The Frog Pool
Week after week it shrank and shrank
as the fierce drought fiend drank and drank,
till on the bone-dry bed revealed
the mud peeled;
but now tonight is steamy-warm,
heavy with hint of thunderstorm.
And hark! hark! hoarse and harsh
the throaty croak of the frogs in the marsh:
"Wake! wake! awake! awake!
The drought break!"
but no, that chorus seems to me
more a primeval harmony.
The thunder booms, the floods flow
blended with deeper din below,
and every time the skies crash
the swamps flash!
and the whole place will be tonight
a pandemonium of delight.
poem by James Martin Devaney
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Related quotes
Frogs in chorus
The chorus frogs in the big lagoon
Would sing their songs to the silvery moon.
Tenor singers were out of place,
For every frog was a double bass.
But never a human chorus yet
Could beat the accurate time they set.
The solo singer began the joke;
He sang, "As long as I live I'll croak,
Croak, I'll croak,"
And the chorus followed him: "Croak, croak, croak!"
The poet frog, in his plaintive tone,
Sang of a sorrow was all his own;
"How shall I win to my heart's desire?
How shall I feel my spirit's fire?"
And the solo frog in his deepest croak,
"To fire your spirit," he sang, "eat coke,
Coke, eat coke,"
And the chorus followed him: "Coke, coke, coke!"
The green frog sat in a swampy spot
And he sang the song of he knew not what.
"The world is rotten, oh cursed plight,
That I am the frog that must set it right.
How shall I scatter the shades that lurk?"
And the old man bullfrog sang, "Get work,
Work, get work,"
And the chorus followed him: "Work, work, work!"
The soaring spirits that fain would fly
On wings of hope to the starry sky
Must face the snarls of the jealous dogs,
For the world is ruled by its chorus frogs.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the backblock run,
But he should have gone there last week.
He tramped ten miles with a loaded gun,
But of turkey of duck saw never a one,
For he should have been there last week,
They said,
There were flocks of 'em there last week.
He wended his way to a waterfall,
And he should have gone there last week.
He carried a camera, legs and all,
But the day was hot and the stream was small,
For he should have gone there last week,
They said,
They drowned a man there last week.
He went for a drive, and he made a start,
Which should have been made last week,
For the old horse died of a broken heart;
So he footed it home and he dragged the cart --
But the horse was all right last week,
They said,
He trotted a match last week.
So he asked all the bushies who came from afar
To visit the town last week
If the'd dine with him, and they said "Hurrah!"
But there wasn't a drop in the whisky jar --
You should have been here last week,
He said,
I drank it all up last week!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Awake, My Heart
Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake!
The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break,
It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake
The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake!
She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee:
Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee,
Already they watch the path thy feet shall take:
Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake!
And if thou tarry from her, - if this could be, -
She cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee;
For thee would unashamed herself forsake:
Awake, to be loved, my heart, awake, awake!
Awake! The land is scattered with light, and see,
Uncanopied sleep is flying from field and tree;
And blossoming boughs of April in laughter shake:
Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake!
Lo, all things wake and tarry and look for thee:
She looketh and saith, "O sun, now bring him to me.
Come, more adored, O adored, for his coming's sake,
And awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake!"
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Wake Up
There's people talking
They talk about me
They know my name
They think they know everything
But they don't know anything, about me
(about me...)
Give me a dance floor
Give me a DJ
Play me a record
Forget what they say
'Cause I need to go
Need to getaway, tonight
(Tonight...)
[Bridge]
I put my makeup on a Saturday night
I try to make it happen
Try to make it alright
I know i make mistakes
I'm living life day to day
Its never really easy but its okay
(It's okay, okay...)
[Chorus]
Wake up, wake up
On a Saturday night
Could be New York
Maybe Hollywood and Vine
London, Paris, maybe Tokyo
There's something going on
Anywhere I go, tonight
tonight, yeah tonight
(Tonight..)
The city's restless
It's all around me
People, emotions, sick of all the same routines
And they need to go, they need to getaway, tonight
[Bridge]
[Chorus]
People all around you everywhere that you go
People all around you, they don't really know you
Everybody's watching like its some kind of show
Everybody's watching, they don't really know you now...
(They don't really know you, They don't really know you..)
And forever...
Wake up, wake up
(Wake up, wake up...)
Wake up, wake up
(Wake up, wake up...)
[Chorus x2]
(Wake up, wake up...)
song performed by by Hilary Duff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fire Bells Are Ringing
One, two, three--hark, hark, boys!
One, two, three, four!
The fire-bells are ringing, this wild wintry night;
They ask aid from District Thirty-four,
There somebody's riches are now taking flight;
On flame-wings away, away they soar.
