Prologue To 'Zobeide
IN these bold times, when Learning's sons explore
The distant climate and the savage shore;
When wise Astronomers to India steer,
And quit for Venus, many a brighter here;
While Botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling,
Forsake the fair, and patiently -- go simpling;
When every bosom swells with wond'rous scenes,
Priests, cannibals, and hoity-toity queens:
Our bard into the general spirit enters,
And fits his little frigate for adventures:
With Scythian stores, and trinkets deeply laden,
He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading --
Yet ere he lands he 'as ordered me before,
To make an observation on the shore.
Where are we driven? our reck'ning sure is lost!
This seems a barren and a dangerous coast.
____ what a sultry climate am I under!
Yon ill foreboding cloud seems big with thunder.
('Upper Gallery'.)
There Mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen 'em --
('Pit'.)
Here trees of stately size -- and turtles in 'em --
('Balconies'.)
Here ill-condition'd oranges abound --
('Stage'.)
And apples ('takes up one and tastes it'),
bitter apples strew the ground.
The place is uninhabited, I fear!
I heard a hissing -- there are serpents here!
O there the natives are -- a dreadful race!
The men have tails, the women paint the face!
No doubt they're all barbarians. -- Yes, 'tis so,
I'll try to make palaver with them though;
('Making signs'.)
'Tis best, however, keeping at a distance.
Good Savages, our Captain craves assistance;
Our ship's well stor'd; -- in yonder creek we've laid her;
His honour is no mercenary trader;
This is his first adventure; lend him aid,
Or you may chance to spoil a thriving trade.
His goods, he hopes are prime, and brought from far,
Equally fit for gallantry and war.
What! no reply to promises so ample?
I'd best step back -- and order up a sample.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Related quotes
Apples And Oranges
Got a flip-top pack of cigarettes in her pocket
Feeling good at the top
Shopping in sharp shoes
Walking in the sunshine town feeling very cool
But the butchers and the bakers in the supermarket stores
Getting everything she wants from the supermarket stores
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Cornering neatly she trips up sweetly
To meet the people
She's on time again
And then
I catch her by the eye then I stop and have to think
What a funny thing to do 'cause I'm feeling very pink
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
I love she
She loves me
See you
See you
Thought you might like to know
I'm the lorry driver man
She's on the run
Down by the river side
feeding ducks in the afternoon tide
(quack quack)
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Apples & Oranges
Got a flip-top pack of cigarettes in her pocket
Feeling good at the top
Shopping in sharp shoes
Walking in the sunshine town feeling very cool
But the butchers and the bakers in the supermarket stores
Getting everything she wants from the supermarket stores
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Cornering neatly she trips up sweetly
To meet the people
Shes on time again
And then
I catch her by the eye then I stop and have to think
What a funny thing to do cause Im feeling very pink
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
I love she
She loves me
See you
See you
Thought you might to know
Im the lorry driver man
Shes on the run
Down by the river side
Feeding ducks by the afternoon tide
(quack quack)
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Climate Change Converts
After eleven years as Prime Minister it does seem quite strange
That John Howard the ageing politician is talking of climate change
But this after all is an Election year
And of losing the top job is now his greatest fear.
For eleven years warnings of climate change he chose to ignore
But climate change has become an Election issue as never before
Howard the climate change convert on combating climate change now leads the way
On climate change he has become an instant expert and on it has much to say.
His opponent for the top job Kevin Rudd is a climate change convert too
It is amazing what an Election can do
To the climate change realist voters they are trying to appeal
Of climate change suddenly they make a big deal.
The ideas of the climate change experts Howard and Rudd now embrace
As their moment of truth they are about to face
The climate realist voters they are trying to appease
But try as they will not everyone they will please.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Ship To Shore
When you pulled at the wheel with me
To steer our fragile ship of state
We nosed toward uncharted seas
But found our course within a lake.
And every where that we did turn
There loomed another barren shore,
We turned, and then did turn about
To find we'd sailed each course before.
And you would chafe at each restraint
And I would rush to catch each squall
That filled our sails a little while
Before we lay becalmed once more.
Then you would see each distant point
As bearings, where your freedom lay
And drive our ship before the storm
For day upon each battered day.
