Clock-O'-Clay
In the cowslip pips I lie,
Hidden from the buzzing fly,
While green grass beneath me lies,
Pearled with dew like fishes' eyes,
Here I lie, a clock-o'-clay,
Waiting for the time o' day.
While the forest quakes surprise,
And the wild wind sobs and sighs,
My home rocks as like to fall,
On its pillar green and tall;
When the pattering rain drives by
Clock-o'-clay keeps warm and dry.
Day by day and night by night,
All the week I hide from sight;
In the cowslip pips I lie,
In the rain still warm and dry;
Day and night and night and day,
Red, black-spotted clock-o'-clay.
My home shakes in wind and showers,
Pale green pillar topped with flowers,
Bending at the wild wind's breath,
Till I touch the grass beneath;
Here I live, lone clock-o'-clay,
Watching for the time of day.
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Voice On The Wind
I
She walks with the wind on the windy height
When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
And all night long she calls through the night,
'O my children, come home!'
Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud,
Tosses around her like a shroud,
While over the deep her voice rings loud,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
II
Who is she who wanders alone,
When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown?
Who walks all night and makes her moan,
'O my children, come home!'
Whose face is raised to the blinding gale;
Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale,
While over the world goes by her wail,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
III
She walks with the wind in the windy wood;
The dark rain drips from her hair and hood,
And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued,
'O my children, come home!'
Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear,
The owl and the fox crouch back with fear,
As wild through the wood her voice they hear,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
IV
Who is she who shudders by
When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly?
Who walks all night with her wailing cry,
'O my children, come home!'
Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue,
With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung,
Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
V
'Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees,
The mother of Death and of Mysteries,
Who cries on the wind all night to these,
'O my children, come home!'
The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain,
Calling her children home again,
Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have some green grapes at their best
I have some green grapes at their best
And I am waiting for you to pass by
For these grapes are of such great taste
It is the truth so I swear and so I sigh
They were raised upon mountains high
where the wind softly blow
and a herd of wild horses feeds nigh
on tall grass blades rooted grow
So this is why my grapes are so sweet
The mountain spring by them lead
Tall reeds guard the gates
To keep out the ugly crow’s gait
Quietly my green grapes wait
For the clock sounds the hour late
What makes you hesitate?
What makes you not keep your date?
Therefore my grapes are so sad
And I am waiting not have gone yet to bed
But here I hear approaching steps from the south
My green grapes are full of hopes for your mouth
But still I am so lonely and sad
Since to bring flowers you forbade
May be next year you change your mind
And to my request you be more kind
And I will bring you flowers from the bowers
Wet with rain of rainbow showers
copy rights 2010
Stone
The days have passed, nights are gone,
I'm still in love with a stone,
The seasons changed, the clay too came,
I still hold it with no moan,
The clay comes to me in so many shapes,
Wants me to hold it, whatever it may take,
But clay can hurt me, clay may fake,
Even if it's clay, I have a heart it can break,
The season may change,
The clay may go,
Slowing my heart beat,
All time low,
Stone is hard,
Stone is black,
Stone is emotionless,
Doesn't stab at back,
The clay, the stone, both make me die,
But if a stone does, even the clay may cry...
and I'll never ask why...
It's better to live with a stone,
not clay,
Clay is soft, but it hurts,
which is not the stone's way.....
poem by Apurva Jain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mara
A dry leaf scrapes across dry clay
giving Mara's game away.
The clock cuts into hours each day
to keep Eternity at bay.
Eternity outwaits the clock
and Mara's game is back on track.
The master-key clicks shut the lock
which stops the clock from turning back.
Leaf and clay must
meet in dust.
