To Tu Fu from Shantung
You ask how I spend my time--
I nestle against a treetrunk
and listen to autumn winds
in the pines all night and day.
Shantung wine can't get me drunk.
The local poets bore me.
My thoughts remain with you,
like the Wen River, endlessly flowing.
Li T'ai-po
tr. Hamil
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In The Far Away Town
The cold northern winds blowing and the rain bucketing down
And the storm-water drains overflowing in the far away town
On the dimly lit main street on a wet Autumn night
Few cars or trucks pass up and down and not a person in sight
But in the local pub there is music, dance and song
And with the ballad singer the patrons happily sing along
In the rural town on a wet saturday night far inland from the sea
The local pub where the locals are does seem the place to be
For any form of socializing for those who enjoy such a thing
Some men when drunk they like to fight some like to dance and sing
The chilly wind of late Autumn has Winter in it's cry
And the thundery rain is pouring down from the moonless night sky
But in the local pub 'tis standing room only and not a vacant seat
And the music and pub din from there echoes down the quiet street.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lost River
Theres a lost river that flows
In a valley where no on e goes,
Where the wild waters rush
Rumbles deep in the hush.
Gone far from there now,
Lord Ill be back somehow
To where the lost river winds
In the shadow of the pines
Oh, lost river, now Im coming back
To the pot-belly stove, where the firewoods all stacked
Oh Quebec girl, go with me,
Oh my bell, my fleur de lis,
Where the lost river winds
In the shadow of the pines
Now every body knows
Where that lost river flows
Its someplace hes lost
Behind bridges that hes crossed
Well, hed like to return,
But his bridges are all burned
And hes much too far down
To return to higher ground
Oh, lost river, now Im coming back
To the pot-belly stove, where the firewoods all stacked
Oh Quebec girl, go with me,
Oh my bell, my fleur de lis,
Where the lost river winds
In the shadow of the pines
Oh lost river, far over ther ridge
Now is it too late for me to build me a new bridge?
To the bright golden time
When her love was still mine
And the world was still wild
Like the heart of a child
Oh, lost river, now Im coming back
To the pot-belly stove, where the firewoods all stacked
Oh Quebec girl, go with me,
Oh my bell, my fleur de lis,
Where the lost river winds
In the shadow of the pines
Where the lost river winds
In the shadow of the pines
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dreamy River
There's a dreamy river flowing
Down the street from my house
I walk down there after work
But I paddle my way home
There's a dreamy river flowing
On every street corner in the world
And if that young moon is in the sky
She'll wink at you and let you pass by
There's a dreamy river flowing
From my refrigerator into my mouth
It only costs a few dollars
To keep those shelves stocked
There's a dreamy river flowing
From my mouth into my gut
There's a dreamy river flowing
From my wank into the street
There's a dreamy river flowing
In my mind as I lay to sleep
There's a dreamy river flowing
From a town I've never been to
Across this great country
And also from overseas
Sometimes from people's kitchens
Transversing time and space
I float down this river
Every night and day
There's a dreamy river flowing
From the hops and the malts and sugar
I call it my brother, I call it my wife
I call it my true friend
Let me float upon you dreamy river
And drown all these sorrows
That call to me from pasts I've severed
poem by Spencer Breau
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One Day If I Could Spend The Night
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
I would stack your hearth with firewood,
and we could sit together, on your couch.
You, your feet tucked under you
and your head against my chest,
me, holding you close to me,
and breathing that faint and lovely
fragrance of your hair.
And we could dine on pizza and red wine,
in the softly glowing firelight,
one day, perhaps, if I could spend the night.
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
there would be nothing hurried,
no urgency in either life,
and we could have another glass of wine
and talk, earnestly, of matters serious,
if we felt that way inclined.
Or, we could have that other glass of wine
and laugh at matters impolite,
one day, perhaps, if I could spend the night.
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
when we were ready, we would go to bed
and kiss and make unhurried love.
Or, equally unhurried, we would not.
And we would listen to the wind and rain
and kiss and make unhurried love again.
Or, equally unhurried, we would not.
And we would sleep, egg and spoon together,
with each of us at peace.
And everything,
in both our worlds,
would be just right,
one day,
perhaps,
if I could spend the night.
poem by Red O'Mara
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The Town Poets
They have the ticket draw for the football club
But never a poets hour at the local pub
'Twould seem that cricket and football are the in thing
And horse racing at the back end of the Spring
But of course the Town poets have their own poetry night
On saturday evenings at the bowling club rooms their poems they recite
The local lovers of poetry their night out enjoy
To watch local favourite poets such as Rina, Kate and Roy
Reciting their poetry and strutting their stuff
It cannot be said of them not quite good enough
Quite talented poets the tops of the Town
Young poets in their thirties who dream of renown
And recite their poems in the rooms of the bowling club
Whilst it's a different scene at the Town's biggest pub.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Season of Change
Autumn winds gently in,
washing away Summer's sin...
