Georgia Dusk
The sky, lazily disdaining to pursue
The setting sun, too indolent to hold
A lengthened tournament for flashing gold,
Passively darkens for night's barbeque,
A feast of moon and men and barking hounds.
An orgy for some genius of the South
With blood-hot eyes and cane-lipped scented mouth,
Surprised in making folk-songs from soul sounds.
The sawmill blows its whistle, buzz-saws stop,
And silence breaks the bud of knoll and hill,
Soft settling pollen where plowed lands fulfill
Their early promise of a bumper crop.
Smoke from the pyramidal sawdust pile
Curls up, blue ghosts of trees, tarrying low
Where only chips and stumps are left to show
The solid proof of former domicile.
Meanwhile, the men, with vestiges of pomp,
Race memories of king and caravan,
High-priests, an ostrich, and a juju-man,
Go singing through the footpaths of the swamp.
Their voices rise...the pine trees are guitars,
Strumming, pine-needles fall like sheets of rain..
Their voices rise...the chorus of the cane
Is caroling a vesper to the stars..
O singers, resinous and soft your songs
Above the sacred whisper of the pines,
Give virgin lips to cornfield concubines,
Being dreams of Christ to dusky cane-lipped throngs.
poem by Jean Toomer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
For M.W.
There is no transcience of twilight in
The beauty of your soft dusk-dimpled face,
No flicker of a slender flame in space,
In crucibles, fragility crystalline.
There is no fragrance of the jessamine
About you, no pathos of some old place
At dusk, that crumbles like moth-eater lace
Beneath the touch. Nor has there ever been.
Your love is like the folk-song's flaming rise
In cane-lipped southern people, like their soul
Which burst its bondage in a bold travail;
Your voice is like them singing, soft and wise,
Your face, sweetly efflgent of the whole,
Inviolate of ways that would feile.
poem by Jean Toomer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Swamp Music
(ed king - ronnie vanzant)
Going down to the swamp
Gonna watch me a hound dog catch a coon
Well, Im going down to the swamp
Gonna watch me a hound dog catch a coon
You know the hounddog make-a music
On a summer night under a full moon
Lord, fetch my cane pole mama
Gonna catch a bream or maybe two
Lord, fetch my cane pole mama
Gonna catch a bream or maybe two
And when the hound dog start barkin
Sounds like ol son house singin the blues
(chorus)
Hound dog sing that
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
When the hound dog starts singin
I aint got them big ol city blues
Well, hey pretty mama
Lord, just take that city hike
Said go ahead pretty mama
Lord, just take your city hike
Well, Id rather live with the hound dogs
For the rest of my natural born life
(chorus)
Singing that
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Well, Id rather live with the hounddogs
For the rest of my natural born life
Well, Id wanna live with the hound dogs
For the rest of my natural born life
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song of the Son
Pour O pour that parting soul in song
O pour it in the sawdust glow of night
Into the velvet pine-smoke air tonight,
And let the valley carry it along.
And let the valley carry it along.
O land and soil, red soil and sweet-gum tree,
So scant of grass, so proligate of pines,
Now hust before an epoch's sun declines
Thy son, in time, I have returned to thee,
Thy son, I have in time returned to thee.
In time, for though the sun is setting on
A song-lit race of slaves, it has not set;
Though late, O soil, it is not too late yet
To catch thy plaintive soul, leaving, soon gone,
Leaving, to catch thy plaintive soul soon gone.
O Negro slaves, dark purple ripened plums,
Squeezed, and bursting in the pine-wood air,
Passing, before they stripped the old tree bare
One plum was saved for me, one seed becomes
an everlasting song, a singing tree,
Caroling softly souls of slavery,
What they were, and what they are to me,
Caroling softly souls of slavery.
poem by Jean Toomer
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Whispers of trees
Trees whisper of the coming winter
Leaves mutter among themselves
Seasons silently steal upon us…
As Falling streams from rocky shelves
Soft sibilant sighs, indistinct…incoherent
Nature’s voices, spoken through the dells
It’s the trees whisper… of the coming winter
The voices of Trolls, faeries and elves
Branches freeing…captive leaves fleeing
Limbs bleakly waving…in poignant farewell
Listen closely! …to the trees soft whisper
Of places of mystery…where legends dwell
Trees whisper the coming winter
Voices elusive…secretive as well
Hear the murmur of the wooded heart…
muted tumble of an acorn shell
Trees whisper…coming winter…
Tales that only trees can tell
poem by David Whalen
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Aint No More Cane
Aint no more cane on the brazos
Oh, oh, oh, oh...
Its all been ground down to molasses
Oh, oh- oh, oh- oh...
You shoulda been on the river in 1910
They were driving the women just like they drove the men.
