Whose Fault?
Drilling the bark happily singing too.
Cutting the trunk happily singing too.
Bark to bark the wood-pecker goes.
Next and next the cutting he does.
Happy bird turns into a crying struggler
Victorious cutter is still happier
The deprived bird and the slain trees
Throw a curse over the man for no life.
There happens a turn of drought
On the land forests being totally without.
No rain and life becomes lifeless.
Man preys on even beasts
Beastlike himself indeed, the wild
Cuts down his own race - be it old or child
Mother or other brutally killed and preyed
The land wounded with ichor oozing
Putrid stink everywhere nauseating
Soil becoming rusted with blood
Mother Earth to burst now of whose fault?
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My dogs
bark at the neighbors,
bark at the UPS man,
bark at cars
and kids on bicycles.
they bark at the television,
the radio
and the stereo.
they bark at
the vacuum cleaner,
the dust mop
and the broom.
they bark at
anyone
who enters the house
uninvited.
and
when they’re not barking,
they’re sitting there
waiting
for something
to bark at.
good dogs.
poem by John Yamrus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Bark Hut
Oh, my name is Bob the Swagman, before you all I stand,
And I've had many ups and downs while travelling through the land.
I once was well-to-do, my boys, but now I am stumped up,
And I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
Ten pounds of flour, ten pounds of beef, some sugar and some tea,
That's all they give to a hungry man, until the Seventh Day.
If you don't be moighty sparing, you'll go with a hungry gut
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
The bucket you boil your beef in has to carry water, too,
And they'll say you're getting mighty flash if you should ask for two.
I've a billy, and a pint pot, and a broken-handled cup,
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
Faith, the table is not made of wood, as many you have seen
For if I had one half so good, I'd think myself serene
'Tis only an old sheet of bark—God knows when it was cut
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
And of furniture, there's no such thing, 'twas never in the place,
Except the stool I sit upon—and that's an old gin case.
It does us for a safe as well, but you must keep it shut,
Or the flies would make it canter round the old hark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Or the flies would make it canter round the old bark hut.
If you should leave it open, and the flies should find your meat,
They'll scarcely leave a single piece that's fit for man to eat.
But you mustn't curse, nor grumble—what won't fatten will fill up
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In the summer time, when the weather's warm, this hut is nice and cool,
And you'll find the gentle breezes blowing in through every hole.
You can leave the old door open, or you can leave it shut,
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.
In the winter time—preserve us all—to live in there's a treat
Especially when it's raining hard, and blowing wind and sleet.
The rain comes down the chimney, and your meat is black with soot
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
I've seen the rain come in this hut just like a perfect flood,
Especially through that great big hole where once the table stood.
There's not a blessed spot, me boys, where you could lay your nut,
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
So beside the fire I make me bed, and there I lay me down,
And think myself as happy as the king that wears a crown.
But as you'd be dozing off to sleep a flea will wake you up,
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hu
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.
Faith, such flocks of fleas you never saw, they are so plump and fat,
And if you make a grab at one, he'll spit just like a cat.
Last night they got my pack of cards, and were fighting for the cut
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.
So now, my friends, I've sung my song, and that as well as I could,
And I hope the ladies present won't think my language rude,
And all ye younger people, in the days when you grow up,
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stringy-Bark Tree
There's the whitebox and pine on the ridges afar,
Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;
There is many another, but dearest to me,
And the king of them all was the stringy-bark tree.
Then of stringy-bark slabs were the walls of the hut,
And from stringy-bark saplings the rafters were cut;
And the roof that long sheltered my brothers and me
Was of broad sheets of bark from the stringy-bark tree.
And when sawn-timber homes were built out in the West,
Then for walls and for ceilings its wood was the best;
And for shingles and palings to last while men be,
There was nothing on earth like the stringy-bark tree.
Far up the long gullies the timber-trucks went,
Over tracks that seemed hopeless, by bark hut and tent;
And the gaunt timber-finder, who rode at his ease,
Led them on to a gully of stringy-bark trees.
