the dull light
and her lips moving
with their small speech
to be alone with you
without prying eyes
you said
oh I see
she replied
and stood up
and climbed upwards
on the hay bales
with you following
behind her
seeing her sway
as she moved
her hands pulling
her upwards
her legs taking each step
onto a hay bale carefully
then having reach
high up in the barn
she sat down
and you sat beside her
if my father saw me here
he'd think things
Jane said
and she looked at you
with her large eyes
what things? you asked
watching her lay back
with her hands
behind her head
I don't know
he never said
she muttered
as she lay there
she lifted a leg
and her dress
slipped downwards
revealing a glimpse
of naked thigh
that's parents for you
you uttered
never saying
what they think
or saying things
but don't explain
you lay down
beside her
on the hay
as outside the barn
the soft sound
of pitter patter
on the roof
of sudden rain.
poem by Terry Collett
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Today... 'The Good Shepherd
The ninety and nine safely in the fold lay
But this one sheep had foolishly gone astray
And as he lay bleating all lost and afraid
The Good Shepherd heard his cry and came to his aid
All through the wilderness the Good Shepherd went
To seek and save the lost sheep was His intent
Fierce ravening wolves pursued Him all the way
and the thorns tore His flesh throughout that day.
All through the night he toiled and did not sleep
For he was determined to rescue and save His lost sheep
Even though in Gethsemane drops of blood He sweat
He would not be dissuaded from the pathway set
And when He came to Golgotha's steep Hill
He did not hesitate but He carried on still
Onward and upward He went to be crucified
And there on the cross for His sheep He died
Stricken and smitten of God was He
And by His stripes I have been set free
The price of my sins by His blood he paid
And all my iniquity upon Him was laid
The Bulls of Bashan tore at His side
And the gates of death were opened wide
He entered Death and Hades to pay the price
Offering His body as the perfect sacrifice
Deep wounds in His hands and feet he bore
Head torn by the crown of thorns He wore
Alone He suffered Thirsty and bleeding
As there for His sheep He was interceding
Lesser shepherds and hireling would have fled
But He stood firm and for His sheep He bled
Enduring such suffering in order to save
This poor lost sheep from Hell and the grave
He lifted me out of the miry clay
as upon His shoulders I gently lay
Brought me into the security of the pen
all through the vale of death to heaven.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
The Good Shepherd
The ninety and nine safely in the fold lay
But this one sheep had foolishly gone astray
And as he lay bleating all lost and afraid
The Good Shepherd heard his cry and came to his aid.
All through the wilderness the Good Shepherd went
To seek and save the lost sheep was His intent
Fierce ravening wolves pursued Him all the way
and the thorns tore His flesh throughout that day.
All through the night he toiled and did not sleep
For he was determined to rescue and save His lost sheep
Even though in Gethsemane drops of blood He sweat
He would not be dissuaded from the pathway set.
Then when He came to Golgotha's steep Hill
He did not hesitate but He carried on still
Onward and upward He went to be crucified
And there on the cross for His sheep He died.
Stricken and smitten of God was He
And by His stripes I have been set free
The price of my sins by His blood he paid
And all my iniquity upon Him was laid.
The Bulls of Bashan tore at His side
And the gates of Hell were opened wide
He entered Death and Hades to pay the price
Offering His body as the perfect sacrifice.
Deep wounds in His hands and feet he bore
Head torn by the crown of thorns He wore
Alone He suffered Thirsty and bleeding
As there for His sheep He was interceding.
Lesser shepherds and hireling would have fled
But He stood firm and for His sheep He bled
Enduring such suffering in order to save
This poor lost sheep from Hell and the grave.
He lifted me out of the miry clay
and upon His shoulders I gently lay
all through the vale of death to heaven
Bringing me into the security of the pen.
Written after reading John 10: 11-15—11
The Three Bells
BENEATH the low-hung night cloud
That raked her splintering mast
The good ship settled slowly,
The cruel leak gained fast.
Over the awful ocean
Her signal guns pealed out.
Dear God! was that Thy answer
From the horror round about?
A voice came down the wild wind,
'Ho! ship ahoy!' its cry
'Our stout Three Bells of Glasgow
Shall lay till daylight by!'
Hour after hour crept slowly,
Yet on the heaving swells
Tossed up and down the ship-lights,
The lights of the Three Bells!
And ship to ship made signals,
Man answered back to man,
While oft, to cheer and hearten,
The Three Bells nearer ran;
And the captain from her taffrail
Sent down his hopeful cry
'Take heart! Hold on!' he shouted;
'The Three Bells shall lay by!'
