En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Kind Of Story

a red cliff stands beside
a running creek

from a distance it looks like
a hand
C-shaped trying to give
a view of spring

fluffy clouds hang there
like friends
wanting to save someone
from an impending harm

the valley presents a shadow
of a gray land
offering the promises of
a bumpy harvest

meanwhile everyone watches
how a creek dies.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cripple Creek

1: well I married a wife in the month of june,
Married her up by the light of the moon.
We live down on cripple creek.
Weve been there about a week.
Chorus: Im a-goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
Goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
2: now cripple creek girls about half-grown,
Jump on a man like a dog on a bone.
Roll my pants up to my knees,
Cross on cripple creek a-when I please.
Chorus: Im a-goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run,
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
Goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
3: well Im goin to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Im a-goin to cripple creek to have some fun.
Chorus: Im a-goin to cripple creek, Im goin on a run,
Goin to cripple creek to have some fun.

song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By the creek

By the creek
Canoes are extinct and fishing net hung dry
On the mangrove, starved fishes initiate an exodus

By the creek
Idleness I saw in the abode of a young man
In search of oil greed in the wrong ways of the city

By the creek
The gliding seagulls no longer shower kisses on the waves
As gunboats threatens even the creatures underneath the aquatic ridges

By the creek
The night taunts me, of the horrors of the morrow
And the sorrow that lay await

By the creek
The crowd stood still, hungry in their eyes
And food monger, driven away by hostile wind

By the creek
I saw men living comfortably in squalor
Accompany by winds of mediocrity
And greed

By the creek
In addition, I saw the sea eating away farmlands
While the shore reclamation fund mound in politicians save

By the creek
I saw fleeing, vessels from foreign shores
And a deserted jetty a save heaven for militant

poem by Regha Julius
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I don't want to save a creek for the creek's sake, but what's in it for human beings.

quote by Jim Fowler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bitter Creek

Once I was young and so unsure
Id try any ill to find the cure
An old man told me
Tryin to scold me
oh, son, dont wade to deep in bitter creek,
(bitter creek)
Out where the desert meets the sky
Is where I go when I wanna hide
Oh, peyote (oh,peyote,mm)
She tried to show me
(tried to show me)
You know there aint no cause to weep
At bitter creek
(bitter creek)
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
Doo, doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
Were gonna hit the road for one last time
We can walk right in and steal em blind
All that money (all that money,ooh..)
No more runnin (no more runnin)
I cant wait to see the old mans face
When I win the race
(bitter creek)
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo,
Doo doo doo doo doo
Doo..........

song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meadowlark

I walked by the creek today.
A meadowlark was on a strand of fence.
Then she flew into a tree that's full of blooms.
The creek runs next to home, my
parents' home, where I grew up.
It was good, in a valley near a pond.
Always summer - nights were never long.
I lived there. I think
Now I'm not too sure.
Ava told me, valley's in your mind.
Not on a map, but in your mind.
Someday, she said, you'll take a walk there.
And swear you saw me fly into a tree.

poem by Rick Stokes
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Bear Creek

Way up on bear creek watching the sun go down.
Way up on bear creek watching the sun go down.
It makes me feel like, Im on my last go round.
The water on bear creek tastes like cherry wine.
The water on bear creek tastes like cherry wine.
You take one drink of it, your tasting it all the time.
If you stay on bear creek youll get like jesse james.
If you stay on bear creek youll get like jesse james.
Youll take two old pistols, and hold up that bear creek train.
Im going high high up on some lonesome hill.
Im going high high up on some lonesome hill.
Look down on bear creek, where my good gal used to live.

song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cripple Creek Ferry

Hey, hey cripple creek ferry
Butting through the overhanging trees
Make way for the cripple creek ferry
The waters going down its a mighty tight squeeze.
All alone the captain stands
Hasnt heard from his deck hands.
The gambler tips his hat and walks towards the door.
Its the second half of the cruise.
And you know he hates to lose.
Hey, hey cripple creek ferry
Butting through the overhanging trees
Make way for the cripple creek ferry
The waters going down its a mighty tight squeeze.

song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Place For No Story

The coast hills at Sovranes Creek:
No trees, but dark scant pasture drawn thin
Over rock shaped like flame;
The old ocean at the land's foot, the vast
Gray extension beyond the long white violence;
A herd of cows and the bull
Far distant, hardly apparent up the dark slope;
And the gray air haunted with hawks:
This place is the noblest thing I have ever seen.
No imaginable
Human presence here could do anything
But dilute the lonely self-watchful passion.

