Where all the poor in the village were buried?
Is this a cemetery?
The Gypsy Tinker, Negro Blacksmith, Grey-bearded Barber, One eyed Arabian butcher, Native Hangman & the family and the rest of all hide somewhere,
Nobody knows to point out so and so as no tombs were found there.
The flat graves show their innocence and poverty.
'Where is she? ' Hangman asks.
Butcher says; 'All are here brother and they are in a deep sleep.'
Hey! Now it's a playground for the children being a promise of the deceased dumb Mayor.
* Dedication to all the poet friends in the site.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Gallows Pole
Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,
Think I see my friends coming,
Riding a many mile.
Friends, did you get a little silver?
Did you get a little gold?
What did you bring me, my dear friends,
To keep me from the gallows pole?
What did you bring me to keep me from the gallows pole?
I couldnt get no silver, I couldnt get no gold,
You know that were too damn poor
To keep you from the gallows pole.
Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,
I think I see my brother coming,
Riding a many mile.
Brother, did you get me some silver?
Did you get a little gold?
What did you bring me, my brother,
To keep me from the gallows pole?
Brother, I brought you some silver,
I brought a little gold,
I brought a little of evry thing
To keep you from the gallows pole.
Yes, I brought you to keep you from the gallows pole.
Hangman, hangman, turn your head awhile,
I think I see my sister coming,
Riding a many mile, mile, mile, mile, mile.
Sister, I implore you, take him by the hand,
Take him to some shady bower,
Save me from the wrath of this man,
Please take him,
Save me from the wrath of this man, man.
Hangman, hangman, upon your face a smile,
Pray tell me that Im free to ride,
Ride for many mile, mile, mile.
Oh, yes, you got a fine sister,
She warmed my blood from cold,
Brought my face to boiling hot
To keep you from the gallows pole,
Your brother brought me silver,
Your sister warmed my soul,
But now I laugh and pull so hard
And see you swinging on the gallows pole
song performed by by Led Zeppelin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Merry Christmas
Thick snow covered the mountain tops and the dangerous calendar is going to be finished very soon,
But a new shinning one comes with the same old nagging worries.
I hear the hymns from a faraway church
And I think of my old thatched village church and the skinny bearded father who wanders in my blood-soaked native land.
Oh! My Lord Jesus of Nazareth,
If we could have the Christmas at all to our miserable lives?
* Dedication to Sandra, Jerry, Alison, Denis, Dave, Max, George and the rest of my fellow poet friends in the site.
Merry Christmas and a prosperous new year to all.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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See how he has risen from a mayor to a hangman.
Hide Away Folk Family
Hide away folk family
Or else someones gonna get ya (someones gonna get ya)
Someones gonna get ya
Hide away folk family
Better hide away
Better hide away
Tippy-toe to the front door, mother,
cause theres a guy with a long, long fuse
And the one thing you cant hide is all the fear you feel inside
As the fuse is spelling out these words
Hide away folk family
Or else someones gonna get ya (someones gonna get ya)
Someones gonna get ya
Hide away folk family
Better hide away
Better hide away
Tippy-toe to the flat-bed, father,
Because theyre pouring out our gasoline
And sadly the cross-eyed bears been put to sleep behind the stairs
And his shoes are laced with irony
Hide away folk family
Or else someones gonna get ya (someones gonna get ya)
Someones gonna get ya
Hide away folk family
Better hide away
Better hide away
Hello. this is leslie down with the daily home astrology report.
Taurus: contemplate domestic turmoil.
Aquarius: abandon hope for future plans.
Hide away folk family
Or else someones gonna get ya (someones gonna get ya)
Someones gonna get ya
Hide away folk family
Better hide away
Better hide away (hide away)
Hide away (folk family) folk family (or else someones gonna get ya)
Someones gonna get ya
Hide away
Hide away
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hangman's Gallows
Hangman's Gallows
By: Adam M. Snow
The hangman cometh,
to the gallows oaken,
the reapers awaken,
to mend the broken.
The mourners mourn,
a soul that was scorn.
Your judgment comes,
now's the end,
like a dying friend,
laying you at rest,
in a hollowed coffin,
as they dance and jest.
The mark of noose,
around your neck,
if weakness may excuse.
They dance and dance,
they jest and jest,
your blood drips to the deck.
To the blood of dawn,
to the black of dusk,
all tears are gone,
and all who brusque.
All's unspoken,
you're forsaken.
