Golden Yarns
Yarns we spin of old,
Makes the young bold.
They when hearing it,
Go in search of spirit,
Learn to chant and sing,
Doth timely rains bring.
Finding their inner soul,
And become really bold.
The old ways try and do,
Walk true the path anew,
Continually on the way,
Both at night and in day,
To search in any weather,
Bear claw; eagle feather;
Much pain; no tears cried;
To a new brave with pride.
The elders smile and nod.
On the good path to trod,
Much better than all gold,
Are the yarns spun of old.
poem by Joseph Blitch
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Related quotes
Bold & Reckless
(r. hine, j. obstoj)
Producer: rupert hine
Album: non-album track
B-side of the australian steamy windows single
From the the best uk/europe 12 and cd5
So yo think youve got a hold on me
But did you ever, or is that your fantasy.
Ill miss you when you go,
But, no pain wont show
Im free to search and go my way.
So bold, so bold and reckless.
I suppose youve been good to me
Maybe not enough to rock my sanity.
You never asked me questions,
And you never understood.
Im free to search and go my way.
So bold, so bold and reckless.
So bold, yeah bold and reckless.
Well, I cant live in a cage,
Ive just got to be free, dancin and flyin away.
But your always in my dreams, runin
Yes, your always in my dreams, runin
So weve been gettin closer by degree
But, you wont ever bring me to my knees.
Youll never make me shy,
And you wont see me cry.
Im still free to go my way.
So bold, so bold and reckless.
So bold, still bold and reckless.
Yes, you were always in my dreams runin
Always in my dreams.
So bold, so bold and reckless.
Yeah, yeah, so bold and reckless.
Yeah, yeah, so bold and reckless.
Still bold, still bold and reckless.
Still bold, still bold and reckless.
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song- I'd be a Fairy King
Oh, I'd be a Fairy King,
With my vassals brave and bold;
We'd hunt all day,
Through the wildwood gay,
In our guise of green and gold;
And we'd lead such a merry, merry life,
That the silly, toiling bee,
Would have no sweet
In its dull retreat,
So rich as our frolic glee.
I'd be a Fairy King,
With my vassals brave and bold;
We'd hunt all day,
Through the wildwood gay,
In our guise of green and gold.
At night, when the moon spake down,
With her bland and pensive tone,
The fairest Queen
That ever was seen
Would sit on my pearly throne;
And we'd lead such a merry, merry life,
That the stars would laugh in show'rs
Of silver light,
All the summer night,
To the airs of the passing Hours.
I'd be a Fairy King,
With my vassals brave and bold;
We'd hunt all day
Through the wildwood gay,
In our guise of green and gold.
We'd talk with the dainty flow'rs,
And we'd chase the laughing brooks;
My merry men,
Through grove and glen,
Would search for the mossy nooks;
And we'd be such a merry, merry band,
Such a lively-hearted throng,
That life would seem
But a silvery dream
In the flowery Land of Song.
I'd be a Fairy King,
With my vassals brave and bold;
We'd hunt all day,
Through the wildwood gay,
In our guise of green and gold.
poem by Charles Sangster
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Shadows of the Dark
Feelings just feel so lost and I have no idea how to figure my way out?
Tried my level best although finding my way out is not such an easy option
Life is never so easy to figure out
How can I tell you that what are my ways, so things can be figured out?
Do not know how to figure out the right path?
Let me complete my cigarette first
Then I will think of which path to follow?
Right options are difficult to search
I cannot tell which is the exact path
Still, I am trying to figure out my way
Trying to navigate the directions to follow
Thinking of ways to come to terms to life.
My ways are still somewhere in between nowhere
Do not know the exact locations of my whereabouts?
Just me alone here, feels like being, nobody among the shadows of the dark.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Joust
There were two shadows
Under one erratic sun
Two angry, sibilant veins
To hum the same rhyme
Trepidation gnaws the soul
And we knew a good resolve:
Trepidation makes knights and lions
And we knew it wouldn't dissolve
You were brave enough to lunge
But your sword wouldn't joust
I was brave enough to take the jabs
But I cannot halt my lonely wake
In cowardice we futilely spun
Gilded threads in the dark
In cowardice we also lost
The ends of our tangled yarns
There is not a warrior tonight
In this house of savagery
There is not a contender tonight
To jeopardize my maladies.
poem by Norman Santos
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O, My Friend, Be With Me!
