Fight With A Bear
The following appeared in Truth in the form of a prose tale of
considerable length. We have concentrated the essence
thereof into the few verses below. It is a tale of the
Canadian North-West, during the times of the Hudson
Bay Company's rule.
Two youths, employed at the fur fort,
Resolved to have half-day of sport ;
From Jasper House, in the far north,
For game, they joyous issued forth.
The factor of the Hudson Bay
Granted them a few hours' play,
And it was in cold winter time,
When thick on lake was glassy rime ;
But beneath, o'er all their route,
They saw below big speckled trout.
With hatchet, ice they did clear
And the beauteous trout did spear,
For they were longing for a dish
Of this sweet and savory fish,
And they caught many, too, with bait,
For in the day it was not late,
But it was cloudy with snow storm ;
Yet they saw the noble form,
While the hurricane did blow,
Of a fine, noble buffalo,
So they resolved to have a treat
Of the delicious buffalo meat ;
But he did on his haunches rear-
To their surprise it was a bear.
The lake being smooth, the youths did skate,
Resolved for to seal his fate;
A pistol shot made bruin roar,
And from him trickled drops of gore.
They round him skate, and fresh blood drew
When they at him the hatchet threw ;
He chased one and then the other,
For men on skates did him bother.
But the bold Scottish lad, McBeath,
Alas ! he nearly met his death,
When he so boldly did press near
To probe him with the sharp fish spear,
For with fell swoop the paws of bruin
To him they almost did bring ruin ;
But he so dexterously did skate
That he escaped such horrid fate.
And now they skated back to fort
For aid for to renew the sport,
They knew their game was no trifle
So they secured a trusty rifle.
Returning he had fled to wood,
But they tracked him with his blood,
For they did not yet despair
But that they would capture bear.
They saw the elder bushes sway
While he did force through them his way,
And heard the brushwood loudly snap,
Where he went through he left a gap.
They skated swiftly o 'er the ice
And were near brushwood in a trice ;
Full soon the savage beast is slain,
With rifle bullet in his brain.
And now these hunters do take pride
In skin as large as buffalo hide,
For Indian stripped the skin of bear
And left the carcass in his lair.
poem by James McIntyre
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Related quotes
Fight of A Buffalo with Wolves
We were so deeply impressed with the courage displayed by a buffalo
in a prose tale that we transposed the description into verse.
A buffalo, lord of the plain,
With massive neck and mighty mane,
While from his herd he slowly strays,
He on green herbage calm doth graze ;
And when at last he lifts his eyes,
A savage wolf he soon espies ;
But scarcely deigns to turn his head,
For it inspires him with no dread.
He knows the wolf is treacherous foe,
But feels he soon could lay him low.
A moment more, and there's a pair,
Whose savage eyes do on him glare ;
But with contempt them both he scorns,
Unworthy of his powerful horns.
Their numbers soon do multiply,
But the whole pack he doth defy ;
He could bound quickly o'er the plain,
And his own herd could soon regain.
His foes they now are full a score,
With lolling tongues pant for his gore ;
He hears their teeth all loudly gnash,
So eager his big bones to crash.
On every side they him infest,
The north, the south, the east, the west ;
Fierce rage doth now gleam from his eye,
Resolved to conquer or to die.
'Round him they yelp and howl and growl,
He glares on them with angry scowl ;
They circle closer him around,
He roars and springs with mighty bound ;
And of his power gives ample proof,
Felling them with horn and hoof.
Though some lay dead upon the plain,
Yet their attack was not in vain,
For they have tasted of his blood,
Resolved it soon shall pour a flood.
He feels that they have torn his hide,
And streams gush from each limb and side ;
He rushes on them in despair
And tosses them full high in air.
But others rush on him and pull
Down to the earth that glorious bull ;
On the flesh of this noble beast,
Their bloody jaws they soon do feast.
Full worthy of a better fate,
Far from his herd and his dear mate ;
And they do look for him in vain,
His bones do whiten now the plain.
poem by James McIntyre
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Lines on A Canadian Hunter
Of Kentucky's great hunter bold,
Old Daniel Boon, oft tales are told ;
Of wild beasts he had no fear,
But dangers loved, that pioneer.
Canada hath hunters many,
Yet perhaps there is not any
For skill and boldness can compare
With our own Daniel Hebner.
