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The Farewell of a Virginia Slave Mother

Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage

Gone, gone, - sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, - sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go
Faint with toil, and racked with pain
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play;
From the cool spring where they drank;
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there;
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er
And the fetter galls no more!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
From Virginia's hills and waters
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
By the holy love He beareth;
By the bruised reed He spareth;
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Farewell

Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage

Gone, gone, -- sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, -- sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go
Faint with toil, and racked with pain
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play;
From the cool sprmg where they drank;
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there;
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er
And the fetter galls no more!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
From Virginia's hills and waters
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
By the holy love He beareth;
By the bruised reed He spareth;
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Never Been Sold Before

You ask me, babe, "Can you work tonight?"
I've been up, babe, since broad daylight
I just can't believe that you're selling me,
You never sold me before
I just can't become your lousy who-o-ore
Yeah, I'm stacked nice, they really like my style
Fifty bucks, babe, ha, can't even buy my smile
I just can't believe that you're selling me,
You never sold me before
I just can't become your lousy who-o-ore
I-I-I-I find I come around just to lay this money on you, babe
I'm sick of streets, chicks and dicks, and I'm,
I'm really sick of you
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
I just can't believe that you're selling me,
You never sold me befo-ore
I just can't become your little whore
No, no, no, no
Oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
Oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
Oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
Oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
Oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain

song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm stronger knowing that while Donna Rice could be sold, she could not be bought.

quote by Donna Rice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sold Me Out

I always knew that theyd get me somehow sooner or later,
But with a bullet in the head, a knife in the back,
Not a pocket calculator.
Sorry mister, youre all wiped up,
Youre all washed up,
Sold you out.
Got no dreams, got no ambition,
Cant decide, cause theres no decision,
Got no claim to any position,
Cant compete with the competition.
Youre always complaining,
Its so depressing,
But if youre old enough,
Start to confess it.
You say, you sold me out,
To get a better deal for yourself,
You sold me out,
And now we want some of your precious wealth,
Because you sold me out.
Sold me out,
Sold me out,
Sold me out.
You sold me out,
To get a better deal for yourself.
You sold me out,
And now its every man for himself.
Work all your life, put the money in the bank,
Sign on the dotted line.
Try to draw it out, the jokes on you,
Put up the empty sign.
Sorry mister, were all sold out.
Sold me out,
Sold me out,
Sold me out,
Sold me out.
You, Im talkin to you.
You sold me out,
To get a better deal for yourself.
You sold me out,
And now we want some of your precious wealth.
And sell you out,
Like you sold me out.
Are you in so deep, that you cant get out?
Got no dreams, got no ambition,
Cant decide, cause theres no decision,
Got no claim to any position,
Cant compete with the competition.
Sold me out,
Sold me out,
Sold me out,
Sold me out.
(repeat)

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Rat 6

do you remember
rice fields? try imagining
the green rice fields,
put some hills
more hills, and put a gap
between two hills,
and put the sun
shining brightly
and then put some black
buffaloes grazing at the
foot of the hills,
and then on the left side
try putting a nipa hut
a window and a little girl
looking out for sparrows
and on the right side
put the running river and
a jumping fish

do you still think that this
could be your home?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Road

I 's boun' to see my gal to-night--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
De moon ain't out, de stars ain't bright--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
Dis hoss o' mine is pow'ful slow,
But when I does git to yo' do'
Yo' kiss 'll pay me back, an' mo',
Dough lone de way, my dearie.

De night is skeery-lak an' still--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
'Cept fu' dat mou'nful whippo'will--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
De way so long wif dis slow pace,
'T 'u'd seem to me lak savin' grace
Ef you was on a nearer place,
Fu' lone de way, my dearie.

I hyeah de hootin' of de owl--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
I wish dat watch-dog would n't howl:--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
An' evaht'ing, bofe right an' lef',
Seem p'int'ly lak hit put itse'f
In shape to skeer me half to def--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!

I whistles so's I won't be feared--
Oh lone de way, my dearie!
But anyhow I's kin' o' skeered,
Fu' lone de way, my dearie.
De sky been lookin' mighty glum,
But you kin mek hit lighten some,
Ef you 'll jes' say you's glad I come,
Dough lone de way, my dearie.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lone Wolf

I am a lone wolf
I always was and will be
I feel fine, I am resigned to this
I am a lone wolf
I am a lone wolf
Got my cares
Wrapped up all nice and neat
In my suitcase
Ill take it down the street
To a place with plenty of space for me
I am a lone wolf
I am a lone wolf
It blows my mind
That people wanna try to get inside my tired head
I am a lone wolf
I am a lone wolf
I am a lone wolf
Nobody needs to get too close to me
Youll only see this truth
I am a lone wolf

song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Counting

fifteen heads of buffaloes
grazing on the rice fields
twenty in all are the mounds
of rice husks
this harvest season
ten heads of men bowing
down to earth
sixteen heads of women
singing a summer song
a moon still up the crown
of mahogany tree
this early morning
a lone bird flies away
from me.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Swamp Angel

Angels of good and ill are every where;
They haunt the city and the cottage lone;
Their seen or unseen presence fills the air,
And feels the stir of every laugh and moan.

