Sun-Up
(Shadows over a cradle…
fire-light craning….
A hand
throws something in the fire
and a smaller hand
runs into the flame and out again,
singed and empty….
Shadows
settling over a cradle…
two hands
and a fire.)
I
CELIA
Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry…. When you try to pick up cherry Celia's shriek sticks in you like a pin.
When God throws hailstones you cuddle in Celia's shawl and press your feet on her belly high up like a stool. When Celia makes umbrella of her hand. Rain falls through big pink spokes of her fingers. When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs she runs under pillars of the bank— great round pillars of the bank have on white stockings too.
Celia says my father
will bring me a golden bowl.
When I think of my father
I cannot see him
for the big yellow bowl
like the moon with two handles
he carries in front of him.
Grandpa, grandpa…
(Light all about you…
ginger… pouring out of green jars…)
You don't believe he has gone away and left his great coat…
so you pretend… you see his face up in the ceiling.
When you clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa,
Celia crosses herself.
It isn't a dream…. It comes again and again…. You hear ivy crying on steeples the flames haven't caught yet and images screaming when they see red light on the lilies on the stained glass window of St. Joseph. The girl with the black eyes holds you tight, and you run… and run past the wild, wild towers… and trees in the gardens tugging at their feet and little frightened dolls shut up in the shops crying… and crying… because no one stops… you spin like a penny thrown out in the street. Then the man clutches her by the hair…. He always clutches her by the hair…. His eyes stick out like spears. You see her pulled-back face and her black, black eyes lit up by the glare…. Then everything goes out. Please God, don't let me dream any more of the girl with the black, black eyes.
Celia's shadow rocks and rocks… and mama's eyes stare out of the pillow as though she had gone away and the night had come in her place as it comes in empty rooms… you can't bear it— the night threshing about and lashing its tail on its sides as bold as a wolf that isn't afraid— and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a grave and pull it around to the light, till the night draws backward… the night that walks alone and goes away without end. Mama says, I am cold, Betty, and shivers. Celia tucks the quilt about her feet, but I run for my little red cloak because red is hot like fire.
I wish Celia
could see the sea climb up on the sky
and slide off again…
…Celia saying
I'd beg the world with you….
Celia… holding on to the cab…
hands wrenched away…
wind in the masts… like Celia crying….
Celia never minded if you slapped her
when the comb made your hairs ache,
but though you rub your cheek against mama's hand
she has not said darling since….
Now I will slap her again….
I will bite her hand till it bleeds.
It is cool by the port hole.
The wet rags of the wind
flap in your face.
II
THE ALLEY
Because you are four years old
the candle is all dressed up in a new frill.
And stars nod to you through the hole in the curtain,
(except the big stiff planets
too fat to move about much,)
and you curtsey back to the stars
when no one is looking.
You feel sorry for the poor wooden chair
that knows it isn't nice to sit on,
and no one is sad but mama.
You don't like mama to be sad
when you are four years old,
so you pretend
you like the bitter gold-pale tea—
you pretend
if you don't drink it up pretty quick
a little gold-fish
will think it is a pond
and come and get born in it.
It's hot in our street and the breeze is a dirty little broom that sweeps dust into our room and bits of paper out of the alley. You are not let to play with the children in the alley But you must be very polite— so you pass them and say good day and when they fling banana skins you fling them back again.
There is no one to play with and the flies on the window buzz and buzz… …you can pull out their legs and stick pins in their bodies but still they buzz… and mama says: When Nero was a little boy he caught flies on his mama's window and pulled out their legs and stuck pins in their bodies and nobody loved him. Buzz, blue-bellied flies— buzz, nasty black wheel of mama's machine— you are the biggest fly of all— you have the loudest buzz. I hear you at dawn before the locusts. But I like the picture of the Flood and the little babies getting drowned…. If I were there I would save them, but as I can't save them I like to watch them getting drowned.
When mama buys of Ling Ho, he smiles very wide and picks her the largest loquots. The greens-man gave her a cabbage and she held it against her black bodice and said what a beautiful green it was and put it on the table as though it had been a flower. But next day we boiled and ate it with salt. It was our dinner.
Christmas day I found Janie on my pillow. Janie is made of rubber. Her red and blue jacket won't come off. Christmas dinner was green and white chicken and lettuce and peas and drops of oil on the salad smiley and full of light like the gold on the lady's teeth.
But mama said politely Thank you, we are dining out. She wouldn't let you take one pea to put in the hole where the whistle was at the back of Janie's head, so Janie should have some dinner So you went to the park with biscuits and black tea in a bottle.
You feel very sad
when you climb on the fence
to watch mama out of sight.
The women in the alley
poke their heads out of doorways
and watch her too.
You know her
by the way she holds her shoulders
till she is only a speck
in a chain of specks—
till she is swallowed up.
But suppose
that day after day
you were to watch for her face
and it didn't come back?
Suppose
it were to drop out of the string of white faces
like the pearl out of my chain
I never found again?
Mabel minds you while mama is out,
she washes while she sings
Three blind mice!
they all run away from the farmer's wife
who cut off their tails
with a carving knife—
Wind blows out Mabel's sheets,
way you blow in a bag before you burst it.
Wind has a soapy smell.
It's heavier'n sun
that lies all over you without any weight
and makes you feel happy
and crinkly like bubbling water.
There's no sun on the empty house—
sly-looking house—
you can't see in its windows
that watch you out of their corners.
Perhaps there's a big spider there
spinning gray threads over the windows
till they look like dead people's faces….
Jimmie says:
Jimmie's hair is white as a white mouse.
His lashes are gold as mama's wedding ring
and his mouth feels cool and smooth
like a flower wet with rain.
You wouldn't believe Jimmie was different…
till he showed you….
Blind wet sheets flapping on the lines… sun in your eyes, dark gold sun full of little black spots, you have to blink and blink… round eyes of Jimmie…. Jimmie's blue jumper… blue shadow of wall… all the world holding still as when a clock stops… streets still… people still… no streets… no people… only sky and wall… sun glaring bright as God down at you and Jimmie… shadow like a purple cloth trailing off the wall…
Wild wet sheets flapping in the wind… big slippered feet flapping too… big-balloon-face rushing up the alley… houses closing up again… windows looking round… … Mabel pulls you in the gate and shakes you and tells you not to tell your mama… And you wonder if God has spoiled Jimmie.
III
MAMA
Mama's face
is smooth and pale as tea-rose leaves.
That ivory oval of aunt Gem
you sucked the miniature off
had black black hair like mama.
Pit-it-ty-pat, Mama walks so fast, street lamps jig without bending a leg… lights in the windows play twinkling tunes on crimson and blue bottles like bubbles big as balloons… Faster and faster… and pink light spurts over cakes doing polkas in little white shirts, with cake-princesses in flounced white skirts.
Pit-pat—
mama walks slower…
slower and… slower…
Eyes… lamps… stars…
acres and acres of stars…
bells… and sleepily
flapping feet….
You're glad mama walks slow.
It's nice to be carried along
up high near the stars
that look at you with a grave, great look.
Every night
mama sings you to sleep.
When she sings, O for the light of thine eyes Dolores,
there's a castle on a cliff
and the sea roars like lions.