'Til we had sailed on every course
That wit or will could still devise
While biting tongue and sharp retort
Became the language of our lives.
At every turn, a shallow reef
To wreck the hopes that we had shared,
Each tack would bring us near to grief
Each luff would leave us near despair.
But then you spied some promised ground
And took the boat on that same shore
That we had left together, once
Though never to return, we swore.
The ship of state rolled drunkenly,
I could not steer, nor go ashore
And so each watched the other weep
For you would cry, and I implore.
'Til you rowed back to join the ship
But we were fast upon some reef,
And soon you turned to carp and wit
To speed you on your long retreat.
A thousand times you made that trip,
A thousand times from ship to shore
But now the tide's exposed the rip,
There's nothing left to journey for.
And you may live your life ashore
While I attend some new design,
Our ship of state once went to war -
I burned her to the waterline.
20 September 1989
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Prologue Spoken the First Day of the King's House Acting After the Fire
So shipwracked passengers escape to land,
So look they, when on the bare beach they stand,
Dropping and cold, and their first fear scarce o'er,
Expecting famine on a desert shore.
From that hard climate we must wait for bread,
Whence even the natives, forced by hunger, fled.
Our stage does human chance present to view,
But ne'er before was seen so sadly true:
You are changed too, and your pretence to see
Is but a nobler name for charity.
Your own provisions furnish out our feasts,
While you, the founders, make yourselves the guests.
Of all mankind beside, fate had some care,
But for poor Wit no portion did prepare,
'Tis left a rent-charge to the brave and fair.
You cherished it, and now its fall you mourn,
Which blind unmannered zealots make their scorn,
Who think that fire a judgment on the stage,
Which spared not temples in its furious rage.
But as our new-built city rises higher,
So from old theatres may new aspire,
Since fate contrives magnificence by fire.
Our great metropolis does far surpass
Whate'er is now, and equals all that was:
Our wit as far does foreign wit excel,
And, like a king, should in a palace dwell.
But we with golden hopes are vainly fed
Talk high, and entertain you in a shed:
Your presence here, for which we humbly sue
Will grace old theatres, and build up new.
poem by John Dryden
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Oranges On Apple Trees
Oranges on apple trees
Birds that mate with bumblebees
Oranges on apple trees
Water comes and water goes
Where it ends up no one really knows
Water rises, water falls
Where it comes from no one knows for sure
It seeps from every pore
We have seen the rain before
Not like this - its flooding every shore
People come and people go
I can hear their laughter through the door
But no ones keeping score
Oranges on apple trees
Birds that mate with bumblebees
One big happy family
Endless possibilities
(yeah and more)
Oranges and apple trees
I see your face in front of me
Cant believe what no one else could see
I feel it deep inside of me
Everything we love shall be released
And everyone will see
Oranges on apple trees (for sure)
I used to be the only one
Not now since youve come
You and I have seen the signs
Thats why the wind died
The wind died
Thats why oranges on apple trees
Birds that mate with bumblebees
Endless possibilities (now)
Oranges on apple trees
All the things that we can see
Multi-gender wannabes
Oranges on apple trees
Birds that mate with bumblebees
One big happy family
Endless possibilities (yeah yeah yeah)
Oranges on apple trees (for sure)
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Red Apples
Out of Mother Nature
Came little red Apples'
That were grown
In the Garden of time
But God don't like
Little red Apples'
From which the Devil does dine
Women love to eat little red Apples'
In the Summer time
Men desire little red Apples'
Any old time
Winter, Summer, especially
When the Sun is high
In a clear blue Sky
The Devil does love
Little red Apples'
Man does love
Little red Apples'
Women love
Little red Apples'
poem by Allan James Saywell
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A Salty Dog
'all hands on deck, we've run afloat!' i heard the captain cry
'explore the ship, replace the cook: let no one leave alive!'
Across the straits, around the horn: how far can sailors fly?
