Dublin Roads
WHEN you were a lad that lacked a trade,
Oh, many's the thing you'd see on the way
From Kill-o'-the-Grange to Ballybrack,
And from Cabinteely down into Bray,
When you walked these roads the whole of a day.
High walls there would be to the left and right,
With ivies growing across the top,
And a briary ditch on the other side,
And a place where a quiet goat might crop,
And a wayside bench where a man could stop.
A hen that had found a thing in her sleep,
One would think, the way she went craw-craw-cree,
You would hear as you sat on the bench was there,
And a cock that thought he crew mightily,
And all the stir of the world would be
A cart that went creaking along the road,
And another cart that kept coming a-near;
A man breaking stones; for bits of the day
One stroke and another would come to you clear,
And then no more from that stone-breaker.
And his day went by as the clouds went by,
As hammer in hand he sat alone,
Breaking the mendings of the road;
The dazzles up from the stones were thrown
When, after the rain, the sun down-shone.
And you'd leave him there, that stone-breaker,
And you'd wonder who came to see what was done
By him in a day, or a month, or a week:
He broke a stone and another one,
And you left him there and you travelled on.
A quiet road! You would get to know
The briars and stones along by the way;
A dozen times you'd see last year's nest;
A peacock's cry, a pigeon astray
Would be marks enough to set on a day;
Or the basket-carriers you would meet
A man and a woman they were a pair!
The woman going beside his heel:
A straight-walking man with a streak of him bare,
And eyes that would give you a crafty stare.
Coming down from the hills they'd have ferns to sell,
Going up from the strand they'd have cockles in stock:
Sand in their baskets from the sea,
Or clay that was stripped from a hillside rock
A pair that had often stood in the dock!
Or a man that played on a tin-whistle:
He looked as he'd taken a scarecrow's rig;
Playing and playing as though his mind
Could do nothing else but go to a jig,
And no one around him, little or big.
And you'd meet no man else until you came
Where you could look down upon the sedge,
And watch the Dargle water flow,
And men smoke pipes on the bridge's ledge,
While a robin sang by the haws in a hedge.
Or no bird sang, and the bird-catchers
Would have talk enough for a battle gained,
When they came from the field and stood by the bridge,
Taking shelter beside it while it rained,
While the bird new-caught huddled and strained
In this cage or that, a linnet or finch,
And the points it had were declared and surmised:
And this one's tail was spread out, and there
Two little half-moons, the marks that were prized;
And you looked well on the bird assized.
Then men would go by with a rick of hay
Piled on a cart; with them you would be
Walking beside the piled-up load:
It would seem as it left the horses free,
They went with such stride and so heartily-
And so you'll go back along the road.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Related quotes
Hunger Moon
Under a full hunger moon
her children in a ring
she stands at the hub
a basket of stones at the right
a February-cold jug of water
fresh from the stream
on the other.
Each one came barefoot
touching the earth
bare arms reaching up
to an unrelenting sky.
'Choose a stone' she said
'Place it under your left foot.
Stone does not yield. There will
be times when you must be
like stone.'
And over the reaching arms
walking within her family circle
she gently rained water down.
'Water does not resist. There
will be times when you must be
like water. Close your eyes
feel like stone like water.'
poem by Beryl Baigent
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A Pair Of Brown Eyes
One summer evening drunk to hell
I stood there nearly lifeless
An old man in the corner sang
Where the water lilies grow
And on the jukebox johnny sang
About a thing called love
And its how are you kid and whats your name
And how would you bloody know?