(And Mara's game is back on track.)
poem by Brian Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem Song
I like to call you my wild horse
(and feed you silver sage ? )
Id like to paint my poems with
Desert tongued clay across her back
And ride you savagely as the sweet and southern wind
Through green and wild kentucky
Id like to make you my secret song
Blaze and dark and red in the orchards
And I would steal away to watch the way
Your silver belly bends and bows beneath me
Id make you my wings in the foothills of montana
My lover in the oceans of the world
Id make you... of children
And I would scatter you across my green memories of home
Id make you my hungry valley
And sow your golden fields and wheats my own
If I were a painter
I would paint you with this note
Silver traces on your skin
And if I were a writer
I would write these words on your back
In desert tongue clay, deep in (your wind? )
Id make you my secret song
Blazing in the orchard
And I would steal away
To watch the way your silver belly
Bends and bows beneath me
Id make you my wings in the foothills of montana
Make you my lover in the oceans of the world
Id make you my calico children
And I would scatter you across my green memories of home
Id be your hungry valley
And Id sow your golden fields of wheat my own
If I were a writer
I would make you my wild horse
Id paint you silver sage and
Ride you savagely through green wild country
(? ? ? ) swedish verses
And you are the rose on my alter
I worship you eternally in flight
Like the wave ?
Ill dip you in these praises like cobwebs
And watch them....?
For your hair is the rain
And it soaks across the continents of my skin
These hands that worship you so completely
You see this woman standing before you
Naked and seared, true of intent,
I dont need you
I want you near
For you are my love
You are my flower of the sun
You are my lover for all time
You wake in the morning
For your sun(flowers? )
You wake in the morning
With your kiss
Ill be your hungry valley
And sow your golden fields of wheat...?
And you are the rose on my alter
I worship you eternally in flight
Like the wave ?
You be my calico children
Ill scatter you across my green memories of home
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Five O'Clock 500
Album: For The Record
Just punched the clock and boy am I ready
Walkin' out the door a-headin' home
It's time to buckle up again
In my rolling hunk of tin
It's quittin' time the evenin' race is on
It's that five o'clock 500 and I run it every day
Pick-up trucks, cars and buses all in my way
We've got Darrel, we've got Dale,
Richard, Mark, Rusty and Jeff
Oh, the boss just dropped the green we're on our way
It's that five o'clock 500 every day
Oh, Bubba's runnin' right on my bumper
Pushin' me but there's no where to go
Lane changin' left and right
Blowin' horns and blinkin' lights
Oh, the fast lane has never been so slow
It's that five o'clock 500 and I run it every day
Pick-up trucks, cars and buses all in my way
We've got Darrel, we've got Dale,
Richard, Mark, Rusty and Jeff
Well, the boss just dropped the green we're on our way
It's that five o'clock 500 every day
Well, the caution is out we're at a stand-still
Heard there's construction up ahead
Won't be long so they say
Soon we'll all be on our way
Some trucker on the CB just said
It's that five o'clock 500 and I run it every day
Pick-up trucks, cars and buses all in my way
We've got Darrel, we've got Dale,
Richard, Mark, Rusty and Jared
Oh, the boss just dropped the green we're on our way
It's that five o'clock 500, five o'clock 500,
Five o'clock 500 every day
Every day, every day, every day...
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alabama Clay
First time he saw the ground get busted
He was ten and it was 1952
His daddy worked hard from sunup to sundown
And the goin got tough behind them ol grey mules
The farm grew to be a moneymaker
And the house he lived in grew up room by room
The boy worked hard but soon got tired of farmin
So he slipped away one night neath the harvest moon
His neck was red as alabama clay
But the citys call pulled him away
Hes got a factory job and runs a big machine
He dont miss the farm or the fields of green
Now the citys just a prison without fences
His job is just a routine he cant stand
And at night he dreams of wide-open spaces
Fresh dirt between his toes and on his hands
Then one day a picture came inside a letter
Of a young girl with a baby in her arms
And the words she wrote would change his life forever
So he went to raise his family on the farm
His neck is red as alabama clay
Now hes goin home this time to stay
Where the roots run deep on the family tree
And the tractor rolls through the fields of green
His neck is red as alabama clay
Now hes goin home this time to stay
Where the roots run deep on the family tree
And the tractor rolls through the fields of green
His neck is red as alabama clay
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green Green Grass Of Home
The old home town looks the same as I step off the train
Meeting every train in my mind's eye till the man in mail came
Hair like gold, lips like cherry
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
Green, green grass of home, green green grass of home.