A twisted path, our tortured course, and no one left alive
We sailed for parts unknown to man, where ships come home to die
No lofty peak, nor fortress bold, could match our captain's eye
Upon the seventh seasick day we made our port of call
A sand so white, and sea so blue, no mortal place at all
We fired the gun, and burnt the mast, and rowed from ship to shore
The captain cried, we sailors wept: our tears were tears of joy
Now many moons and many junes have passed since we made land
A salty dog, this seaman's log: your witness my own hand
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Persistence
MY hopes retire; my wishes as before
Struggle to find their resting-place in vain:
The ebbing sea thus beats against the shore;
The shore repels it; it returns again.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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The Man Bitten By Fleas
A Peevish Fellow laid his Head
On Pillows, stuff'd with Down;
But was no sooner warm in Bed,
With hopes to rest his Crown,
But Animals of slender size,
That feast on humane Gore,
From secret Ambushes arise,
Nor suffer him to snore;
Who starts, and scrubs, and frets, and swears,
'Till, finding all in vain,
He for Relief employs his Pray'rs
In this old Heathen strain.
Great Jupiter! thy Thunder send
From out the pitchy Clouds,
And give these Foes a dreadful End,
That lurk in Midnight Shrouds:
Or Hercules might with a Blow,
If once together brought,
This Crew of Monsters overthrow,
By which such Harms are wrought.
The Strife, ye Gods! is worthy You,
Since it our Blood has cost;
And scorching Fevers must ensue,
When cooling Sleep is lost.
Strange Revolutions wou'd abound,
Did Men ne'er close their Eyes;
Whilst those, who wrought them wou'd be found
At length more Mad, than Wise.
Passive Obedience must be us'd,
If this cannot be Cur'd;
But whilst one Flea is slowly bruis'd,
Thousands must be endur'd.
Confusion, Slav'ry, Death and Wreck
Will on the Nation seize,
If, whilst you keep your Thunders back,
We're massacr'd by Fleas.
Why, prithee, shatter-headed Fop,
The laughing Gods reply;
Hast thou forgot thy Broom, and Mop,
And Wormwood growing nigh?
Go sweep, and wash, and strew thy Floor,
As all good Housewives teach;
And do not thus for Thunders roar,
To make some fatal Breach:
Which You, nor your succeeding Heir,
Nor yet a long Descent
Shall find out Methods to repair,
Tho' Prudence may prevent.
For Club, and Bolts, a Nation call'd of late,
Nor wou'd be eas'd by Engines of less Weight:
But whether lighter had not done as well,
Let their Great-Grandsons, or their Grandsons tell.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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The Price For Our Greed
Human Beings have invented computers and walked on the moon
But the Planet we live on we are trying to ruin
The greed of our kind may well be our downfall
We are not as great or as clever as we think we are after all
The natural beauty around us is for us all to enjoy
Yet the Planet that feeds us we are trying to destroy
Due to our carbon emissions the Polar Ice Caps melting causing sea levels to rise
We who think we are clever are not very wise
'Tis mostly of the economic depression we read of and hear
And climate change is something we do not seem to fear
Due to pollution the climate is changing from north to southern shore
Yet the warnings of Nature we tend to ignore
Global warming giving rise to climate change and it seems sad to say
That the price for our greed may be huge for to pay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Apple Orchard
A sunny afternoon, with blanket spread,
Beneath some apple trees, with ample shade,
We'd sit with tray of tea and gingerbread,
Scones with cream, and these were freshly homemade.
Apples hung above us, each ripe and red,
So colourful, they somehow set the scene.
Sampling strawberry jam on thin sliced shortbread,
We'd lay and watch the leaves, with sun between.
Peaceful lazy days were these, and so free,
Whiling away hours, with paint and book,
Our orchard, where under a favoured tree,
We'd relish Peter Pan and Captain Hook.
Those rosy apples, that we'd all consume,
And savour juicy flesh so soft and sweet,
Eating them until we had no more room,
Those halcyon days were to us a treat.
Dappled sunshine sparkled amids the boughs,
And danced on, with a gentle pleasing sway,
Oh What I would give to again just browse,
In that apple orchard, for one more day.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Adventure on a Raft
The following adventure happened in the experience of an
Ingersoll man.
' Truth is strange, stranger than fiction.'
A man rafting down the river,
Time he will remember ever,
He shouted, ' Pole, the raft to land,
Or we'll be wrecked upon the strand.'
But captain gave him a reply
That all danger he would defy ;
But, in another moment more
Part was wrecked upon the shore
Of a Nova Scotian bay ;
The other half was borne away.