In youth he was both tall and strong,
And supple as a willow thong ;
Hs never fled from savage bear,
Though bruin on hind legs would rear.
In hunting mink, or fox, or coon,
He was a second Daniel Boon ;
His rifle oft brought down the deer,
Which to his table brought good cheer.
But through his life his highest aim
Was to kill the savage game,
To track the wild cat to its lair
And see its eyes so fiercely glare.
But he oft longs for a cut ham,
Sweet as from bear near to Putnam,
For he waged his fiercest war
In big swamp of Dorchester.
Now, in the winter, Dan he rides
Warm 'mong his bear and coon skin hides.
He lets the younger men now snare
The beaver, muskrat and ottar.
poem by James McIntyre
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When the Bear Comes Back Again
Oh, the scene is wide an’ dreary an’ the sun is settin’ red,
An’ the grey-black sky of winter’s comin’ closer overhead.
Oh, the sun is settin’ bloody with a blood-line on the snow,
An’ across it to the westward you can see old Bruin go;
You can see old Shaggy go,
You can see the brown Bear go,
An’ he’s draggin’ one leg arter, an’ he’s travellin’ pretty slow.
We can send a long shot arter, but he doesn’t seem to know—
There’s a thin red line behind him where it’s dripped across the snow;
He is weary an’ he’s wounded, with his own blood he’s half-blind,
He is licked an’ he’s defeated, an’ he’s left some cubs behind;
Yes, he’s left some cubs behind;
Oh, he’s left some cubs behind;
To the tune of sixty thousand he has left some cubs behind.
Oh, they’ve pulled him by the nose-ring and they’ve baited him in pits,
An’ they bluffed him, an’ they bruised him, an’ they mostly gave him fits;
But he hugged ’em badly one time when they tried him in his den—
An’ he’ll make it warm for someone when he comes back East again;
When the Bear comes back again,
When he’s lopin’ round again,
There’ll be lively times for Jacko when the Bear comes back again.
Oh, we chased him out of Turkey—I don’t know for what idea,
It took two dogs an’ a lion for to beat him in Crimea;
He’s goin’ home to lick his wounds, he’s goin’ to his den,
But he’ll make it warm for someone when he comes South-East again,
When the Bear comes back again,
When old Bruin comes again,
He will make some dead to die on when he comes back from his den.
Keep a sharp look-out behind you, every way you turn, my lad,
It don’t matter who you might be, for you bet the Bear is mad;
Keep a sharp look-out to Nor’ard, to the South an’ West an’ East,
For he mostly always finds you where you most expect him least;
Where you most expect him leastest,
Where you most expect him least,
Oh, you’ll catch him grabbin’ for yer where you most expect him least.
poem by Henry Lawson
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My Bear
I never killed a bear because
I always thought them critters was
So kindo' cute;
Though round my shack they often came,
I'd raise my rifle and take aim,
But couldn't shoot.
Yet there was one full six-feet tall
Who came each night and gobbled all
The grub in sight;
On my pet garden truck he'd feast,
Until I thought I must at least
Give him a fight.
I put some corn mush in a pan;
He lapped it swiftly down and ran
With bruin glee;
A second day I did the same,
Again with eagerness he came
To gulp and flee.
The third day I mixed up a cross
Of mustard and tobasco sauce,
And ginger too,
Well spiced with pepper of cayenne,
Topped it with treacled mush, and then
Set out the brew.
He was a huge and husky chap;
I saw him shamble to the trap,
The dawn was dim.
He squatted down on his behind,
And through the cheese-cloth window-blind
I peeked at him.
I never saw a bear so glad;
A look of joy seraphic had
His visage brown;
He slavered, and without suspish-
- Ion hugged that horrid dish,
And swilled it down.
Just for a moment he was still,
Then he erupted loud and shrill
With frantic yell;
The picket fence he tried to vault;
He turned a double somersault,
And ran like hell.
I saw him leap into the lake,
As if a thirst of fire to slake,
And thrash up foam;
And then he sped along the shore,
And beat his breast with raucous roar,
And made for home.