All night across the waters
The tossing lights shone clear;
All night from reeling taffrail
The Three Bells sent her cheer.
And when the dreary watches
Of storm and darkness passed,
Just as the wreck lurched under,
All souls were saved at last.
Sail on, Three Bells, forever,
In grateful memory sail!
Ring on, Three Bells of rescue,
Above the wave and gale!
Type of the Love eternal,
Repeat the Master's cry,
As tossing through our darkness
The lights of God draw nigh!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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~Through Their Fog~
She could sense in his silence
his pain was heavy with despair,
He was hanging on the wind
like frost that chills the air.
Into the night he drifted
within the black he crept,
The night is so inviting
and on a star he slept.
Upon his dream she entered
like fog rolling on a field,
Into the fog-filled fathom
could fate soon be revealed?
And when he woke in morning
the fog lifted from the air,
He gazed out in wonder
as he saw her everywhere.
The vision was fast-fleeting
and words echoed all around,
'Two souls who've lost each other,
are now forever-found.'
poem by Sinnaminsun Sinnaminsun
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Cold Hands From New York
I came down from albany to new york to find what Id been missin
I looked across the river to the city where the windows all stood glistenin
I stood listenin
Into a tunnel I did rise, like a grave inside, but I was young and able
When I came out the other end, ah through the smoke the winter light was feeble
Unreadable
I was optimistic though, a cabbie told me where to go
I thanked him
A face of white a face of brown, here a smile, there a look of danger
For a stranger
It was too unreal for me
I found no one who trusted me
There was no man could offer me
A cold hand from new york
Cold hands from new york
A voice within you cries wont someone please help me
Ill do the same for you one day
If you should ever pass my way and need me
I came down to live alone in new york the city of the living
There were fortunes at my feet but most of men were taking, none we giving
Or forgiving
Children ran and children played and roses grew in alleyways
I saw them
There were men who lived in style and others who had died where no one knew them
cause they couldnt win
There were parks where old men slept and dingy rooms where babies crept unwanted
Till I began to ask myself if there was hope or if it mattered what the did
Or if they lived
It was too unreal for me
I found no one who trusted me
There was no man could offer me
A cold hand from new york
Cold hands from new york
A voice within you cries wont someone please help me
Ill do the same for you one day
If you should ever pass my way and need me
I came down from albany to new york to find what Id been missin
I looked across the river to the city where the windows all stood glistenin
I stood listenin
There were prophets in the squares and people there who smiled and said forget it
There were lovers in the park and there was danger in the dark, I felt it
So afraid of it
There were preachers of the word and poets who were never heard
I heard them
There were those who would not try to learn the measure of the lie
Theyre livin
I heard a young musician play in a place where they paid you not to listen
I heard a woman scream for help while men stood by and offered their best wishes
Thats how it is
It was too unreal for me
I found no one who trusted me
There was no man could offer me
A cold hand from new york
Cold hands from new york
A voice within you cries wont someone please help me
Ill do the same for you one day
If you should ever pass my way and need me
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vietnam
The runway rushed up at me, I felt the wheels touch down
Stood out on the blacktop, and took a taxi into town
Got off down on Main Street, to see what I recognized
All I seen was strange faces, watching a stranger passin' by
Vietnam, Vietnam, I don't man
Back in Vietnam
Went for my job back at the factory, down at the factory
The only thing I heard from the man at the desk
Is, "Son, understand if it was up to me"
'bout half the town's out of work
Ain't nothin' for you here
From the assembly line to the front-line
But I guess you didn't hear"
You died in Vietnam, you died in Vietnam
Now don't you understand, you died in Vietnam
Drive down my neighborhood
See the flags out on the porch
So I went to see my old baby
Down at First and Grand
Her mama told me she ran off
With a singer in a rock 'n' roll band
????
I can see me passin' by
You died in Vietnam, you died in Vietnam
Boy, don't you understand, you died in Vietnam
The runway rushed up at me, I felt the wheels hit down
I stood out on the blacktop, and took a taxi into town
Got off down on Main Street, to see what I could see
All I seen was strangers, watchin' a stranger pass by
And that stranger was me
Vietnam, Vietnam, oh-no man
Vietnam
Went to see my baby, down on First and Grand
To tell her I'd come home from away in Vietnam
Her mama came to the door and told me
Her mama told me she ran away
With a singer in a rock 'n' roll band
She said, "I'm sorry son, but we understand"
You died in Vietnam, you died in Vietnam
Now don't you understand, you died in Vietnam
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Sky Drive
For seven days he wandered as a ghost,
where souls of other dimensions lived;
times forgot his falsities that heaved,
in dark nimbus an' a mist covered coast.