Now still from the ridges, by ways that are dark,
Come the shingles and palings they call stringy-bark;
Though you ride through long gullies a twelve months you’ll see
But the old whitened stumps of the stringy-bark tree.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Save Forests and Rare Species
The Franklin forests are extinct;
These trees of beauty are now rare;
No more are they found in the wild;
Their fragrant flowers tempt a child!
Last seen in 18 zero3,
By Altamaha river-side –
A deciduous tree or shrub,
It grows upto a twenty feet.
With leaves that change color by fall,
Its snow-white flowers are showy;
With golden yellow stamens free,
It is now grown in pots from seeds!
But nothing like the forests wild
Of Franklin trees that grew on own;
You could not find a path through them –
Home to wild animals many.
How Nature rears a forest dense!
–The secrets, no man deciphers;
The way they flourish in the wild,
No gardener can do like-wise!
As man destroys more forest trees,
For want of newer farming land,
Wild wondrous trees then cease to be,
And other species vanish too.
Deforestation is a crime
That has gone uncontrolled with time;
Rare species of trees, shrubs and beasts
Have been effaced from earth with ease.
The earth has lesser green cover!
’Tis growing bald, much more each day,
As forest trees are felled for wood,
At rates more than we ever should.
World’s rain-forests are turning scarce –
A cause of global-warming fast;
Landslides and floods are dangers new;
More species turn something of past!
Trees extract carbon-dioxide,
And make the air less polluted;
Wild beasts are on the rampage when
Their forest habitats are gone.
Save forests and afforest, man;
The clouds bring rain when trees ask for;
Wild beasts need forests for their homes;
Preserve forests in ways you can.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-23-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad 'Aziz Moradabadi'
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Laddy The Protector
Bark, bark is what you would hear,
from Laddy the Sheltie who would bark off your ear.
He was the protector who wasn’t afraid,
he would make sure mother Jean was o.k.
He rescued her in the her swimming pool,
she fell in and he pulled on her robe so very smooth.
Photos of Laddy and Shieka my Pom-Shelty pup,
They both sat on chairs, sitting straight up.
They both played and played all day,
Shieka made Laddy happy when Jean passed away.
Now Laddy is with mother Jean,
I hope they are happy once again.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 20,2011
www.suechevalier.com www.puppetpoems.com
www.christinasunrise.com www.purplepoems.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Land Rape Earth Rape
Who cares what colour your skin
when you land rape earth rape
cut down pristine life giving forest
in the name of corporate profit
leaving but dust legacy mudslides.
Weep child the mighty totara is cut down fallen
no longer forests thick stretching 120 feet high
above dense canopy bird song broadleaf trees
linear sharp pointed leaves dark green-brownish
female totara flowers red swollen nut embedded.
Weep forests are ripped apart globally
who will purchase trees preserve forest
purchase inheritance diverse ecosystems
leave tress growing for children to explore
for friends descendants future generations?
Golden Totara your bark pattern is earth skin.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Leaves Compared with Flowers
A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
But I may be one who does not care
Ever to have tree bloom or bear.
Leaves for smooth and bark for rough,
Leaves and bark may be tree enough.
Some giant trees have bloom so small
They might as well have none at all.
Late in life I have come on fern.
Now lichens are due to have their turn.
I bade men tell me which in brief,
Which is fairer, flower or leaf.
They did not have the wit to say,
Leaves by night and flowers by day.
Leaves and bar, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Laddy The Protector
Bark, bark is what you would hear,
from Laddy the Sheltie who would bark off your ear.
He was the protector who wasn't afraid,
he would make sure mother Jean was o.k.
He rescued her in the her swimming pool,
she fell in and he pulled on her robe so very smooth.
Photos of Laddy and Shieka my Pom-Shelty pup,
They both sat on chairs, sitting straight up.
They both played and played all day,
Shieka made Laddy happy when Jean passed away.
Now Laddy is with mother Jean,
I hope they are happy once again.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 20,2011
www.suechevalier.com www.puppetpoems.com
www.christinasunrise.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Happily Ever After
Happily ever after
Look at me, right where I wanna be
My life took a turn, its a happy affair
Im never alone even when hes not there
Happily ever after, happily ever after
Happily ever after
So carefree, look whats come over me
All my prayers have been answered, he heard my cry
Took all my troubles and threw them aside
Threw them aside
Happily ever after, happily ever after
Once in a lifetime!
