Wor[l]d Weaver - Wait Tress Adressed
“Wor[l]d weaver we would know what may transpire
when Chronos fear’s unravelled on our earth.
Will waitress Time serve course with dainties, lyre
rewiring tastebuds with sweet morsels? tire,
no second servings dish? doors closed, expire?
close restaurant, avaunt, as if birth – berth
is/was spun bill of lading, - pre-paid buyer
obliged, wait_tressed, to pun de_sire?
Will waft and weft swift smoke in final fire,
or will we wait, like mammoths, for rebirth,
within ice walls sung by no phantom choir,
lost, silent, windless, sunless too, our worth
our empires under rock of ages' mire? '
“Light years spun long before the minds of men
climbed through primaeval slime to seed the stars, -
to open up far universe again.
Dice walls or calls the stakes, gives, takes, or mars
when cycles turn Fate's wheel, when nothing bars
intelligence renascent, - beings then
may lodestars search or perch on Shangri Las.
Beaux-arts may flourish, while noteworthy pen
might music rediscover, strange sitars
send notes afloat on timelessness suspen-
ding Time itself, once more feed hours
and powers the heady appetite empowers
to choose the course it views upon life’s MEN
YOU – only you – may taste, may waste, till when
wheel turns in haste, bill paid, and fade the flowers.”
'Wor[l]d weaver one would well your lore inquire.
What can become of all our storied mirth,
our idle chatter, dreams, ambitions higher,
our generations' aims and prayers entire,
imaginations vivid, poets’ lyre? ”
Should one feed now? How choose? when whine lists’ worth
may rancid ransom prove, a thorny briar.
Should we treat Maître D to trust as Sire,
or, tricked, of course off course, t[h]read into gyre
whose tipple ripple – pointed Fate’s denyer –
may earn return, new menu’s venu, dearth
or plenty find behind mind’s blind rebirth? ”
“Should, mad, mankind continue as today
to overcrop, to overfish, disdain
the seasons’ reasons, - all that may remain
could well be drowned beneath reef’s swirling spray
as tipping points are reached. No time to pray
may soon be found as poles melt, greed for grain
encouraging pollution, won’t restrain
equations which imbalance interplay
in ways all may regret with needless pain.
No fire, no ice, no cities, no ex…plain.
No restrooms, silver settings, crystal. Chain
reactions sweep both waiter, wait away.
Dessert is served in some Bagdad café as carpetbagger man’s precocious reign
turns paradise to desert by the way …”
16 Febuary 2002 revised 19 January 2007
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Log Blog
Seasons hot and cold conspire
together to perpetuate
a fire ice cycle whose attire
in trice turns bark to dark ash - fait
accompli by Dame Nature's lyre
whose runes tune life, strange change dictate.
No paradox. In town and shire
from dream of steam to solid state
all stays the same, though minds require
the wherewithal to integrate
four elements linked by fey wire
whose strange range can incorporate
life's fractal fantasy entire.
Sodden logs around the fire
soldier like await grate fate,
ramrod stiff and hourly drier,
fiery end anticipate.
Trees which bore for man's desire
timely fruit of goodly weight
are sawn stacked staves on suttee pyre
condemned to ash, rash fate berate,
cackle together, crackle choir.
What once bore blossom's stumpy gate.
In stead see hedgerows trim require
incessant training. Speculate
on human vanity, the sire
of most misfortune early, late.
Dust to dust both lust, desire,
first gust then rust disintegrate.
Men burn, but seldom calculate
their pulse iced, fated to expire,
past wealth their heirs swift dissipate,
their envy, anxiousness, and ire
all self consuming! Man and mate
earn little praise, soon merge with mire,
while in a circle congregate
wood logs around a winter fire.
Who seeks for answers must inquire
within, take time to contemplate
conundrum woven - truth and liar,
hot cold, earth air, fire ice restate
real dream reel, skip trip. Seller, buyer
are twins identical whose weight
depends on introspective gyre
like tree bark witness of Time's wait
on Time to circumnavigate
the contradictory crossfire
of surface assumptions which create
their own momentum, karmic tyre
around impressions which abate
as atoms realign. Ice, fire
reflect extremes intemperate.