In blood and death neath a screaming sky
I lay down on the ground
And the arms and legs of other men
Were scattered all around
Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed
Then prayed and bled some more
And the only thing that I could see
Was a pair of brown eyes that was looking at me
But when we got back, labeled parts one to three
There was no pair of brown eyes waiting for me
And a rovin a rovin a rovin Ill go
For a pair of brown eyes
I looked at him he looked at me
All I could do was hate him
While ray and philomena sang
Of my elusive dream
I saw the streams, the rolling hills
Where his brown eyes were waiting
And I thought about a pair of brown eyes
That waited once for me
So drunk to hell I left the place
Sometimes crawling sometimes walking
A hungry sound came across the breeze
So I gave the walls a talking
And I heard the sounds of long ago
From the old canal
And the birds were whistling in the trees
Where the wind was gently laughing
And a rovin a rovin a rovin Ill go
For a pair of brown eyes
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daniel Saw The Stone
Oh daniel saw the stone that was hewed out the mountain
Daniel saw the stone that came rolling through babylon
Daniel saw the stone that was hewed out the mountain
Coming down to redeem a mighty world
[repeat above 4 lines]
Well, meet me, jesus, meet me
Meet me in the middle of the air
cause now if these wings should fail me
Lord, I want to hitch on another pair
Oh jesus was the stone that was hewed out the mountain
Jesus was the stone that came rolling through babylon
Jesus was the stone that was hewed out the mountain
Coming down to redeem a mighty world
[repeat above 4 lines]
Oh, well the tree it was bending
Up in the heavenly land
Well, my God spoke unto the holy ghost
He said, come on and lets make man
Im looking for the stone that was hewed out the mountain
Im looking for the stone that came rolling through babylon
Im looking for the stone that was hewed out the mountain
Coming down to redeem a mighty world
[repeat above 4 lines]
Well, now, early in the morning the trumpets gonna sound
The dead and christ is gonna rise
Well, if you aint got good religion
Lord, then hell youll open your eyes
I found that stone that was hewed out the mountain
I found the stone that came rolling through babylon
I found the stone that was hewed out the mountain
Coming down to redeem a mighty world
[repeat above 4 lines]
The main difference between this version and phishs version is that phish only uses the first verse cited here (meet me, jesus, meet me). the other verse that trey sings (the only other verse) is this:
Well, I saw a weary traveler
He was walking on down the road
Well, I saw him later that evening
He was walking on down that road
[followed by the walk, walk, walk... part]
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mans Road
Written by jimmy webb, 1982
Found on the last unicorn soundtrack and your move (french import only).
Horizon rising up to meet the purple dawn
Dust demon screaming, bring an eagle to lead me on
For in my heart I carry such a heavy load
Here I am on mans road, walking mans road, walking mans road
Im hungry, weary, but I cannot lay me down
The rain comes, dreary, but theres no shelter I have found
It will be a long time till I find my abode
Here I am on mans road, walking mans road
Moon rising, disguising lonely streets in gay displays
The stars fade, the night shade falls and makes the world afraid
It waits in silence for the sky to explode
Here I am on mans road, walking mans road, walking mans road
Walking mans road, walking mans road, walking mans road
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Road Well Travelled
A road well travelled does not the journey ease
Nor do well placed signposts aid our itineraries
A road well travelled is rough and rutted where
Others have passed by this way overburdened with their cares
A road well-travelled may be full of risks and dangers
You keep yourself unto yourself and never talk to strangers.
This road well travelled has no final end in sight
It can be sunny in the daytime but quite frightening at night
This road well travelled can sometimes just disappear
And you stop not knowing where to go shivering with fear
This road well travelled sometimes returns you to its start
And leaves you walking round in circles with a sad and heavy heart.
My road well travelled has many toll gates on the way
Each time I ask directions there’s a need to always pay
My road well travelled is a lonely road at times
It is a real road that I know it’s not just a state of mind
My road well travelled is not just my road you see
It’s a road that many others take and it’s called anxiety.
poem by David Keig
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The old man and his stone
an old man
seated alone
on his stone bench
invited me
almost invisible
gesticulating with his hand
sit down beside me
we did not say a word
together we just heard
nothing but our silence
he invited me
to take a look in his garden
he took me by my hand
guiding me
through the open gate
he gave me a grand tour
in his Japanese paradise
and wanted to know
if I would be able
to show him
that spot
he was searching for
all his life
so he could also see
all the larger stones
at once
I'll wait
and watch you
I stood
I sat down
I climbed a tree
while being up there
I could see
a smile on his face
expressing understanding grace
I walked around
accompanied
by the sound
of crackling shelves
I can count endlessly
maybe even further
In that serene garden
I could not find the spot
that place where I could see
all his stones
although I learned
during that search
there were fifteen different larger stones
that unknown space
where I see and count
the old man's 15th stone
there I was on my own
still searching
it was late
at last I returned
sat down beside the old man
on the other stone bench
he offered me his silence
and told me with his eyes
that a man or a woman
is wise
when admitting
accepting
a simple fact
you can see
you can count
all the stones
not at once
not on your own
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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The Sailor's Mother
ONE morning (raw it was and wet---
A foggy day in winter time)
A Woman on the road I met,
Not old, though something past her prime:
Majestic in her person, tall and straight;
And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.