I guess he told the folks back there
My homestead was taboo for bear
For since that day,
Although my pumpkins star the ground,
No other bear has come around,
Nor trace of bruin have I found,
- Well, let me pray!
poem by Robert William Service
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Buffalo Gal
Buffalo {repeat 16 times}
Buffalo gal,
Youve had your fun
Your buttons undone
And the times right for slaughter
Buffalo gal
Youre thirsty and theres no more water
Like the lamb on the altar
And its sad to see you looking down and feeling blue
Try your best to get on up and see it through
In a while you might smile and see the sun
Oww, the day has begun
{chorus}
And buffalo gal,
Theyre closing down the old dance hall
Ummm, buffalo gal,
What we gonna do now?
Buffalo gal,
Due to these circumstances
Theres no more dances
Buffalo gal,
[buffalo] all your chances of further romances
Will have to be nil
til I can get it sung
Is a shame your only claim to fame is jessie james
You know his middle name
Thats very strange
Stranger, you knew a friend called the friendly ranger
Oh, ya shared the danger
{repeat chorus}
Buffalo {repeat 16 times}
Buffalo gal,
You must try a big step
Youve got a big jump ahead
Buffalo gal,
The show left town
Spreading sunshine all around
And its bad to see ya, ooh, lookin blue
Dry your eyes and Ill apologise for all the lies
Try a smile and in a while, just in a while
Youll be smiling through
Ooh, buffalo gal,
Theyre closin down the old dance hall [buffalo {repeat 10 times} gal, gal]
And buffalo gal,
Oh, you look so good somehow [buffalo {repeat 9 times} gal]
Oh buffalo gal,
Oh, thats such a pretty dress [buffalo {repeat 8 times} gal]
Buffalo gal,
The show left town [buffalo {repeat 8 times} gal, gal]
Buffalo gal,
Take a picture
Of buffalo gal [buffalo {repeat 10 times}]
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First things first for my friend Ben
The moon is shining on the lake
where trout are rising after flies
this tells me that it’s time to fish.
The gentle art of casting flies
correctly as my father taught,
has filled full many a supper dish
A trout that’s fried in bacon grease
Has a unique taste all its own,
If I were hungry I would wish.
For a fresh trout upon my plate
A feast I would appreciate.
But first you have to catch your fish.
28-May-07
poem by Ivor .e Hogg
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The Lion Hunt
Mount -- mount for the hunting -- with musket and spear!
Call our friends to the field -- for the Lion is near!
Call Arend and Ekhard and Groepe to the spoor;
Call Muller and Coetzer and Lucas Van Vuur.
Ride up Eildon-Cleugh, and blow loudly the bugle:
Call Slinger and Allie and Dikkop and Dugal;
And George with the elephant-gun on his shoulder --
In a perilous pinch none is better or bolder.
In the gorge of the glen lie the bones of my steed,
And the hoofs of a heifer of fatherland's breed:
But mount, my brave boys! if our rifles prove true,
We'll soon make the spoiler his ravages rue.
Ho! the Hottentot lads have discovered the track --
To his den in the desert we'll follow him back;
But tighten your girths, and look well to your flints,
For heavy and fresh are the villain's foot-prints.
Through the rough rocky kloof into grey Huntly-Glen,
Past the wild-olive clump where the wolf has his den,
By the black-eagle's rock at the foot of the fell,
We have tracked him at length to the buffalo's well.
Now mark yonder brake where the blood-hounds are howling;
And hark that hoarse sound -- like the deep thunder growling;
'Tis his lair -- 'tis his voice! -- from your saddles alight;
He's at bay in the brushwood preparing for fight.
Leave the horses behind -- and be still every man:
Let the Mullers and Rennies advance in the van:
Keep fast in your ranks; -- by the yell of yon hound,
The savage, I guess, will be out -- with a bound.
He comes! the tall jungle before him loud crashing,
His mane bristled fiercely, his fiery eyes flashing;
With a roar of disdain, he leaps forth in his wrath,
To challenge the foe that dare 'leaguer his path.
He couches -- ay now we'll see mischief, I dread:
Quick -- level your rifles -- and aim at his head:
Thrust forward the spears, and unsheath every knife --
St. George! he's upon us! -- Now, fire, lads, for life!
He's wounded -- but yet he'll draw blood ere he falls --
Ha! under his paw see Bezuidenhout sprawls --
Now Diederik! Christian! right in the brain
Plant each man his bullet -- Hurra! he is slain!
Bezuidenhout -- up man! -- 'tis only a scratch --
(You were always a scamp, and have met with your match!)