It leaps at the castle
and the cliff knocks it down
but always the sea
shakes its flattened head
and gets up again.
The castle has no roof
so the rain spins silvery webs in it,
and Dolores' face
floats dim and beautiful
the way flowers do when they are drowned.
Step by white step
she goes up the castle stairs,
but the stair goes up into the sky
and the sky keeps going up too,
and none of them ever get there.
When mama sings Ba ba black sheep, the stars seem to shine through her voice so everything has to be still, and when she has finished singing her song goes up off the earth, higher and higher… till it is only as big as a tiny silver bird with nothing but moonlight around it.
IV
BETTY
You can see the sandhills from our new room. Butterflies live in the sandhills and lizards and centipedes. If you keep very still lizards will think you a stone and run over your lap. Butterflies' liveries are scarlet and black. They drive chariots in air. People in the chariots are pale as dew— you can see right through them— but the chariots are made of gold of the sun. They go up to heaven and never catch fire. There are green centipedes and brown centipedes and black centipedes, because green and brown and black are the colors in hell's flag. Centipedes have hundreds of feet because it is so far from hell to come up for air. Centipedes do not hurry. They are waiting for the last day when they will creep over the false prophets who will have their hands tied.
Night calls to the sandhills and gathers them under her. she pushes away cities because their sharp lights hurt her soft breast. Even candles make a sore place when they stick in the night.
There are things in the sandhills that no one knows about… they come out at dark when the young snakes play and tell each other secrets in the deaf logs.
Sometimes… before rain… when the stars have gone inside… the night comes close to your window and sniffs at the light…. But you must not run away— you must keep your face to the night and walk backward.
When it rains and you are pulling off flies' legs… mama lets you play houses with Lizzie and Clara. Because you are the Only One— and because Only Ones have to live alone while sisters stay together, Lizzie and Clara give you the dry house and take the one with the leaking roof.
Rain like curly hairpins
blows on Lizzie and Clara's two heads
turned like one head—
two mouths
spread into one laugh.
Lizzie is saying:
why don't you want to play—
when you feel you'd like to braid
the crinkled-silver rain
into a shining rope
to climb up… and up… and up… into the wet sky
and never see any one again.
Our gate doesn't hang right. It must have pawed at the wind and gotten a kick as the wind passed over. The sitting sky puffs out a gray smoke and the wind makes a red-striped sound blowing out straight, but our gate drags its foot and whines to itself on one hinge.
What do you think I've found—
two wee knickers of fairy brass,
or two gold sovereigns folded up
in a bit of green silk,
or two gold bugs
in little green shirts?
If you want to know,
you must walk tip-toe
so your feet just whisper in the grass—
you must carry them careful
and very proud,
for their stems bleed drops of milk—
but Lizzie and Clara shout in glee:
Pee-a-bed, pee-a-bed—
dandelions!
You look in the eyes of grown-up people
to see if they feel
the way you feel…
but they hide inside of themselves,
and so you do not find out.
Grown-up people say:
The stars are bright to-night,
but they do not say
what you are thinking about stars—
not even mama says what you are thinking about stars.
This makes you feel very lonely.
It's strange about stars…. You have to be still when they look at you. They push your song inside of you with their song. Their long silvery rays sink into you and do not hurt. It is good to feel them resting on you like great white birds… and their shining whiteness doesn't burn like the sun— it washes all over you and makes you feel cleaner'n water.
My doll Janie has no waist and her body is like a tub with feet on it. Sometimes I beat her but I always kiss her afterwards. When I have kissed all the paint off her body I shall tie a ribbon about it so she shan't look shabby. But it must be blue— it mustn't be pink— pink shows the dirt on her face that won't wash off.
I beat Janie
and beat her…
but still she smiled…
so I scratched her between the eyes with a pin.
Now she doesn't love me anymore…
she scowls… and scowls…
though I've begged her to forgive me
and poured sugar in the hole at the back of her head.
Mama says Janie is a fairy doll
and she has forgiven me—
that she's gone to the market
to buy me some sweets.
—Now she's at the door
and a little bag tied to her neck—
I run to Janie
and kiss her all over….
Ah… she is still frowning.
I let the sweets drop on the floor—
mama
has told you a lie.
Chinaman
singing in street:
gleen ledd-ish-es, gleen ledd-ish-es—
hot sun
shining on your face—
it must be a new day.
But why aren't you happy
if it's a new day?
Because something has happened…
something sad and terrible….
Now I remember… it's Janie.
Yesterday
I took Janie out
and tied my handkerchief over her face
and put sand in it
and threw her into the ditch
down in the black water
under the dock leaves…
and when mama asked me where Janie was
I said I had lost her.
I'm glad it is night-time
so I'll be able to go to sleep
and forget all about it….
But mama looks at my tongue
and says she will give me senna tea.
When you smell the tea
you shut your eyes tight
and pretend not to hear
the soft, cool voice of mama
that goes over your forehead
like a little wind.
And then you lie in the dark
and stare… and stare…
till the faces come…
yellow faces with leering eyes
drifting in a greeny mist….
I wonder
if Janie sees faces
out there… alone in the dark….
I wonder
if she has got the handkerchief off
or if the water has gone in the hole
where the whistle was
at the back of her head
and drowned her…
or if the stars
can see her under the dock leaves?
It's smoky-blue and still over the red road. Wind must be lying down with its tail under it— doesn't even flick off the flies. And you can hear the silence buzzing in the gum trees, the way the angels buzzed when they flew through the cedars of Lebanon with thin gauze wings you could see through. Nice to hear the silence buzzing— till it comes too close and booms in your ears and presses all over you till you scream…. When you scream at the silence it goes to jingling pieces like a silver mirror broken into tiny bits. Perhaps its wings are made of glass— perhaps it lives down in a dark, dark cave and only comes up to warm its wings in the sun…. It's cold in the cave— no matter how you cover yourself up. Little girls sit there dressed in white and the dolls in their arms all have white handkerchiefs over their faces. Their shadows cannot play with them… their shadows lie down at their feet… for the little girls sit stiff as stones with their backs to the mouth of the cave where a little light falls off the wings of the silence when it comes down out of the sun.
Moon catches the flying fish
as they dive in the bay.
Flying fish
spin over and over
slippity-silver
into the water.
Mom bends over jungles
and touches the foreheads of tigers
as they pass under openings made by dropped leaves.
Tigers stop on the trail of the deer
while the moon is on their foreheads—
they let the stags go by.
Moon is shining strangely on the white palings of the fence. Fence keeps very still… most times it moves a little… everything moves a little though you mayn't know it… but now the little fence wouldn't change places with the great cross that stands so stiff and high with its back to the moon. Moon shining strangely on the white palings of the fence, I am shining too but my light is shut inside of me and can't get out.
Old house with black windows— blind house begging moonlight to put out the shadows— why do you want so much light? You creak when the wind steps on you— you cough up dust and your beams ache— you know you will soon fall, the moon just pities you! Don't waste yourself moon— come on my bed and play with me. Wrap me up in blue light, you who are cool. I am too hot, I am all alive and the shadows are outside of me.
There are different kinds of shadows.