The ancient spirit is not dead;
Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair:
She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.
When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
'What is it,' said I, 'that you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak,
Protected from this cold damp air? '
She anwered, soon as she the question heard,
'A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird.'
And, thus continuing, she said,
'I had a Son, who many a day
Sailed on the seas, but he is dead;
In Denmark he was cast away:
And I have travelled weary miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still remain for me.
The bird and cage they both were his:
'Twas my Son's bird; and neat and trim
He kept it: many voyages
The singing-bird had gone with him;
When last he sailed, he left the bird behind;
From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind.
He to a fellow-lodger's care
Had left it, to be watched and fed,
And pipe its song in safety;---there
I found it when my Son was dead;
And now, God help me for my little wit!
I bear it with me, Sir;---he took so much delight in it.'
poem by William Wordsworth
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Across the Road
To cross or not to cross
was all I thought
when I saw her face across the road.
Her eyes was set as though she lost her soul,
so lost like she is never in this world.
She never minded her shadow on the ground...
her watch as if to melt under her stare,
tic tacked not faster than her heartbeat
for she thought her head was on her feet-
At last, she looked my way
and her pretty face paled.
Suddenly she stood still as though
she gasped some air from death to life...
I can't escape her stare.
To cross or not to cross, I never thought
when across the road she merely stood
nearly meeting her shadow on the ground.
I closed my eyes- I heard the sound
of her crying heart, I found
myself walking away with the woman on my side.
It pained to see her that way cry...
just because I couldn't cross the road for her.
It pained to watch her die.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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And then there were none
There were ten
Waiting by the road
Ready for a journey
Of an entire lifetime
The ten crossed the lake,
But the tenth was too scared
He left the others to their fates
And departed with some joy.
And then there were nine
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime
The nine walked over a bridge
But the ninth saw a beauty
Pursued her, leaving the rest
And sealed his own fate
And then there were eight
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the gorge,
The eighth saw a tree
Laden with fruits. Hunger
Consumed his life away
And then there were seven
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the mountain
Cold consumed their hearts.
The seventh saw a route
To escape from the way.
And then there were six
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
The trail went on and on
Never showed a sign of ending
The sixth lost all hope
And left the party, disgruntled.
And then there were five
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the desert
Their throats parched
The fifth simply
Lost the will to carry on.
And then there were four
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked by the river..
And the fourth saw
His family dead. Grief
Caused him to kill himself.
And then there were three
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked into the cave
And the third saw gold.
Left the journey and
Retired to a new world.
And then there were two
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked by the plain
Feet overcome with pain
They began to hate the other
And the second lay dead.
And then there was one
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
He struggled to reach the box
His left hand stretched
But at the moment of glory
His wounds killed him.
And then there were none.
Walking by the road,
Consumed by the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
poem by Devdan Vaidyanathan
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Today I saw
Today I saw
A market cart going along the road,
High-piled and creaking with a sonsy load
Of cabbages.
The driver sat
Under a little tent himself had made
To give him shelter from the rain or shade
In summertime.
Such men as he,
Backed by the riches of a country side,
Should have kings' faces, full of jolly pride
In comeliness.
But he was tired
After a night's work under starlit skies,
And crouched like a poor slave, with anxious eyes
Turned citywards.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Thanking The Lord
I have to thank god every day
For all the good things he sends my way.
Even before a problem would arise
He is there by my side.
When I have a problem that is tearing me apart
I give it to his kind gentle heart.
When I am fearful of walking down
That lonely dark road
He’ll be there for my hand to hold.
Just like the poem footprints in the sand
He is there to give his hand
And when I can no longer travel the road
He is there to carry the load.
When my feet are cut and bruised
Because I no longer have any shoes
He is there to clean my feet
And cool down the burning heat.
He is there every step of the way
And I thank him every day.
He will love me no matter what I may do
And the best part is that he forgives me too.
He is a forgiving and loving god
Because he knows the human heart.