And frequent are good angels as the bane
Of evil men, who name them evil things;
And darkest ministers of death and pain
Oft bear the angel light upon their wings.

So are they changed. The angel of the wind,
That speeds the sailor swiftly o'er the flood,
Is the sea demon of the crew behind,
Whose hands are eager for the stain of blood.

And many a mother has the angel blessed
Of the dark swamp, as with convulsive strain,
She clasps her wondering infant to her breast,
While baffled blood-hounds lick their chops in vain.

Before the wicked city's traitor hold
Stands a swamp angel all unangel-wise;
Perhaps some bondsman's prayer has made it bold,
Thus to put off its old and unseen guise.

And it sends back the hound's deep-throated tone.
Full with the message of resounding ill;
And the pale hunters curse it with a groan,
For the swamp angel is a demon still.

poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sold My Soul

I prayed to God and jesus
But I guess they didnt hear
My sacrfice was useless
My pleas fell on deaf ears
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I looked to the lord in heaven
But he must have looked away
My crying eyes repentant
Please send her love to light my day
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil
Sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
Sold my soul to the devil
To the devil
Sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul
I sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil

song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stolen

Let truth be told
Until its sold
Silence is golden
Too bad its all been stolen
Stolen! stolen! stolen!
Our defense is your defense
Your defense in some sense
Some sensless way unfolded
Folded cause its all been stolen
Stolen! stolen! stolen!
The gilded scale was burning
Just as your back was turning
Just as our trust was leaving
Youd have us all believing
These truths we hold
Self-evident
Bought and sold
The more you hunt the more I sing
Then quickly rewrite everything
Truth returns bloated, swollen
Then dissapears - its been stolen!
Stolen!
The gilded scale was burning
Just as your back was turning
Just as our trust was leaving
Youd have us all believing
These truths we hold
Self-evident
Bought and sold
Its all been stolen! [x2]

song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Day I Hate Rice

The day I hate rice
Is several rare day in a year
When I don't eat rice
I don't want to eat rice
I don't want to see it
Because I hate its taste
And I hate to think about it
If I have the day I hate rice
Then you'll know that I don't feel well
I'm bored of this procession
I want to run from this life
Because I begin to hate myself
...just a little while
And everything will be back to normal again
That's the meaning of
The day I hate rice

poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lampor

I often walk from market to my home
through chinese shop matters which sold; gold
Kelontong variety and rice
Book Store and printings office
And then store through which basic necessities are sold at government-fixed prices, and the barber shop, gambling Boss

Through water wheel to arrange flow of water to the rice field
Flow of water have curves in the river till the South Ocean
Where all kind of fish
Play from morning to night
Among of the evil spirit and demon
In the South Ocean,
The Palace of Nyai Loro Kidul
Quenn of all evil and demon in the South

When night come, “Lampor”
walk with howl of the wind
Children who heard their voice
Were run to their armpit mother
And drunk milk from nipple
Crosed the dark of night and fear
In the warmth of the batik cloth
and mother embrace

To day I am not afraid
Fairy tale, demon or evil spirits
who walk at midnight
to pass in the children imaginations

on the bridge old man and the youngers are gathering
to tell their experience and imagiantions each other
in the evening,
where the water river flow for fish, and demon
flow granted all of fish and their imagination

poem by Prasetya Utama
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The Swamp

There's a swamp at the end your bed, he said,
at the end of my bed there's a swamp.
My daddy told me so, he did
whenever I wouldn't stay in bed.
There's a swamp at the end of your bed.

The swamp at the end of my bed
is filled with icky worms,
they squirm about and wriggle.
They're horrible, slippery worms, they are
They're horrible, slippery worms.

Still, I stole my daddy's boots last night,
I stole my daddy's boots
and when the hand strikes 12 O'clock
down to the end of the bed, I'll go
to the end of the bed, to the end of the bed,

down to the very edge.
Down in the quagmire's inners
lurk monsters, big and bold,
maybe an odd old leather boot
has fallen, so I'm told.