What a glorious lion! -- what sinews -- what claws --
And seven-feet-ten from the rump to the jaws!
His hide, with the paws and the bones of his skull,
With the spoils of the leopard and buffalo bull,
We'll send to Sir Walter. -- Now, boys, let us dine,
And talk of our deeds o'er a flask of old wine.
poem by Thomas Pringle
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It Was My Uncle Soul Sifting
it was my uncle soul
sifting in a leaned back
all the way chair down
by the old family lake
taking trout we spent
all day chasing through
reeds and lilies, dodging
loons and other birds
trying to outmaneuver
them in their own home
it was my uncle soul
sifting, lifting trout
entrails, rinsing off
blood and fish and dirt
in the cold lake water
telling me it used to
be a game of his, how
many fish he could trick
before the sun set.
it was my uncle soul
sifting, telling me his
favorite night was years
ago and how he had
only caught one lone
rainbow and was
sitting there, gutting
the heart out listening
to the radio the night
Roy Eldridge died.
it was my uncle soul
sifting, saying he forgot
how many fish he caught
just sat there listening
to old dead Roy play
while the fish cooked
over his burnt coal fire
it was the only way he
knew how to say
goodbye he said, and
tonight it’s me out
there soul sifting, lifting
bits of crumbled dirt and
dust, feeling a part of me
is out there still, the
big blue welling up
inside you, the hole
gone and filled up
with sky.
poem by Ben Paynter
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With All my Love From Buffalo...Her Rebuttal
on our wedding night
I buried myself into
your arms
you buried yourself
into mine
indifferent
to you now:
like the winds that blow
off Erie that form
the storms
that buries Buffalo
in the shroud
of winter
no Christmas
in Buffalo:
no warm feelings for the tide
we harden our hearts here
we carve them into grave markers
we fake our grief
our love is lost in the solstice.
when you buried the bullet
into your head because you wouldn't
bear the indifference of my love
it reflected our wedding night
or a winter storm
beautiful, but nothing I wanted to be
in the middle of.
my tears are only icicles
they reflected the church lights
nothing more.
so again, my dear, my fool
nothing lost, nothing spent.
hearts don't break in Buffalo
the streets that crack
when the permafrost leaks
between winter and winter
we patch with more rock
so as you are wrapped tight
in the arms of death or hell
think of me content to be wrapped
in another man's arms
you in your eternity
me here in mine
poem by R. James Sterzinger
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The Summary History of Sir William Wallace
Sir William Wallace of Ellerslie,
I'm told he went to the High School in Dundee,
For to learn to read and write,
And after that he learned to fight,
While at the High School in Dundee,
The Provost's son with him disagree,
Because Wallace did wear a dirk,
He despised him like an ignorant stirk,
Which with indignation he keenly felt,
And told him it would become him better in his belt.
Then Wallace's blood began to boil,
Just like the serpent in its coil,
Before it leaps upon its prey;
And unto him he thus did say:
'Proud saucy cur, come cease your prate,
for no longer shall i wait,
For to hear you insult me,
At the High School in Dundee;
For such insolence makes my heart to smart,
And I'll plunge my dagger in you heart,'
Then his heart's blood did quickly flow,
And poor Wallace did not know where to go;
And he stood by him until dead.
Then far from him he quickly fled,
Lamenting greatly the deed he had done,
the murdering of the Provost's son.
The scene shifts to where he was fishing on day,
Where three English soldiers met him by the way,
And they asked him fo give them some fish,
And from them they would make a delicious dish,
then Wallace gave them share of his fish,
For to satisfy their wish;
But they seemed dissatisfied with the share they got,
So they were resolved to have all the lot.
Then Wallace he thought it was time to look out,
When they were resolved to have all his trout;
So he swung his fishing-rod with great force round his head,
And struck on of them a blow that killed him dead;
So he instantly seized the fallen man's sword,
And the other two fled without uttering a word.
Sir William Wallace of Ellerslie,
You were a warrior of great renown,
And might have worn Scotland's crown;
Had it not been for Monteith, the base traitor knave,
That brought you to a premature grave;
Yes! you were sold for English gold,
And brought like a sheep from the fold,
To die upon a shameful scaffold high,
Amidst the derisive shouts of your enemies standing by.