Reality and dreams combine, their quest -
through Time condensing from initial jest -
is thus to banish contradictions, span
creation vast, past, present, big bang's van
till request and inquest converge in gest
arresting surface difference with zest
from tao trip evolution's also-ran
to space displacement through one thousandth dan
Atoms avoid void, spin tails till trail's lost, rest
here contest, contestants, distance, uber plan,
From mess congestive to suggestive test
of chaos, universal fractal fest
patterns pitter patter, matter must
invent itself from, to, through, into dust.
Logs
Sodden logs around the fire
soldier like await their fate,
ramrod stiff and hourly drier,
fiery end anticipate.
Trees which bore for man's desire
timely fruit of goodly weight
are now sawn logs upon the pyre
condemned to ashes in the grate,
crackle together as a choir.
Where once they blossomed, now a gate
and hedgerow trim tending require, -
incessant training, - speculate
on human vanity, the sire
of most misfortune, soon or late.
Dust to dust both lust, desire,
must gust to dust, disintegrate.
Men burn, but seldom calculate
their time soon fated to expire,
their wealth they tend to dissipate,
their envy, anxiousness, and ire
all self consuming! Man and mate
earn little praise, soon merge with mire,
while in a circle congregate
wood logs around a winter fire.
(12 January 1993 revised 27 December 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As Life is Mirage - Acrostic Sonnet
As dusk to dawn succeeds, so death to birth,
Swift arcs the arrow, with the ark of man,
Lost on Time’s sea, while his allotted span
Is soon forgotten, dry-docked, - narrow berth.
For dust to dust returns, earth turns to earth;
Each sickled moon a sickly herald, wan,
Is witness to impermanence. The plan
Spins to Fate’s farce fast ending. Light and mirth
Must fade or jade before they prove their worth.
In earnest, blazing brightly, nothing can
Remain eternal, beacon Hope can’t scan,
And flame as ‘fixèd mark’ – and so its dearth,
Ghost mirage, mocks love’s life and locks life’s love -
End is in sight, flight spent, expressed above.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From Bare Despair Prepare Rare Future Fair
Strangers in strange lands where nature's maps
are daily altered: who can tell, perhaps
utopian dreams may one day be fulfilled -
what wishes we project with one 'perhaps'!
But that 'perhaps' with other minds must be
shared or entrusted till eternity
when bell and tale are told, both drum and gong,
before too long all meet their destiny.
Another week ticks off its finite hours,
last leaves weak fall, distressed are hedgerows, bowers,
no rainbow reign, polluted heaven spans
streams as polluted, mole in burrow cowers.
Today tomorrow's fears must count the cost,
of vested interests, while, with fingers crossed,
fire, freeze turn topsy-turvy, climates change,
strategic opportunities are lost.
Most are bewildered, having pushed their luck,
they find dice loaded, - chicken lacking pluck.
When all is balanced, weighed within the mind,
game years behind were wasted, came unstuck.
And so the well laid plans of mice and men
turn sour, devour their children, - in suspen-
sion stays spoke that can't stay fate's wheel, wry jest
unspeaking which unspoken rolls... Amen!
More time to spare may lead to pastures green
obscured by clouds, unlit by moon serene,
or desert dune oasis hide where rest
may not prove mirage, harvest joy to glean.
I saw myself in wa[l]king dream beside
a river which flowed out to meet time’s tide,
fresh waves to salt waved greetings as they passed
to ice-free ocean, plankton pushed aside.
A watershed, which never tears shall show,
approaches and one knows not where to go,
wide world won’t wait while weighing arbitrage
with options harsh displacing comfort’s glow.
New cock may crow, fiends' jeers turn cheers from friends,
phantom mime timer trickles, makes amends,
for false pretence whose stings show one still feels,
may heal hurt, harm injury within which ever rends
the spirit from external casing show
skeletal which nobody cares to know,
for here today, tomorrow atoms spread
around fresh food chain, pride from high brought low.
So soul must sink when candle, burned both ends,
no wick retains to feed the flame which sends
light for a moment, highlighting the dark
behind beyond til epilogue appends
a testament scenario reprieved
from papers left behind – part to deceive
and part as explanation for a gest
about which we suggest too few shall grieve.
