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Musings on the North West

Domestic cattle quiet will graze where now the Buffalos roam,
and in spots now covered o'er with Indian Wigwams,
where white men never trod, cities will occupy their
sites with busy trade, and millions throng from Eastern
lands to take possession of the great North-West; then
Winnipeg, perchance, may be the capital of the Domin-
ion. In the days fortold, when this indeed shall be the
'Greater Britain,' with Ontario's towns for work shops
for this vast Prairie land.

' And poets will arise and high their lays will soar,
Worthy of the muse of a Burns or a Moore,'
A Shakespeare and a Milton, the great and the wise
Will sing of the glories of our Northern skies ;
Of its lakes and rivers, and its mountains grand,
Of its fertile plains and great prairie land.
A fit theme for song this empire gigantic
Whose arms stretch from Pacific to Atlantic.

poem by James McIntyre
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The Joys of Prairie Farmers

We let Ontario farmers sing
About the joys the woods do bring,
But we, in regions of North-West
Do think prairie farms the best,
For those poor men who swing the axe
On their strength 'tis a heavy tax ;
For several years they naught can grow,
While from the first we plow and sow,
And while we plow we dont get thumps
By running it against the stumps ;
And where wild buffalo now doth feed
There very soon we'll sow the seed ;
Where Indian wigwams now do stand
Will be the site of cities grand,
And where the deer and wolf doth roam
Millions will build each happy home,
So quick as if by magic wand
They will arise o'er the whole land ;
But this one fact we wont deny
Ontario, she can supply,
For so skilfully she doth invent
Each agricultural implement.

poem by James McIntyre
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Nuptial Ode on Canada

Written during the visit of delegates from the Lower Provinces
to negotiate for confederation.

Hail Britannia's noblest daughter,
Who is surrounded by the water
Of many a lake and broad sea,
Land of Beaver and Maple Tree.

Her lofty brow is wreathed with smiles,
For, from the far Atlantic isles
In pomp, have come their delegates,
All seeking to unite their fates

With Canada, great Northern Queen.
And now, throughout the land, is seen
High festival and stately dance,
Triumphant nuptials to advance.

And soon shall Red River valley
And distant Vancouver, rally
To form this empire gigantic,
From Pacific to Atlantic.

poem by James McIntyre
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Watching You, Watching Me, Watching You, Watching Everyone

So this is Great Britain
A green and pleasant land?
The home of CCTV Camera’s
To get speeding drivers banned

So this is Great Britain
The welfare state, & NHS
Great British Institutions?
Some think they’re in a mess

So this Is Great Britain
That once ruled the waves
An Empire and a Commonwealth?
Now issues ASBO’s if one misbehaves

So this is Great Britain
The Mother of Democracy?
The House of Commons and Lords
Ensuring justice & liberty?

So this is Great Britain
Where God saves the Queen
A land of hope & glory?
You can vote at age eighteen

So this is Great Britain
Are the pensioners in poverty?
They’ve never had it so good?
They’re all having a nice cup of tea

So this is Great Britain
A class system breeding inequality
Education, Education, Education?
Needing a dose of political honesty

So this is Great Britain
Still the mother of the free?
The police, council, & MI5
Are watching you or watching me

poem by Gordon David
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Abandoned Prairie

A house sits empty
Upon the plains,
Left so suddenly
To bear it's own pains -
The windows broken
Doors open,
Dust walks right in...
and right out again.

No other homes
Any where in sight,
It moans alone
In the darkest part of night -
Sitting isolated on the Western prairie
Holding memories too strong to bury,
It looks and longs
For all who are gone...
From this country so solitary.

The abandoned prairie
Laughs in the wind,
At those intruders
Who tried in vain to tame this indefinate land -
With their weak cattle
To replace the buffalo,
And wretched reservations to capture
The proud Indian people of long ago.

Where are these invaders now, and
How shall they be found,
Lying so still
In the cold prairie ground.
And yet, the endless wind blows on
Singing so contrary,
The only one to never
Abandon the lonesome prairie.

poem by Smoky Hoss
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Canadian Rivers and Lake

We have here a sight as fair
As bonnie Doon or banks of Ayr.
Like modest worth, meandering slow,
The quiet waters gently flow.
Rose, Thistle, Shamrock, all combine
Around the Maple Leaf to twine-
Whose outstretched arms, so gigantic,
Clasps Pacific and Atlantic.
Embracing lakes like burnished gold,
With joy a Shakespeare might behold,
For either poet Barns or Moore *
Such scenery they would adore.

