Listening To A Beautiful Woman Singing The Songs Of War
they all left their homes and sailed on pumped boats
to the other island
children all gathered like some dried grits of maize
while their fathers stand and hold their hands on their brows
looking for the right direction
their mothers covering their faces
with veils
bringing all the necessities
that will last them for only a few days
this is the quick way to save their lives
from an ongoing war
when the enemies attack their homes
the only one left in their silent place
is this beautiful woman
singing on top of her voice
in acapella the songs of war
and death
some blood will again flow
more men shall be killed
as history repeats
itself
good men doing nothing
except to follow orders of the lying queen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Scared Skin Of Long Island
Winds have blow in,
and scared the skin of our Long Island,
water damage flooded our homes,
so many are disparaged,
alone and now homeless,
left adrift on the waves of fate,
to many still wait,
for the lights to come on,
as they look around,
to see all the homes that are gone,
we will try to survive here on our strong island.
poem by Walter C. Edwards
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The Burning of the Steamer City of Montreal
A sad tale of the sea I will relate, which will your hearts appal
Concerning the burning of the steamship "City of Montreal,"
Which had on board two hundred and forty-nine souls in all,
But, alas! a fearful catastrophe did them befall.
The steamer left New York on the 6th August with a general cargo,
Bound for Queenstown and Liverpool also;
And all went well until Wednesday evening the 10th,
When in an instant an alarming fire was discovered at length.
And most of the passengers had gone to their berths for the night,
But when the big bell rang out, oh! what a pitiful sight;
To see mothers and their children crying, was most heartrending to behold,
As the blinding smoke began to ascend from the main hold.
And the smoke before long drifted down below,
Which almost choked the passengers, and filled their hearts with woe;
Then fathers and mothers rushed madly upon the deck,
While the crew were struggling manfully the fire to check.
Oh, it was a soul-harrowing and horrible sight,
To see the brave sailors trying hard with all their might;
Battling furiously with the merciless flames --
With a dozen of hose, but still the fire on them gains.
At length it became apparent the steamer couldn't be saved,
And the passengers were huddled together, and some of them madly raved;
And the family groups were most touching to see,
Especially husbands and wives embracing each other tenderly.
The mothers drew their little ones close to them,
Just like little lambs huddled together in a pen;
While the white foaming billows was towering mountains high,
And one and all on God for protection did cry.
And when the Captain saw the steamer he couldn't save,
He cried, come men, prepare the boats to be launched on the briny wave;
Be quick, and obey my orders, let each one bear a hand-
And steer the vessel direct for Newfoundland.
Then the men made ready the boats, which were eight on board,
Hurriedly and fearlessly with one accord;
And by eight o'clock on Thursday morning, everything was ready
For the passengers to leave the burning steamer that was rolling unsteady.
Then Captain Land on his officers loudly did call,
And the cheery manliness of him inspired confidence in all;
Then he ordered the men to lower the boats without delay,
So the boats were launched on the stormy sea without dismay.
Then women and children were first put into them,
Also a quantity of provisions, then followed the men;
And as soon as the boats were loaded they left the steamer's side,
To be tossed to and fro on the ocean wide.
And just as they left the burning ship, a barque hove in sight,
Which filled the poor creatures' hearts with delight;
And the barque was called the "Trebant," of Germany,
So they were all rescued and conveyed to their homes in safety.
But before they left the barque, they thanked God that did them save
From a cold and merciless watery grave;
Also the Captain received their thanks o'er and o'er,
Whilst the big waves around the barque did sullenly roar.
So good people I warn ye ail to be advised by me,
To remember and be prepared to meet God where'er ye may be;
For death claims his victims, both on sea and shore,
Therefore be prepared for that happy land where all troubles are o'er.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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God's Greatest Blessing- Mother
The greatest God’s bestowed gift on us is mother.
She who struggles a lot and don’t let pain conquer her children,
She who resists the pain of her children in her womb for nine big months
She who holds the whole world if sees her children in pain,
She is the one whose wish even god cannot disobey
She who often acts lunatic when her children get away from her,
She who never hesitates to stand upon the wishes of her children
She who often tries hard to keep her children on a right path.