O My friend, be with me,
On the path of life,
Full of stones and thorns,
Breeze and storms.
walking along with you,
all I feel well, fresh and light always!
You bear your pain, you fight with them,
I can't fight for you or you can't for me,
but our hearts wishing good for one another,
Makes all difference,
well, it can make all look different!
O, My Friend, my faith in you.
And smile on your face,
eyes shine when you crack joke,
my mind feel light,
when your teeth twinkle,
between smiling lips,
show my path even in dark!
I can bear my pain easily,
when you are with me,
neither you bear my pains and strains, nor I Ask you to,
only I and you can share the beauty of life,
My burden look light when you walk along with me!
But if you are away I can't bear the weight of heart,
heavy it becomes,
without breeze your smile,
Or without the jokes and thoughts
you share with me!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Condoms or Pills
Young queens make…
The wrong decisions…
When not choosing…
To self protection…
Against…the erection…
And that’s raw…
An eagle claw…
Ripping away at the soul…
Their choices are not attractive…
At best…
They must pass the me first test…
Sex at such a young age…
Can and will lead the body…
To an inner rage …
Become aware of the body gage…
“Sally had a baby, he is really…
Cute…”
I want one too…
Repeated sex begins…
Over, over and over until then…
Is that birth of the child a sin…
And if not, when…
Rain coat or not…
Either, is a wet encounter…
At that age…
You are setting the stage…
Rights…to screw…that night…
Age plays a role…
As for one to not be left…
Out in the cold…
When young they are bold…
Not concerned with the soul…
Older, not bolder…
The child is getting older…
The father is gone…
Now you all alone…
You might be with another…
Yet you are still in pain…
Call your mom on the phone…
Run or walk home…
Click your heels three times…
Clicking is no crime…
Things will be fine…
Wake up young queens... it’s…
Time…
Whisperkwane
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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The Night I Walk!
it is the night i walk,
in search of the day...
perhaps the wind i feel,
and the brotherhood of trees.
the worship of the feminine,
the gateway and the path.
made drunk by beauty,
maddened with desire.
yet still as the mountains,
sipping time by the moment.
the bare foot in the mud,
the feather by the door.
the birth of the child,
the death of the father.
it is the night i walk...
because that's who i am!
inspired by one of Patti's poems!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tears upon the moon
I search the night time sky
and find you
peeping through the clouds
that bind you
shades of midnight blue
surround you
I see tears upon the moon
I search your battered orb
and hear you
while mankind struggles
to be near you
disrupting moon dust thick
beneath you
I see tears upon the moon
I search your waxing and
your waning
manned journeys to the crater
gaining
only time will need
explaining
I see tears upon the moon
I search your face for signs
of pleasure
finding none and heed its
measure
resisting giving up its
treasure
I see tears upon the moon
poem by Evelyn Macdonald
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Brittle Bones
Though I am an old man
With my bones very brittle,
Though I am a poor old man
Worth very little,
Yet I suck at my long pipe
At peace in the sun,
I do not fret nor much regret
That my work is done.
If I were a young man
With my bones full of marrow,
Oh, if I were a bold young man
Straight as an arrow,
And if I had the same years
To live once again,
I would not change their simple range
Of laughter and pain.
If I were a young man
And young was my Lily,
A smart girl, a bold young man,
Both of us silly.
And though from time before I knew
She'd stab me with pain,
Though well I knew she'd not be true,
I'd love her again.
If I were a young man
With a brisk, healthy body,
Oh, if I were a bold young man
With love of rum toddy,
Though I knew that I was spiting
My old age with pain,
My happy lip would touch and sip
Again and again.
If I were a young man
With my bones full of marrow,
Oh, if I were a bold young man
Straight as an arrow,
I'd store up no virtue
For Heaven's distant plain,
I'd live at ease as I did please
And sin once again.
poem by Robert Graves
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The Old Road
THE ROAD is left that once was trod
By man and heavy-laden beast;
And new ways opened, iron-shod,
That bind the land from west to east.
I asked of Him who all things knows
Why none who lived now passed that way:
Where rose the dust the grass now grows?
A still, low voice was heard to say,—
“Thou knowest not why I change the course
Of him who travels: learn to go,
Obey the Spirit’s gentle force,
Nor ask thou where the stream may flow.
“Man shall not walk in his own ways,
For he is blind and cannot see;
But let him trust, and lengthened days
Shall lead his feet to heaven and Me.