Only dream I know of is to be found hair like gold, lips like a cherry
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me, on the steps of my sweet dream
It's good I dreamt the green, green grass of home
I wait and look around me at the broken walls that surround me
And out here I was on the ground.
There's a garden in the path of progress unharmed through winter's day break
Then I'll touch the green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me from the chains of the old dark hollow
The green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me on the steps, my sweet dream
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Clock Keeps Ticking
I want alone to be
I want to drown in lonely sea
But the clock keeps ticking
I want to stop
I want to forever halt
But the clock keeps beating
I want to run
I want far away from land
But the clock keeps pursuing
I want to hide
I no more want to think of fight
But the clock keeps shouting
I want to rest
I want in dream hibernate
But the clock keeps breaking
I want to sing
I want to strengthen the spring
But the clock keeps shaking
I want to only follow
I no longer want to know
But the clock keeps pumping
I want to hurt
I don’t care if I should hate
But the clock keeps moving
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Can We See That Far
Amy grant/tom hemby
Copyright 1991 age to age music, inc./edward grant, inc./puxico music (ascap), adm. by reunion music group, inc.
We said our promises by candlelight
You hold my hands, I was dressed in white
We were young
How can we see that far?
How can we see that far?
I knew I wanted you like no one else
I told my momma that Id found myself
In your eyes
How can we see that far?
How can we see that far?
But like your daddy said
The same sun that melts the wax can harden clay
And the same rain that drowns the rat will grow the hay
And the mighty wind that knocks us down
If we lean into it
Will drive our fears away.
And when I woke in the dead of night
To hold my hands, push away the fright
Life had come--a son
How can we see that far?
Yeah, we were nervous and a little scared
Until the music of our babys cry
Filled the air
How can we see that far?
But like your daddy said
The same sun that melts the wax can harden clay
And the same rain that drowns the rat will grow the hay
And the mighty wind that knocks us down
If we lean into it
Will drive our fears away.
We might die
We might live
We could hurt each other badly
Do things, things so hard to forgive
Ooooh, and if time is not our friend
Your mind might forget me before the end
And oh, I cannot
I cannot look that far.
But like your daddy said
How can we see that far?
The same sun that melts the wax can harden clay
And the same rain that drowns the rat will grow the hay
And the mighty wind that knocks us down
If we lean into it
How can we see that far?
Got to lean into it
Will drive our fears away
Its the same sun, yeah
And the same rain
Its the same sun
And the same rain.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green Grapes
I have some green grapes at their best
And I am waiting for you to pass by
For these grapes are of such great taste
It is the truth so I swear and so I sigh
They were raised upon mountains high
where the wind softly murmur and blow
And a herd of wild horses feeds nigh
On tall grass blades rooted grow
So this is why my grapes are so sweet
The mountain spring by them lead
Tall reeds guard the fenced gates
To keep out the ugly crow’s gait
Quietly my green grapes wait
For the clock sounds the hour late
What makes you hesitate?
What makes you not keep your date?
Therefore my green grapes with me are so sad
And I am waiting not have gone yet to bed
If you only give your saint like smile in a glance
My face will be covered with happy countenance
But here I hear approaching steps from the south
My green grapes are full of hopes for your mouth
But still I am so lonely and sad
Since to bring flowers you forbade
May be next year you change your mind
And to my request you be more kind
And I will bring you flowers from the bowers
Wet with rain of rainbow showers
A flimsy fancy flattered my mind
Yet again it seemed overbold
If you can just love me for a while short
I always consider you gentle and kind
But sometimes you are remote and cold
May be my approaches are too bold
And most hurtful are your scorns
Sharp and fierce worse than a thousand thorns
Alas, I hear no more sound where I stand
But the rivulet on from the lawn
Running down to the wood sand
And my fear like an evil feeling drawn
My hopes diminished that you eat my green grapes
And feel my pangs and heart aches
This is why I keep talking to my green grapes
So one day you feel my pains and shakes
So please be kind and rethink again
And let me bring you flowers from the plain
Flowers are so much nicer and have various scents
Although green grapes are my dear loyal friends
copy rights 2010
Green, Green Grass Of Home
(words & music by claude putman, jr.)