Enough to make a person shiver,
Man was drifted out of river,
All alone on the broken raft,
Driven where e'er the wind did waft ;
Right out on the open sea,
Where the storm did blow so free.
No shelter from the wind or wave,
He thought the gulf would be his grave.
He had no food, life to sustain,
He laid him down, there to remain.
What happened he did know no more,
But old man on Prince Edwards shore,
While gazing through his good spy glass,
' What do I see?' he cried, ' Alas !
Some poor man, and I fear he's dead,
Drifting to my humble shed.'
The body acted like a sail,
And wafted raft before the gale;
He called on men to man a boat,
And quickly crew had it afloat,
And in haste full soon they bore
His lifeless body to the shore.
But old man did them then desire
To place body near the fire,
And wrap it up in blankets warm-
Which did act like to a charm-
soon the breath it did return.
With gratitude his heart did burn,
To think he was again restored
Unto his friends, whom he adored;
But worse misfortunes him befell,
Yet he bears up 'neath troubles well.
poem by James McIntyre
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The Horse Trader
I traded for a horse one time
He wouldn't take no beauty prize
A great big long-eared blue roan gelding
Not too bad fore weight and size
I had to make some tough old circles
And this trader guaranteed
This horse would show me lots of country
And not need too much rest or feed
He said, "Now this here ain't no kids horse
But he'll pack you up the creek
He will bump up on some occasions
And he has been known to kick
I wouldn't trade him just to anyone
Without having some remorse
But if yer a shore enough cow puncher
Mister, he's yer kinda of horse
I stepped on that horse the next mornin'
He began to buck and bawl
That trader maybe hadn't lied none
But he hadn't told it all
Because we shore tore up the country
Where he throwed that equine fit
And I almost ran out of hand holds
By the time he finally quit
I guess that must'a set the pattern
Things just never seems to change
Although I showed him lots of country
Every corner of the range
But every time I'd ride that BOOGER
Why, he'd keep me sittin' tight
I knew I'd make at least three bronc rides
` Fore he'd pack me home that night
Which woulda been ok
With lots of horses that I knowed
But that old pony had my number
I'd just barely got him rode
And the thing that really spooked me
And put a damper on my pride
He was learning how to buck
Faster than I was learning how to ride
I pulled into camp one evening;
It was getting pretty late
I see this grey horse in the corral
And there's a saddle by the gate
I looked that grey over
And I shore like what I seen
Then this kid showed up around the barn
He must'a been sixteen
He said, he'd lamed that grey horse that morning
Coming down off the granite grade
And he wondered if I had a horse
I'd maybe like to trade
He said, "He didn't have time to stop
And rest and let him heal
And since that beggers can't be choosers
He'd make most any kind of deal."
When a feller's tradin' horses
Why, most anything is fair
So I traded him that blue roan
For his grey horse then and there
But then my conscience started hurtin'
When I thought of what I did
To trade a "FLY BLOWN" dink like that
Off to some little wet-nosed kid.
So next mornin' after breakfast
Why, I told him "Listen lad,
If you want to know the truth
That trade you made last nite was bad
That old blue horse is a tough one
Bas as any one you'll see
He'll kick you, strike you, and stampede
He's a sorry S.O.B! "
"It's all I can do to ride him
And I'll tell it to you straight
I think you'll be awfully lucky
Just to ride him past the gate
There are two or three old horses
Out there in the saddle bunch
They ain't got too much going for'em
But I kinda got a hunch
They'll probably get ya where yer goin'
If you just don't crowd'em none
But damn, I hate to see you ride
That blue roan BOOGER son! "
He said, "I told ya there last nite
I'd make most any trade
And I appreciate yer tellin'
What a bad mistake I made."
"But my old daddy told me
When yer tradin' that no matter
How you feel even if you take a whippin'
That a deal is still a deal
That horse, you say has lots to travel
And he's not too bad for speed
Well Sir, I'm kinda in a tight
And that equally what I need.