The children screaming,
mothers stopped dreaming,
your body's hanging,
from a waning noose.
All you've done,
your life's abuse.
By dawn the reaper weary,
as time grew dark and eerie.
The hangman cometh,
to the gallows oaken,
with a gauntlet of raw,
for you, who's broken.
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shallow Grave
When I fall in endless sleep
I hope that I'll be buried deep
Let me be the one that fortune favours
Even good children got shallow graves
Throw another clown to the lions
Throw another Joan on the blaze
Cast me away on the cruel calm ocean
and leave me for days and days and days and days and days
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
I won't lie, I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Bless the poor 'cos like the rich
They all end up in a ditch
In this world of fools and knaves
Even good children got shallow graves
The tinker, the tailor, the fabulous five
Nobody gets out of this alive
Chorus
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down, dig me down, dig me down deep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Playground
For decades, it was a playground and now a pauper's graveyard.
A politician suggests to make it a playground again.
I try to collect the names of champions
But no tombs and I hear some whispers;
'What is the use of getting our names
As we cannot compete the living souls?
Let us sleep well and write down this in your notebook brother.
We do not have regrets as there is no any race further.
Mr.Reporter, if possible lets work together to ensure
That every dead soul has a right to sleep.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The right one bows to the might.
The goat can’t expect mercy from the butcher.
The butcher has no guilt for his act on it.
The weak have necessarily to succumb
To the might, with their right notwithstanding.
24.11.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hangmans Knee
(hopkins, beck, newman, stewart, wood)
Hangman, hangman, slack your noose
Slack it, oh slack it
Slack it for a while
There aint no use in your hurrying me
Aint nothing gonna change things now
Now I aint trying to prove your judge is wrong
And your jury, oh your jury
I guess Ill know the way out
And if you kill me with my canvas shirt
Good god, you could put my lawyer in jail
Listen
Its just this twenty two minutes to prepare yourself
I havent been in this position before
Wash your hands, get your .? .
Find the waistcoat, lock the door.
And oh!
Get your .? .
Oh yeah, get your .? . lock the door
Come on
Listen to this one
Oh hangman, hangman, slack your noose
Oh slack it, please slack it
Oh just slack it awhile, give me one more chance
There aint no use in you hurryin me
Good god, nothings gonna stop me now
Oh
Dont you worry
Cause you never get your .? .
Well, might get your waistcoat on
Ha-ha
Heh-heh
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anyone can escape into sleep, we are all geniuses when we dream, the butcher's the poet's equal there.
quote by Emil Cioran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stepping towards a new horizon
My beloved! I am so sorry as you traveled here & there with this Gypsy Vagabond since your marriage.
First of all I must thank to Anaheim and say good bye for her hospitality.
The Italian old lady Maria.Bruno (Her husband Joseph died a long ago)
The Manageress of our apartment handed over me an envelope
And a tear dropp in her eye says 'just a keepsake'
Later I found a greeting card inside and three newly printed twenty dollar notes.
May you long live Maria and I think of Nativity.
I see the handsome Sun comes out from the Eastern sky
And I hear his murmur; 'Welcome to Corona'
I see a small red bird probably the robin family
Chirps on a branch of a leafless Maple tree.
That sad song reminds me of my poor deceased Mom's lullaby
She sang in her entire life until the music finished.
Around my billet a range of mountains
And I saw few whitewashed tombs like telephone booths
In a faraway burial grounds.
My beloved disturbed me; 'Darling you are in a deep thought.'
Then I showed her that solitary place with my index finger and said;
'One day we have to finish our journey there leaving our loved ones somewhere.'
She whispered while crying;
'That journey too we go together please? '
*Dedication to our daughter's Boston-in-laws and the family, Nalin and Tanuja our sincere friends, unless their tremendous help we couldn't move an inch from here to Corona.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shallow Graves
When I fall in endless sleep
I hope that Ill be buried deep
Let me be the one that fortune favours
Even good children got shallow graves
Throw another clown to the lions
Throw another joan on the blaze
Cast me away on the cruel calm ocean
And leave me for days and days and days and days and days
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
I wont lie, I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Bless the poor cos like the rich
They all end up in a ditch
In this world of fools and knaves
Even good children got shallow graves
The tinker, the tailor, the fabulous five
Nobody gets out of this alive
Chorus
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down, dig me down, dig me down deep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work, Sleep, Work, Sleep, Work
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work.