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Swan Lee

Swan lee got up at the running foot pow-wow,
Heading from the fire to his waiting canoe.
Chattering squaw untied the wigwam door,
The chief blew smoke rings two by two!
The land in silence stands...
Swan lee, his boat by the bank in the darkness,
Loosened the rope in the creek is entwined.
A feather from the wing of a wild young eagle,
Pointed to the land where his fortune he'd find
The land in silence stands
Swan lee paddled on from the land of his fathers,
His eyes scanned the undergrowth on either side.
From the shore hung a hot, heavy, creature infested
Tropic, swan lee had a bow by his side
The land in silence stands
Swan lee kept time, half on land, half on water,
Grizzly bear and raccoon his fare.
He followed his ears to the great water fall,
Swan lee knew deep down that his squaw was there!
The land in silence stands....
Suddenly the rush of the mighty great thunder,
Confronted swan lee as his song he sang,
In the dawn, with his squaw, he was battling homewards
It was all written down by long silas lang.
The land in silence stands...
The land in silence stands...
The land in silence stands.

song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walking West

Anyone with quiet pace who
walks a gray road in the West
may hear a badger underground where
in deep flint another time is

Caught by flint and held forever,
the quiet pace of God stopped still.
Anyone who listens walks on
time that dogs him single file,

To mountains that are far from people,
the face of the land gone gray like flint.
Badgers dig their little lives there,
quiet-paced the land lies gaunt,

The railroad dies by a yellow depot,
town falls away toward a muddy creek.
Badger-gray the sod goes under
a river of wind, a hawk on a stick.

poem by William Stafford
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Near Castlemaine

The Winter mostly cold and dry
And little rainfall in July
And not much water in the creek and drain
By the old Town of Castlemaine.

In central Victoria a Colonial Town
Of 'The Wild Colonial Boy' renown
One of a dubious sort of fame
A ballad glorifies his name.

The chill of Winter in the air
And in the paddocks brown and bare
The cattle bellowing for hay
Close to their feed barrier they stay.

The magpie's flute is ringing clear
Always a pleasant thing to hear
They build their nest of sticks as Spring draws near
Before blossoms on the fruit trees appear

In Castlemaine on a Winter's day
The sun doesn't shine through clouds of gray
Yet little water in the creek and drain
And the bone dry paddocks thirst for rain.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Otter Creek

Past meadows, beyond trees, down muddy banks flows otter creek.
King fisher in branches, perched, poised.
Skydiver, bullet from above, silent splash, into otter creek.
Muscles plucked from their beds, shells discarded, gathered for fun, pass up not one.
Trout fry swim swiftly, cray fish beneath rocks avoid seeking hands, pincers poised, threatening stance.
Kids crossing fallen logs, catching frogs, skipping rocks, swimming in otter creek.
Mud wars rage, picnic blanket laid on the green glade near otter creek.
We follow paw prints, beneath willow tree roots, den site dug deep into muddy banks of otter creek.
Within the town of Franklinville, hot summers day, sister, niece, and I, our dad's.
Never saw the otters of the creek, only paw prints, left proof of an existence.
In memories I venture, hoping, just a glimpse.
To sit once again, past meadows, beyond trees, down muddy banks, there it flows, otter creek.

poem by Gary Kedron
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So for twelve miles I rode with Sherman, and we became fast friends. He asked me all manner of questions on the way, and I found that he knew my father well, and remembered his tragic death in Salt Creek Valley.

quote by Buffalo Bill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A New Girl Up At White’s

THERE’S a fresh track down the paddock
Through the lightwoods to the creek,
And I notice Billy Craddock
And Maloney do not speak,
And The Snag is slyly bitter
When he’s criticising Bill,
And there’s quite a foreign glitter
On the fellows at the mill.

Sid M‘Mahon’s turned out a dandy
With a masher coat and tie,
And the engine-driver, Sandy,
Curls his whiskers on the sly:
All the boys wear paper collars
And their tombstone shirts of nights,
So it’s ten to one in dollars
There’s a new girl up at White’s.

She’s a charmer from the river,
But she steeps the lads in gloom,
With her blue eyes all a-quiver
And her hair like wattle-bloom;
Though she’s pretty and beguiling,
And so lit up, like, with fun
That the flowers turn to her smiling,
Just as if she was the sun.

But I wish she’d leave the valley,
For the camp is dull to me,
Now the mill hands never rally
For the regulation spree,
And there’s not another joker
Gives a tinker’s curse for nap.,
Or will take a hand at poker
Or at euchre with a chap!

Tom won’t stir us with his fiddle
By the boilers as he did
While Bob stepped it in the middle,
And we passed the billy-lid.
Ah! we had some gay old nights there,
But the boys now don’t agree,
And they hang about at White’s there,
When they’ve togged up after tea.

With the gloves we have no battle;
Now they sneak away and moon
Round with White, discussing cattle
All the Sunday afternoon.
There’s a want of old uprightness,
Too, has come upon the push,
And a sort of cold politeness
That’s not called for in the bush.

They’re all off, too, in that quarter;
Kate goes sev’ral times a week
Seeing Andy Kelly’s daughter,
Jimmy’s sister, up the creek;
And this difference seems a pity,
Since their chances are so slim—
While they are running after Kitty,
She is running after Jim.

poem by Edward George Dyson
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Immortality

A very disconnecting creek where bodies
were found, presents a pictorial death in night,
which must be challenged, I say. Then I think without
thoughts; summer was ending and a pandemic
was at the door. The art of debating the image
sears the mind. Must act, think later: the gold

coins have been thrown in the market, the
frozen lens behind the slit eyes watch the cargo
unloading: the explosions come in spate. What
was it – greed or fear? We are running blindly,
the brides, the boys, the men. Of modern governance
a metaphysical meditation.