The blind ones
are the shadows of things.
These are the tame shadows—
they love to play on the wall with you
and follow you about like cats and dogs.
Sometimes
they hiss at you softly
like snakes that do not bite,
or swish like women's dresses,
but if you poke a candle at them
they pull in their heads and disappear.
But there is a shadow that is not the shadow of a thing… it is a thing itself. When you meet this shadow you must not look at it too long… it grows with your looking at it… till you are all alone with nothing around you… nothing… nothing… nothing… but a shadow with its eyes full of black light.
There's a shadow in the corner of the shed, crouching, lying in wait… a black coiled shadow, watching… ready to strike… but I mustn't be afraid of it— I mustn't be afraid of anything. Poor evil shadow, the candle would chase it away only she can't get at it. Do you think that every one hates you, shadow with your back to the wall, afraid to lie down and sleep? But I don't hate you. Even the moon means to be kind. She just treads on you as I'd tread on a worm that I didn't see. Don't be afraid of me, shadow. See—I've no light in my hand— nothing to save myself with— yet I walk right up to you— if you'll let me I'll put my arms around you and stroke you softly. Are you surprised I'd put my arms around you? Is it your black black sorrow that nobody loves you?
V
JUDE
When you tell mama you are going to do something great she looks at you as though you were a window she were trying to see through, and says she hopes you will be good instead of great.
When you are five years old
you spend the day in the Gardens.
The grass is greener than cabbages,
and orange lilies
stand up very straight
and will not curtsey to the sun
when the wind tells them.
Only pansies bow down very low.
Pansies make little purple cushions
for queen bees to stand on.
Bees
have brown silk hair on their bodies.
If you are careful
they will let you stroke them.
The trees over the marble man catch up all the sunbeams so the shadows have it their way— the shadows swallow him up like a blue shark. When you scoop a sunbeam up on your palm and offer it to the marble man, he does not notice… he looks into his stone beard. … When you do something great people give you a stone face, so you do not care any more when the sun throws gold on you through leaf-holes the wind makes in green bushes…. This thought makes me very sad.
Jude has eyes like tobacco
with yellow specks on it
and his hair is red as a red orange.
Jude and I
have made a garden in the field
that no one knows about.
We creep in and out
through a little place
where the barbed wire is down.
We lie in the long grass
and crush dandelions
between our two cheeks
till the milk comes out on our faces.
We hold each other tight
and the wind tip-toes all over us
and pelts us with thistle-down.
Jude isn't afraid of shadows—
not even of the ones that have eyes in them.
And he can look in the face of the sun
without blinking at all.
Hush! don't say sun so loud.
The sun gets angry when you stare at him.
If you peek in his glory-windows
he spreads into a great white flame
like God out of his Burning Bush…
till you put your hands up on your face
and tremble like a drop of rain upon a flower
that some one throws into the fire…
and then
the sun makes himself small,
the sun swings down out of the sky—
littler'n a star,
little as a spark
little as a fierce red spider
on a burning thread…
and then
the light goes out…
shivers into blackened bits….
You hold on to a wall that whirls around
and the gate is a black hole.
You grope your way in like a toad
that's blinded by a stone…
and mama puts on cold wet rags
that get hot soon….
Hush! don't let's talk about the sun.
When you pass by the ditch where Janie is You run very fast and look at the other side. Jude says Janie did love me only she couldn't forgive me, and that you can love people very much and never, never, never forgive them…. so we poked a stick in the bottle-green water. But only weeds came up and an old top with the paint washed off.
Jude and I
wave to the new moon
curled right up like one gold hair
on the bald-head sandhill.
Mama peeps out the window and smiles.
She thinks
I am playing with myself…
Run, Jude, run with the wind—
but hold my hand tight
or the wind,
looking for some one to play with,
will take me away from you!
Wind with no one to play with
cooees the orange-trees—
stay-at-home orange trees,
have to nurse oranges,
greeny-gold.
Wind shouts to the grass—
run-away-grass
tugs at its roots,
but the earth holds tight
and the grass falls down
and wind boos over it.
Wind whistles the bees—
bees too busy
with taking home stuff out of flowers
won't look back—
bees always going somewhere.
Only Jude and I—
heads over shoulders
watching all roads at one time—
run with the wind,
going to nowhere.
Jude and I
were weeding our garden
when we heard his whip—
must have been a new whip
to cut off dandelion-heads at one swing….
He was the kind of boy you knew when you had Celia….
with nice clothes on and curls
crawling about his collar
like little golden slugs,
and his man was leading his horse.
I wish I hadn't run to meet him….
If you hadn't run to meet him
he mightn't have trod on your garden and said:
Get out of my field you dirty little beggar…
he mightn't have struck you with his whip….
How the daisies stared….
I hate daisies—
stupid white faces—
skinny necks
craning over the grass!
I said It is not your field,
and he struck me again.
But he didn't make me run.
His hand
smelled of sweet soap…
he couldn't shake me off,
but his man did….
Funny—how the sky fell down
and turned over and over
like a blue carpet rolling you up,
and the grass caught at your face—
it couldn't have been spiteful—
it must have been saving itself.
Hot road… silly wind playing with your hair….
The road smelled of horses.
I only got up
when I heard a dray.
Mama has sung ba ba black sheep,
and put a chair with a cloth on it
between me and the light.
But the clock keeps saying:
Dirty little beggar,
dirty little beggar….
Some day
I will get that boy.
I will pull off his arms and legs
and put him in a box
and hide the box
under the bed….
I wonder
will he buzz
when I take him out to look at his body
that will have no arms to whip me?
Mama drew my cot to the window
so I can look at the stars.
I will not look at the stars.
There is a black chimney
throwing up sparks
and one tall flame
like gold hair in a blaze….
I know now
what I shall do….
I will set fire to him
and he will burn up into a tall flame—
he will scream into the sky
and sparks will fly out of him—
he will burn and burn…
and his blazing hair
shall light up the world.
Before he hit me— I knew he was going to— I thought about Jude…. I thought if he'd fight… but he shriveled all up… he lay down like a fear.
Mama never knew about Jude. You always wanted to tell her, but somehow you never did. You were afraid she'd smile and say he wasn't real— that he was only a little dream-boy, because the grass didn't fall down under his feet…. He is fading now…. He is just lines… like a drawing…. You can see mama in between. When she moves she rubs some of him out.
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Alley
Because you are four years old
the candle is all dressed up in a new frill.
And stars nod to you through the hole in the curtain,
(except the big stiff planets
too fat to move about much,)
and you curtsey back to the stars
when no one is looking.
You feel sorry for the poor wooden chair
that knows it isn’t nice to sit on,
and no one is sad but mama.
You don’t like mama to be sad
when you are four years old,
so you pretend
you like the bitter gold-pale tea—
you pretend
if you don’t drink it up pretty quick
a little gold-fish
will think it is a pond
and come and get born in it.
It’s hot in our street
and the breeze is a dirty little broom
that sweeps dust into our room
and bits of paper out of the alley.
You are not let to play
with the children in the alley
But you must be very polite—
so you pass them and say good day
and when they fling banana skins
you fling them back again.