Then shall the grass the path grow o’er,
That his own wilfulness has trod;
And man nor beast shall pass it more,
But he shall walk with Me, his God.”
poem by Jones Very
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The Bold Buccaneer
One very rough day on the Pride of the Fray
In the scuppers a poor little cabin-boy lay,
When the Bosun drew nigh with wrath in his eye
And gave him a kick to remember him by,
As he cried with a sneer: “What good are you here?
Go home to your mammy, my bold buccaneer.”
Now the Captain beheld, and his pity upwelled:
With a plug in the peeper the Bosun he felled.
With humility grand he extended his hand
And helped the poor lad, who was weeping, to stand,
As he cried: “Have no fear; I'm the manager here.
Take heart, and you'll yet be a bold buccaneer.”
But how he did flare when the lad then and there
Doffed his cap and shook down a gold banner of hair.
Though his movements were shy, he'd a laugh in his eye,
And he sank on the Captain's broad breast with a sigh,
As he cried: “Is it queer that I've followed you here?
I'm your sweetheart from Bristol, my bold buccaneer.”
On an isle in the west, by the breezes caressed,
The bold buccaneer has a warm little nest,
And he sits there in state amid pieces of eight
And tackles his rum with a manner elate,
As he cries: “O my dear little cabin-boy, here
Is a toast to the babe of the bold buccaneer!”
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Choosing To Walk On The Right Path
Choosing to walk on the right path,
Is going to have its obstacles.
Temptations will be there to tease,
With attempts to weaken.
And faces familiar...
Will appear to critique.
Choosing to walk on the right path,
Isn't an easy decision one makes.
It takes one to break away,
From barriers attached...
That are difficult to unlatch.
Yet...
Can be done to escape those traps.
Choosing to walk on the right path,
Is going to have its obstacles.
And some days will seem impossible.
But that path chosen,
By the one who knows it is correct...
Will never bring to one regret.
If a faith kept is strong.
And an accepting felt within belongs.
Choosing to walk on the right path,
Will prove there to be nothing to fear.
Doubts disappear!
And those things wrong that prick like thorns,
From this right path...
Eventually,
Will be gone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bardic tradition
The yarns I spin to entertain
are never wholly fictional
I let sufficient truth remain
so they can seem quite factual.
Sometimes I find readers accept
My narratives as being true.
Although it’s not what I expect
it makes me proud to think they do.
From the feed back which I receive
It seems I unintentionally
create something they can believe.
It’s highly complimentary.
Though fashions change, bards can still spin
a likely tale to take you in.
Saturday,30 January 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Bunch Of Lonesome Heroes
A bunch of lonesome and very quarrelsome heroes
were smoking out along the open road;
the night was very dark and thick between them,
each man beneath his ordinary load.
"I'd like to tell my story,"
said one of them so young and bold,
"I'd like to tell my story,
before I turn into gold."
But no one really could hear him,
the night so dark and thick and green;
well I guess that these heroes must always live there
where you and I have only been.
Put out your cigarette, my love,
you've been alone too long;
and some of us are very hungry now
to hear what it is you've done that was so wrong.
I sing this for the crickets,
I sing this for the army,
I sing this for your children
and for all who do not need me.
"I'd like to tell my story,"
said one of them so bold,
"Oh yes, I'd like to tell my story
'cause you know I feel I'm turning into gold.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Search Of Peace Of Mind
If you are in search of peace of mind,
Don't search it anywhere in the land;
If you decide your path and duties
your future and routine activities,
Peace will come and kneel on your feet
paving red carpet on your path.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Walk With God
Why does one walk with God, and why does a heart humbly nod,
While a sinner in the present life, to follow as Lord, Jesus Christ?
What are the choices one will make, as former ways they forsake,
Ignoring all that others will say, as they choose in life a new way?
No soul will move towards God, upon the earth we presently trod,
Unless the person is drawn by, the Spirit of God, Who is on High.
Their heart by God is stirred within, that sinner lost and wandering,
And given eyes so they will see, the need for The God of Eternity.
A need they never saw before, the Savior knocked upon the door,
The very door of their own heart, for the new life with God to start,
And at that moment they believe, The Holy Spirit, they will receive,
Thus, beginning a New Life when, that sinner becomes Born Again.
It is only after that spiritual birth, the things of God have real worth,
When given new sight from above, God’s Spirit kindles a new love,
A flame in your heart becomes a fire, with new purpose and desire,
Walking with God you’ll soon find, the former ways are left behind.
