The Wood Handled Shovel
I take its smooth wood in my hands
to turn the earth as spring returns.
I make straight furrows in my garden
Like those before me worked the land.
This was Dad's shovel years ago
And in my father's callused hands
it coaxed our plot to yield us fruit
as good as any farmer's stand.
Outside of faded photographs
So few of father's things remain
His house torn down, his stuff dispersed.
his kingdom shrunken to a grave.
Of all the things that I possess
this little shovel made of wood
is my link to Him I loved
and to a time when life was good.
J.M.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Liturgy....
liturgy....
black coffee,
old hands opening boxes.
sweeping the floor
of the soul.
words shaped like photographs
made of wind and tears.
simple things...
simple doings!
the same shovel
digs the grave,
digs in the garden.
barefoot,
and half naked,
no need for words,
no fears to console.
live without regrets,
leave it all on the table.
do the work, and move on.
dont be the hollow religious image,
a body that has no love,
a love that has no body.
dont be so quick to wash your hands,
the dirt neath your nails
is your heritage!
liturgy...
black coffee,
and touching,
the shovel, and the axe!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Underneath Are The Everlasting Arms
Father into your hands I place
the things I cannot do.
Father into your hands I give
what Irene's going through.
Father into your hands I place
the surgeons and nurses too.
For I know I always can trust you
Father into yours hands I place
my friends and family.
Father into your hands I place
everything that troubles me.
Father into your hands I place
the things I cannot see.
Because You care for Irene and me.
They Are Tearing Down My Grandfather's House
(An NLP Editor's Choice Award Winner in Verdant Lands of Spring) They are tearing down my Grandfather's house,
it's made of wood and brick and stone.
The windows they've removed. To them it's real
estate, to me it's my heart being ripped in two.
The realtors, the bankers, the moneymen don't understand.
A house is more than made of wood, a house is made of man. My Grandfather's house is a memory that will
endure after it's torn down.
He's been gone for near thirty years, but his
house had lived on.
I know the world is made of change, and change
is all that's real. But one thing I cannot change,
that is the way I feel. I wipe a tear in the falling rain,
because they are tearing down my Grandfather's
house, and it gives me pain.
I love him as if it were yesteryear,
his wit and smile as warm as the sun.
The house once stood to remind me, but that too
is gone. They are tearing down my Grandfather's house,
it's made of wood and brick and stone.
Yet a house if more than made of wood,
a house is made of love.
poem by David A. Webb
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Dear Father
Anderson / squire
(originally released in 1970 as a single, not included on time and a word)
Here are the books
Of luke
You*ll need them
To open the seed
To see what goes on in the world
You*re in my mind
Catch the wind and hold on tight
To what we*ll find
And hear what goes on in the world
Here is all you see
Everything is made for you
From me
If there*s anything you*d like to say
That could help me in any way
Cause i*ve been waiting for so long for you to come along
Help me on that day
When you*d take over all the things heaven has made for you
Is there anything you think you should know?
Is there anything before I go?
Dear father, i*m hungry, i*m cold
Dear father, feeling terribly old
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
They*re on their own
Needing their face, a place
Hope....home
To see what goes on in the world
They*re who you need
To show them why they*re wrong
Oh why indeed
We need to go on in the world
Here is all you see
Everything is made for you
From me
If there*s any complication
That you*d like to talk over with me about
Cause i*ve been waiting for so long
For you to come along
We can work it all out
When you take over all the things heaven has made for you
Is there anything you think you should know
Is there anything before I go
Dear father, you must be putting me on
Dear father, cause most of their minds are gone
Dear father, they will not understand me
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
Dear father, can I give it a miss
Dear father, cause i*m not ready for this
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
Dear father, won*t you leave me alone
Dear father, won*t you to let me go home
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
Dear father, won*t they crucify me
Dear father, I just couldn*t do that
Dear father, cause that*s not where it*s at now (hey)
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear Father
Anderson / squire
(originally released in 1970 as a single, not included on time and a word)
Here are the books
Of luke
You*ll need them
To open the seed
To see what goes on in the world
You*re in my mind
Catch the wind and hold on tight
To what we*ll find
And hear what goes on in the world
Here is all you see
Everything is made for you
From me
If there*s anything you*d like to say
That could help me in any way
Cause i*ve been waiting for so long for you to come along
Help me on that day
When you*d take over all the things heaven has made for you
Is there anything you think you should know?
Is there anything before I go?