There is no one to play with
and the flies on the window
buzz and buzz…
…you can pull out their legs
and stick pins in their bodies
but still they buzz…
and mama says:
When Nero was a little boy
he caught flies on his mama’s window
and pulled out their legs
and stuck pins in their bodies
and nobody loved him.
Buzz, blue-bellied flies—
buzz, nasty black wheel
of mama’s machine—
you are the biggest fly of all—
you have the loudest buzz.
I hear you at dawn before the locusts.
But I like the picture of the Flood
and the little babies getting drowned….
If I were there I would save them,
but as I can’t save them
I like to watch them
getting drowned.
When mama buys of Ling Ho,
he smiles very wide
and picks her the largest loquots.
The greens-man gave her a cabbage
and she held it against her black bodice
and said what a beautiful green it was
and put it on the table
as though it had been a flower.
But next day we boiled and ate it with salt.
It was our dinner.
Christmas day
I found Janie on my pillow.
Janie is made of rubber.
Her red and blue jacket won’t come off.
Christmas dinner was green and white
chicken and lettuce and peas
and drops of oil on the salad
smiley and full of light
like the gold on the lady’s teeth.
But mama said politely
Thank you, we are dining out.
She wouldn’t let you take one pea
to put in the hole where the whistle was
at the back of Janie’s head,
so Janie should have some dinner
So you went to the park with biscuits
and black tea in a bottle.
You feel very sad
when you climb on the fence
to watch mama out of sight.
The women in the alley
poke their heads out of doorways
and watch her too.
You know her
by the way she holds her shoulders
till she is only a speck
in a chain of specks—
till she is swallowed up.
But suppose
that day after day
you were to watch for her face
and it didn’t come back?
Suppose
it were to drop out of the string of white faces
like the pearl out of my chain
I never found again?
Mabel minds you while mama is out,
she washes while she sings
Three blind mice!
they all run away from the farmer’s wife
who cut off their tails
with a carving knife—
Wind blows out Mabel’s sheets,
way you blow in a bag before you burst it.
Wind has a soapy smell.
It’s heavier’n sun
that lies all over you without any weight
and makes you feel happy
and crinkly like bubbling water.
There’s no sun on the empty house—
sly-looking house—
you can’t see in its windows
that watch you out of their corners.
Perhaps there’s a big spider there
spinning gray threads over the windows
till they look like dead people’s faces….
Jimmie says:
Jimmie’s hair is white as a white mouse.
His lashes are gold as mama’s wedding ring
and his mouth feels cool and smooth
like a flower wet with rain.
You wouldn’t believe Jimmie was different…
till he showed you….
Blind wet sheets
flapping on the lines…
sun in your eyes,
dark gold sun
full of little black spots,
you have to blink and blink…
round eyes of Jimmie….
Jimmie’s blue jumper…
blue shadow of wall…
all the world holding still
as when a clock stops…
streets still… people still…
no streets… no people…
only sky and wall…
sun glaring bright as God
down at you and Jimmie…
shadow like a purple cloth
trailing off the wall…
Wild wet sheets
flapping in the wind…
big slippered feet flapping too…
big-balloon-face
rushing up the alley…
houses closing up again…
windows looking round…
… Mabel pulls you in the gate and shakes you
and tells you not to tell your mama…
And you wonder
if God has spoiled Jimmie.
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jude
When you tell mama
you are going to do something great
she looks at you
as though you were a window
she were trying to see through,
and says she hopes you will be good
instead of great.
When you are five years old
you spend the day in the Gardens.
The grass is greener than cabbages,
and orange lilies
stand up very straight
and will not curtsey to the sun
when the wind tells them.
Only pansies bow down very low.
Pansies make little purple cushions
for queen bees to stand on.
Bees
have brown silk hair on their bodies.
If you are careful
they will let you stroke them.
The trees over the marble man
catch up all the sunbeams
so the shadows have it their way—
the shadows swallow him up
like a blue shark.
When you scoop a sunbeam up on your palm
and offer it to the marble man,
he does not notice…
he looks into his stone beard.
… When you do something great
people give you a stone face,
so you do not care any more
when the sun throws gold on you
through leaf-holes the wind makes
in green bushes….
This thought makes me very sad.
Jude has eyes like tobacco
with yellow specks on it
and his hair is red as a red orange.
Jude and I
have made a garden in the field
that no one knows about.
We creep in and out
through a little place
where the barbed wire is down.
We lie in the long grass
and crush dandelions
between our two cheeks
till the milk comes out on our faces.
We hold each other tight
and the wind tip-toes all over us
and pelts us with thistle-down.
Jude isn’t afraid of shadows—
not even of the ones that have eyes in them.
And he can look in the face of the sun
without blinking at all.
Hush! don’t say sun so loud.
The sun gets angry when you stare at him.
If you peek in his glory-windows
he spreads into a great white flame
like God out of his Burning Bush…
till you put your hands up on your face
and tremble like a drop of rain upon a flower
that some one throws into the fire…
and then
the sun makes himself small,
the sun swings down out of the sky—
littler’n a star,
little as a spark
little as a fierce red spider
on a burning thread…
and then
the light goes out…
shivers into blackened bits….
You hold on to a wall that whirls around
and the gate is a black hole.
You grope your way in like a toad
that’s blinded by a stone…
and mama puts on cold wet rags
that get hot soon….
Hush! don’t let’s talk about the sun.
When you pass by the ditch where Janie is
You run very fast
and look at the other side.
Jude says Janie did love me
only she couldn’t forgive me,
and that you can love people very much
and never, never, never forgive them….
so we poked a stick in the bottle-green water.
But only weeds came up
and an old top with the paint washed off.
Jude and I
wave to the new moon
curled right up like one gold hair
on the bald-head sandhill.
Mama peeps out the window and smiles.
She thinks
I am playing with myself…
Run, Jude, run with the wind—
but hold my hand tight
or the wind,
looking for some one to play with,
will take me away from you!
Wind with no one to play with
cooees the orange-trees—
stay-at-home orange trees,
have to nurse oranges,
greeny-gold.
Wind shouts to the grass—
run-away-grass
tugs at its roots,
but the earth holds tight
and the grass falls down
and wind boos over it.
Wind whistles the bees—
bees too busy
with taking home stuff out of flowers
won’t look back—
bees always going somewhere.
Only Jude and I—
heads over shoulders
watching all roads at one time—
run with the wind,
going to nowhere.
Jude and I
were weeding our garden
when we heard his whip—
must have been a new whip
to cut off dandelion-heads at one swing….
He was the kind of boy you knew when you had Celia….
with nice clothes on and curls
crawling about his collar
like little golden slugs,
and his man was leading his horse.
I wish I hadn’t run to meet him….
If you hadn’t run to meet him
he mightn’t have trod on your garden and said:
Get out of my field you dirty little beggar…
he mightn’t have struck you with his whip….
How the daisies stared….
I hate daisies—
stupid white faces—
skinny necks
craning over the grass!
I said It is not your field,
and he struck me again.
But he didn’t make me run.
His hand
smelled of sweet soap…
he couldn’t shake me off,
but his man did….