Autumn winds blow free,
chasing colored leaves from every tree...
Autumn winds chill,
frosting through every valley and hill...
Autumn winds passed,
waiting for Winter's snowy blast.
poem by George Aul
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Mountain Drinking Song
To drown the ancient sorrows,
we drank a hundred jugs of wine
there in the beautiful night.
We couldn't go to bed with the moon so bright.
The finally the wine overcame us
and we lay down on the empty mountain--
the earth for a pillow,
and a blanket made of heaven.
Li T'ai-po
tr. Hamil
Words From A Husband To A Wife (Envelope Couplet Sestets)
Spend your time with me until the night end
as we attend a party at the house of a friend
smile and talk to me as if I am someone else
laugh merrily at the jokes our host tells,
while you dance with me where the stairs bend,
spend your time with me until the night end.
Spend your time with me until the night end
smile coyly while a drink I recommend,
treat me like a stranger you have just met
while our eyes are just on each other set,
let your glance shy before mind descend,
spend your time with me until the night end.
Spend your time with me until the night end
even if our friends do not really comprehend
why we are different from our old stances
why we are romancing in all our glances
while like some strangers we together blend,
spend your time with me until the night end.
Spend your time with me until the night end
as if life on a moment do depend
while you act just like a brand new lover,
as if our feelings we did rediscover,
as if we met only on a godsend,
spend your time with me until the night end.
Spend your time with me until the night end,
friendly greet the old smiling reverend
while we proudly walk past to our dinner
as if we are just two love-struck sinners,
while our unfamiliarity we do pretend,
spend your time with me until the night end.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Oh When Will Autumn Moon and Spring Flowers End
Spring flower autumn moon what time finish?
Past events know so many
Small tower last night again east wind
Old country cot bear recollect moon bright at
Carve balustrade marble steps must still remain
Simply red face change
For gentleman can be how much sorrow?
Just like a river spring water to east flow
Oh when will autumn moon and spring flowers end?
How many past events I've known.
The east wind buffeted my room again last night,
I cannot bear to remember the bright moon of the old country.
The marble steps and carved balustrades must still be there,
The people's rosy cheeks are all that's changed.
How much sorrow can one man have to bear?
As much as a river of spring water flowing east.
Wind of Autumn
Wind of Autumn
Wind of autumn
Fire of summer-
Sweet girl of sixteen
Autumn without chirping
Of cuckoo in life-
Does not mean
How can the poets
Construct poetry;
If autumn remain far
Fire of summer
Looks wanton eye;
Say what you desire
Autumn knows the youth
Rainy day cloud;
O! Love rose begin.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Flowing Red River
I dive head first into the flowing red river.
It's acrid taste fills my mouth.
I drown in it's putrid depths.
My heart pounds and excitement grips.
As the flowing red river drips.
I cannot contain my growing glee.
I cannot wait to feed on it's bounty.
From down below I stand up straight.
I rise to greet this wonderful fate.
The flowing red river fills me up.
I bend right down from it to suck.
In and out I feel such love.
It cleans my soul flowing red river runs.
I feel it right now it's almost gone.
The pinnacle of joy hits like a bomb.
Yet I'm sad when the flowing red rivers gone.
Fear not though we'll always meet.
When the flowing red river comes to greet.
poem by Michael McParland
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Listen to the Flowing River
The fisherman used to cast his line into the running water
And take what the flowing river allowed him to receive
Now he’s watching as the pollutants slaughter
No longer can he wade out from the shore, a time to grieve.
He looks down on the river sadly mourning
Detests the modern world that lives within
The river’s surface shadows a simple warning
A positive transformation must begin.
We must close our eyes and listen to the flowing river
We must open up our hearts and take one more chance
To take a stand, don’t yield, don’t quiver
Make a choice not to live in this world as victims of circumstance.
No longer watch as acid rain continues to pour down – to sorrow
Should not let our expectations fill with fear
Everyone look out to new horizons on the morrow
The lamp of knowledge is coming here.
Let the rejoicing ring out in the heartland
And thank the Lord and pour blessings on his name, amen
May the future be true for our sons and daughters – delivered with a helping hand
Listen to the flowing river as the fish swim upstream once again.