Dear father, i*m hungry, i*m cold
Dear father, feeling terribly old
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
They*re on their own
Needing their face, a place
Hope....home
To see what goes on in the world
They*re who you need
To show them why they*re wrong
Oh why indeed
We need to go on in the world
Here is all you see
Everything is made for you
From me
If there*s any complication
That you*d like to talk over with me about
Cause i*ve been waiting for so long
For you to come along
We can work it all out
When you take over all the things heaven has made for you
Is there anything you think you should know
Is there anything before I go
Dear father, you must be putting me on
Dear father, cause most of their minds are gone
Dear father, they will not understand me
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
Dear father, can I give it a miss
Dear father, cause i*m not ready for this
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
Dear father, won*t you leave me alone
Dear father, won*t you to let me go home
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
Dear father, won*t they crucify me
Dear father, I just couldn*t do that
Dear father, cause that*s not where it*s at now (hey)
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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in My Father's Hands
You ask me how I cope with life as it is
I simply turn to you and say
It is in my Father’s hands
For it is he alone who my every
Care fully understands
I may fall beneath my heavy load
I may cry and sometimes feel alone too
But it is then that I am reminded
To place all my cares
In my Father’s hands
My hurts I
Give to God who can
Mend all that is broken apart
All my cares are in my Father’s hands
You don’t have to remain sad
Feeling hopeless or alone
For you too only need to
Place all of your cares
In the Father’s hands!
©Copyright 2005 Becky LaPrarie
poem by Becky LaPrarie
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The Tree Of Knowledge
I PLUCKED the blossoms of delight
In many a wood and many a field,
I made a garland fair and bright
As any gardens yield.
But when I sought the living tree
To make new earth and Heaven new,
I found--alas for you and me--
Its roots were set in you.
Oh, dear my garden, where the fruit
Of lovely knowledge sweetly springs,
How jealously you guard the root
Of all enlightening things!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Return Of The Farmers Son
Well my father is a farmer
A damn good one at his trade
And hes always loved my mama
Though we laid her in the grave
Ive been down, Ive been down
A hustler and a cheat
Ill always love my father
His kind heart cant be beat
Oh...
Id spit in your face if you laughed at me
Dont you know, dont you know
I might be a dipper, but I aint a thief
Dont you know, dont you know
Oh yeah...
Come on...
Well my father is a farmer
Used to smack me on the ass
Used to dress me up in my sunday best
Get down, get down to sunday mass
And Ive been down, so down
Dont you know, dont you know
Ill always love my father
I love him so
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Father cuts a Furrow
My father cuts a furrow, true lines does he run,
My father cuts a furrow, no horses did he have,
My father cuts a furrow no fields, hills of grass,
My fathers furrows were wisdom,
This is what he had.
To his dying day his gait was straight and true,
My father was not a farmer, for the city,
All he knew.
As father cut his furrow, so does hit son, I am told,
The wisdom my Father passed on to lay dormant,
Many years, put on hold, not until the age of 78 did
I realize, not much time left, as I too was growing old,
So I write my poetry from my fathers wisdom,
That was willed to me, only way to have my stories told.
As father cut his furrow, so does his son, to pass
The wisdom, that was left from father,
God Bless his soul.
poem by Charles Garcia
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Take Me Home Oh Father
Take me home oh Father, take me home,
For I've wandered this land You made alone.
No one understood of what I am,
Wasn't loved it seemed by beast or man.
Take me home oh Father, take me home,
My lifes' work seems over for me now.
I have done all You have asked of me,
Oh Dear Father do You hear my plea?
Take me home oh Father, take me home,
The pain is more than one can bare.
Take me home oh Father take me home,
To a place You promised if You care.
Take me home oh Father if You would,
For all my life I've tried to do what's good.
Take me home oh Father my life is done,
All has ended please now take me to Your Son.