She who sees to it that her children are always well-dressed,
When moving outside their homes.
She who teaches her children all the good manners and deeds,
She who connects her feelings and emotions with her children
She who builds up the character of her children,
And provides the nation a good and responsible citizen
But now a days the scenario is quite different,
These were the things of the past tenurant.
Mother remained the same,
But her children have taunted her fame.
Now the children behave in an ill manner,
With their mothers who used to teach them good manners.
With the fast passage of time,
And unexpected growth and development of our world
Technology and science is the thing that conquers the whole blurred.
With no one left thinking about their mothers,
Who once upon a time laid down her life
For their happiness and well being in the future.
poem by Nekhel Mohan Sahay
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Hurricane Katrina
You came in seeking to destroy and ravage a city
You took so many lives and homes what a pity
Families separated, bused here and there
Some never to find each other any where
You took what they built their whole lives
In an instant was gone, left only with knives
And hammers and anything to cut the the roofs
Leaving behind every thing they knew
Some leaving with the clothes on their back
Some came bringing only a small sack
Some had to wade through waters so dirty and deep
And stay on a broken highway or some other street
The ones that had nothing, they had to loot
Some for days without any water or food
The city told some to stay in a dome
That was total hell and they were left to roam
The water kept rising in their too
It was filth and choas and like a zoo
Some stayed behind and tried to live
Some couldn't afford to leave, had nothing to give
Some stayed because they couldn't leave their pet
And those forced out haven't found them yet
Everyone is scratching their head on who to blame
Who knows who dropped the ball, what a shame?
Some left who died, just put a sheet over their head
Some in nursing homes, left to die in their bed
Oh what devastation you left behind
You will always be kept in our mind
poem by Donna Nimmo
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It Is Late, But It Is Not Always Too Late To Play
it is late
but it is never
always
late to still play
our games
it is dark
and they already left for their homes.
the rest are quitting
mothers are waiting
and fathers are silent as always
square jawed.
can we still play? yes just the two of us now
under the moon
beneath the trees
our feet soft on the thick grasses
you keep your mouth shut.
you pick up the ball and you throw it to me.
i am now holding it.
but i will not be keeping it for long
i have no use of it now.
i will throw it away.
can we just laugh and be children again?
let us have a new beginning.
that is my only point.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Daughters
I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she's just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I've done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hand
Now I'm starting to see
Maybe it's got nothing to do with me
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Oh, you see that skin?
It's the same she's been standing in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she's left
Cleaning up the mess he made
So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Boys, you can break
You'll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without warmth from
A woman's good, good heart
On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world
So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
song performed by by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wonders Of Mother Nature
Mother nature
Oh mother nature
How beautiful and lovely you are
With such a tender loving care
Mother Nature
Ohh! Mother Nature
Our dearest mother nature
Our amazing mother nature
Ohh! Mother Nature
If nature allows can I please ask you a question
As a mother
How come you killed your young?
How come you made your fellow mothers cry?
How come you took away their joy?
You took the only thing that made their lives blossom
You suppose to make life beautiful
Mother Nature you suppose build
But how come you destroyed homes
Mother Nature you suppose to make the world a good place to be in
Yet you have turned the world to be a horrible place
Mother Nature as a mother you suppose to warn your young when the go astray
Not to destroy them
Yet you destroyed and killed them
You suppose to symbolize new beginnings and that there’s always hope
Yet you came and shuttled people’s lives and dreams
poem by Vangile Mtyali
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The Little Homes
We have heard the cheering, brothers,
We have heard the martial peal;
We have seen the soldiers marching
And the glint of sun and steel.
We have heard the songs, the shouting;
But, while forth the soldier roams,
Who has heard the weeping, brothers,
In the Little Homes?
We have seen the gay processions
And the careless, laughing crowds.;
We have seen the banners waving
Out against the peaceful clouds;
Yet, while colors proudly flutter
Over noble spires and domes,
Who has seen the mourning, brothers,
In the Little Homes?