Subprime takes prime time working overtime,
as credit cards to debit dards turn, climb
precedes a fall unlooked for – pendulum
swings weigh past tipping point, primeval slime
not dust to dust replaces Eden’s rhyme,
mankind’s equation out of kilter, mime
instead of deeds proactive, selfless, fair,
concludes Man’s play, applauseless p[h]antomime.
Some seek settle credit overdue,
some, senseless, seek solutions from the blue –
accounts drawn down close race’s case, no trace
remains, shell shocked, locked out, no overview.
Rise from despair, surprise may fate prepare,
chance choice gives voice to future prospects fair,
wheel turns, life spurns temptations lethal that
stitch winding sheet from which return is rare.
The trick, if trick there be, is see the light
between effect and cause, nor wrong, nor right,
but timing's of the essence as each day
plays in its way new part, departure bright.
Dark disappointment past events might cause
may cease today, turn retrograde and pause
to offer breathing space for weaving joy
while poison ivy wreaths good luck withdraws.
Dark reasons for a season may hold sway,
yet light through black-hole shines to pave the way
for happiness - whatever that may mean
to who must first slake thirst, salve sores which weigh
upon the conscience - fact or fiction play -
it matters not: if pain's perceived today
to morrow may blunt edge of sting sharp, keen,
that wounds the soul that seeks clean getaway...
previous title Rubaiyat of Despair
3 October 2005 revised 26 August 2007
rewritten and expanded 12 January 2010
Rubaiyat of Despair
Strangers in strange lands where nature's maps
are daily altered: who can tell, perhaps
utopian dreams may one day be fulfilled, -
what wishes we project with one « perhaps »!
But that « perhaps » to other minds must be
entrusted through steps to eternity,
both bell and tale are told, both drum and gong
before too long will welcome destiny.
Another week ticks off its finite hours,
last leaves weak fall, distressed are hedgerows, bowers,
no rainbow reign polluted heavens’ spans, -
as rain in hurry can unleash its powers.
Today tomorrow fears must count the cost,
of vested interests, we, with fingers crossed,
find fire and freeze turned topsy-turvy as
strategic opportunities are lost.
Most are bewildered, having pushed their luck,
they find dice loaded, - chicken lacking pluck.
When all is balanced, weighed within the mind,
game years behind were wasted, came unstuck.
And so the well laid plans of mice and men
turn sour, devour their children, - in suspen-
sion stays the spoke that may not stay the wheel
unspeaking which unspoken rolls... Amen!
I saw myself in wa[l]king dream beside
a river which flowed out to meet time’s tide,
fresh waves to salt waved greetings as they passed
to ice-free ocean, plankton pushed aside.
A watershed, which never tears shall show,
approaches and one knows not where to go,
wide world won’t wait while weighing arbitrage
with options harsh displacing comfort’s glow.
Soon cock may crow to cheers of phantom friends,
with timer trickled none need make amends,
or further false pretence with insult rare
to cover injury within which rends
the spirit from external casing show
skeletal which nobody needs to know,
for here today, tomorrow atoms spread
along a food chain soon from high brought low.
So soul must sink when candle, burned both ends,
no wick retains to feed the flame which sends
light for a moment, highlighting the dark
behind beyond til epilogue appends
a testament scenario reprieved
from papers left behind – part to deceive
and part as explanation for a gest
about which we suggest too few will grieve.
Subprime takes prime time working overtime,
as credit cards to debit dards turn, climb
precedes a fall unlooked for – pendulum
swings weigh past tipping point, primeval slime
not dust to dust replaces Eden’s rhyme,
mankind’s equation out of kilter, mime
instead of deeds proactive, selfless, fair,
concludes Man’s play, applauseless p[h]antomime.
Its time to settle credit overdue
no sense to seek solutions from the blue –
accounts drawn down close race’s case, no trace
remains, shell shocked, locked out, no overview.
3 October 2005 revised 26 August 2007
after Edward Fitzgerald Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
© Jonathan Robin
after Edward Fitzgerald Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
© Jonathan Robin 3 October 2005 revised 26 August 2007
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life 101, Lovelines, and Vampire Satire
LIFE 101, LOVELINES, and VAMPIRE SATIRE
LIFE 101
SUBMERGE EMERGE URGE SURGE SPLURGE CONVERGE VERGE MERGE PURGE DIRGE SUBMERGE! …
AFTERLIFE 101
? DIVERGE: SCOURGE … REEMERGE?