Go down old hannah, doncha rise no more
Dont you rise up til judgment days for sure
Aint no more cane on the brazos
Its all been ground down to molasses
Captain, dont you do me like you done poor old shine
Well ya drove that bully til he went stone blind
Wake up on a lifetime, hold up your own head
Well you may get a pardon and then you might drop dead
Aint no more cane on the brazos
Its all been ground down to molasses.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Au Jardin
O you away high there,
you that lean
From amber lattices upon the cobalt night,
I am below amid the pine trees,
Amid the little pine trees, hear me!
'The jester walked in the garden.'
Did he so?
Well, there's no use your loving me
That way, Lady;
For I've nothing but songs to give you.
I am set wide upon the world's ways
To say that life is, some way, a gay thing,
But you never string two days upon one wire
But there'll come sorrow of it.
And I loved a love once,
Over beyond the moon there,
I loved a love once,
And, may be, more times,
But she danced like a pink moth in the shrubbery.
Oh, I know you women from the 'other folk',
And it'll all come right,
O' Sundays.
'The jester walked in the garden.'
Did he so?
poem by Ezra Pound
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Singers to Come
New delights to our desire
The singers of the past can yield.
I lift mine eyes to hill and field,
And see in them your yet dumb lyre,
poets unborn and unrevealed.
Singers to come, what thoughts will start
To song? What words of yours be sent
Through man's soul, and with earth be blent?
These words of nature and the heart
Await you like an instrument.
Who knows what musical flocks of words
Upon these pine-tree tops will light,
And crown these towers in circling flight,
And cross these seas like summer birds,
And give a voice to the day and night?
Something of you already is ours;
Some mystic part of you belongs
To us whose dream of your future throngs,
Who look on hills, and trees, and flowers,
Which will mean so much in your songs.
I wonder, like the maid who found,
And knelt to lift, the lyre supreme
Of Orpheus from the Thracian stream.
She dreams on its sealed past profound;
On a deep future sealed I dream.
She bears it in her wanderings
Within her arms, and has not pressed
Her unskilled fingers but her breast
Upon those silent sacred strings;
I, too, clasp mystic strings at rest.
For I, i' the world of lands and seas,
The sky of wind and rain and fire,
And in man's world of long desire--
In all that is yet dumb in these--
Have found a mysterious lyre.
poem by Alice Meynell
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Spring
Wake up again, sad heart, wake up again !
(I heard the birds this morning singing sweet.)
Wake up again ! The sky was crystal clear,
And washed quite clean with rain ;
And tar below my heart stirred with the year,
Stirred with the year and sighed. O pallid feet
Move now at last, O heart that sleeps with pain
Rise up and hear
The voices in the valleys, run to meet
The songs and shadows. O wake up again !
Put out green leaves, dead tree, put out green leaves t
(Last night the moon was soft and kissed the air.)
Put out green leaves ! The moon was in the skies,
All night she wakes and weaves.
The dew was on the grass like fairies' eyes,
Like fairies' eyes. O trees so black and bare,
Remember all the fruits, the full gold sheaves;
For nothing dies,
The songs that are, are silences that were,
Summer was Winter. O put but green leaves!
Break through the earth, pale flower, break through the earth !
(All day the lark has sung a madrigal.)
Break through the earth that lies not lightly yet
And waits thy patient birth,
Waits for the jonquil and the violet,
The violet. Full soon the heavy pall
Will be a bed, and in the noon of mirth
Some rivulet
Will bubble in my wilderness, some call
Will touch my silence. O break through the earth.
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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Companioned
I walked to-day, but not alone,
Adown a windy, sea-girt lea,
For memory, spendthrift of her charm,
Peopled the silent lands for me.
The faces of old comradeship
In golden youth were round my way,
And in the keening wind I heard
The songs of many an orient day.
And to me called, from out the pines
And woven grasses, voices dear,
As if from elfin lips should fall
The mimicked tones of yesteryear.
Old laughter echoed o'er the leas
And love-lipped dreams the past had kept,
From wayside blooms like honeyed bees
To company my wanderings crept.