The strings pulled behind the curtain, game
starts. Award is gifted. The name dies.

Satish Verma

poem by Satish Verma
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Shadow

I am a shadow;
I dance in rhythm with the changing of the seasons.
As the rain falls, I weep.
I become sky lightening as a storm approaches.
I fight with thunder in an approaching squall.
I rage war with the fury of the wind-
With the locusts, I scream.
The creek’s water rushes over its banks, and
As torrential rains inundate its surface,
I am the shadow that is reflected in the pond, into where the
Creek empties, then sighs- as the
Storm subsides.
I am that shadow, motionless, but angry.
I am a shadow lost in the wild-
I follow the deer-
They do not fear me-
I am silent and cautious but wrathful.
No one can envision the flame that sears my soul- as
My rage smolders.
My shadow is the inner child living within me that
Plays a game with the brushfire that blazes in the forest,
That shadow that blends with the darkness as the
Sun sets, and with the rising of the moon,
I am its shadow that reappears, coming into its power.
I chant with the rustling of the trees and the singing of the nightingale, as the
Late summer’s breeze carries me.
I glance with grace and dignity at the treetops,
Lost and confused, I am searching for life’s meaning,
A home for myself, and an escape from reality-
I am the shadow of my dreams,
I have no future in this world;
I am only a shadow,
Lost in the woodlands,
Blending with the trees, and fading into the night-
As shy as the deer, but invisible-
I scream with the locusts,
I dance,
I chant.
Invisible to this world, here I am powerless and fearful, though as
I disappear into the horizon,
Hidden inside a mountain of clouds, I return to my power.
I have found here another place in time where
No one can harm me.
I am my own person, strong, brave and angry-
Lost somewhere in these clouds,
I have found a safe haven.
I dissolve into nothingness, and follow my dreams.
Whether it be in a dream or in reality,
I shall be found and never lost.
There will always be shadows dancing with the rhythm of the
Changing of time…

Claudia Krizay

poem by Claudia Krizay
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Sir, What Is Revolution?

a child,
having overheard our conversation,
came to me, and asked,

'sir, what is revolution? '

i thought about it for a moment,
and sitting him on my knee, replied,
'you know when you're outside,
running and playing in the sun,
and you get too hot...
and you go down to the creek
and get a drink of water?
and you stand there enjoying
the shade of the trees,
and the coolness of the wind? '

he nodded his head.

'well, revolution is making sure
that the sunlight, the grasses,
the creek and it's water,
the trees that give shade,
and the wind a blowing...
will always be there,
for you and for your children! '

'and that children everywhere
will be born into a world that's safe,
that they have a home to go to,
and food to eat.
and that your momma and daddy
can sleep at night without worrying! '

the little boys shook his head up and down...
'that's cool... does god do that,
or do we? '

'out of the mouth of babes! ...'

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Regular Guy

Im the kind of guy a girl takes home to mom
Pleated khaki pants, and cologne thats the bomb
(you sure smell perty)
Shake her dads hand
Look him in the eye
And tell him straight up Im just a regular guy (ill have her home by 9 sir)
Im a regular guy who stays out of trouble( let me get that for you mam)
A regular guy says mam on the double( Im on it)
Im a regular guy just like dawsons creek
A regular guy just dont call me a geek, a geek yeah
But sometimes I remember what got me here
It was friday and cussing
Back off Im in a boy band
And showing no fear
I watch jay leno (hes funny) 7th heaven too
And I ask myself sometimes what would jesus do
Grab me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
Im buds with my mom
And I hang out with my dad..hes my buddy
I play everything safe so Ill never be sad (boo hoo)
Im a regular guy who stays out of trouble( let me get that for you mam)
A regular guy says mam on the double( Im on it)
Im a regular guy just like dawsons creek
A regular guy just dont call me a geek, a geek yeah
Dont push me.
Damnt sometimes I wanna smash things up
Jacked up and wrapped upIm in a boy band.. a boyband
And have to pee in a cup
Im a regular guy who stays out of trouble( let me get that for you mam)
A regular guy says mam on the double( Im on it)
Im a regular guy just like dawsons creek
A regular guy just dont call me a geek, a geek yeah

song performed by by 2gether
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Horse Head Fiddle

i look for him in everywhere
in everywhere i found him not
exhausted i sleep in steppe
in the dream my gray horse spoke to me
find me neath the killing cliff
find me neath the killing cliff
hang my skull on the old larch tree
carve from its wood a two string fiddle
cover over with the skin of my face
string my hair down the neck in place
weave together anger and grief
bow down bow down and sing
i will return through you
strong and gray on mountain high
his black and white faces go running by
strong and gray on mountain high
he come with herd black faces wild

song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Film To Sea

Far away in the distance,
a shadow cast upon the sea.
Upon arriving closer,
that shadow bled a travesty.
Hundreds of fish lay still,
a film upon the water.
A sad displeasing sight to view,
sad for me, sad for you.
Toxic waste bares its ugly face.
Progress has a dirty hand.
The ecosystem is in danger.
Our Sea, Our Land.

poem by Melvina Germain
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