I never thought I could be
So carefree, so carefree
Happily ever after
Happily ever after
Him and me, sunshine and laughter
Were never alone, when theres nobody there
Were never alone, we got love to share
Lots of love, happily ever after
Lost of love, happily ever after
Weve got love, happily ever after
Lots of love, happily ever after
Just look at me, right where I wanna be
Happily ever after
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Counting-Out Rhyme
Silver bark of beech, and sallow
Bark of yellow birch and yellow
Twig of willow.
Stripe of green in moosewood maple,
Colour seen in leaf of apple,
Bark of popple.
Wood of popple pale as moonbeam,
Wood of oak for yoke and barn-beam,
Wood of hornbeam.
Silver bark of beech, and hollow
Stem of elder, tall and yellow
Twig of willow.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Custers Blues
Well you look just like general custer
On the day of his last stand
Heading up into the black hills
Glorious and grand
I saw it by your side
A map in your hand
Heading up into the rain
Singing this land is your land
Now Ive seen your dust a-rising
And Ive seen your numbers swell
Ive seen you crossing the badlands
And Ive heard your captains yell
Ive watched you when youre sleeping
Ive seen you filling up your can
Thinking as you work
That this land is your land
But now youre bursting into my country
Youre messing up my fields
Youre playing games with my holy places
Youre tearing the earth with your wheels
Right now your star is ascending
And your head is bursting with pride
But I wonder if custer was still singing
this land is my land when he died
Was he still singing this is my land when he died
Was he singing that its my land when he died
Was he singing when he died
Was he singing when he died
Was he singing its my land when he died
When he died...
Was he singing when he died
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song: XI
Mother, mother, do you not hear?
Mother, they come; there is news to tell!
– Give me your hands, my daughter dear:
'Tis but a ship that saileth well.
Mother dear, have a care, give heed!
–They go, my daughter, away they speed.
Mother, the danger is sore, alas!
– Child, my child, it will quickly pass.
Mother, mother, She draweth near!
– It is down in the harbour, daughter dear.
Mother, mother, She opens the door!
– Child, they go, to return no more.
Mother, She enters! I am afraid!
– Child, they now have the anchor weighed.
Mother, I hear Her speaking low.
– Child, my child, it is they that go.
Mother, She makes the stars go dark!
– Child, 'tis the sails of a shadowy bark.
Mother, She knocks at the casement still!
– Child, maybe it is fastened ill. . . .
Mother, mother, my sight grows dim. . . .
– Child, they sail for the open sea.
On every hand I can hear but Him. . . .
– O child, what is it, and who is He?
poem by Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard Maeterlinck
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The Sea-Bird's Song
On the deep is the mariner's danger,
On the deep is the mariner's death;
Who, to fear of the tempest a stranger,
Sees the last bubble burst of his breath?
'T is the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
Lone looker on despair;
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
The only witness there.
Who watches their course, who so mildly
Careen to the kiss of the breeze?
Who lists to their shrieks, who so wildly
Are clasped in the arms of the seas?
'T is the sea-bird, &c.
Who hovers on high o'er the lover,
And her who has clung to his neck?
Whose wing is the wing that can cover,
With its shadow, the foundering wreck?
'T is the sea-bird, &c.
My eye in the light of the billow,
My wing on the wake of the wave;
I shall take to my breast for a pillow,
The shroud of the fair and the brave.
I'm a sea-bird, &c.
My foot on the iceberg has lighted,
When hoarse the wild winds veer about;
My eye, when the bark is benighted,
Sees the lamp of the Light-House go out.
I'm the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
Lone looker on despair;
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
The only witness there.
poem by John Gardiner Calkins Brainard
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The Japanese tear
Her curved lip struck, shining in late light.
While she was coming to nothing.
The big wave was clothed only in its sound
And the earth's withered bark
Was pushing very strong the life’s water,
While hoarding the days
And keeping the water's life.
Late lily curved over its stricken lips
Taking out at the last sliver of light
The bulk of time
And the whole white in waiting.