poem by Linda Winchell
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People I Belong To
Oh my father, he was a brother
He worked his body hard to make ends meet
Oh my mother remained his lover
The things they did, the things they said
Go round and round inside my head, for good
Oh my brother, when he was a schoolboy
He gave up all his dreams to take on mine
Oh my brother, now I have me one other
The things weve said, the things weve done
Stay in my heart since I was young
And oh this world wont change for me
The special things in life are free
Ive always known and understood
There are people I belong to for good
Oh my lady, she want my baby
She get me through my days and through my nights
Oh my lover, now I have me no other
The things we do, the things we say
I get more and more love each day
And oh this world wont change for me
The special things in life are free
Ive always known and understood
There are people I belong to for good
Oh my mother and my father
And my brother and my lover
Oh my mother and my father
And my brother and my lover
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Make Way For The Lady
Some life Ive bin livin
Like a song in the night
Good sounds every moment
Good news and bright lights
Anytime I get lonesome
I just got ta do the things right
Make way for the lady
You can do it my son
Makin hay with no gravy
Brings the good folk down
Anytime you get lonely
You just got to turn it around
This life Ive bin given
It dont tell you no lies
Couldve been somewhat wasted
How could it be otherwise
When the sound of the laughter
Brought the tears in to my eyes
Make way for the lady
You can do it my son
Makin hay with no gravy
Gets the days work done
When a blue mood gets rollin
You just got to turn it around
Turn it around
Shake hands with the father
The son and the holy ghost
The impossible believers
And the heavenly host
If you must do it better
You just got to do it the most
Make way for the lady
You can do it my son
Makin hay with no gravy
Brings all the good folks down
When a blue moon starts risin
You just got to turn it around
Turn it around
Turn it around
Make way for the lady
And turn it around
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Old Red Barn
The old red barn that's been vacant for years
is a reminder of days long past.
In its day it was filled with so much life.
But like all things it didn't last.
Now as I ride by it I wonder why it stands?
Why was it not taken down?
If it was capable of having a face,
surely it would be wearing a frown.
Gone are the sounds and the smells it had.
Gone are the people too.
The hands that worked there every day,
These are the memories it knew.
'Why am I standing all faded and worn?
Why don't they do away with me?
I'm tired. I'm tilted. I can't stand straight.
Is that what they like to see?
Maybe I'm a reminder as people ride by
of how things used to be.
Maybe I still have a purpose to fill?
Nostalgia, when they look at me.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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May Colven
False Sir John a wooing came
To a maid of beauty fair;
May Colven was this lady's name,
Her father's only heir.
He wood her butt, he wood her ben,
He wood her in the ha,
Until he got this lady's consent
To mount and ride awa.
He went down to her father's bower,
Where all the steeds did stand,
And he's taken one of the best steeds
That was in her father's land.
He's got on and she's got on,
As fast as they could flee,
Until they came to a lonesome part,
A rock by the side of the sea.
'Loup off the steed,' says false Sir John,
'Your bridal bed you see;
For I have drowned seven young ladies,
The eighth one you shall be.
'Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
All and your silken gown,
For it's oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.
'Cast off, cast off, my May Colven.
All and your embroiderd shoen,
For oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.'
'O turn you about, O false Sir John,
And look to the leaf of the tree,
For it never became a gentleman
A naked woman to see.'
He turned himself straight round about,
To look to the leaf of the tree,
So swift as May Colven was
To throw him in the sea.
'O help, O help, my May Colven,
O help, or else I'll drown;
I'll take you home to your father's bower,
And set you down safe and sound.'
'No help, no help, O false Sir John,
No help, nor pity thee;
Tho' seven kings' daughters you have drownd,
But the eighth shall not be me.'
So she went on her father's steed,
As swift as she could flee,
And she came home to her father's bower
Before it was break of day.
Up then and spoke the pretty parrot:
'May Colven, where have you been?
What has become of false Sir John,
That woo'd you so late the streen?
'He woo'd you butt, he woo'd you ben,
He woo'd you in the ha,
Until he got your own consent
For to mount and gang awa.'
'O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot,
Lay not the blame upon me;
Your cup shall be of the flowered gold,
Your cage of the root of the tree.'
Up then spake the king himself,
In the bed-chamber where he lay:
'What ails the pretty parrot,
That prattles so long or day?'
'There came a cat to my cage door,
It almost a worried me,
And I was calling on May Colven
To take the cat from me.'
poem by Andrew Lang
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Line em Up
Notes:
Jt on sony.com: the song starts in the final moments of the nixon white house with the presidents farewell address. so he says goodbye . . . goodbye. next hes got to walk across the room, out
Ack door, across the lawn, past the vacant but alert (zen) marine, into the helicopter and away. he does this by lining up the white house staff and moving down the line shaking hands and saying
Le things - voila.
After some typical personal stuff the songs ends in madison square garden in 1987 with a mass wedding of the unification church; the reverend sun moon presiding via satellite video down link.
None of this may have actually happened.