Coining a Ph[r]ase
Love Lair’s Layers
Inside
Outside
CoincideConfide
Allied
Guide
Glide
Astride
Abide
but the other side of the coin might be:
Drier Dire Diary
Hide
Slide
Bromide
DerideLied
Snide
Override
Divide
Dire Diary Vampire Satire - cast in order of appearance
Admire shyer
Fire desire
Surefire squire
Sapphire buyer
Higher lyre
Require Choir
Friar, prior,
Aquire attire
Empire entire
Sigher suspire
Transpire perspire
Defyer briar
Spy highflyer eyer
Hire sweetbriar *
Conspire crossfire
Dire liar
Wryer denyer
Inspire ire
Wire umpire,
Misfire miss, fire
Bye-bye err, slyer
Retire, mire
Quagmire, expire
Pyre bonfire …
*Definition of sweetbriar
Eurasian rose with prickly stems and fragrant leaves and bright pink flowers followed by scarlet hips
17 January 2007
robi03_1576_robi03_0000 WXX_LXX
Poem © Jonathan Robin Life 101, Lovelines, and Vampire Satire
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rubaiyat of Ghosts
One can, who strangers scan, too few admire,
as most play ghosts deprived of phantom choir,
tripping, tripping up, upon life’s board,
stillborn refuting intimate desire.
In game of give and take what ranks the higher
self-interest or charity? Enquire
about ambitions intimate, bond word,
suspicion from the shadows whispers: 'Liar! '
Most men as puppets dance upon a wire
taut from birth to death, - as seller, buyer,
taught to act and not to BE - Fate’s sword
to dust must sooner, later, each retire.
So few dare seek far stars, less dare aspire
for freedom, seldom search above their mire,
for seventy or eighty years life’s cord
they eke out, seldom seeking something higher.
A burning bush survived the blazing fire,
and witness stands to Time the purifier -
yet oil on troubled waters oft is poured
by those who spurn each prophet as a liar.
Life is too short. Who’d play the poet’s lyre
must tame the vagrant strings, the versifier
tunes into harmony whose every chord
responds to inspiration all desire.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Between Two Fires
Wisdom reveals the reason why
This life brings so much pain
Yet in the rainbows in the sky
The answers all too plain
When God made man He gave him laws
As all the world now knows
But disobedience opened doors
No sinful man can close
Some fear no God nor judgement day
Some seek the truth on high
But fire to both will come one day
For all are bound to die
Fire will totally burn the earth
This world will cease to be
Yet Fire will lead to second birth
Who soon God’s face will see
Fire will seek each soul in turn
Regardless of their views
But which our flesh one day will burn
Is left for us to choose
From all the earth there’s no one free
However much we doubt
The fire will come for all to see
From which there’s no way out
No force can make God’s Fire retreat
No flesh can dowse the flame
But fire for those at Jesus’ feet
Will only burn their shame
The rest who die still with their crime
Will meet an awesome fate
Then like the flood in Noah’s time
The cry will be “Too late”
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Dream Weaver
Dream weaver
Ive just closed my eyes again
Climbed aboard the dream weaver train
Driver take away my worries of today
And leave tomorrow behind
Ooh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
Ooh dream weaver
I believe we can reach the morning light
Fly me high through the starry skies
Maybe to an astral plane
Cross the highways of fantasy
Help me to forget todays pain
Ooh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
Ooh dream weaver
I believe we can reach the morning light
Though the dawn may be coming soon
There still may be some time
Fly me away to the bright side of the moon
And meet me on the other side
Ooh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
Ooh dream weaver
I believe we can reach the morning light
Dream weaver
Dream weaver
Dream weaver
- gary wright
song performed by by Reo Speedwagon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Wonders
Let it go,
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don't you know
The hardest part is over
Let it in,
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
Let it slide,
Let your troubles fall behind you
Let it shine
Until you feel it all around you
And i don't mind
If it's me you need to turn to
We'll get by,
It's the heart that really matters in the end
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But i can not forget
The way i feel right now
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away but these small hours
These small hours, still remain,
Still remain
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These little wonders still remain
poem by Tiana Webb
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The Big Wheel
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Well, I was only a kid -- didnt know enough to be afraid
Playing the game, but not the way the big boys played
Nothing to lose -- maybe I had something to trade
The way the big wheel spins
Well, I was only a kid, on a holy crusade
I placed no trust in a faith that was ready-made
Take no chances on paradise delayed
So I do a slow fade
Playing for time
Dont want to wait for heaven
Looking for love
For an angel to forgive my sins
Playing with fire
Chasing something new to believe in
Looking for love
The way the big wheel spins
Well, I was only a kid, cruising around in a trance
Prisoner of fate, victim of circumstance
I was lined up for glory, but the tickets sold out in advance
The way the big wheel spins
Well, I was only a kid, gone without a backward glance
Going for broke, going for another chance
Hoping for heaven -- hoping for a fine romance
If I do the right dance
Wheel goes round, landing on a twist of faith
Taking your chances youll have the right answers
When the final judgment begins
Wheel goes round, landing on a leap of fate
Life redirected in ways unexpected
Sometimes the odd number wins
The way the big wheel spins
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They also Serve after John Milton On His Blindness
'They also serve, who only stand and wait'
survivor said, regretting others' fate.