Funny—how the sky fell down
and turned over and over
like a blue carpet rolling you up,
and the grass caught at your face—
it couldn’t have been spiteful—
it must have been saving itself.
Hot road… silly wind playing with your hair….
The road smelled of horses.
I only got up
when I heard a dray.
Mama has sung ba ba black sheep,
and put a chair with a cloth on it
between me and the light.
But the clock keeps saying:
Dirty little beggar,
dirty little beggar….
Some day
I will get that boy.
I will pull off his arms and legs
and put him in a box
and hide the box
under the bed….
I wonder
will he buzz
when I take him out to look at his body
that will have no arms to whip me?
Mama drew my cot to the window
so I can look at the stars.
I will not look at the stars.
There is a black chimney
throwing up sparks
and one tall flame
like gold hair in a blaze….
I know now
what I shall do….
I will set fire to him
and he will burn up into a tall flame—
he will scream into the sky
and sparks will fly out of him—
he will burn and burn…
and his blazing hair
shall light up the world.
Before he hit me—
I knew he was going to—
I thought about Jude….
I thought if he’d fight…
but he shriveled all up…
he lay down like a fear.
Mama never knew about Jude.
You always wanted to tell her,
but somehow you never did.
You were afraid she’d smile
and say he wasn’t real—
that he was only a little dream-boy,
because the grass didn’t fall down under his feet….
He is fading now….
He is just lines… like a drawing….
You can see mama in between.
When she moves
she rubs some of him out.
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Betty
You can see the sandhills from our new room.
Butterflies
live in the sandhills
and lizards
and centipedes.
If you keep very still
lizards will think you a stone
and run over your lap.
Butterflies’ liveries
are scarlet and black.
They drive chariots in air.
People in the chariots
are pale as dew—
you can see right through them—
but the chariots
are made of gold of the sun.
They go up to heaven
and never catch fire.
There are green centipedes
and brown centipedes
and black centipedes,
because green and brown and black
are the colors in hell’s flag.
Centipedes
have hundreds of feet
because it is so far from hell
to come up for air.
Centipedes
do not hurry.
They are waiting for the last day
when they will creep over the false prophets
who will have their hands tied.
Night calls to the sandhills
and gathers them under her.
she pushes away cities
because their sharp lights
hurt her soft breast.
Even candles make a sore place
when they stick in the night.
There are things in the sandhills
that no one knows about…
they come out at dark when the young snakes play
and tell each other secrets
in the deaf logs.
Sometimes… before rain…
when the stars have gone inside…
the night comes close to your window
and sniffs at the light….
But you must not run away—
you must keep your face to the night
and walk backward.
When it rains
and you are pulling off flies’ legs…
mama lets you play houses
with Lizzie and Clara.
Because you are the Only One—
and because Only Ones have to live alone
while sisters stay together,
Lizzie and Clara
give you the dry house
and take the one with the leaking roof.
Rain like curly hairpins
blows on Lizzie and Clara’s two heads
turned like one head—
two mouths
spread into one laugh.
Lizzie is saying:
why don’t you want to play—
when you feel you’d like to braid
the crinkled-silver rain
into a shining rope
to climb up… and up… and up… into the wet sky
and never see any one again.
Our gate doesn’t hang right.
It must have pawed at the wind
and gotten a kick
as the wind passed over.
The sitting sky
puffs out a gray smoke
and the wind makes a red-striped sound
blowing out straight,
but our gate drags its foot
and whines to itself on one hinge.
What do you think I’ve found—
two wee knickers of fairy brass,
or two gold sovereigns folded up
in a bit of green silk,
or two gold bugs
in little green shirts?
If you want to know,
you must walk tip-toe
so your feet just whisper in the grass—
you must carry them careful
and very proud,
for their stems bleed drops of milk—
but Lizzie and Clara shout in glee:
Pee-a-bed, pee-a-bed—
dandelions!
You look in the eyes of grown-up people
to see if they feel
the way you feel…
but they hide inside of themselves,
and so you do not find out.
Grown-up people say:
The stars are bright to-night,
but they do not say
what you are thinking about stars—
not even mama says what you are thinking about stars.
This makes you feel very lonely.
It’s strange about stars….
You have to be still when they look at you.
They push your song inside of you with their song.
Their long silvery rays
sink into you and do not hurt.
It is good to feel them resting on you
like great white birds…
and their shining whiteness
doesn’t burn like the sun—
it washes all over you
and makes you feel cleaner’n water.
My doll Janie has no waist
and her body is like a tub with feet on it.
Sometimes I beat her
but I always kiss her afterwards.
When I have kissed all the paint off her body
I shall tie a ribbon about it
so she shan’t look shabby.
But it must be blue—
it mustn’t be pink—
pink shows the dirt on her face
that won’t wash off.
I beat Janie
and beat her…
but still she smiled…
so I scratched her between the eyes with a pin.
Now she doesn’t love me anymore…
she scowls… and scowls…
though I’ve begged her to forgive me
and poured sugar in the hole at the back of her head.
Mama says Janie is a fairy doll
and she has forgiven me—
that she’s gone to the market
to buy me some sweets.
—Now she’s at the door
and a little bag tied to her neck—
I run to Janie
and kiss her all over….
Ah… she is still frowning.
I let the sweets drop on the floor—
mama
has told you a lie.
Chinaman
singing in street:
gleen ledd-ish-es, gleen ledd-ish-es—
hot sun
shining on your face—
it must be a new day.
But why aren’t you happy
if it’s a new day?
Because something has happened…
something sad and terrible….
Now I remember… it’s Janie.
Yesterday
I took Janie out
and tied my handkerchief over her face
and put sand in it
and threw her into the ditch
down in the black water
under the dock leaves…
and when mama asked me where Janie was
I said I had lost her.
I’m glad it is night-time
so I’ll be able to go to sleep
and forget all about it….
But mama looks at my tongue
and says she will give me senna tea.
When you smell the tea
you shut your eyes tight
and pretend not to hear
the soft, cool voice of mama
that goes over your forehead
like a little wind.
And then you lie in the dark
and stare… and stare…
till the faces come…
yellow faces with leering eyes
drifting in a greeny mist….
I wonder
if Janie sees faces
out there… alone in the dark….
I wonder
if she has got the handkerchief off
or if the water has gone in the hole
where the whistle was
at the back of her head
and drowned her…
or if the stars
can see her under the dock leaves?
It’s smoky-blue and still
over the red road.
Wind must be lying down with its tail under it—
doesn’t even flick off the flies.
And you can hear the silence
buzzing in the gum trees,
the way the angels buzzed
when they flew through the cedars of Lebanon
with thin gauze wings
you could see through.
Nice to hear the silence buzzing—
till it comes too close
and booms in your ears
and presses all over you
till you scream….
When you scream at the silence
it goes to jingling pieces
like a silver mirror
broken into tiny bits.
Perhaps its wings are made of glass—
perhaps it lives down in a dark, dark cave
and only comes up
to warm its wings in the sun….
It’s cold in the cave—
no matter how you cover yourself up.
Little girls sit there
dressed in white
and the dolls in their arms
all have white handkerchiefs
over their faces.