From the Little Homes that nestle
Where the smiling fields sweep wide,
From the Little Homes that huddle
In the city, side by side,
They have called the eager fighters
Men who went with smiles and cheers;
Pride of wives and pride of mothers,
Choking back the tears!
Women of the little homesteads,
Women of the city slums,
They are waiting, ever waiting;
And the sound of muffled drums
In some stricken Home is echoed,
Where grey Grief is guest to-day.
And to-morrow? Nay, the others
Still must wait - and pray.
What the Little Homes shall suffer,
What the Little Homes shall pay
Must be more than sturdy fighters,
More than women's grief to-day.
In the years that follow after,
Be our battles won or lost,
In the Little Homes, my brothers,
They shall pay the cost.
They shall pay the cost of glory,
They shall pay the price of peace,
Years and many long years after
All the sounds of battle cease.
When the sword is sheathed - or broken
When the battle flag is furled,
Still the Little Homes must suffer
Over all the World.
Have you seen the old grey mothers
Smiling to the ringing cheers?
Have you seen the young wives striving
Bravely to hold back the tears?
Have you seen the young girl marching
By her soldier-lover's side?
Have you, seen our country's women
All aglow with pride?
Then, shall we think shame, my brothers,
To give thanks upon our knees
That the land we love should hold them
Wives and mothers such as these?
Women who still hide their sorrow
As their soldiers march away,
Turning brave and steadfast faces
To the light of day?
Oh, the Little Homes are Cheerful
Little Homes that know no pride
But the pride of sacrificing
Loved ones to the battle tide!
They are many, many brothers,
And their sacrifice is great.
Shrines are they and sacred places,
Where the women wait.
Aye, the Little Homes are holy
At the closing of the day,
When young wives must face their sorrow,
When grey mothers kneel to pray,
Facing, all alone, dread visions
Of the land the soldier roams,
Then God heed the sobbing, brothers,
In the Little Homes.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Woman That You Are
In the weakness of your ribs bone
Encouragement you whisper in a bold tone
To nurture lavender in your homes zone
Behind a man the woman you are
Coins tied to your cloths clot.
All the days toil had brought
And the hunger in the child cry
In your heart you pamper try
Funning to cook under the nim
As the suns day go dim
The homes troubles you redeem
And the woman that you can be
When the mans fist do blow
In your tears the pains flow
Your love you still do show
In a woman's women you are a woman
poem by Peter Atta Brown
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I Am Known As Woman
Truth left before the morning
The lies remain to explain its absence
I was left with my essence
To stand tall in your presence
Come with it
Try to break my spirit
I am known as woman
Worthy to bring forth life
Obligated to preserve existence
Masquerading as a representative of Zion
Answering all unclaimed questions
Never once will I alter
I am known as woman
Water don’t flow through my veins
Obliterating all negative stains
Mirrored in the image of Queen Nefertiti
Anointed in the cup of my duties
Never will I forget
I am known as woman
Wisdom is my protector
Observer of all that is around
Messiah I will say, not master
Acclamation is for my father
Never will I deny
I am known as woman
Willing to forgive
Offensives committed against me
Mainly because I want to live in Harmony
Atonement is what I seek
Never ending my destiny
I am known as woman
Come with it
Try to break my spirit
Adam, Samson and Julius Caesars
Are your fore fathers
Eve, Delilah and Cleopatra
Are my mothers
I am known as woman.
poem by Tricia Whyte
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Illiteracy
some homes breed love
some homes breed hatred
some homes breed moderation
some homes breed extremes
some homes breed worldliness
some homes breed racism
some homes breed kindness
somehomes breed religious bigotry
throw in illiteracy and any country would be bloom to bits
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Prince Of Tides
Prince of tides
By: jimmy buffett, michael utley
1988
Pat conroy, doc pomus and the people of dafuskie island have already said it all. I am thankful for such inspiration.