But you met your doom like a warrior bold,
Bidding defiance to them that had you sold,
And bared your neck for the headsman's stroke;
And cried, 'Marion, dear, my heart is broke;
My lovely dear I come to thee,
Oh! I am longing thee to see!'
But the headsman was as stolid as the rock,
And the axe fell heavily on the block,
And the scaffold did shake with the terrible shock,
As the body of noble Wallace fell,
Who had fought for Scotland so well.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The spoor
We were flown in
by a Puma helicopter
hot on the tracts
of a group of terrorists
who had attacked some farms.
A Bushman tracker was in the front
on the spoor, armed with a old R1,
two of the section
was armed with LMG’s
and I carried the a short barrel R5
and it was very hot
under a merciless sun.
The tracker told us
that one of the enemy
was wounded and at places
we saw drops of blood
and it looked
as if he was dragging his leg
in the way that he walked.
The going was fast
as we didn’t want to let them pass
the chop line back into Angola
and we were at a jog.
Suddenly in the distance
there was a firefight
and some shots rang out
sounding like AK-47’s
and locking our weapons
we hastened,
not knowing if another patrol
or who or what
had run into the enemy.
When got on the scene
the wounded terrorist was dead
trampled by a African Buffalo
who gored him
before setting on its enemy’s tracts.
He was left behind
by the group
who had come across an African Buffalo
and had fired at it,
only wounding that black beast
and had run away in the front of it.
The Bushman smiled and shook his head
laughing because of the actions
of the stupid terrorists
and we were hot on the tracks
of the Buffalo
following through a rocky dried out wadi
past some bushes
and into longer grass
when suddenly the eyes of the tracker
went huge as saucers
and he turned around
stumbled past me
and dropped his gun
on the ground right
next to me
running as if for his life.
This was quite awkward
seeing a man run
who had fought numerous
firefights with me
without a whimper of fear
now running as if
the devil himself
was on his heels
but the Buffalo
had turned around
on its tracks.
I saw that African beast
with eyes glaring almost red
and nostrils wide open
and horns lowered
and knew that my rifle
wouldn’t stop it
and if I didn’t I would be dead,
but the R1 would probably
since its larger full metal jacket bullets
could rip right through trees.
It must have been the quickest
that I have ever
picked up a gun
exchanging it for mine
bringing it to my shoulder
and started firing
and I could scarcely
believe my luck
when that buffalo bull
dropped there at my feet.
[References: R1= A rifle similar to the Belgian FN. R4= A rifle similar to the Israeli Gaelil. R5= a Shorter barrelled version of the R4 with folding stock, sometimes used by paratroopers and other special force soldiers. LMG= Light Machinegun. Chop line= Cleared aria on the border between South West Africa (now Namibia) and Angola.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Elf Shot
A lad, brought up in Highland vale,
Who did believe each fairy tale
Which his granney oft to him told,
And of witches and of warlocks bold,
And he himself would often pore
For hours reading wizard lore.
One night his mother to the town
In a hurry sent him down,
So o'er his poney he did stride,
And to the town did fearful ride;
He thought that demons they would rush
On him from every rock and bush,
And as he went through the quarry
It did great increase his flurry ;
He felt that fiends with fiercest hate
Would surely there seal fast his fate.
But town he reached, and neath his vest
He parcel pressed beneath his vest ;
The poney now he mounts once more
For to pass quarry as before,
But, alas ! at that fatal spot
He heard a gun-he was elf shot;
He felt that from his breast a flood
Was pouring down off his heart's blood,
But he clung fast to pony's back,
Though loss of blood his frame did rack ;
But in spite of his alarms
He resolved to die in mother's arms;
And when he reached his own door
He said that he was drenched in gore
From bullet hole all in his breast ;
His father opened up his vest,
And he did sadly fear the worst,
But found yeast bottle had but burst.
poem by James McIntyre
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My Fate Decided
D day
The icy spray of the sea
The soft murmur of men
The retailing of packs
The wait of mine secured on my back
My fate decided
The blow of a whistle
The thump of the 88`s letting lose
The rattle of bullets hitting the boat
The caused cry
The scream of men
The roar of metal ripping apart
My fate decided
The boat stoping
The men confused
The red water linking in
The ramp is opening
My fate decided
The whistles blown
The line a broken
Pushing men not wanting to leave
The water red and cold
The pounding of bullets
The scream of men all around
My fate decided
Blood bleached sand thick and red
My rifle a swung on my back
The clocking of wet rifles
The explosion of a boat
The cry of men, metal and guns
My fate decided
The sicken sight
The feeling worse
The pounding of feet
The rocks
Can we make it?