Their shadows cannot play with them…
their shadows lie down at their feet…
for the little girls sit stiff as stones
with their backs to the mouth of the cave
where a little light falls off
the wings of the silence
when it comes down out of the sun.
Moon catches the flying fish
as they dive in the bay.
Flying fish
spin over and over
slippity-silver
into the water.
Mom bends over jungles
and touches the foreheads of tigers
as they pass under openings made by dropped leaves.
Tigers stop on the trail of the deer
while the moon is on their foreheads—
they let the stags go by.
Moon is shining strangely
on the white palings of the fence.
Fence keeps very still…
most times it moves a little…
everything moves a little
though you mayn’t know it…
but now the little fence
wouldn’t change places with the great cross
that stands so stiff and high
with its back to the moon.
Moon shining strangely
on the white palings of the fence,
I am shining too
but my light is shut inside of me
and can’t get out.
Old house with black windows—
blind house begging moonlight
to put out the shadows—
why do you want so much light?
You creak when the wind steps on you—
you cough up dust
and your beams ache—
you know you will soon fall,
the moon just pities you!
Don’t waste yourself moon—
come on my bed and play with me.
Wrap me up in blue light,
you who are cool.
I am too hot,
I am all alive
and the shadows are outside of me.
There are different kinds of shadows.
The blind ones
are the shadows of things.
These are the tame shadows—
they love to play on the wall with you
and follow you about like cats and dogs.
Sometimes
they hiss at you softly
like snakes that do not bite,
or swish like women’s dresses,
but if you poke a candle at them
they pull in their heads and disappear.
But there is a shadow
that is not the shadow of a thing…
it is a thing itself.
When you meet this shadow
you must not look at it too long…
it grows with your looking at it…
till you are all alone
with nothing around you…
nothing… nothing… nothing…
but a shadow
with its eyes full of black light.
There’s a shadow in the corner of the shed,
crouching, lying in wait…
a black coiled shadow,
watching… ready to strike…
but I mustn’t be afraid of it—
I mustn’t be afraid of anything.
Poor evil shadow,
the candle would chase it away
only she can’t get at it.
Do you think that every one hates you,
shadow with your back to the wall,
afraid to lie down and sleep?
But I don’t hate you.
Even the moon means to be kind.
She just treads on you
as I’d tread on a worm that I didn’t see.
Don’t be afraid of me, shadow.
See—I’ve no light in my hand—
nothing to save myself with—
yet I walk right up to you—
if you’ll let me
I’ll put my arms around you
and stroke you softly.
Are you surprised I’d put my arms around you?
Is it your black black sorrow
that nobody loves you?
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Celia
Cherry, cherry,
glowing on the hearth,
bright red cherry….
When you try to pick up cherry
Celia’s shriek
sticks in you like a pin.
When God throws hailstones
you cuddle in Celia’s shawl
and press your feet on her belly
high up like a stool.
When Celia makes umbrella of her hand.
Rain falls through
big pink spokes of her fingers.
When wind blows Celia’s gown up off her legs
she runs under pillars of the bank—
great round pillars of the bank
have on white stockings too.
Celia says my father
will bring me a golden bowl.
When I think of my father
I cannot see him
for the big yellow bowl
like the moon with two handles
he carries in front of him.
Grandpa, grandpa…
(Light all about you…
ginger… pouring out of green jars…)
You don’t believe he has gone away and left his great coat…
so you pretend… you see his face up in the ceiling.
When you clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa,
Celia crosses herself.
It isn’t a dream….
It comes again and again….
You hear ivy crying on steeples
the flames haven’t caught yet
and images screaming
when they see red light on the lilies
on the stained glass window of St. Joseph.
The girl with the black eyes holds you tight,
and you run… and run
past the wild, wild towers…
and trees in the gardens tugging at their feet
and little frightened dolls
shut up in the shops
crying… and crying… because no one stops…
you spin like a penny thrown out in the street.
Then the man clutches her by the hair….
He always clutches her by the hair….
His eyes stick out like spears.
You see her pulled-back face
and her black, black eyes
lit up by the glare….
Then everything goes out.
Please God, don’t let me dream any more
of the girl with the black, black eyes.
Celia’s shadow rocks and rocks…
and mama’s eyes stare out of the pillow
as though she had gone away
and the night had come in her place
as it comes in empty rooms…
you can’t bear it—
the night threshing about
and lashing its tail on its sides
as bold as a wolf that isn’t afraid—
and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a grave
and pull it around to the light,
till the night draws backward… the night that walks alone
and goes away without end.
Mama says, I am cold, Betty, and shivers.
Celia tucks the quilt about her feet,
but I run for my little red cloak
because red is hot like fire.
I wish Celia
could see the sea climb up on the sky
and slide off again…
…Celia saying
I’d beg the world with you….
Celia… holding on to the cab…
hands wrenched away…
wind in the masts… like Celia crying….
Celia never minded if you slapped her
when the comb made your hairs ache,
but though you rub your cheek against mama’s hand
she has not said darling since….
Now I will slap her again….
I will bite her hand till it bleeds.
It is cool by the port hole.
The wet rags of the wind
flap in your face.
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mama
Mama’s face
is smooth and pale as tea-rose leaves.
That ivory oval of aunt Gem
you sucked the miniature off
had black black hair like mama.
Pit-it-ty-pat,
Mama walks so fast,
street lamps jig
without bending a leg…
lights in the windows
play twinkling tunes
on crimson and blue
bottles like bubbles
big as balloons…
Faster and faster…
and pink light spurts
over cakes doing polkas
in little white shirts,
with cake-princesses
in flounced white skirts.
Pit-pat—
mama walks slower…
slower and… slower…
Eyes… lamps… stars…
acres and acres of stars…
bells… and sleepily
flapping feet….
You’re glad mama walks slow.
It’s nice to be carried along
up high near the stars
that look at you with a grave, great look.
Every night
mama sings you to sleep.
When she sings, O for the light of thine eyes Dolores,
there’s a castle on a cliff
and the sea roars like lions.
It leaps at the castle
and the cliff knocks it down
but always the sea
shakes its flattened head
and gets up again.
The castle has no roof
so the rain spins silvery webs in it,
and Dolores’ face
floats dim and beautiful
the way flowers do when they are drowned.
Step by white step
she goes up the castle stairs,
but the stair goes up into the sky
and the sky keeps going up too,
and none of them ever get there.
When mama sings Ba ba black sheep,
the stars seem to shine through her voice
so everything has to be still,
and when she has finished singing
her song goes up off the earth,
higher and higher…
till it is only as big as a tiny silver bird
with nothing but moonlight around it.