And so I walked, but not alone,
Right glad companionship had I,
On that gray meadow waste between
Dim-litten sea and winnowed sky.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Deeper Then The Holler
( Paul Overstreet / Don Schlitz )
I've heard those city singers singing
'Bout how they can love
Deeper the the ocean
Higher then the stars above
Well, I come from the country
And I know I ain't seen it all
But I've heard that ocean's salty
And the stars, sometime they fall
And I would not do justice
To the way I feel for you
So I had to sing a song
About all the things I knew
CHORUS: My love is
Deeper then the holler
Stronger then the river
Higher then the pine trees
Growing tall upon the hill
My love is
Purer then the snowflakes
That fall in late December
Honest as a robin on a springtime window sill
Longer then then song of a
whippoorwill
From the backroads to the Broadway shows
With a million miles between
There's at least a million love songs
That people love to sing
Everyone is different
And everyone's the same
This is just another way
Of saying the same thing
(REPEAT CHORUS)
(REPEAT TAG)
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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C Is For Conifers
Most with cones for seeds, most with needles for leaves
C is for conifers, my kind of trees
Large junipers and fir, spruce, cedars and pines
C is for conifers, more then five hundred kinds
If you see a Christmas tree or a stack of newspapers or a 2x4 frame of a house
It's probably made from pine trees and pine trees are conifers, that's what this song is about
Or if you see a plant in the shape of an elephant, or in the shape of a dog
It's probably a shrub, a conifer shrub pruned into that shape by someone
Most with cones for seeds, most with needles for leaves
C is for conifers, my kind of trees
Large junipers and fir, spruce, cedars and pines
C is for conifers, more then five hundred kinds
Spoken: There are so many different kinds of conifer trees.
This is just a few of them: Spruce,
Hemlocks, larch, cyprus, juniper,
Fir, Douglas fir, cedar, yew,
Pine, the dwarf conifer,
And the great California sequoia redwood.
Most with cones for seeds, most with needles for leaves
C is for conifers, my kind of trees
Large junipers and fir, spruce, cedars and pines
C is for conifers, more then five hundred kinds
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Regeneration
The pine needles covered the ground like a carpet
and their fragrance was all around.
The pinecones scattered here and there
punctuated the ground.
The firs were thick, stately and tall
and had grown for many a year.
They grew with the company of each other
and it did appear
that all of the forest creatures
whether large or small
were content to see the pine needles
continuously fall.
All seemed peaceful and quiet
on the forest floor,
until the animals sensed a danger.
Then there came a roar.
Most feared by all the fir trees
a spark had created a flame
and as the animals ran for their life,
nothing was the same.
The fire spread and one by one
the firs were engulfed by smoke.
Unable to breathe, they stood their ground
and silently did choke.
Consumed by a blazing fire
they quietly went to sleep.
The sweet pine aroma was absent
and into the air did creep
a sorrow for all of the trees that died
that once had stood so high.
The rain that came to cleanse the ground
was a gift to them from the sky.
For they would begin to grow again
from the rain and sun that shone.
The firs would grow and regenerate
and then would come the cone.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Voices
EACH small gleam was a voice
-A lantern voice-
In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
A chorus of colors came over the water;
The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered,
No pines crooned on the hills
The blue night was elsewhere a silence
When the chorus of colors came over the water,
Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
Small glowing pebbles
Thrown on the dark plane of evening
Sing good ballads of God
And eternity, with soul's rest.
Little priests, little holy fathers
None can doubt the truth of your hymning
When the marvelous chorus comes over the water
Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Each Small Gleam Was a Voice
Each small gleam was a voice,
A lantern voice --
In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
A chorus of colours came over the water;
The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered,
No pines crooned on the hills,
The blue night was elsewhere a silence,
When the chorus of colours came over the water,
Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
Small glowing pebbles
Thrown on the dark plane of evening
Sing good ballads of God
And eternity, with soul's rest.
Little priests, little holy fathers,
None can doubt the truth of your hymning,
When the marvellous chorus comes over the water,
Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ultima Thule: The Poet And His Songs
As the birds come in the Spring,
We know not from where;
As the stars come at evening
From depths of the air;
As the rain comes from the cloud,
And the brook from the ground;
As suddenly, low or loud,
Out of silence a sound;
As the grape comes to the vine,
The fruit to the tree;
As the wind comes to the pine,
And the tide to the sea;
As come the white sails of ships
O'er the ocean's verge;
As comes the smile to the lips,
The foam to the surge;
So come to the Poet his songs,
All hitherward blown
From the misty realm, that belongs
To the vast Unknown.
His, and not his, are the lays
He sings; and their fame
Is his, and not his; and the praise
And the pride of a name.