poem by James McIntyre
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A Song

well i hate to sing this song
this song written in black on white
the black words so prominent on the white sheet
in the proclamation of democracy
well, is there at all democracy in Whitman's world or to be exact
white men's world? Whitman's song of a great land and love of comrades how deceptive, unloving
oh what a black discovery to know that poets
too could be blinded to the real state of the world
racism, injustice; the loads of chained souls that arrived to greet
the Statue of Liberty, epitome of world freedom
in actuality always chained, mocked in black and white
oh the repair of the Statue a hundred years later
the main desire to whitewash it, whiten it
the last thing the statue should turn is black
this great land, how i wish the vision of liberty
would be viewed in the the Chinese principle of Ying and Yang
an equilibrium of black and white contributing to
a wholesome mind, body, spirit
in the plain of the wild i i cry out a justice song
day and night, of white light that brightens the dark night
and white stars that coujld only glitter sparkle like diamonds
in the darkness of the night

inspired by

A Song
COME, I will make the continent indissoluble;
I will make the most splendid race the sun ever yet shone upon;
I will make divine magnetic lands,
With the love of comrades,
With the life-long love of comrades.
I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of
America, and along the shores of the great lakes, and all over
the prairies;
I will make inseparable cities, with their arms about each other's
necks;
By the love of comrades,
By the manly love of comrades.
For you these, from me, O Democracy, to serve you, ma femme! 10
For you! for you, I am trilling these songs,
In the love of comrades,
In the high-towering love of comrades.
Walt Whitman

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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America

NOR force nor fraud shall sunder us! O ye
Who north or south, on east or western land,
Native to noble sounds, say truth for truth,
Freedom for freedom, love for love, and God
For God; O ye who in eternal youth
Speak with a living and creative flood
This universal English, and do stand
Its breathing book; live worthy of that grand
Heroic utterance—parted, yet a whole,
Far yet unsever’d,—children brave and free
Of the great Mother-tongue, and ye shall be
Lords of an empire wide as Shakespeare’s soul,
Sublime as Milton’s immemorial theme,
And rich as Chaucer’s speech, and fair as Spenser’s dream.

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Fata Morgana

O sweet illusions of song
That tempt me everywhere,
In the lonely fields, and the throng
Of the crowded thoroughfare!

I approach and ye vanish away,
I grasp you, and ye are gone;
But ever by night and by day,
The melody soundeth on.

As the weary traveller sees
In desert or prairie vast,
Blue lakes, overhung with trees
That a pleasant shadow cast;

Fair towns with turrets high,
And shining roofs of gold,
That vanish as he draws nigh,
Like mists together rolled --

So I wander and wander along,
And forever before me gleams
The shining city of song,
In the beautiful land of dreams.

But when I would enter the gate
Of that golden atmosphere,
It is gone, and I wonder and wait
For the vision to reappear.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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It's The Conquerors Who Write The History

As they chased the wild bison on horse back they whooped and cheered loud
And they were great hunters so noble and proud
But now on the prairies the bison are rare
And the people who hunted them no longer there.

Of the great Northern Land the first people till the invaders came
And their tragic dispossession is a thing of great shame
Conquered and put into reservations for to grow old and die
The rights of Indigenous people to them did not apply.

It's the conquerors who write history as we have been told
And men they have murdered for Land and for Gold
But what matters most when history we trace
That a Country's first people must take pride of place.

You great country singers with your golden guitars,
You politicians and tycoons and billionaire movie stars
There once was a people far greater than you
And to Mother Nature they were far more true.

And the workings of Nature they did understand
And they were the people who cared for the Land
And they were displaced and oppressed and down trod
By those who believed in a different God.

They once were great warriors, wise, noble and proud
And they gave us Chief Seattle and wise Chief White Cloud
And their profound words of wisdom still living today
And such things of great beauty will never decay.

The truth may seem bitter but the truth we must face
That a Country's first people should take pride of place
And around the World Indigenous people are not treated well
Though they have such marvellous stories to tell.

The conquerors write the history as conquerors do
But to the true history they never are true
And the conquered the history never will write
And we are conditioned to believe that might is always right.

The changes keep happening and nothing seem to last
And the great herds of bison a thing of the past
And those who once hunted them were locked away
And in reservations were forced for to stay.

Out on the lone prairie their ghosts still reside
At midnight the hunters their spotted horses ride
As they chase the wild bison across the great plain
The past in the moonlight comes to life again.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Big Chief Woolley Bosher

In the land they call the west
On the praries virgin crest
Lived a great man and his braves
And he led them to their graves
Big chief plays with baby son
The work of the indian today is done
Life is easy, life is grand
til there is white man, gun in hand
Started out when settlers came
And built their homes on the indian range
Big chief woolly bosher liked it none
Traded with a bad man for a gun
Big chief looks out at his great land
Locomotive on the prairie stands
Life that leak from the city in the east
Let us destroy that iron beast
Big chief rides on the trail tonight
Tread the land for which he must fight
In their fight for love and glory
Some indians were saved
They lived to tell the story
And woolly bosher prays
Big chief rides on the trail tonight
Soldier boys marching in the morning light
Bring the guns, bring the bows
Lets blow them into heaven lets see if God knows
One hundred men must have to die
When a thousand soldiers look you in the eye
Big chief sees his men fall round
The soldiers kill and the bugle sounds
In their fight for love and glory
No indians were saved
And big chief woolly bosher
Had written on his grave
He has done no wrong
Except being bold

song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let us be like rivers, Love