But hark!
With shriek and wail,
How raves the gale!
Like demon steeds it speeds--
like galloping gangs from Pandemonium hurl'd.
Yes, firemen, take courage! did valiant deeds avail,
Then you were the victors of the world.
Ring the bells again!
Wake the electric wire!
And flash abroad the warning words--
"FIRE! FIRE!"
God save the city! for man's devices fail
When fierce flames with wintry winds conspire,
But hark!
With shriek and wail (With shriek and wail!)
How raves the gale! (How raves the gale!)
Like demon steeds it speeds--
like galloping gangs from Pandemonium hurl'd.
Yes, firemen, take courage! did valiant deeds avail,
Then your were the victors of the world.
One, two, three--hark, hark, boys!
One, two, three, four!
The fire-bells are ringing, an urgent appeal;
The engines go dashing by the door,
All safe here, children, no fear need we feel;
But God help in District Thirty-four,
What's that?
Look there! look there!
A lurid glare
Lights up the sky--aye, aye!
and columns of red, devouring flame appear.
And see! for departure our neighbors prepare;
Perchance there is danger even here.
One, two, three--hark, hark, boys!
One, two, three, four!
The fire-bells are ringing, a last grand alarm;
How vast must the conflagration be!
Our own roof is blazing! yet where, free from harm,
Oh! where shall we our treasures flee?
Let's haste!
'Twill fall! 'Twill fall--
That granite wall;
I see it crumbling, tumbling!
Fly for your lives, from out this fiery grave!
Laid low, crush'd, buried are some beyond recall;
But thank God! my little flock I save.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Suppose?
It's mighty nice at shut of day
With weariness to hit the hey,
To close your eyes, tired through and through,
And just forget that "you are you."
It's mighty sweet to wake again
When sunshine floods the window pain;
I love in cosy couch to lie,
And re-discover "I am I."
It would be grand could we conceive
A heaven in which to believe,
And in a better life to be be,
Find out with joy "we still are we."
Though we assume with lapsing breath
Eternal is the sleep of death,
Would it not be divinely odd
To wake and find that - "God is God."
poem by Robert William Service
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Story
"And if he's gone away," said she,
"Good riddance, if you're asking me.
I'm not a one to lie awake
And weep for anybody's sake.
There's better lads than him about!
I'll wear my buckled slippers out
A-dancing till the break of day.
I'm better off with him away!
And if he never come," said she,
"Now what on earth is that to me?
I wouldn't have him back!"
I hope
Her mother washed her mouth with soap.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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A Ballad of Burial
If down here I chance to die,
Solemnly I beg you take
All that is left of "I"
To the Hills for old sake's sake,
Pack me very thoroughly
In the ice that used to slake
Pegs I drank when I was dry --
This observe for old sake's sake.
To the railway station hie,
There a single ticket take
For Umballa -- goods-train -- I
Shall not mind delay or shake.
I shall rest contentedly
Spite of clamor coolies make;
Thus in state and dignity
Send me up for old sake's sake.
Next the sleepy Babu wake,
Book a Kalka van "for four."
Few, I think, will care to make
Journeys with me any more
As they used to do of yore.
I shall need a "special" break --
Thing I never took before --
Get me one for old sake's sake.
After that -- arrangements make.
No hotel will take me in,
And a bullock's back would break
'Neath the teak and leaden skin
Tonga ropes are frail and thin,
Or, did I a back-seat take,
In a tonga I might spin, --
Do your best for old sake's sake.
After that -- your work is done.
Recollect a Padre must
Mourn the dear departed one --
Throw the ashes and the dust.
Don't go down at once. I trust
You will find excuse to "snake
Three days' casual on the bust."
Get your fun for old sake's sake.
I could never stand the Plains.
Think of blazing June and May
Think of those September rains
Yearly till the Judgment Day!
I should never rest in peace,
I should sweat and lie awake.
Rail me then, on my decease,
To the Hills for old sake's sake.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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A Heart Will Break
Im better off without you
Im better off you know
Were nothing more than strangers
With nowhere else to go
But like a fool Ill stay by your side
Knowing that you wont believe me
When I say Ive tried
A heart will break tonight
Make no mistake Ill lie awake tonight
A heart will break and I wont feel the same
cos you stay just the same as you are
And a heart will break tonight
We made no commitment
We made only words
Its no consolation that were free like the birds
cos who needs to fly like they do
Theres only one reason Im staying
Its cos I love you...i do
A heart will break tonight
Make no mistake Ill lie awake tonight
A heart will break and I wont feel the same
cos you stay just the same as you are
And a heart will break tonight
A heart will break tonight
Make no mistake Ill lie awake tonight
A heart will break and I wont feel the same
cos you stay just the same as you are
And a heart will break tonight
Tonight its gonna break
Dont know if Ill make it
Thru the night...oh oh oh oh...