I remember richard nixon back in 74
And the final scene at the white house door
And the staff lined up to say good-bye
Tiny tear in his shifty little eye
He said nobody knows me
Nobody understands
These little people were good to me
Oh Im gonna shake some hands
Chorus:
Somebody line em up
Line em all up
Line em up
Line em all up
Line em up
Line em all up
Line em up
Line em all up
At that time my heart was all broke
I looked like ashes and smelled like smoke
And I turned away from my loving kind
Try to leave my body and live in my mind
But its much too much emotion
To hold it in your hand
Theyve got waves out on the ocean
Theyre gonna wear away the land
- chorus -
Oh Ive seen corn in kansas
And Ive seen picket fences
And certain cowboy dances
Ive gone lining up for shows
Ive been safely placed in rows
Sure I know how it goes
Another day goes by
Little time machine
Im breaking my brain
Over what it might mean
Just to claim the time
And to turn away
To make today today
Who waits for you
Lonely tired old toad
Its your life laid out before you
Like the broken white line down the center of the road
- chorus -
Yeah, big moon landing
People all standing up
Smiles for the loved ones
They go walking on down the aisles
Each re-engages stepping into the sun
I watch them turn like pages
One by one by one
- chorus -
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not To End Before The Task Is Done
we, who remain here
within the fold
we decided not to end this thing
before the task is done
and so it all hands upon hands
fingers digging for what is
meaningful beneath
we had spading forks
but they were more for show
the neighbors look amazed
how we, who remain here
seem united
until then what what must be done
had been done
that they finally know
that the shovel was only for show.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Got It Bad
(1941) paul francis webster, duke ellington
My baby ever treats me sweet and gentle the way he should;
I got it bad and that ain't good!
My poor heart is sentimental not made of wood
I got it bad and that ain't good!
But when the weekend's over and monday rolls aroun'
I end up like i start out just cryin' my heart out
He don't love me like i love him nobody could
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Like alonely weeping willow lost in the wood
I got it bad and that ain't good!
And the things i tell my pillow no woman should
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Tho folks with good intentions tell me to save my tears
I'm glad i'm mad about him i can't live without him
Lord above me make him love me the way he should
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Original lyric
The poets say that all who love are blind
But i'm in love and i know what time it is!
The good book says "go seek and ye shall find"
Well, i have sought and my what a climb it is!
My life is just like the weather
It changes with the hours
When he's near i'm fair and warmer
When he's gone i'm cloudy with showers;
In emotion, like the ocean it's either sink or swim
When a woman loves a man like i love him.
Never treats me sweet and gentle the way he should;
I got it bad and that ain't good!
My poor heart is sentimental not made of wood
I got it bad and that ain't good!
But when the weekend's over and monday rolls aroun'
I end up like i start out just cryin' my heart out
He don't love me like i love him nobody could
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Like alonely weeping willow lost in the wood
I got it bad and that ain't good!
And the things i tell my pillow no woman should
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Tho folks with good intentions tell me to save my tears
I'm glad i'm mad about him i can't live without him
Lord above me make him love me the way he should
I got it bad and that ain't good!
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Russia to the Pacifists
1918
God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,
But--leave your sports a little while--the dead are borne
this way!
Armies dead and Cities dead, past all count or care.
God rest you, merry gentlemen, what portent see you there?
Singing:--Break ground for a wearied host
That have no ground to keep.
Give them the rest that they covet most . . .
And who shall next to sleep, good sirs,
In such a trench to sleep?
God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, but give us leave to pass.
We go to dig a nation's grave as great as England was.
For this Kingdom and this Glory and this Power and this Pride
Three hundred years it flourished--in three hundred days it
died.
Singing:--Pour oil for a frozen throng,
That lie about the ways.
Give them the warmth they have lacked so
long . . .
And what shall be next to blaze, good sirs,
On such a pyre to blaze?
God rest you, thoughtful gentlemen, and send your sleep is light!
Remains of this dominion no shadow, sound, or sight,
Except the sound of weeping and the sight of burning fire,
And the shadow of a people that is trampled into mire.
Singing:--Break bread for a starving folk
That perish in the field.
Give them their food as they take the yoke . . .
And who shall be next to yield, good sirs,
For such a bribe to yield?
God rest you merry gentlemen, and keep you in your mirth!
Was ever Kingdom turned so soon to ashes, blood and earth?
'Twixt the summer and the snow-seeding-time and frost--
Arms and victual, hope and counsel, name and country lost!
Singing:--Let down by the foot and the head--
Shovel and smooth it all !
So do we bury a Nation dead . . .
And who shall be next to fall, good sirs,
With your good help to fall?
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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