It pierced my wood's woven shade,
Lullabied by the late lily,
Planted in the brood of the wave's mystery,
That brood of the late low light
Flaming invisible tongue of flames
With water.
Like those lilies which are still lullabied
Are notched the white ubiquitous crosses
Speaking in the mother earth's tongue
Whitening wood's woven waters
Before crossing the notch
And ascending to Heaven.
They had been raising
On lost waved ways looking so wounded
And their speed was notched with the cross
While they seethed singing their song
For the ruin of time.
They became only voices
Being clothed in their groan
Impressing the withered bark
Of their exhausted mother earth
Losing their water of life
In water
For being elsewhere deeply buried,
Maybe in hotness.
Living their last seconds
Like dying
Or maybe eating the grey stones
For becoming grey
Or for becoming stones,
They still keep in our minds
Their heavy weight of groan.
While the pale planet
Is fissuring the wound
Of its stumbling block,
While the pale planet
Is crisping the air in its icy breathes,
And sowing its sorrow in its new seed
Of winds, which blow and down all the grey
From the overcast shadows.
With an eternal starvation of souls
The blackness fills its inside
And pink bleeding clouds
Redden the dreary rain
Waiting the rainbow of hope.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Lovers Lost
There were two people
From worlds so different
But when they came together
Everything was perfect
He had his faults
And so did she
But when they were together
They were happy
But then came a rivalry
It was her mother
He broke the girls heart
Her mum said there would be others
So she moved on and dated
But it wasn't the same
She missed him so much
She wondered if he felt the same
But she never found out
She killed herself before asking
When he found out
He kneeled on the ground crying
Why did her mother
Have to interfere?
It would have been fine
She'd still be here
He wrote a note
And sat it on the bed
This is what it says
This is what it read:
I loved her so much
Why did you take her away?
We were right for each other
I hope you regret it this day
It's all your fault
And you must admit it
We should still be together
But you had to have a fit
We will be together soon
In heaven up above
You can't get us up there
We can then share our love
That's what the note said
He killed himself that night
When his mother found him
She got a big fright
The lovers were burried
Side-by-side three days after
Now they'll be together
Happily ever after
poem by Shazza Rixx
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Mingom Treatment If Possible
Your morning cried
made me want to die
I like to die with the water hen
with the turtle the porpoises
the fish; even the porcupines
I like to die with the kangaroo emu snakes and opossums
I like to dead with the goanna birds and seagulls butterfish
even pelicans koalas; eaglehawks
I like to dead with all natures brothers and sisters
I love to die with my body in the boughs up high in a tree
I love to die without any black white singing speaking or being at my funeral
I love my bones to be dried out then put in cave; I love to die wrapped in bark
About six or three feet deep dug out
Then the logs put by my sides and branches to make a platform
Put the bark over me and fill in my body with earth
I love to die with singing; dancing and crying around my grave
I like to hear while I’m laying dead the political cultural speakers and fires all night till dawn
I love to die with my Aboriginal freedom colours all around me
I love to have a funeral with live music played by yidaki (didjeridoo)
even a song by our greatest singers; protest cultural singing
I love all my Murri people to come to my funeral; I don’t want one miggloo (white person) there
I love to die and live on in Dreaming I came from
I love to die and be buried in any Murri land
poem by Lionel Fogarty
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Kingdom Of The Owl
curled into the trunk
of an old woman tree,
listening to the owl,
and sleeping in the shade.
arms outstretched,
as if touching the sky,
roots deep in the earth,
swaying with the wind.
bark to bark,
he and she intertwine...
till only one remains.
seasons put down and lost
in the steady and sure,
waiting on moonlight and darkness
in the kingdom of the owl!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sweet Harmony
There is no wind blowing
The tree stands green, serene.
It enjoys the bird's singing
And wonders: 'What does it mean? '
Blessed by this soft rain
Both the bird and the tree
Keep singing tunes again
Flooding the earth with glee!
The bird's chants soar above the tree
This one feels nurtured by them
Its leaves dancing onto the sea
Where the bird goes and treasures them!
poem by Maria C. Costa
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