We do things that we may not think about
But, he doesn’t scold, or scream and shout.
he knows That we will make mistakes
And like a bird we will want to try our wings
And may do the unforgivable thing.
But just like a bird we will always
Go back to our nest, and from that
Point we will do our best.
poem by Louis Rams
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Heart Of Stone
A broken wing, and a broken bone
Of a bird, that met a stone
Lied helpless And was bit despair
Looked above If god was there.
Short of food And short of breath
Was silently waiting For his death
Asked his wings If they could fly.
Yes they said why don't you try
He gathered his strength and wiped his tears.
And soon he stood Without his fears
His eyes stared at the Dark blue sky
But just then when he was about to fly
they grabbed his neck they grabbed it hard
with all his strength he could move a yard
and yes those hands did hurt his bone
he had met a heart of stone
some ugly hands and a beautiful bird.
He cried for help But no one heard.
His wings were flawed And his muscles were stiff.
He begged them to throw him off a cliff
oh dumb bird, don't you get,
look at you, it's a stone you met.
To this, the half dead bird replied
So what, if I die
Just for once I ll meet the air.
And also see if god was there.
Stories of wisdom, that were once told
But now this world had been so cold.
He wished if those blind eyes could see.
The bird was dead though his soul was free.
poem by Kanav Justa
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The Bird of Jesus
IT was pure indeed,
The air we breathed in, the light we saw,
I and my brother, when we played that day,
Or piped to one another; then there came
Two young lads of an age with one another,
And with us two, and these two played with us,
And went away.
Each had a bearing that was like a prince's,
Yet they were simple lads and had the kindness
Of our own folk lads simple and unknowing:
Then, afterwards, we went to visit them.
Theirs was a village that was not far off,
But out of reach towards elbow, not towards hand:
And what was there were houses
Houses and some trees
And it was like a place within a fold.
We found the lads,
And found them still as simple and unknowing,
And played with them: we played outside the stall
Where worked the father of the wiser lad
Not brothers were the boys, but cousins' children.
There was a pit:
We brought back clay and sat beside the stall,
And made birds out of clay; and then my brother
Took up his bird and flung it in the air:
His playmate did as he,
And clay fell down upon the face of clay.
And then I took
The shavings of the board the carpenter
Was working on, and flung them in the air,
And watched them streaming down.
There would be nought to tell
Had not the wiser of the lads took up
The clay he shaped: a little bird it was;
He tossed it from his hand up to his head;
The bird stayed in the air.
O what delight we had
To see it fly and pause, that little bird,
Sinking to earth sometimes, and sometimes rising
As though to fly into the very sun;
At last it spread out wings and flew, and flew,
Flew to the sun.
I do not think
That we played any more, or thought of playing,
For every drop of blood our bodies held
Was free and playing, free and playing then.
Four lads together on the bench we sat:
Nothing was in the open air around us,
And yet we thought something was there for us
A secret, charmed thing.
So we went homeward; by soft ways we went
That wound us back to our familiar place.
Some increase lay upon the things we saw:
I'll speak of grasses, but you'll never know
What grass was there; words wither it and make it
Like to the desert children's dream of grass;
Lambs in the grass, but I will not have shown you
What fleece of purity they had to show;
I'll speak of birds, but I will not have told you
How their song filled the heart; and when I speak
Of him, my brother, you will never guess
How we two were at one!
Even to our mother we had gained in grace!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Man's road
It's a long road,
Oh so sad road,
You think you know,
But you really don't.
How lonely this road can be,
Walking man's road.
You walk down this road,
Is so lonely and cold now,
I knew so may but they left me here,
So now I walk alone
I am a soldier,
Walking down this road alone,
Walking the man's road.
I am a soldier wounded soldier,
I no longer fight,
I walked beside so many,
Now far ahead I can no longer see.
Walking man's road.
I am not counted as a free soul,
My soul is trapped here now and forever more,
A soldier wounded so I must give up the fight,
Now I hear the wind call my name,
I Won't give up now, My family counts on me,
I stand straight and walk tall,
I am free, as the wind that freely blows,
I know now that I must let the wind carry me home.
Walking man's road..
poem by Misty Evans
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The Scars of Tomorrow
The scars of tomorrow
are now to be carved
for these stones on my road
are piled up high to the stars.