'They also serve who wait without the gate'
time-server said, observing patron's gait.
'What service, light denied, anticipate? '
'Light - despite paradoxical life's plate! '
They're served, who only put on weight, expand,
whose judgement lies, so heavy on the land.
They swerve from justice, who, with heavy hand,
pervert the law, - for which they should be damned.
They wait, who only seem to serve and stand,
beware! a revolution is at hand.
To stand and wait in life to some seems nice
to taste of time, like salad, lacking spice!
(28 March 1981 revised 7 August 2007)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Number One
Each time when one more year was over
You refused to hear heavvens bells sound
And the happiness in you hearts been set lower
You were searching for friends but no one seemed to be round
You merely should think of the good times
cos there are so many ways you can go
Take a look at yourself, youre still very young
And big aims always take very long
Now its time for happiness, stay hard and trust your fate
Dont forget youre something else youll never be too late
Trust your fathers mighty spell youll never be alone
Fate will always turn out well and youll be number one
Shout at the world dont care what they say
cos your life is now, here and today
Luck is there, evrywhere
Go on, reap its goods, thats the way
You wanna have truth, relief from your pain
But life takes its toll again and again
Dont fear the night--your future is paid
And the tracks to your aims are laid
Now its time. . .
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When My Time Comes
when my time comes
i welcome time
when i die
i welcome death
like a long lost friend
of mine
when i am born again
like what they always do
babies
we start our life with a
big cry again
don't you see these
occurences in your skin
birth rebirth
don't you see how
culture comes in all
things and lives in
cycles
from fly to
butterfly
from turtle
to myrtle
doves
from cell to
you
from a mere thought
to enlightenment
from a touch of my finger
to the fire of
your soul
from the atom
to the the big bang
of the universal explosion
choose belief
have faith in the undertakings
of the stars and planets
in the sparkles of your
mind
everything comes and goes
and entwines and
climbs
ladder to ladder
cloud to cloud
space to space
unknown to known to unknown
have
and not have
none and full
you do not understand them
now
until one night when you
gaze to the heavens
and see the distance
between you and them
and then you close your eyes
and all of them are
just right within you
brothers and sisters
and kin and parents and
ancestors
one big world
in the most intimate moment
of this and that
i, will, choose, rebirths
a thousand times
i, will, choose, pain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ghosts
Last passing leaves leave, life's page sage admires,
most boasts are ghost hosts, post haste phantom choirs,
now tripping, hesitant, upon life’s board,
stillborn, denying deepest heart’s desire.
As puppets men, leaves, dance upon branch wire
taut from birth to death, - staged play's proved liar,
taught to act but not to BE! - the sword
of Fate each early, late, must all retire.
For few dare seek the stars, or yet aspire
for freedom, seldom glance above their mire,
fear chloroforming chlorophyll cuts cord
that holds life's journey from horizons higher.
The burning bush survived the blazing fire,
and witness stands to God the purifier, -
yet oil on troubled waters oft is poured
as Fall to Winter wanes, frost snaps high-flyer.