I traded him fair and square
And damn his blue roan hide
When I pulled out'ta here this mornin'
That's the horse I'm gunna ride
I watched him cinching up his saddle
And he pulled his hat way down
Stepped right up into the riggin'
Like he's headed straight to town
Stuck both spurs up in his shoulders
Got the blue roan's hair a-flyin'
Tipped his head straight back and screamed
Just like a hungry mountain lion
You know, I've heard lots of stories
` Bout the Bucking Horse Ballet
I've heard poetry in motion
But the ride I saw today
Just plum complete defied description
Though I can see it plain
Like it had happened in slow motion
And was branded on my brain
I don't suppose I could explain it
To you even if I tried
The only think that I can say is
By the saints the kid could ride.
He sat there plum relaxed
Like he was lying in bed
And every move that pony made
That kid was a-half a jump a head
When it was over I decided
I could learn a few things more
And I said, "SON, I'm awfully sorry
I misjudged yer riding skills! "
He said, "Shucks that's okay mister."
As he started on his way
But if you think this horse can buck
Don't put yer saddle on that grey! !
poem by Kendra Tyler
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Frederick Douglass
A hush is over all the teeming lists,
And there is pause, a breath-space in the strife;
A spirit brave has passed beyond the mists
And vapors that obscure the sun of life.
And Ethiopia, with bosom torn,
Laments the passing of her noblest born.
She weeps for him a mother's burning tears--
She loved him with a mother's deepest love
He was her champion thro' direful years,
And held her weal all other ends above.
When Bondage held her bleeding in the dust,
He raised her up and whispered, 'Hope and Trust.'
For her his voice, a fearless clarion, rung
That broke in warning on the ears of men;
For her the strong bow of his pow'r he strung
And sent his arrows to the very den
Where grim Oppression held his bloody place
And gloated o'er the mis'ries of a race.
And he was no soft-tongued apologist;
He spoke straight-forward, fearlessly uncowed;
The sunlight of his truth dispelled the mist
And set in bold relief each dark-hued cloud;
To sin and crime he gave their proper hue,
And hurled at evil what was evil's due.
Thro' good and ill report he cleaved his way
Right onward, with his face set toward the heights,
Nor feared to face the foeman's dread array--
The lash of scorn, the sting of petty spites.
He dared the lightning in the lightning's track,
And answered thunder with his thunder back.
When men maligned him and their torrent wrath
In furious imprecations o'er him broke,
He kept his counsel as he kept his path;
'Twas for his race, not for himself, he spoke.
He knew the import of his Master's call
And felt himself too mighty to be small.
No miser in the good he held was he--
His kindness followed his horizon's rim.
His heart, his talents and his hands were free
To all who truly needed aught of him.
Where poverty and ignorance were rife,
He gave his bounty as he gave his life.
The place and cause that first aroused his might
Still proved its pow'r until his latest day.
In Freedom's lists and for the aid of Right
Still in the foremost rank he waged the fray;
Wrong lived; His occupation was not gone.
He died in action with his armor on!
We weep for him, but we have touched his hand,
And felt the magic of his presence nigh,
The current that he sent thro' out the land,
The kindling spirit of his battle-cry
O'er all that holds us we shall triumph yet
And place our banner where his hopes were set!
Oh, Douglass, thou hast passed beyond the shore,
But still thy voice is ringing o'er the gale!
Thou 'st taught thy race how high her hopes may soar
And bade her seek the heights, nor faint, nor fail.
She will not fail, she heeds thy stirring cry,
She knows thy guardian spirit will be nigh,
And rising from beneath the chast'ning rod,
She stretches out her bleeding hands to God!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Undiscovered Country
Man has explored all countries and all lands,
And made his own the secrets of each clime.
Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime,
The oval earth lies compassed with steel bands,
The seas are slaves to ships that touch all strands,
And even the haughty elements sublime
And bold, yield him their secrets for all time,
And speed like lackeys forth at his commands.
Still, though he search from shore to distant shore,
And no strange realms, no unlocated plains
Are left for his attainment and control,
Yet is there one more kingdom to explore.
Go, know thyself, O man! there yet remains
The undiscovered country of thy soul!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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San Stefano
(A Ballad of the Bold Menelaus)
It was morning at St. Helen's, in the great and gallant days,
And the sea beneath the sun glittered wide,
When the frigate set her courses, all a-shimmer in the haze
And she hauled her cable home and took the tide.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore,
When the bold _Menelaus_ put to sea.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore,
When the bold _Menelaus_ put to sea.