He walked on sand for many miles when
strongholds appeared hazy in distance,
it was a cry of a wolf to sown instance,
and two scholastic birds to croak again.
The roses died! The colors dyed in rain;
No one interrupted the silent grayness,
therefore dusk crouched into plainness,
outcast lives of begotten seeds in vain.
So, there Death came to embrace nice,
forsooth freed cold as for twenty five
odd days the brave slept on sky drive,
ulterior left his winter prayers on ice.
Wounded chords of time harp in union,
a stalwart's solitude's upon the waves;
he visioned a pasture in his mind caves,
in the narrow cell, he drunk communion.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Judge For Yourself!
Surrounded by soldiers He walked,
Along the city streets...
While the Jews and the Gentiles talked
Of His wonders and His feats.
And yet these miracles of love
Weren't proof He was divine...
To the doubters they weren't enough -
They sought another sign...
When Pilate judged that Christ be whipped
And then to set Him free,
The crowd went wild, Christ stood tight-lipped,
Prepared for Calvary.
The Son of God obeyed His Lord,
Through sorrow, pain and strife.
Six hours long His blood outpoured...
And then He gave His life...
His faithful friends let out a cry
That angels heard in Heaven,
Who knew the reason Christ must die -
For souls to be forgiven!
Within the week God's power came!
The risen Lord lived on!
And in good hearts He lit a flame,
A faith to build upon!
Although Christ died upon the Hill,
He saves lost souls like Saul!
Today, Christ's friends continue still
And preach Good News to all...
poem by Denis Martindale
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She called me in the wind
She called me holy inside the wind, her wraith;
Befallen souls of angels live and nest,
Twas in my heart, a matter of false faith;
Mistral of dawn, glare to invite, and saith,
'Of sea ghost nymphs, doe flye in foam's blue vest'
She called me holy inside the wind, her wraith;
Pearl skies, sea birds to fly on May the eighth,
On faraway was she but not to best,
Twas in my heart, a matter of false faith;
Enchanting wraith she was, conceived, on staith;
Prevailed thence time reversed, but to divest,
She called me holy inside the wind, her wraith;
On sole appeal, invokes on dawn war graith,
Adventures on sea trips, I conquest,
Twas in my heart, a matter of false faith;
To aggrandize my cause, in pride to bathe,
Egressed my soul to seas and time's request,
She called me holy inside the wind, her wraith;
Twas in my heart, a matter of false faith;
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The Day Began Well
At mid-day when the darkness fell
did you not see those demons from hell?
Did you not hear the bells ring out
and the weeping angels wail and shout?
Before the darkness this was a happy place,
people wore smiles upon their face.
Then came the dark and the churches filled,
goats stood shackled to the windowsills.
An ill wind blew down the town’s main street,
the silence was broken by a deafening bleat.
An inherent sence of evil, dread, and gloom,
brought no peace of mind this afternoon.
From different directions voices could be heard,
preachers shouted their God filled words.
In makeshift churches the repentant cried out,
whilst hymns could be heard amid their shout.
It was as if they knew that the end was nigh,
hopelessness and despair filled every eye.
With sinister foreboding in their thoughts and heart
the darkness demons tore their souls apart.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Curtain Of Desperation
They stood in the curtain of desperation
with cold eyes narrowed on one another.
Their hearts beating quicker as moments ticked by
and the dust that curled around their boots,
where one within would eventually lie.
They stood facing one another
on the lonely dusty street with no heart.
Their hands hovered nervously
over the guns they wore on their hips.
Each waited for the others move,
and slowly the hands moved closer
to the marking of one’s time.
Within seconds, it was over
as two cracks of thunder broke the silence
with smoke mixed with dust concealing momentarily
the lonely dusty street with no heart.
When it cleared, only one was standing,
the other lay in the dust cold and silent.
The curtain of desperation that was ripped apart
in the thunder, smoke and dust.
Now it cleared to the only one
who would walk away to face
the curtain of desperation
again on another day.
1 July 2011
poem by David Harris
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Casabianca
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though childlike form.
The flames roll'd on...he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He call'd aloud..."Say, father,say
If yet my task is done!"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
"Speak, father!" once again he cried
"If I may yet be gone!"
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames roll'd on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death,
In still yet brave despair;
And shouted but one more aloud,
"My father, must I stay?"
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud
The wreathing fires made way,
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And stream'd above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound...
The boy-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea.
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part;
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young faithful heart.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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