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A New Beginning
the rain falls heavily
on the brown fields
the cracks of drought
heal and soften for
a new beginning
the farmer arrives
bringing his plow
the white herons
hover
the frogs croak
the fish are awake after
a long hibernation
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Behold, from the land of the farther suns
Behold, from the land of the farther suns
I returned.
And I was in a reptile-swarming place,
Peopled, otherwise, with grimaces,
Shrouded above in black impenetrableness.
I shrank, loathing,
Sick with it.
And I said to him,
"What is this?"
He made answer slowly,
"Spirit, this is a world;
This was your home."
poem by Stephen Crane
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Soco Amaretto Lim
Passed out on the overpass
Sunday best and broken glass
Broken down from the bikes and bars
Suspended like spirits over speeding cars
You and me were kings over the parkway tonight
And tonight will go on forever while we
walk around this town like we own the streets
and stay awake through summer like we own the heat
Singing "everybody wake up(wake up)it's time to get down"
(everybody
song performed by by Brand New from Favorite Weapon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I like your books
In the betting line the other
day
man behind me asked,
"are you Henry
Chinaski?"
"uh huh," I answered.
"I like your books," he went
on.
"thanks," I answered.
"who do you like in this
race?" he asked.
"uh uh," I answered.
"I like the 4 horse," he
told me.
I made my bet and went back
to my seat....
the next race I am standing in
line and here is this same man
standing behind me
again.
there are at least 50 lines at
the windows but
he has to find mine
again.
"I think this race favors the
closers," he said to the back of
my neck. "the track looks
heavy."
"listen," I said, not looking
around, "it's the kiss of death to
talk about horses at the
track..."
"what kind of rule is that?"
he asked. "God doesn't make
rules..."
I turned around and looked at him:
"maybe not, but I
do."
after the next race
I got in line, glanced behind
me:
he was not there:
lost another reader.
I lose 2 or 3 each
week.
fine.
let 'em go back to
Kafka.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Holy Dan
It was in the Queensland drought;
And over hill and dell,
No grass – the water far apart,
All dry and hot as hell.
The wretched bullock teams drew up
Beside a water-hole –
They’d struggled on through dust and drought
For days to reach this goal.
And though the water rendered forth
A rank, unholy stench,
The bullocks and the bullockies
Drank deep their thirst to quench.
Two of the drivers cursed and swore
As only drivers can.
The other one, named Daniel,
Best known as Holy Dan,
Admonished them and said it was
The Lord’s all-wise decree;
And if they’d only watch and wait,
A change they’d quickly see.
’Twas strange that of Dan’s bullocks
Not one had gone aloft,
But this, he said, was due to prayer
And supplication oft.
At last one died but Dan was calm,
He hardly seemed to care;
He knelt beside the bullock’s corpse
And offered up a prayer.
"One bullock Thou has taken, Lord,
And so it seemeth best.
Thy will be done, but see my need
And spare to me the rest!"
A month went by. Dan’s bullocks now
Were dying every day,
But still on each occasion would
The faithful fellow pray,
"Another Thou has taken, Lord,
And so it seemeth best.
Thy will be done, but see my need,
And spare to me the rest!"
And still they camped beside the hole,
And still it never rained,
And still Dan’s bullocks died and died,
Till only one remained.
Then Dan broke down – good Holy Dan –
The man who never swore.
He knelt beside the latest corpse,
And here’s the prayer he prore.
"That’s nineteen Thou has taken, Lord,
And now You’ll plainly see
You’d better take the bloody lot,
One’s no damn good to me."
The other riders laughed so much
They shook the sky around;
The lightning flashed, the thunder roared,
And Holy Dan was drowned.
poem by Anonymous Oceania
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Your Will To Be Done
LORD I am here waiting for your will to be done
Sitting at the kitchen table watching the rising sun.
The sky is a clear blue as a background for the sun
As I sit and thank you for my family and everyone.
Each day that I awake there is a lesson to be learned
It may not be stupendous
But in my heart it will burn.
You've given us so much that we should be thankful for
The sun, the moon, the rivers and the streams
The green grass and the tall beautiful trees.
You've given us food from all walks of life
From the seas and the skies
From the earth below our feet
And for all that we eat.
You show us both sides of life, the good and the bad
Just so that " we could understand".
That everything in life is truly free.
It starts in our hearts and travels to our minds
And we can find peace and contentment till the ends of time.
The sacrifices that we make, can be heartache and pain
But nothing in life ever remains the same.