Lifes leaves soon grieve, deceived by Summer, ire
replacing lush greens flush, Time sees misfire
intimations of immortality
when verdant vibrance turns red, brown, then mire.
Life is too short, who strums soul poet’s lyre
must tame frame's vagrant strings. Sole versifier
intensely seeks sense off the fence, each chord
in tune with Autumn moon runes' mortal quire!
Leaves drop, hearts stop, in season all retire
from green-scene bud to has been dud quagmire,
so little space to race then silent doom,
strum still tombed, dumb will catacombed entire.
Revised 19 October 2011
see also Rubaiyat of Ghosts
GHOSTS
Few passing strangers may the sage admire,
as most are ghosts without a phantom choir,
now tripping, hesitant, upon life’s board,
stillborn, denying e’en their heart’s desire.
Most men as puppets dance upon a wire
taut from birth to death, - to play as liar,
taught to act but not to BE! - the sword
of Fate each early, late, must all retire.
For few dare seek the stars, or yet aspire
for freedom, seldom glance above their mire,
for eighty, maybe ninety years life’s cord
they tread and never aim at something higher.
The burning bush survived the blazing fire,
and witness stands to God the purifier, -
yet oil on troubled waters oft is poured
by those who shun each prophet as a liar.
Life is too short, who strums the poet’s lyre
must tame the vagrant strings. The versifier
must seek deep harmony where every chord
in tune responds to feelings all inspire!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Is Second Best Just Jest Test or Unjust Protest Gest?
When second best protests against dire chance
he or she echoes stress at life's twist dance.
Self-confidence is put to sorry test,
ambitions, on the shelf, are laid to rest.
Inadequacy often will deny
the will to try, succeed, luck's lies decry.
'They also serve, who only stand and wait'
survivor said, regretting callous fate.
'They also serve who wait without the gate'
time-server grates, perceiving patron's pate.
'What service, light denied, anticipate? '
'Light - despite paradoxical life's plate! '
They're served, who only put on weight, expand,
whose judgement lies, so heavy on the land.
They swerve from justice, who, with heavy hand,
pervert the law- for which they should be damned.
They wait, who only seem to serve and stand,
beware! banned revolution is at hand.
To stand and wait in life to some seems nice
to taste of time, like salad, lacking spice!
When dream of self esteem turns rancid, raw,
apologies tears crocodile soon pour.
Poor too is mind that looks behind not for
top flight successes, recognized, in store.
Fresh opportunities are infinite,
no need to mope, scorn hope, of goals lose sigh.
What second best may seem at any time
can role-reverse distress, blessed see self climb.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: The Wheel of Life
The Wheel of Life has Time placed in its hub,
Rotating from joyful state to sorrow;
Learns man to live with hope for the morrow,
Happy today that he can get his grub.
The Wheel of Fate turns at its own queer speed,
Yet, man can alter it using his skill;
Joys and sorrows sequentially fill;
Life on earth seems worthless to some indeed.
But any wheel will turn again, again;
And every state of life will have its end;
This life on earth can be a boon or bane,
Which on the person only will depend.
You turn the Wheel of Life at your own Will,
And much better with Almighty’s help, still.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You're Not Alone
In a way, it's all a matter of time
I will not worry for you, You'll be just fine
Take my thoughts with you, and when you look behind
You will surely see a face that you recognize
You're not alone, I'll wait till the end of time
Open your mind, Surely it's plain to see
You're not alone, I'll wait till the end of time for you
Open your mind, Surely there's time to be with me
It is the distance, that makes life a little hard
Two minds that once were close, Now so many miles apart
I will not falter though, I'll hold on till you're home
Safely back where you belong, And see how our love has grown
You're not alone, I'll wait till the end of time
Open your mind, Surely it's plain to see
You're not alone, I'll wait till the end of time for you
Open your mind, Surely there's time to be with me
song performed by by Olive
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hell Or Heaven
Mama used to say to me
You can make your destiny
Keep your feet planted on the ground
You can always get it back
Make a castle from a one room shack
It's what you make of what you've found
Son you're gonna find out when you're older
There's always been the hand of God
Resting right there on your shoulder
Will it be hell or heaven on Earth
The choice is up to you
Look to the sky, the answer is clear
Are you gonna live life for all it's worth
Choose hell or heaven on Earth
If you live it right
There's nothing to fear
'Cause you'll find heaven right here
Saw a man the other day
Had it made in every way
Till his greed brought him down
He was blinded by the city lights
Now he shivers in the cold at night
Who will save the lifeguard
When he's about to drown
Will it be hell or heaven on Earth
The choice is up to you
Look to the sky, the answer is clear
Are you gonna live life for all it's worth
Choose hell or heaven on Earth
If you live it right
There's nothing to fear
'Cause you'll find heaven right here
You know you're gonna walk on through the fire
You know you're gonna feel the pain
You know you're gonna lose if you wanna win the game
And every time your heart is breakin'
And every time your faith is shaken
Just remember what mama said
Oh yeah
Hope when my time has come
I'm left enough to build upon
Ain't no one gonna say I didn't try
And here's why
Hell or heaven on Earth
The choice is up to you
Look to the sky, the answer is clear
Are you gonna live life for all it's worth
Choose hell or heaven on Earth
If you live it right
There's nothing to fear
'Cause you'll find heaven right here
You'll find heaven right here (x3)
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Believe So...