With a desire to walk in The Light, to help men still lost in the night,
Persuading others to open the door, to a life in Christ forevermore,
So as the Spirit of God moves in, they leave a present path of sin,
To join that race with you and me, on the new path to Life Eternally.
(Copyright ©09/2009)
Two Folk Songs
I. THE SOLDIER
(Roumanian)
When winter trees bestrew the path,
Still to the twig a leaf or twain
Will cling and weep, not Winter's wrath,
But that foreknown forlorner pain-
To fall when green leaves come again.
I watch'd him sleep by the furrow-
The first that fell in the fight.
His grave they would dig to-morrow:
The battle called them to-night.
They bore him aside to the trees, there,
By his undigg'd grave content
To lie on his back at ease there,
And hark how the battle went.
The battle went by the village,
And back through the night were borne
Far cries of murder and pillage,
With smoke from the standing corn.
But when they came on the morrow,
They talk'd not over their task,
As he listen'd there by the furrow;
For the dead mouth could not ask-
How went the battle, my brothers?
But that he will never know:
For his mouth the red earth smothers
As they shoulder their spades and go.
Yet he cannot sleep thereunder,
But ever must toss and turn.
How went the battle, I wonder?
-And that he will never learn!
When winter trees bestrew the path,
Still to the twig a leaf or twain
Will cling and weep, not Winter's wrath,
But that foreknown, forlorner pain-
To fall when green leaves come again!
II. THE MARINE
(
Poitevin
)
The bold Marine comes back from war,
So kind:
The bold Marine comes back from war,
So kind:
With a raggety coat and a worn-out shoe.
'Now, poor Marine, say, whence come you,
All so kind?'
I travel back from the war, madame,
So kind:
I travel back from the war, madame,
So kind:
For a glass of wine and a bowl of whey,
'Tis I will sing you a ballad gay,
All so kind.
The bold Marine he sips his whey,
So kind:
He sips and he sings his ballad gay,
So kind:
But the dame she turns toward the wall,
To wipe her tears that fall and fall,
All so kind.
What aileth you at my song, madame,
So kind?
I hope that I sing no wrong, madame,
So kind?
Or grieves it you a beggar should dine
On a bowl of whey and the good white wine,
All so kind?
It ails me not at your ballad gay,
So kind:
It ails me not for the wine and whey,
So kind:
But it ails me sore for the voice and eyes
Of a good man long in Paradise.-
Ah, so kind!
You have fair children five, madame,
So kind:
You have fair children five, madame,
So kind:
Your good man left you children three;
Whence came these twain for company,
All so kind?
'A letter came from the war, Marine,
So kind:
A letter came from the war, Marine,
So kind:
A while I wept for the good man dead,
But another good man in a while I wed,
All so kind.'
The bold Marine he drained his glass,
So kind:
The bold Marine he drained his glass,
So kind.
He said not a word, though the tears they flowed,
But back to his regiment took the road,
All so kind.
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
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Search It
search anything
in your life
search any thing...
you search u got it...
you did not search
waste of life time...
you search any thing
any time search...
not only google.com
search all ways
what do u want...?
search it
the life is search only
you search your inner
you got many more...
search with you...
search the another's
and search the world...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Lifes path
There are so many paths in life
I guess I could say
I ve walked them all
The right path
The wrong path
The path of pain
The path of good
The path of bad
Which path do I now take
At this present time of life
The path I take is the path of pain.
The path of hurt
So many paths I have walked
But im lost in the path
The path of pain
Amy Kerswell
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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A Bunch Of Lonesome Heros
A bunch of lonesome and very quarrelsome heroes
Were smoking out along the open road;
The night was very dark and thick between them,
Each man beneath his ordinary load.
Id like to tell my story,
Said one of them so young and bold,
Id like to tell my story,
Before I turn into gold.
But no one really could hear him,
The night so dark and thick and green;
Well I guess that these heroes must always live there
Where you and I have only been.
Put out your cigarette, my love,
Youve been alone too long;
And some of us are very hungry now
To hear what it is youve done that was so wrong.
I sing this for the crickets,
I sing this for the army,
I sing this for your children
And for all who do not need me.
Id like to tell my story,
Said one of them so bold,
Oh yes, Id like to tell my story
cause you know I feel Im turning into gold.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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