Thus a head wind named fate
can bare me to stay the course
can fling every single stone
into my torn and tortured soul.
He’s intended to lead me astray,
but on this path I won’t stray!
So may a thousand stones be thrown by fate
as such may hurt, wound and rage,
on my path I won't abide in sorrow
for every wound will cure and heal
to the scars of tomorrow
poem by Flandu Flandu
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Eyes Of Mr D (Part 4)
Entering the flat
the Constable found no one there.
He searched every room,
nothing, only the fired gun on a note
left on the table.
He had noticed the back window
was left slightly ajar.
He picked up the note
and quickly read it through,
then put it in his pocket
along with the gun.
He smiled to the neighbour
as he left the flat.
He told her to lock it;
Mr D would be coming back.
At the car he got in
saying that,
they had to go back
to the station.
He sat on a bench
near the waters edge.
The white walking stick
resting between his legs.
He could not look at his watch,
as that would give the game away.
A blind man is not supposed to see,
so he had no idea of the time.
All he could tell
that day was turning into night.
He stood up;
he had to stretch his legs.
He moved along to
the bench by the bridge.
The dark waters of the lake,
lapped against the shore.
Then he heard the footsteps
walking across the wooden bridge.
He knew by the sound
they were of a woman’s shoe.
He did not look up
to see who it was,
just listened, as they got closer,
until they were in front of him.
He could now see her face,
under the light of the moon.
Her hair was dark,
and danced on her shoulders.
He wanted to say something,
but though he better not.
The killer could be lurking,
in the bushes somewhere,
waiting for his chance,
when he thought
the coast was clear.
She stopped and stood,
near the waters edge;
she watched the moon’s silver finger
dance on the breeze-ruffled waves.
He sat unnoticed except
for his white walking stick.
The blind could see nothing
at least that is what he hoped
anyone passing would think.
Then from the darkness, he emerged.
A mask of death he wore.
He moved quietly up behind the woman,
extended his hands out to her neck.
To be concluded……
poem by David Harris
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Degrees Of Unfreedom...
1. caught
a bird inside your hand
2.released
inside a cage and hangs
on a beam
at the side of the road
3.well feed with
grains
4. starts to sing
inside the cage
5. feathers fall
and unlearned
flights
6. so many thoughts
about bird-lands
7.death
8. no one sees
the spirit getting
out of the body
of the bird
9. into another plane
another cage
10. back to one
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Smoke Stood Up From Ludlow
When smoke stood up from Ludlow,
And mist blew off from Teme,
And blithe afield to ploughing
Against the morning beam
I strode beside my team,
The blackbird in the coppice
Looked out to see me stride,
And hearkened as I whistled
The trampling team beside,
And fluted and replied:
"Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;
What use to rise and rise?
Rise man a thousand mornings
Yet down at last he lies,
And then the man is wise."
I heard the tune he sang me,
And spied his yellow bill;
I picked a stone and aimed it
And threw it with a will:
Then the bird was still.
Then my soul within me
Took up the blackbird's strain,
And still beside the horses
Along the dewy lane
It sang the song again:
"Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;
The sun moves always west;
The road one treads to labour
Will lead one home to rest,
And that will be the best."
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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A lonely road is that i walked
I walk a lonely road, the one and only one I' ve ever known.
I don't know where it goes, but I keep walking on and on.
I walked the lonely and un trodden road for I was walking on the bridge
of the broken dreams.
I don't know what the world is fighting for or why iam being insticated.
It's for this that I walk this lonely road for I wish to be
ALONE!
So Iam breaking up, breakin' up.
It is the lack of self control that I feared as there is something
Inside me that pulls the need to surface, consuming, confusing.
being called Weird I walk this lonely road for on the verge of broken dreams.
And so i walk this lonely road and so just keep walking still
poem by Pablo Picasso
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A Sketch Of Fairness
in the park the
baby is on a cart
as the young mother
drives it toward the
father who is waiting
carrying a diaper
do not think that
you are a loser
attention is diverted
to the rain that starts
to fall
to the car that just
parked on the road
to the jet plane that
draws a white line
on the sky
to the bird that
punctuates a branch
of the poplar
to the man sitting
alone on a bench
looking blank
well, you sit back and relax
and tell yourself
life is fair.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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