She was clear of Monte Cristo, she was heading for the land,
When she spied a pennant red and white and blue;
They were foemen, and they knew it, and they'd half a league in hand,
But she flung aloft her royals, and she flew.
She was nearer, nearer, nearer, they were caught beyond a doubt,
But they slipped her into Orbetello Bay,
And the lubbers gave a shout as they paid their cables out,
With the guns grinning round them where they lay.
Now, Sir Peter was a captain of a famous fighting race,
Son and grandson of an admiral was he;
And he looked upon the batteries, he looked upon the chase,
And he heard the shout that echoed out to sea.
And he called across the decks, 'Ay! the cheering might be late
If they kept it till the _Menelaus_ runs;
Bid the master and his mate heave the lead and lay her straight
For the prize lying yonder by the guns!'
When the summer moon was setting, into Orbetello Bay
Came the _Menelaus_ gliding like a ghost;
And her boats were manned in silence, and in silence pulled away,
And in silence every gunner took his post.
With a volley from her broadside the citadel she woke,
And they hammered back like heroes all the night;
But before the morning broke she had vanished through the smoke
With her prize upon her quarter grappled tight.
It was evening at St. Helen's in the great and gallant time,
And the sky behind the down was flushing far;
And the flags were all a-flutter, and the bells were all a-chime,
When the frigate cast her anchor off the bar.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for the colours at the fore,
When the bold _Menelaus_ came from the sea.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore,
When the bold _Menelaus_ came from the sea.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Life of a Cloud
Warming thermals whisper as they rise,
To tell us they are soon to bring to view
In cooler air aloft before your eyes:
A gentle wisp to counterpoint the blue.
Powder puffs emerge to grant her grace
That further bloom as would for stately tree, and
Yield a sight that calls for our embrace:
Another cloud anew above the lea.
Cruising forth, she yearns for ageless life.
O how her hopes will soon be dashed in vain,
For up there in the cold she courts her strife,
To fade away as drops of closing rain.
Scant and lacy speak her living span,
And fair among us could be brought to mourn,
But she was there to populate her clan:
From fallen tears, new daughters will be born.
Copyright © Mark R slaughter 2010
A cloudy sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Into a Filth Attracting Scene
Has anyone seen my robin here?
These seasons have been too quickly changing...
And no robin this year appeared.
Has anyone seen grapes on the vine?
They seem to be missing,
With the peaches.
And the apples look past their prime.
Has anyone noticed nasty waters?
With little left clean enough to drink.
What are we thinking...
And headed towards?
Where is the love we had,
For this planet we adored?
Give me my memories back from sleeping.
I've awakened into a filth attracting scene.
And my screaming doesn't mean a thing!
These scenes are cracking backs,
And getting mean!
Retired to a diary that I'm keeping!
I feel alone in crowds I face.
I want to share every thought I'm thinking.
But thoughts I have could never erase,
What's taking place.
Where are those disgusted with disgrace?
Give me my memories back from sleeping.
I've awakened into a filth attracting scene.
And my screaming doesn't mean a thing!
These scenes are cracking backs,
And getting mean!
Has anyone seen my robin here?
These seasons have been too quickly changing...
And no robin this year appeared.
Has anyone seen grapes on the vine?
They seem to be missing,
With the peaches.
And the apples look past their prime.
They didn't look like that last time...
When minds were clear
And fought the appearance of slime!
We'll be defined as the human wasting kind!
These times we sit in twistedness seem fine!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Each day I see the long ships coming into port
Each day I see the long ships coming into port
and the people crowding to their rail, glad of the shore:
because to have been alone with the sea and not to have known
of anything happening in any crowded way,
and to have heard no other voice than the crooning sea's
has charmed away the old rancours, and the great winds
have search'd and swept their hearts of the old irksome thoughts:
so, to their freshen'd gaze, each land smiles a good home.
Why envy I, seeing them made gay to greet the shore?
Surely I do not foolishly desire to go
hither and thither upon the earth and grow weary
with seeing many lands and peoples and the sea:
but if I might, some day, landing I reck not where
have heart to find a welcome and perchance a rest,
I would spread the sail to any wandering wind of the air
this night, when waves are hard and rain blots out the land.
poem by Christopher John Brennan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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