The old home town looks the same,
As I step down from the train,
And there to meet me is my mama and papa
Down the road I look and there runs mary
Hair of gold and lips like cherries
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home
Yes, theyll all be there to meet me,
All creatures smiling sweetly
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home
The old house is still standing,
Though the paint is cracked and dry
And theres an old oak tree that I used to play on
Down the lane Ill walk with my sweet mary
Hair of gold and lips like cherries
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home
Then I awake and look around me
Cold gray walls surround me
And I realize that I was only dreamin
Theres a guard and theres a sad old padre
Arm and arm well walk at daybreak
Again Ill touch the green, green grass of home
Yes, theyll all be there to meet me
In the shadow of that old oak tree
As they lay me beneath the green, green grass of home
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come Home, Father!
'Tis The
SONG OF LITTLE MARY,
Standing at the bar-room door
While the shameful midnight revel
Rages wildly as before.
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes one;
You said you were coming right home from the shop,
As soon as your day's work was done.
Our fire has gone out our house is all dark
And mother's been watching since tea, --
With poor brother Benny so sick in her arms,
And no one to help her but me. --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes two;
The night has grown colder, and Benny is worse
But he has been calling for you.
Indeed he is worse Ma says he will die,
Perhaps before morning shall dawn; --
And this is the message she sent me to bring
"Come quickly, or he will be gone." --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes three;
The house is so lonely the hours are so long
For poor weeping mother and me.
Yes, we are alone poor Benny is dead,
And gone with the angels of light; --
And these were the very last words that he said
"I want to kiss Papa good night." --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When the wind sighs
When the wind sighs
When the wind sighs
The blind-fold statue sings
The faces of the skies are dark
And the cloud flies.
When the wind sighs
From the door-crevice in
It begs to enter in
How darker are the shadows on the walls
How sad how sad the flame wavers
As on the wall it flickers:
When the wind sighs
The sea’s black turns to green
And on the city-bastions tall
The first chill blow of wind
The first chill dropp of rain
And in the alley strait
Rain-waters gurgle down
The old stone-cobbled streets:
When the wind sighs
When the wind sighs.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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At Six O'clock
I heard the Ave Maria at six o'clock,
Today hear crimes on the radio at six o'clock.
I watched The Little Princess on tv at six o'clock,
Today watch explicit sex at six o’clock.
I was playing catch-up with my friends at six o'clock,
Today lonely children play atari at six o'clock.
I drank hot soup at six o’clock,
Today guys smoke crack at six o'clock.
I prayed to the guardian angel at six o'clock,
Today they kill people at six o'clock.
I studied algebra at six o'clock,
Today are planned crimes at six o'clock.
I was happy at six o'clock,
Today are all scared at six o'clock.
Parody in honor of Llorca
poem by Aschelminto Da Silva
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The Nurse's Watch
From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn'
The moon it shines,
My darling whines;
The clock strikes twelve:--God cheer
The sick both far and near.
God knoweth all;
Mousy nibbles in the wall;
The clock strikes one:--like day,
Dreams o'er thy pillow play.
The matin-bell
Wakes the nun in convent cell;
The clock strikes two:--they go
To choir in a row.
The wind it blows,
The cock he crows;
The clock strikes three:--the wagoner
In his straw bed begins to stir.
The steed he paws the floor,
Creaks the stable door;
The clock strikes four:--'tis plain
The coachman sifts his grain.
The swallow's laugh the still air shakes,
The sun awakes;
The clock strikes five:--the traveler must be gone,
He puts his stockings on.
The hen is clacking,
The ducks are quacking;
The clock strikes six:--awake, arise,
Thou lazy hag; come, ope thy eyes.
Quick to the baker's run;
The rolls are done;
The clock strikes seven:--
'Tis time the milk were in the oven.