Oh free me please with gentle ease
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work!
This odium, pounding tedium
Of my work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
Just whisk me off to lands afar
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
That grinding train of rhythmic pain
Called ‘Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.’
Poor neural circuits fizzle and pop
In work, sleep, work, sleep, work,
In trying to make some sense of all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
But Hark! I see a golden gleam -
A saving spirit of hope:
‘You’re fired! ’ He screams. What news to bear,
This wondrous hangman’s rope!
So now I’m free, released from all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
Eternal peace and rest for me, no
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pure Woman
Sometimes when I pass the dressing shop
in between the barber's and butcher's junk
a bride in a show case lean and beautiful
smiles at all and never cries
never speaks and sleeps.
A bouquet in her hand
the flowers that never withers
and a clear white lace she wears
that will never fade.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Recusant
When you're hanging by the neck
until your life is nearly done.,
It might almost seem a blessing
when the hangman lets you down.
They then spread you on a table
Then the real torture began.
They cut away the man parts
from their sacrificial lamb.
Then your core is cruelly opened
and your bloody entrails rise
in the hands of he, your butcher
displayed before your dying eyes.
Your brain supplies an image
of back when you were a child
and you greeted good Queen Mary
in fine ornate Latin style.
Mercifully shock set in
as death transfixed your eyes.
Sweet Jesus’ name was on his lips
as the recusant dies.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Haggis
A haggis found itself in a butcher’s window
and had a feeling that it shouldn’t be there.
He had visions of being on a Scottish hillside
amongst the heather and free without a care.
He didn’t feel right being next to a chicken,
pork sausages, and various other things.
He realised that his beautiful tail had gone,
as well as his legs, head, and wings.
The butcher then wrapped him up in paper
and gave him to Mrs Macnee
who took him home for dinner
for her husband and family of three.
She unwrapped him and left him on the table
while she went to answer the door.
The Haggis was feeling nervous and unsteady,
and rolled from the table to the floor.
It gathered pace and rolled out of the kitchen,
past Mrs Macnee, and out of the door.
He’s never be seen since and for all we know
he’s back in the heather once more.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clickity, click, click
Clickity, click, click
~
The number of clicks
Those little groups
To which were forced fit
Into the adult world
No more bestest friends
Like a Childs playground game
Long since put to rest
In the pretence of professionalism
Into the workplace we stroll
And those clickity clicks
Outsiders kept at reach
Beyond the context of the conversation
Are we all in the playground again?
Grown up kids clickity click
Little games bestest friends
Don’t like the newbie, kind of strange
Doesn’t fit in, not this place
Not so much the childhood innocence
More the shame of adult ignorance
The way of work and at rest
How its still all a playground game
Pick your team clickity click
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Morning At The Barbershop
This morning at the barbershop,
a barber is busy with the hair
of a much older grey haired man
that he is trimming neatly
and a young man
sits in one of the barber’s chairs.
When I sit down to wait
the young man rises
turning to me
and asks if he can cut my hair.
I was happy to get attention immediately
while the other barber was finishing
with the older man,
as he looks to finely tuned to me.
My hair was smartly cut
with a pair of scissors
and the young barber
held his fingers
to determine the length
and I wanted it shorter
than just cutting off the ends
while the other barber
first took a hair blower
from a drawer,
sprayed something over his own hair
before he started to blow it in the mirror
and he then said
that he cannot go
to the bank to wait in line
with a head looking like Tut’s ass
and I saw my locks
falling dark brown
with dots of grey around me
and saw the other barber
combing his long hair
and smiled at myself
about the vanity of humanity
while I looked at myself
and were starting to look much better.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After I won the Oscar, my salary doubled, my friends tripled, my children became more popular at school, my butcher made a pass at me, and my maid hit me up for a raise.
quote by Shirley Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sad-eyed Lady Of The Lowlands
With your mercury mouth in the missionary times,
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes,
And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes,
Oh, who among them do they think could bury you?
With your pockets well protected at last,
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass,
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass,
Who among them do they think could carry you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace,
And your basement clothes and your hollow face,
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs and your gypsy hymns,
Who among them would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
The kings of tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldnt know it would happen like this,
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug,
And your spanish manners and your mothers drugs,
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs,
Who among them do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished youd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
With your sheet-metal memory of cannery row,
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go,
And your gentleness now, which you just cant help but show,
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, youre on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul,
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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