My fate decided
The rifle unsung
The rocks and shelter still far away
Can we make it?
Falling men hitting hard to the dirt
Is this where we should all now lay?
My fate decided
The shade of the towering stones
Now directly over me
Have I made it?
Yes voice from nowhere bellowed
On your feet a war to fight
Find the strength I think I might
My fate decided
Men still falling, still crying, still screaming in pain
I am here fine feeling only a dull numbness
Rifle clocked and ready to go
Firing on impulse as it would seem
Another round shot another man falls
The bullets flying all around
Hit men and picking them off at a steady past
Claiming their targets resting place
My fate decided
Stumbling into the trench
On top of the men which had fired at us not long ago
Their resting place now sealed in a bloody hole of mud and grit
Would this be me?
My fate decided
The loading of a rifle
Pulling me back to reality
To the blood soaked uniform
To the job at hand
To the war we must fight
My fate decided
poem by Mike Cochrane
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Bounce, Rock, Skate, Roll
Bounce (yeah)
Rock, skate (yeah)
Roll, bounce
Rock, skate (ha)
Roll, bounce
It? s friday, I had to work all week
Keep the cool hip, school, gettin as and bs
Cuz if I came home with an f or a d
My mama woulda tripped about the skatin rink
But since I got that under control
Daddy said its cool, get his spark on
So I picked up the phone and called rico
I told him Id be at the rink for sure
Around 8 oclock, they began playin the grooves
That me and you like to bounce to
We rollin man, on skates for sure
A gang of homies in the corner on the dance floor
Got the skate police always on patrol
Tryin to catch you outta bunker if you gettin too close
To the girl that you groovin with
No stoppin on the floor, keep moving it
To wearing straps to my feet, criss-cross to the beat
And all the people tryin to peep the styles of the d
Cuz Im rollin, just havin a ball
No time to laugh when somebody falls
Straight bouncin
Bounce (just see), rock, skate (everbody skatin on the floor)
Roll, bounce (come on, come on)
Rock, skate (rollin, rollin, rollin)
Roll, bounce
Now its 10 oclock and the music stops
And it comes back on with a slow song
The announcer says, couples only
And then all I see is cuties rushing at me
So I chose the one that I knew could roll
Not one steady fumble on the skatin floor
Follow what the joe shootin pass me like the wind
When darnell fallin down and back up again
And bysides from the club to the video game
Playin mortal kombat, tryin to arrest the thing
To the snack bar, munch, get my drink and change
Rested up, now Im back on my wheels again
Straight bouncin
Baby d is bringin out the fine young breeds
Parties jumpin, v.i.p.
We off the heez (we off the heez)
Roller skate is one in front and one be-hind
Everybody, grab your partner, form a line
And get
Bounce, rock, skate (yeah)
Roll, bounce
And you know theres 30 minutes left
Im on my second wind and I done caught my breath
Im on to the djs booth to request a song
Baby ds on the rise, now Im up and gone
As I look to my side, I see my daddy
So smooth on the wheels like a caddy
With his afro lit it in diamonds is butch
And then i, switchin lanes at a fast pace
Losin all the slow rollers up on my way
So I can find that girl and all her friends
So we can hook next week and come do it again
Out here gettin excite, the ga way
But I learned how to skate in the golden state
Straight rollin
So everybody keep bouncin
So everybody keep bouncin
So everybody keep bouncin
Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce
Bounce (yes, youre bouncin), rock, skate
(you want to skate, yeah)
Roll (yes you do), bounce
Now everybody get your bounce on
Dan moore get your roll on
Aaron get your skate on
Britney get your bounce on
Sir will get your roll on
Ingis get your skate on
Lil james get your bounce on
Big e new x lex board
Daddy get your roll on
Big banks get your skate on
Short dogg get your bounce on
Joey get your roll on
To end
Bounce, rock, skate,roll
And everybody in oakland get your bounce on
La get your roll on
Atlanta get your skate on
Chi-town get your bounce on
New york get your roll on
Houston get your skate on
Dallas get your bounce on
Portland get your roll on
Va get your skate on
Denver get your bounce on
Vegas get your roll on
Detroit get your skate on
Miami get your bounce on
Everybody everywhere get your bounce on
Get your bounce on, get your bounce on
song performed by by Imajin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Forsaken
I
Once in the winter
Out on a lake
In the heart of the north-land,
Far from the Fort
And far from the hunters,
A Chippewa woman
With her sick baby,
Crouched in the last hours
Of a great storm.