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Burn That Candle
(winfield scott)
Keep that candle burnin bright, mama
Ill be kind of late tonight, mama
Theres a yellow moon above me, mama
Shinin on the one I love, mama
Burn that candle
Night and day
Burn that candle
Honey light our way
Keep that doorway open wide
Until we come slowly strollin side by side
While that candles shinin high, mama
Ill be with my sugar pie, mama
Well be comin home you know and mama
Lookin for that candle glowin, mama
After we have had the wedding, mama
To that candle well be headin, mama
So before were winin and dinin, mama
Keep that candle light a-shinin, mama
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Got To Know The Woman
I just met a woman on my way home
She just blew my mind
My heart was a-pumpin
I mean all the way home
Got to know the woman
Whoa I got to know the woman
I love the way you move
You make-a make me feel like a man
(you know you make me make me feel like a man)
Love the way youre lookin
You look like you like it, too
(you know you look like you like it, too)
Got to know the woman
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
Got to know the woman
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
Ooooooooooo
(got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to got to got to got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to got to got to got to know the woman
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
If you feel the feel I feel
Haha you dig the feel of me
(you know you look like you dig feelin me)
Love the way you feel dear
Ah, you make a make a man out of me
(you make you make a man out of me)
Come on
Come on come on and do the chicken
I mean ah ha ha ha ha ha
Baby, Im gonna tell you somethin right now
You got so much soul you blow my mind
Oh baby
Theres just one thing I want to say
(got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
Ooooooooooo
(got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to got to got to got to know the woman
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to got to got to got to know the woman
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(got to know the woman)
(mama mama mama mama oom mow mow)
(oh yeah! yeah!)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psycho
Can mary fry some fish, mama
Im as hungry as can be
Oh lord, how I wish, mama
You could stop the baby cryin
cause my head is killing me
I saw my ex again last night mama
She was at the dance at millers store
She was with that jackie white mama
I killed them both
And theyre buried under jacobs sycamore
You think Im psycho dont you mama
I didnt mean to break your cup
You think Im psycho dont you mama
You better let em lock me up
Oh, dont hand me johnnys pup mama
As I might squeeze him too tight
Im havin crazy dreams again mama
So let me tell you bout last night
I woke up in johnnys room mama
Standing right there by his bed
With my hands around his throat mama
Wishing both of us were dead
You think Im psycho dont you mama
I just killed johnnys pup
You think Im psycho dont you mama
Youd better let em lock me up
Oh you recall that little girl mama
I believe her name was betty clark
Oh dont tell me that shes dead mama
cause I just saw her in the park
We were sitting on a bench mama
Thinking of a game to play
Seems I was holding a wrench mama
Then my mind just walked away
You think Im psycho dont you mama
I didnt mean to break your cup
You think Im psycho dont you mama
Mama why dont you get up?
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mama Mama
I can feel the magic
Suddenly its all around
I can see it clearly
I can even hear the sound
Its all so new to me
Im not the same
If this is love
Then youre to blame
Mama mama when you look at me
I see love in your eyes
Mama mama softly sweet tender love in your eyes
You are all I live for
Maybe thats enough to say
And youre the one I wrote this song for
Everywhere and everyway
Its all so new to me
Im not the same
Its words I feel
But cant explain
Mama mama when you look at me
I see love in your eyes
Mama mama softly sweet tender love in your eyes
Mama mama, mama mama
I really love you
I really need you
Mama mama, mama mama
I really need you mama
I really love you mama
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Felicdad (Miami Ocean Drive)
Only Margherita love like America
Only Margherita move like the Mardi Gras.
Mama
oh mama
now mama
Come tell me that you wanna
You wanna
oh mama
in my pyjama.
My imagination carry my mind away
Only Margherita feel like a holiday.
Mama
oh mama
now mama
Come tell me that you wanna
You wanna
oh mama
you wild madonna
Mama
oh mama
now mama
Come tell me that you
Felicidad
And I can't help but feeling this way
You're the one who can change my tomorrow toda
Felicidad
Won't you ride on the wings of my fantasy
And this summersong will last a whole life long.
Only Margherita love like America
Only Margherita take me to shangri-la.
Mama
oh mama
now mama
Come tell me that you wanna
You wanna
oh mama
you wild madonna
Mama
oh mama
now mama
Come tell me that you
. . .
Felicidad
. . .
Mama
mama
mama
oh mama
Mama
mama
oh mama
Mama
oh mama
now mama
Come tell me that you wanna
You wanna
oh mama
you wild madonna
Mama
oh mama
now mama
Come tell me that you
. . .
Felicidad
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hero Of The Day
The window burns to light the way back home
A light that warms no matter where they go
They're off to find the hero of the day
But what if they should fall by someone's wicked way
Still the window burns
Time so slowly turns
And someone there is sighing
Keepers of the flames
Do you feel your name?
Did you hear your babies crying?
Mama they try and break me
Still they try and break me
Excuse me while I tell them how to feel
These things return to me that still seem real
Now deservingly this easy chair
But the rocking starts the wheels of dispair
Don't want your hate
But the fist I make
For you can hold no fear
No not on me
So please excuse me while I tell them how I feel
But now the dreams end
And now the dreams end
They everlast the night
So build a wall
Behind it crawl
And hide until it's light
So can you hear your babies crying now?
Still the window burns
Time so slowly turns
And someone there is sighing
Keepers of the flames
Did you hear your name?
Did you hear your babies crying?
But now the dreams end
And now the dreams end
They everlast the night
So build a wall
Behind it crawl
And hide until it's light
So can't you hear your babies crying now?
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try
Mama they try
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try
Mama they try
song performed by by Metallica from Load
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mama, Dont Treat Your Daughter Mean
(ry cooder)
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
cause you treat her so mean and shes only sweet sixteen
It was late last friday evening, when everything was still
I heard somebody calling my name outside my window sill
I got up and I looked outside strainin my eyes to see
And my heart went wild when I realized just who was calling me
I hollered
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
cause you treat her so mean and shes only sweet sixteen
Now, her eyes were blazing up at me
Her hair was black as night
And her naked skin shone like gold
Out in the pale moonlight
She took my hand and she pulled me down
Where the grass had grown up tall
The she moved her body all around
Just like a cannon ball
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
cause you treat her so mean and shes only sweet sixteen
Yonder comes your mama, girl, cross the field
Runnin and a-shakin like an automobile
Daddys got a shotgun in his hand
They just dont understand
The first time I seen that sweet girl
She was runnin home from sunday school
And the next time I seen that sweet little girl
Was when she broke her mamas rule
But the last time I seen that sweet little girl
She was filled with a strange desire
Rollin and tumblin out on the cold wet ground
Her skin burnin up just like a cane fire
She called my name a thousand ways
The tears came streaming down her face
But just when I was bout to blow my stack
Her daddy came a-creepin and a-crawlin up behind
And he shot me in the back
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aloha Mama
Aloha mama dont go away
Aloha mama I want you to stay
Aloha mama wont you treat me right
I need you tender woman wont you hold me tight
Surfridin sister I wanna taste your love
Les make it in the garden beneath the stars above
Aloha mama dont go away
Aloha mama I want you to stay
Aloha mama have you got the cure
My hearts all broken and I feel unsure
Surfridin sister I got to fly away
Ill be back in september thats the price I pay
Aloha mama dont go away
Aloha mama I want you to stay
Cant you feel the tradewinds blowin