The Table shall never meet the Fuji again
Let us be like rivers, Love
Great rivers, not mountains!
On their epic journey to grace
The Land of the gods with much needed hope
Where an arid desert is the ‘mirror of heaven’
Great rivers run from a Great Lake
Ignorant of borders, boundaries or nationalities
They run
But no matter how long or how apart they grow
Great rivers are sure to become one sometime
At the edge of some distant sea

poem by LLM Mbatha
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The Kansas Emigrants

THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS.
WE cross the prairie as of old
The pilgrims crossed the sea,
To make the West, as they the East,
The homestead of the free!
We go to rear a wall of men
On Freedom's southern line,
And plant beside the cotton-tree
The rugged Northern pine!
We're flowing from our native hills
As our free rivers flow;
The blessing of our Mother-land
Is on us as we go.
We go to plant her common schools,
On distant prairie swells,
And give the Sabbaths of the wild
The music of her bells.
Upbearing, like the Ark of old,
The Bible in our van,
We go to test the truth of God
Against the fraud of man.
No pause, nor rest, save where the streams
That feed the Kansas run,
Save where our Pilgrim gonfalon
Shall flout the setting sun!
We'll tread the prairie as of old
Our fathers sailed the sea,
And make the West, as they the East,
The homestead of the free!

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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His Land

Yes it is his land, all of it his
He stepped it off and marked it there,...stepped it off and marked it there
To be his ugly thoroughfare,...to be his ugly thoroughfare
And he blessed it with his hand,...yes its a great land, all of it is
And as it blooms before our eyes,...as it blooms before our eyes
Just like an eden paradise,...like an eden paradise
The world will understand,...world will understand...this is his land
Slowly from hiding but surely they come
Back to the homeland their fathers will front
Israel their citadel, israel their home
Now they are here at last never to roam
Here they will stay and bring life to the land
Its a new day and with boldness they walk, tall and so straight
See them stand
Yes it is his land, all of it his
He stepped it off and marked it there...stepped it off and marked it there
To be his ugly thoroughfare,...to be his ugly thoroughfare
And then he blessed it with his land,...yes its a great land, all of it is
And as blooms before our eyes,...as it blooms before our eyes
Like an eden paradise,...like an eden paradise
The world will understand,...world will understand...this is his land
Rich fertile valleys of russet and gold, carpets of green over mountains
Unfold
Harvest of plenty so joyous and bright, her fields her treasures
Magnificent sight
This is the israel promised of old, this is the miracle happening now
As ages in prophets fortold
Yes it is his land......

song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The quill worker

Plains, plains, and the prairie land which the sunlight floods and fills,
To the north the open country, southward the Cyprus Hills;
Never a bit of woodland, never a rill that flows,
Only a stretch of cactus beds, and the wild, sweet prairie rose;
Never a habitation, save where in the far south-west
A solitary tepee lifts its solitary crest,
Where Neykia in the doorway, crouched in the red sunshine,
Broiders her buckskin mantle with the quills of the porcupine.

Neykia, the Sioux chief's daughter, she with the foot that flies,
She with the hair of midnight and the wondrous midnight eyes,
She with the deft brown fingers, she with the soft, slow smile,
She with the voice of velvet and the thoughts that dream the while,--
"Whence come the vague to-morrows? Where do the yesters fly?
What is beyond the border of the prairie and the sky?
Does the maid in the Land of Morning sit in the red sunshine,
Broidering her buckskin mantle with the quills of the porcupine?"

So Neykia, in the westland, wonders and works away,
Far from the fret and folly of the "Land of Waking Day."
And many the pale-faced trader who stops at the tepee door
For a smile from the sweet, shy worker, and a sigh when the hour is o'er.
For they know of a young red hunter who oftentimes has stayed
To rest and smoke with her father, tho' his eyes were on the maid;
And the moons will not be many ere she in the red sunshine
Will broider his buckskin mantle with the quills of the porcupine.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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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
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Don't Forget who is your Father

God is Great
He created you and me so ladies and gentleman
he is the only person to praise and pray
Cause some of us we pray Alan people you pray him
who is him God is the one who created us
so guys help me to Thank him every time i'm sick i call him cause
he is the hiller the killer of diseases in the world
Help me to sing.
How great is our God sing with me how great is our God
all we sing is how great is our God age to age praise his
Great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great great great great great

GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD..

Thank you Help me pliz.

poem by Ruvimbo Daisy Matsika
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