Frozen and hungry,
She fished through the ice
With a line of the twisted
Bark of the cedar,
And a rabbit-bone hook
Polished and barbed;
Fished with the bare hook
All through the wild day,
Fished and caught nothing;
While the young chieftain
Tugged at her breasts,
Or slept in the lacings
Of the warm tikanagan.
All the lake-surface
Streamed with the hissing
Of millions of iceflakes
Hurled by the wind;
Behind her the round
Of a lonely island
Roared like a fire
With the voice of the storm
In the deeps of the cedars.
Valiant, unshaken,
She took of her own flesh,
Baited the fish-hook,
Drew in a gray-trout,
Drew in his fellows,
Heaped them beside her,
Dead in the snow.
Valiant, unshaken,
She faced the long distance,
Wolf-haunted and lonely,
Sure of her goal
And the life of her dear one:
Tramped for two days,
On the third in the morning,
Saw the strong bulk
Of the Fort by the river,
Saw the wood-smoke
Hand soft in the spruces,
Heard the keen yelp
Of the ravenous huskies
Fighting for whitefish:
Then she had rest.
II
Years and years after,
When she was old and withered,
When her son was an old man
And his children filled with vigour,
They came in their northern tour on the verge of winter,
To an island in a lonely lake.
There one night they camped, and on the morrow
Gathered their kettles and birch-bark
Their rabbit-skin robes and their mink-traps,
Launched their canoes and slunk away through the islands,
Left her alone forever,
Without a word of farewell,
Because she was old and useless,
Like a paddle broken and warped,
Or a pole that was splintered.
Then, without a sigh,
Valiant, unshaken,
She smoothed her dark locks under her kerchief,
Composed her shawl in state,
Then folded her hands ridged with sinews and corded with veins,
Folded them across her breasts spent with the nourishment of children,
Gazed at the sky past the tops of the cedars,
Saw two spangled nights arise out of the twilight,
Saw two days go by filled with the tranquil sunshine,
Saw, without pain, or dread, or even a moment of longing:
Then on the third great night there came thronging and thronging
Millions of snowflakes out of a windless cloud;
They covered her close with a beautiful crystal shroud,
Covered her deep and silent.
But in the frost of the dawn,
Up from the life below,
Rose a column of breath
Through a tiny cleft in the snow,
Fragile, delicately drawn,
Wavering with its own weakness,
In the wilderness a sign of the spirit,
Persisting still in the sight of the sun
Till day was done.
Then all light was gathered up by the hand of God and hid in His breast,
Then there was born a silence deeper than silence,
Then she had rest.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lines On T.D. McGee
DeArcy. McGee,
All compliment thee,
The hope of the land,
On your lecture so grand.
Though that is your fort,
Oh, give us the sport
Of an hour of your chat ;
Then we'll laugh and grow fat.
For none but the vile
Could e'er cease to smile
When near to thee,
So brilliant and free.
Plant of Green Erin's isle,
Long in Canadian soil,
May you take deep root
And bear much noble fruit.
Our hopes were in vain,
Alas ! he is slain
By a crankish hand,
The flower of the land.
poem by James McIntyre
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Bear In There
There's a polar bear
In our Frigidaire-
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
He's munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there-
That polary bear
In our Fridgitydaire.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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River
It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And signing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
But it don't snow here
It stays pretty green
I'm going to make a lot of money
Then I'm going to quit this crazy scene
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby cry
Well she tried hard to help me
You know, she put me at ease
And she loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I'm so hard to handle
I'm selfish and I'm sad
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby say goodbye
Well It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
Singing songs of joy and peace
God I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Truce of the Bear
Yearly, with tent and rifle, our careless white men go
By the Pass called Muttianee, to shoot in the vale below.
Yearly by Muttianee he follows our white men in --
Matun, the old blind beggar, bandaged from brow to chin.