It will be such fun to explore it,
the swamp that seeps through the floor.
My daddy thinks I'll stay in my bed,
but staying in bed is a bore, I say
staying in bed is a bore.

poem by Ruth Walters
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The Tide River

Clear and cool, clear and cool,
By laughing shallow and dreaming pool;
Cool and clear, cool and clear,
By shining shingle and foaming weir;
Under the crag where the ouzel sings,
And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings,
Undefiled, for the undefiled;
Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

Dank and foul, dank and foul,
By the smoky town in its murky cowl;
Foul and dank, foul and dank,
By wharf and sewer and slimy bank;
Darker and darker the farther I go,
Baser and baser the richer I grow;
Who dare sport with the sin-defiled?
Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child.

Strong and free, strong and free,
The flood-gates are open, away to the sea.
Free and strong, free and strong,
Cleansing my streams as I hurry along,
To the golden sands, and the leaping bar,
And the taintless tide that awaits me afar.
As I lose myself in the infinite main,
Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again,
Undefiled, for the undefiled;
Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

poem by Charles Kingsley
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The Lone Trail

Ye who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it,
Though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit.
Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love good-by;
The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow till you die.

The trails of the world be countless, and most of the trails be tried;
You tread on the heels of the many, till you come where the ways divide;
And one lies safe in the sunlight, and the other is dreary and wan,
Yet you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on.
And somehow you're sick of the highway, with its noise and its easy needs,
And you seek the risk of the by-way, and you reck not where it leads.
And sometimes it leads to the desert, and the togue swells out of the mouth,
And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking drouth.
And sometimes it leads to the mountain, to the light of the lone camp-fire,
And you gnaw your belt in the anguish of hunger-goded desire.
And sometimes it leads to the Southland, to the swamp where the orchid glows,
And you rave to your grave with the fever, and they rob the corpse for its clothes.
And sometimes it leads to the Northland, and the scurvy softens your bones,
And your flesh dints in like putty, and you spit out your teeth like stones.
And sometimes it leads to a coral reef in the wash of a weedy sea,
And you sit and stare at the empty glare where the gulls wait greedily.
And sometimes it leads to an Arctic trail, and the snows where your torn feet freeze,
And you whittle away the useless clay, and crawl on your hands and knees.
Often it leads to the dead-pit; always it leads to pain;
By the bones of your brothers ye know it, but oh, to follow you're fain.
By your bones they will follow behind you, till the ways of the world are made plain.

Bid good-by to sweetheart, bid good-by to friend;
The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow to the end.
Tarry not, and fear not, chosen of the true;
Lover of the Lone Trail, the Lone Trail waits for you.

poem by Robert William Service
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All For A Friend!

I SOLD MY TENT TO BUY MY HOUSE!
I SOLD MY SANDALS TO BUY MY SHOE!
I SOLD MY HORSE TO BUY MY AUTOMOBILE!
I SOLD MY TROUBLES TO BUY MY PEACE!
BEHOLD! I WILL BE GLAD TO SELL THE CHURCHES AND BUY A TRUE FRIEND!

poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mountain Of Poverty

this is what i can tell you:
the children are running in the hills
looking for their favorite butterflies to play
chasing dreams, i suppose, who knows
what they really know and
feel, i was once a child myself, perhaps i have the right to guess
what simple wants they have,

freedom, but i can tell you about something else,
their breakfast today is only brown sugar and rice,
and they have not taken their baths in the river because
the water is dirty, and there is no water system in the hills,
primitive, and still undeveloped, the grasses are not cut
tall and wild, and the coconut trees are not bearing much fruits,
there is drought, and the tenants do not have a good harvest
of their upland rice and there are rats infesting the rice fields,

it rains so hard, the road is slippery and we all have to walk slowly
to keep themselves warm, the men drink wine and smoke
the women do not weave mats anymore, they're sold cheap
and they are so disappointed with what they are getting

sugar is a precious commodity here, no coffee,
salt is expensive, salted fish is a luxury,
bread is like gold here and children do not know what is bread all about
cookies do not exist here

stone age, this is stone age in the midst of an expanding world
the children here are left out
i stare at them as they throw stones at play,
dirt and foul smell, but on the other hand i look at the pictures
that i took on that day

less the smell, less the dirt on their faces,
they are so beautiful, and the mountains are still hopeful.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inspired by Issa - your rice field, my rice field

your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our dreams in tokyo

your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our sons in tokyo

inspired

your rice field
my rice field
the same green
-Issa,1815

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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