There is a price for everything - but it's not for the foods we eat
But for the love he's given us -and the hatreds we must defeat.
The "bad " is in our hearts and minds
And not anything on the ground
All you have to do is turn and look around.
We must defeat the "thoughts" of all our jealousies
Wants, and hates - and wake up to the beauties
Before it's much too late.
Like the song says " accentuate the positive
And eliminate the negative".
That is the key if we want to be free.
So I sit here with these thoughts in my mind
And thanking you DEAR LORD
Till the end of my time.
© L RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
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In Winter in my Room
1670
In Winter in my Room
I came upon a Worm—
Pink, lank and warm—
But as he was a worm
And worms presume
Not quite with him at home—
Secured him by a string
To something neighboring
And went along.
A Trifle afterward
A thing occurred
I'd not believe it if I heard
But state with creeping blood—
A snake with mottles rare
Surveyed my chamber floor
In feature as the worm before
But ringed with power—
The very string with which
I tied him—too
When he was mean and new
That string was there—
I shrank—"How fair you are"!
Propitiation's claw—
"Afraid," he hissed
"Of me"?
"No cordiality"—
He fathomed me—
Then to a Rhythm Slim
Secreted in his Form
As Patterns swim
Projected him.
That time I flew
Both eyes his way
Lest he pursue
Nor ever ceased to run
Till in a distant Town
Towns on from mine
I set me down
This was a dream.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Well of St. Keyne
A Well there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.
An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,
And behind doth an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.
A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne;
Joyfully he drew nigh,
For from the cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.
He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he,
And he sat down upon the bank
Under the willow-tree.
There came a man from the house hard by
At the Well to fill his pail;
On the Well-side he rested it,
And he bade the Stranger hail.
"Now art thou a bachelor, Stranger?" quoth he,
"For an if thou hast a wife,
The happiest draught thou hast drank this day
That ever thou didst in thy life.
"Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast,
Ever here in Cornwall been?
For an if she have, I'll venture my life
She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne."
"I have left a good woman who never was here."
The Stranger he made reply,
"But that my draught should be the better for that,
I pray you answer me why?"
"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time
Drank of this crystal Well,
And before the Angel summon'd her,
She laid on the water a spell.
"If the Husband of this gifted Well
Shall drink before his Wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,
For he shall be Master for life.
"But if the Wife should drink of it first,--
God help the Husband then!"
The Stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the water again.
"You drank of the Well I warrant betimes?"
He to the Cornish-man said:
But the Cornish-man smiled as the Stranger spake,
And sheepishly shook his head.
"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my Wife in the porch;
But i' faith she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to Church."
poem by Robert Southey
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Houses—so the Wise Men tell me—
"Houses"—so the Wise Men tell me—
"Mansions"! Mansions must be warm!
Mansions cannot let the tears in,
Mansions must exclude the storm!
"Many Mansions," by "his Father,"
I don't know him; snugly built!
Could the Children find the way there—
Some, would even trudge tonight!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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In The Moonlight
"O lonely workman, standing there
In a dream, why do you stare and stare
At her grave, as no other grave where there?"
"If your great gaunt eyes so importune
Her soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon,
Maybe you'll raise her phantom soon!"
"Why, fool, it is what I would rather see
Than all the living folk there be;
But alas, there is no such joy for me!"
"Ah - she was one you loved, no doubt,
Through good and evil, through rain and drought,
And when she passed, all your sun went out?"
"Nay: she was the woman I did not love,
Whom all the other were ranked above,
Whom during her life I thought nothing of."
poem by Thomas Hardy
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The New Knighthood
Who gives him the Bath?
"I," said the wet,
Rank-Jungle-sweat,
"I'll give him the Bath!"
Who'll sing the psalms?
"We," said the Palms.
"Ere the hot wind becalms,
"We'll sing the psalms."
Who lays on the sword ?
"I," said the Sun,
Before he has done,
"I'll lay on the sword."
"Who fastens his belt?
"I," said Short-Rations,
" I know all the fashions
"Of tightening a belt!"
Who gives him his spur?
"I," said his Chief,
Exacting and brief,
"I'll give him the spur."
Who'll shake his hand?
"I," said the Fever,
"And I'm no deceiver,
"I'll shake his hand."
Who brings him the wine?
"I," said Quinine,
"It's a habit of mine.
"I'11 come with his wine."
Who'll put him to proof?
"I," said All Earth.
"Whatever he's worth,
"I'll put to the proof."
Who'll choose him for Knight?
"I," said his Mother,
"Before any other,
"My very own Knight."
And after this fashion, adventure to seek,
Sir Galahad was made--as it might be last week!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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