Put in some butter, do,
And some fine sugar, too;
The clock strikes eight:--
Now bring my baby's porridge straight.
poem by Clemens Maria Brentano
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Twelve O'Clock
Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my
book all the morning.
You say it is only twelve o'clock. Suppose it isn't any later;
can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve
o'clock?
I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of
that rice-field, and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for
her supper by the side of the pond.
I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing
darker under the madar tree, and the water in the pond looks shiny
black.
If twelve o'clock can come in the night, why can't the night
come when it is twelve o'clock?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Fairy Clock
Silver clock! O silver clock! tell to me the time o' day!
Is there yet a little hour left for us to work and play?
Tell me when the sun will set--tiny globe of silver-grey.
It has been so glad a world since the coming of the morn,
Oft I wondered when I met any souls who seemed forlorn--
And I scarce gave heed to those who were old or travel worn.
Mayhap I have loved too well the merry fleeting things;
Run too lightly with the wind--chased too many shining wings;
Thought too seldom of the night, and the silence that it brings.
Well I fear me I have been but an idler in the sun--
All unfinished are the tasks long and long ago begun--
In the dark perchance they weep, who have left their work undone.
And I know each black-frocked friar preacheth sermons that, alas!
Fain would halt the dancing feet of those careless ones who pass
Down a sweet and primrose path, through the ribbons of the grass.
Silver-clock! O Silver-clock! It was only yesterday
Dandelions flecked the field, starry bright, and gold and gay;
You are but the ghost of one--little globe of silver-grey!
Tell me--tell me of the hour--for there is so much to do!
Is it early? Is it late? Fairy clock! 0 tell me true,
As I blow you down the wind, out upon a road of blue.
poem by Virna Sheard
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Eight Minutes To One
In the early hours the radio alarm
went off at eight minutes to one
despite me setting it earlier for six
and checking that it was on.
Now wide awake I rechecked the setting;
and I had definitely made no mistake.
I put it down to an electrical malfunction
and fell asleep until it was time to wake.
I didn’t think any more about the alarm
and continued with my normal day.
The alarm was already set for six o’clock
so I went to bed in the usual way.
At eight minutes to one the alarm went off
exactly the same time as the previous night.
Again I checked on my alarm settings
and again everything was set right.
This time I unplugged the whole radio unit
and recalibrated the time and alarm.
I was now happy that all would be okay
and fell asleep relaxed and calm.
The following night I went to bed as usual
and slept until eight minutes to one.
The cursed radio alarm went off again,
so this radio’s days were done.
The next day I bought an electrical travel clock
and tried out the alarm there and then.
It worked like a charm and I was very pleased,
so that night I went to bed at ten.
At eight minutes to one the alarm went off again
and I could hardly believe this to be true.
I was faced with a problem that had to be sorted,
and a mechanical clock should do.
I bought a large brass, twin belled wind up clock;
set the alarm and several times tried it out.
That night I retired expecting a good night’s sleep,
with no electrics to care about.
At eight minutes to one the alarm went off,
and I threw the clock against the wall.
I was now convinced something supernatural
was causing the earlier morning call.
Over the next few days I tried several clocks
and the alarms went off the same.
In the end I didn’t have a clock in the room,
and I never will again.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Light In The Window
Rain and wind and candlelight
And let us pray a prayer to-night:
For every soul, since life is brief,
Little of trouble and less of grief.
And set a light at the windowpane,
To guide Love home through the night and rain.
Rain and wind and candlelight
And what shall we pray again to-night?
For every life, whose way is dim,
The grace of God and trust in Him.
A word, a song, till the tears be dried,
And Faith and Hope sit down beside.
Rain and wind and candlelight
And one last prayer to pray to-night:
For every heart in the dark and rain
To know its prayer is not in vain:
A door flung wide, and a face aglow
Love come back from the Long-Ago.
Then let the rain and the wind without
Threaten their worst and rave and shout:
For who will care, though the night is black
Love to his own has wandered back.
Has wandered back through the rain and night,
Led home again by her candle's light.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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