Theres a look in your eyes youre goin
Dont leave me now Im a hurtin
If youd look in my eyes youd see hunger arise
Cant you feel all these years Ive been cryin these years
Aloha mama dont go away
Aloha mama I want you to stay
Aloha mama dont make me cry
Aloha mama you know il die
Aloha mama dont go away
Aloha mama I want you to stay
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mama Laye
(myles goodwyn)
Published by slalom publishing co. - bmi
In a foreign land beneath a foreign sky
They speak of mama laye
They dont believe she died
The people raise their eyes
They said theyd sing a song
They ask the spirit world
Cause they know where shes gone
Shes never far away, mama laye, no
Shes never far away, mama laye, no, no no
They say she never sleeps
She never close her eyes
She speaks the magic tongue
Shes slowly hypnotized
Shes never far away, mama laye, no
Shes never far away, mama laye, no, no no
Shes never far away, mama laye, no
Shes never far away, mama laye, mama laye
They are as grains of sand
And then they are as one
They pray to mama laye
The father, mother, son
They say shes never far away, mama laye, no
Shes never far away, mama laye, no
Shes never far away, mama laye, no, no no
Shes never far away, mama laye, mama laye
Shes never far away, mama laye, no
Shes never far away, mama laye, no
Shes never far away, mama laye, no, no no
Shes never far away, mama laye, mama laye
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Dreamed About Mama Last Night
I've just been to heaven with someone so true I dreamed about mama last night
She read me the Bible like she used to do I dreamed about mama last night
She never close her eyes to sleep till we were all in bed
And on party nights when we come home she often sat and read
We little thought about it then for we were young and gay
Just how much mama worried when we children were away
We only knew she never slept when we were out at night
That she waited just to know that we'd all come home alright
Why sometimes when we'd stay away till one or two or three
It seemed to us that mama heard the turnin' of the key
For always when we'd step aside she'd call and we'd reply
But we were all too young back then to understand the reason why
Until the last one had returned she'd always keep a light
For mama couldn't sleep until she kissed us all goodnight
She had to know that we were safe before she went to rest
She seemed to fear that the world might harm the ones that she loved the best
And once she told me when you're grown to women and to men
Perhaps I'll sleep the whole night through I may be different then
And so it seemed that night and day we knew a mother's care
That always when we got back home we'd find her waitin' there
Then came the night that we were called together round her bed
The children're all with you now the kindly doctor said
And in her eyes the gleam again that old time tender light
That told that she's just been waitin' to know that we were alright
She smiled that old familiar smile and prayed to God to keep
Her children safe from harm throughout the years tand then she went to sleep
My dream is a treasure that I'll always keep I dreamed about mama last night
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bahama Mama
Bahama, bahama mama
Got the biggest house in town bahama mama
Bahama, bahama mama
But her troubles getting down bahama mama
She has six daughters
And not one of them is married yet
And shes looking high and low
And none of them plays ever hard to get
So if youre lonesome go there go
Bahama, bahama mama
You should all be looking for bahama mama
Bahama, bahama mama
And Im sure you will adore bahama mama
Bahama, bahama mama
Got the biggest house in town bahama mama
Bahama, bahama mama
But her troubles getting down bahama mama
Youll meet her daughters
They ll be treatin you to honeycake
Theyll be sweet and nice to you
And maybe there is one youd like to take
Well then youll know just what to do
Bahama, bahama mama
She is really in a fix bahama mama
Bahama, bahama mama
Being stuck with all them six bahama mama
Whats the matter with men today
Six beautiful roses
And nobody to pluck them
Its a crying shame
Bahama, bahama mama
Got the biggest house in town bahama mama
Bahama, bahama mama
But her troubles getting down bahama mama
The thing is each of them looks
Like a gorgeous moviequeen
Every one a perfect find
And if a man refused that temptin scene
He simply cant make up his mind
Bahama, bahama mama
Got the biggest house in town bahama mama
Bahama, bahama mama
But her troubles getting down bahama mama
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'll Be Back Mama.
I left you lying on the floor,
slowly i started to crow,
and i kept my steps very low,
decided to leave my home.
I know you cried a lot when you wake up,
didn't know which way i went,
Always praying for me to be safe,
I had a desire to sleep on the bed.
you asked our neighbors where i went,
searched everywhere looking for me,
bring me home for your protection,
but i needed a balanced diet,
Mama i loved you but i didn't,
I know your hurting inside for me,
just keep your breath and wait,
as i won't stop fighting till i get.
It's too cold out here mama,
and I feel so weak mama,
am suffering for hunger and thirsty mama,
but I am a tireless fighter mama.
just be strong and think positive for me mama,
dry your tears and remove your negativity mama,
just wait and see how I'll rise up mama,
till then, I'LL BE BACK MAMA I PROMISE YOU.
poem by Dickson Mseti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tell Mama
(carter/terrel/daniel)
You thought you had found a good girl
One to love you and give you the world
Now youve found that youve been misused
Talk to me Ill do what you choose
I want you to tell mama all about it
Tell mama what you need
Tell mama what you want
And Ill make everything all right
That girl you had didnt have much sense
She wasnt worth all the time that you spent
She had another man throw you out doors
Now the same man is wearing your clothes
I want you to tell mama all about it
Tell mama what you need
Tell mama what you want
And Ill make everything all right
She would embarass you anywhere
She let everybody know she didnt care
Give me a chance Im begging you
I just wanna take care of you
Come on and tell mama all about it
Tell mama what you need
Tell mama what you want
Tell mama just what you want right now
Come on and tell mama all about it
Tell mama what you need
Tell mama what you want
Tell mama just what you want right now
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mama
Mama where are you...
When I feel your presence near?
Mama where are you?
When I hear your voice plain and clear?
I wish I could see your face
Appear before me now.
To see the smile that I know
And those hugs I wish God allowed!
At times we were so close,
I didn't care who called me 'Mama's Boy'.
We had our differences and opinions
That brought to us both tears and joy!
It doesn't seem as if
Many years have passed since you died.
Some days I wish I could hear you say,
'Boy, please go and play outside! '
Mama where are you...
When I feel your presence near?
There is one thing I know,
Even though I miss you so.
In my heart I hold you, Mama...
Where I feel your closeness grows!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Travelin' Man
The man i loved ran a salesman route
Selling goods from house to house
Now i knew my mama would never stand
For me stepping out with no traveling man
Mama bought things that he was a'selling
But mama didn't know and i sure wasn't telling
That behind her back i was making plans
To meet somewhere with that traveling man
Oh the traveling man was a good bit older
But a girl needs arms to hold her
Mama didn't know 'cause i didn't told her
But mama wouldn't understand
Me stepping out with a traveling man
Mama didn't allow me a'going courting
And i'd tell lies that i reckon i oughtn't
Oh but she'd a'give me the back a' her hand
If she'd a'seen me with that traveling man
So i tell my mama that i reckon i oughta
Go to the spring and fetch us some water
What mama didn't know is i had a plan
To meet down there with that traveling man
Now i make plans to run away
With that traveling man on a saturday
Well saturday's here and here i stand
And there goes my mama with that traveling man
Oh that traveling man was a two-time lover
He took my love then he took my mother
But i didn't know 'cause mama didn't told me and i don't understand
My mama running off with my traveling man
Mama, you know you oughtn't a'done that
You just like my daddy
He run off before i ever knowed him
You done run-off with my traveling man
And i really don't think i ever knowed you either
Oh there goes my mama with my traveling man
And i'm really gonna miss that traveling man
Mm-hm
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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