does the wind choose to blow?
do rivers choose to run?
does your heart choose to beat?
i believe so...
does the earth choose to turn,
in perfect rhythm, year by year?
do the tides choose to come and go,
in cadence with the moon?
i believe so...
does society choose to be oppressed,
if only by apathy's inaction?
do we choose to let people starve
when we turn the other head?
i believe so...
do we choose war over peace,
to feed the need of greed?
do we choose to destroy nature
by our very lifestyles?
i believe so....
but can we change destiny,
and avert the final blow?
can we open our minds and hearts,
and reclaim life for the living?
i believe so...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballad Of Spider John
Ballad of spider john
By: willis a. ramsey
1974
Spider john is my name friend
Im in between freights and I sure would be obliged
If youd share your company
I know this may sound strange to you
But if you wait till the song is sung and the story is told
You might come to understand
Oh, Im old and bent and devil sent, runnin out of time
When I long ago held a royal flush in my hand
Chorus:
Oh, I was a supermarket fool
I was a motor bank stool-pidgeon, robbin my hometown
I thought I lost my blues, yes I thought I paid my dues
I thought Id found a life to suit my style
But here I sit old spider john the robber-man
Long, tall, and handsome
Yes, old spider john with a loaded hand, takin ransom
Then one day I met diamond lill
She was the sweetest thing, I declare
That the summer breeze had ever blown my way
But lilly she had no idea, of my illustrious occupation
She thought I was a saint, not a sinner, gone astray
But you see that the word got around and lilly left town
Never saw her again
Tossin and turnin, causin my heart to grieve
Chorus:
Oh, I was a supermarket fool
I was a motor bank stool-pidgeon, robbin my hometown
I thought I lost my blues, yes I thought I paid my dues
I thought Id found a life to suit my style
But here I sit old spider john the robber-man
Long, tall, and handsome
Yes, old spider john with a loaded hand, takin ransom
That is all my story
Its been these thirty years since I took to the road
To find my precious jewel one
And if you see my lilly, wont you give her my regards
Tell her ole spider got tangled in the black web that he spun
You can tell her ole spider got tangled the black web that he spun
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Iron Bars Of Mine
I stand behind these old iron bars,
To see the things, that I can see
I see a world that is changing everyday,
A world, that will not wait for me.
Behind these iron bars where I must lay,
Behind these bars where I must stay.
In this world where I am alone
Its a world that I helped build,
I make not the laws for how I live,
Time for me, she is held still.
As tomorrow is the same as it is today,
And today is the same, as yesterday.
Behind these bars, its where I am
It is the place where I sit and lie,
My destiny for me has already been chose,
For this is the place where I will die.
When the youth of mine turns into old,
When the dewdrops of dreams turn into snow.
The world that I made out of iron and stone
Where freedom and life is locked away
Where life is a waste, and living a haste,
It is where myself alone will forever stay.
Days and years for me, I have no care.
My only solitude, is sleep and prayer.
My day for me; she will someday come
When from my bars I am allowed to leave,
I will welcome that day with open arms and hope,
As those iron bars, will close behind me..
And for that day I will constantly pray,
As I leave those bars, for the bars of my a grave.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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