For voices pursue him by day,
And haunt him by night,
And he listens, and needs must obey,
When the Angel says: 'Write!'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Show Me
We got the same beat runnin round
Through this crazy town
Oh Im sick and I cant hear it anymore
And when we touched as the blood and the rain
Wed be shakin the ground
Shes sick and theres a way to bring her round
Show me what youre waitin for
This moment may not rise again
And your heart will never know
Show me what youre waitin for
The voices may not rise again
And the world will never know
The party drags us over the edge to a poison shore
I cant carry this desire anymore
Across the blue sky callin me with the sweetest demand
She talks to me of mercy make me understand
Show me what youre waitin for
This moment may not rise again
And your heart will never know
Show me what youre waitin for
The voices may not rise again
And the world will never know
And through these years
As the tears chase the rain
The picture has cleared
Can we face the change
Show me what youre waitin for
The voices may not rise again
And the world will never know
Show me what youre waitin for
This moment may not rise again
And your heart will never know
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When It's Sleepy Time Down South
Pale moon shining on the fields below
Folks are crooning songs soft and low
Needn't tell me so because I know
It's sleepy time down south
Soft winds blowing through the pinewood trees
Folks down there like a life of ease
When old mammy falls upon her knees
It's sleepy time down south
Steamboats on the river a coming or a going
Splashing the night away
Hear those banjos ringing, the people are singing
They dance til the break of day, hey
Dear old southland with his dreamy songs
Takes me back there where I belong
How I'd love to be in my mammy's arms
When it's sleepy time way down south
Dear old southland with his dreamy songs
Take me back there where I belong
How I'd love to be in my mammy's arms
When it's sleepy time down south
Sleepy time down south
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night Medley
O holy night the stars are brightly shining
This is the night of our dear saviors birth
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till he appeared and his soul felt its worth
At thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels voices
O night divine
O night when christ was born
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels voices
O night divine
O night when christ was born
O come o ye faithful
Joyful and triumphant
O come ye o come ye to bethlehem
Come and behold him, born the king of angels
O come let us adore him
O come let us adore him
O come let us adore him christ the lord.
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels voices
O night divine
O night when christ was born
Oh night divine o night o holy
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Woah
Oh holy night
When jesus was born
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Look at those stars in the sky
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Jesus was born tonight
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blow Your House Down
She did go
She got my jokes
Sit why we win
Go by the sin
Get high, get quick
Get bopping on a stick
Hollywood
Shake by go
Get barking in sin
Get high with the folks
Get down in the swim
Don't you walk away
I want you baby
How does it feel
When you're meet her in your home
How does it feel
When you feel her, let it go
Bono: "break."
Bono: "turn that guitar up there."
Sugar sugar sugar sugar sugar
Sugar sugar sugar sugar sugar
Sugar sugar sugar sugar sugar
Ah, it ain't over child
Your racing car
Raised by the boldness
You know you are
Your lips like cherries
And they call to me
I wasn't in the bottle
Next to me
I'm down by the call
Maybe the sun
Where nobody feels
They gotta give it and go
She's...gonna take her chances
Gonna take her chances
And you don't
Jump...you're gonna be the tele'
Is there anybody calling
Is anybody home
Anybody home
'body home
Anybody home
Bono: "just drums."
She likes it
Little bit of sky
Locked in the ocean
Bitty bitty sky
On a crutch rate
Country
Some scratch for it
Others snatch for it
Can't scrape for it
Can't escape for it
Check it out for it
Turn a sip for it
Some slip from it
Others strip for it
Any grip for it
What is it
What is it
What is it
Some preach for it
Even teach for it
Like a leash to it
Can't be teaching them
All crawl for it
Still stall for it
All fall for it
When you jump for it
Some slash for it
Others stash for it
Some cash into it
Others smash for it
Do lines for it
Break rhymes for it
Do crimes for it
Do time for it
Sugar cane, sugar cane
Sugar cane, sugar cane
Sugar cane, sugar cane
Sure...we're gonna take our chances
To turn and seek you
Couldn't go
Bono: "and again."
Sure...we're without a reason
I'm calling out for love
Is there anybody home
Bono: "nice."
Ray got caught
Her fingers in the till
Sent us home
Money came to will
Frank came home
With a black and blue
Working at the station
Where he can't break through
Was working on the coin
On the union stand
With a digital aid
And a union band
Saw a moving statue
Saw the bullet train
And a sheltered city
Where clowns scream
Our move ruined it
Saw the money god
Brothers say by a ring
Others sat by the brim
Tonight high-q site
Want these inocent
Bing-bang
And the big bang
Big bang, big bang
Die...like a butterfly
Die...like a butterfly
Die...like i'm gonna die
Die...like a moon in charge
Die...
Midnight...is where the day begins
Midnight...
Bono: "edge.
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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THE Pine
Shaft of beauty towering heavenly high
Dropping fragrances on passers by
Swaying in the Autumn breeze
The tall majestic pine trees
Shedding it's cones to the ground
Swaddled in needles all around
Fragrant and green in the snow
Ancient trees how tall they grow
Cooling dark green pines orth
Evergreen needles reaching forth
Like a sentry standing saluting the sky
Raising up through the clouds so high
Summer and winter under boughs spread
Snows of centuries have crowned your head
The fragrance of virtue of the pine
Rises to the heavens so sublime.
Orth - Straight.
poem by Hazel Connelly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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