'2007'
poem by Robert Sheridan
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A Day
Written by john curulewski
Lead vocals by john curulewski
Woke up in rainy autumn
Morning mist beginning to wane
And the birds of the winged trees
Calling my name
Care less the clouds above me
The wind is gently lifting my hair
Where the rivers of the wind fall light rain
Now stand bare
Listen to the flowing streams
Golden in the shelter of my dreams
Playing a song on the meadow that echoes with love
Walk alone through the garden
The leaves are wet with mornings tear
And the whispering of someone
Is drawing me near
Content to rest awhile
Pondering the motion of time
Over unforgotten memories
Dipped in wine
Listen to the flowing streams
Golden in the shelter of my dreams
Playing a song on the meadow that echoes with love
[extended instrumental solos]
The God of dusk is falling around me
The night air now restless and dank
Yet the fields are specked with flowers
Few and rank
Moon reflecting off the water
Rippling an image to me
Of the way that it is
And the way that its going to be
Listen to the flowing streams
Golden in the shelter of my dreams
Playing a song on the meadow that echoes with love
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bluebird Wine
(rodney crowell)
Baby brought me in out off the highway
Made me put my money in the bank, bank
Straightened out my crooked way of thinking
Made it purely pleasure when I drank
And its all right
Ive just hit my stride
Right off the bat
Lord, Im drunk on bluebird wine
Baby taught me a diffrent way of thinkin
Like how to spend my evenings here at home
Listning to the music on the radio
Drinking all the bluebird we can hold
And its all right
Ive just hit my stride
Right off the bat
Lord, Im drunk on bluebird wine
Baby says hed really love a party
Well get some friends together feelin fine
Any friend of mine is worth his habit
A belly full of babys bluebird wine
And its all right
Ive just hit my stride
Right off the bat
Lord, Im drunk on bluebird wine
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foolish Restrictions
Come,
And spend the night with me.
Unleash those temptations.
And be freed of them.
Have we witnessed,
Enough of the passion and yearning?
It is time to get explicit.
It is time to let...
What naturally comes next.
A love expressed,
With the act of sex just between us.
Come,
And spend the night with me.
Let the flowing of our urges...
Complete that need.
Time has long passed,
Since I wanted just a piece of...
Love!
To grasp and call my own to grow!
Come,
And spend the night with me.
Now and tomorrow.
And beyond...
If that is our destiny!
You and I have too long known...
A togetherness our hearts have shown.
Come...
And let us remove,
Those foolish restrictions!
Those that keep us relating in limited conditions.
When we wish more than anything,
To lay in each other's arms.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Listen to the Sunset
Listen to the Sunset
In this day going light
Tunes of some regret
Before the coming night
So much is then lost
That no one did remember
In lights of red flow rust
Of autumn in September
Special day and evening
Flowing from the ray
As the dark comes singing
In muted colors play
Bell is ringing a tune
Of melodies in gone past
In each their commune
That now to night runs fast
Listen to the Sunset
As darkness close the sky
In shading tint alphabet
When illumination colors die
So much then gets crossed
In its malleable and ember
That comes with winter gust
In autumn of red September
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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To Love You
Spend the night with me and,
Let me show you my sweet bed of roses.
Spend the night with me and,
Taste the love that you are looking for.
Spend the night with me and,
Come under the protection of my roof of sweet love.
Refresh yourself with the true love from my breasts and,
Let me satisfy you with my muse in the land of love.
Come and entertain me with your sweet love and,
Spend the night with me on this side of the river.
Come and entertain me with your nakedness and,
Let me lead you on to my sweet bed of roses.
For, this will be like the dream of your life and the dream of mine! !
And like a land flowing with milk and honey.
Rise up in the morning and comfort me with your love,
For my bed of sweet roses is well laid with the aroma of love waitng for you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Be Drunk
You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it--it's the
only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks
your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually
drunk.
But on what?Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be
drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of
a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again,
drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave,
the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything
that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is
singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and
wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you:"It is time to be
drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be
continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Payday
Lets go out on the town tonight
My pockets are heavy with loot
And get drunk and blasted
(and loud in your dress of blue)
Ive been living from hand to mouth
It must be three or four weeks
And I can tell you one thing jack
You listen when your stomach speaks
I feel good just like I knew that I would
And all on account of that wine that I bought today
Im smiling so sweet
At every little girl that I meet
Some fools will try to tell you its a sin to feel this way
It feels so funny having all of this money
I think I feel like dancing the night away
I think I feel like dancing the night away
I got me this long legged girl
To help me to spend my dough
Her heart as big as your mamas stove
And her body like brigitte bardot
Im all ready for some rock and roll
With the guitar turned up loud
And the fancy footwork
And the (drunk) down, druged up crowd
I feel good just like I knew that I would
All on account of that wine that I bought today
Im smiling so sweet
At every little girl that I meet
Some fools will try to tell you its a sin to feel this way
It feels so funny having all of this money
I think I feel like dancing the night away
I think I feel like dancing the night away
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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