Eyeless, noseless, and lipless -- toothless, broken of speech,
Seeking a dole at the doorway he mumbles his tale to each;
Over and over the story, ending as he began:
"Make ye no truce with Adam-zad -- the Bear that walks like a Man!
"There was a flint in my musket -- pricked and primed was the pan,
When I went hunting Adam-zad -- the Bear that stands like a Man.
I looked my last on the timber, I looked my last on the snow,
When I went hunting Adam-zad fifty summers ago!
"I knew his times and his seasons, as he knew mine, that fed
By night in the ripened maizefield and robbed my house of bread.
I knew his strength and cunning, as he knew mine, that crept
At dawn to the crowded goat-pens and plundered while I slept.
"Up from his stony playground -- down from his well-digged lair --
Out on the naked ridges ran Adam-zad the Bear --
Groaning, grunting, and roaring, heavy with stolen meals,
Two long marches to northward, and I was at his heels!
"Two long marches to northward, at the fall of the second night,
I came on mine enemy Adam-zad all panting from his flight.
There was a charge in the musket -- pricked and primed was the pan --
My finger crooked on the trigger -- when he reared up like a man.
"Horrible, hairy, human, with paws like hands in prayer,
Making his supplication rose Adam-zad the Bear!
I looked at the swaying shoulders, at the paunch's swag and swing,
And my heart was touched with pity for the monstrous, pleading thing.
"Touched witth pity and wonder, I did not fire then . . .
I have looked no more on women -- I have walked no more with men.
Nearer he tottered and nearer, with paws like hands that pray --
From brow to jaw that steel-shod paw, it ripped my face away!
"Sudden, silent, and savage, searing as flame the blow --
Faceless I fell before his feet, fifty summers ago.
I heard him grunt and chuckle -- I heard him pass to his den.
He left me blind to the darkened years and the little mercy of men.
"Now ye go down in the morning with guns of the newer style,
That load (I have felt) in the middle and range (I have heard) a mile?
Luck to the white man's rifle, that shoots so fast and true,
But -- pay, and I lift my bandage and show what the Bear can do!"
(Flesh like slag in the furnace, knobbed and withered and grey --
Matun, the old blind beggar, he gives good worth for his pay.)
"Rouse him at noon in the bushes, follow and press him hard --
Not for his ragings and roarings flinch ye from Adam-zad.
"But (pay, and I put back the bandage) this is the time to fear,
When he stands up like a tired man, tottering near and near;
When he stands up as pleading, in wavering, man-brute guise,
When he veils the hate and cunning of his little, swinish eyes;
"When he shows as seeking quarter, with paws like hands in prayer
That is the time of peril -- the time of the Truce of the Bear!"
Eyeless, noseless, and lipless, asking a dole at the door,
Matun, the old blind beggar, he tells it o'er and o'er;
Fumbling and feeling the rifles, warming his hands at the flame,
Hearing our careless white men talk of the morrow's game;
Over and over the story, ending as he began: --
"There is no trnce with Adam-zad, the Bear that looks like a Man!"
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Nadowessian Death-Lament
See, he sitteth on his mat
Sitteth there upright,
With the grace with which he sat
While he saw the light.
Where is now the sturdy gripe,--
Where the breath sedate,
That so lately whiffed the pipe
Toward the Spirit great?
Where the bright and falcon eye,
That the reindeer's tread
On the waving grass could spy,
Thick with dewdrops spread?
Where the limbs that used to dart
Swifter through the snow
Than the twenty-membered hart,
Than the mountain roe?
Where the arm that sturdily
Bent the deadly bow?
See, its life hath fleeted by,--
See, it hangeth low!
Happy he!--He now has gone
Where no snow is found:
Where with maize the fields are sown,
Self-sprung from the ground;
Where with birds each bush is filled,
Where with game the wood;
Where the fish, with joy unstilled,
Wanton in the flood.
With the spirits blest he feeds,--
Leaves us here in gloom;
We can only praise his deeds,
And his corpse entomb.
Farewell-gifts, then, hither bring,
Sound the death-note sad!
Bury with him everything
That can make him glad!
'Neath his head the hatchet hide
That he boldly swung;
And the bear's fat haunch beside,
For the road is long;
And the knife, well sharpened,
That, with slashes three,
Scalp and skin from foeman's head
Tore off skilfully.
And to paint his body, place
Dyes within his hand;
Let him shine with ruddy grace
In the Spirit-land!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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