--spoken:
The sun, red and enormous, began to sink into the western sky. and simultaneously the moon began to rise on the other side of the river with its own glorious shade of red, coming up out of
Trees like a russet firebird. the sun and the moon seem to acknowledge each other and they moved in both apposition and concordance in a breath taking dance of light across the oaks and the palm
Father watched it and I thought he would cry again. he had returned to the sea, and his heart was a low country heart.
African drums are silent and the wingos are poets at last
Out on dafuskie island, the bulldozers bury the past
And the low country sinks, she can not swim
The dogwood feels the hurt
While the foursome plays on borrowed days in their alligator shirts
Chorus:
Now I realize who killed the prince of tides
How can you tell how it used to be
When theres nothin left to see
One night they put a price on the sunset
And that got the whole world shaking
They rose from the grave both the weak and the brave
cause history was there for the makin
And the winos surrounded the condos forming a frail human fence
And they shouted out loud to the roar of the crowd
Same old story, more dollars than sense
Chorus:
Now I realize who killed the prince of tides
How can you tell how it used to be
When theres nothin left to see
Paperback novels make young girls dream
And judys spending quieter days in the stream
With goodman, giovinno, and john mac d
They were such good friends to me
(instrumental)
Chorus:
Yes and now I realize who killed the prince of tides
How can you tell how it used to be
When theres nothin left to see
Chorus:
Oh, and now I realize who killed the prince of tides
How can you tell how it used to be
When theres nothin left to see
Nothin left to see
Heaven knows but God decides
Just when to kill the prince of tides
You can dance (you can dance) every dance (you can dance)
With the guy (you can dance) who gives you the eye (you can dance)
And wants to hold you tight (you can dance)
You can smile (you can smile) every smile (you can smile)
For the man ( you can smile) who holds your hand
Beneath the pale moonlight (you can dance, ba-dum)
But dont forget whos takin you home
And in whose arms youre gonna be
Save the last dance for me
And beach music, beach music, beach music, just plays on...
-- spoken:
The white porpoise comes to me at night, singing in the river of time, with a thousand dolphins in radiant attendance, bringing charismatic greetings from the prince of tides.
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foreign Lands
You may roam the wide seas over, follow, meet, and cross the sun,
Sail as far as ships can sail, and travel far as trains can run;
You may ride and tramp wherever range or plain or sea expands,
But the crowd has been before you, and you’ll not find ‘Foreign Lands;’
For the Early Days are over,
And no more the white-winged rover
Sinks the gale-worn coast of England bound for bays in Foreign Lands.
Foreign Lands are in the distance dim and dreamlike, faint and far,
Long ago, and over yonder, where our boyhood fancies are,
For the land is by the railway cramped as though with iron bands,
And the steamship and the cable did away with Foreign Lands.
Ah! the days of blue and gold!
When the news was six months old—
But the news was worth the telling in the days of Foreign Lands.
Here we slave the dull years hopeless for the sake of Wool and Wheat
Here the homes of ugly Commerce—niggard farm and haggard street;
Yet our mothers and our fathers won the life the heart demands—
Less than fifty years gone over, we were born in Foreign Lands.
When the gipsies stole the children still, in village tale and song,
And the world was wide to travel, and the roving spirit strong;
When they dreamed of South Sea Islands, summer seas and coral strands—
Then the bravest hearts of England sailed away to Foreign Lands,
‘Fitting foreign’—flood and field—
Half the world and orders sealed—
And the first and best of Europe went to fight in Foreign Lands.
Canvas towers on the ocean—homeward bound and outward bound—
Glint of topsails over islands—splash of anchors in the sound;
Then they landed in the forests, took their strong lives in their hands,
And they fought and toiled and conquered—making homes in Foreign Lands,
Through the cold and through the drought—
Further on and further out—
Winning half the world for England in the wilds of Foreign Lands.
Love and pride of life inspired them when the simple village hearts
Followed Master Will and Harry—gone abroad to ‘furrin parts’
By our townships and our cities, and across the desert sands
Are the graves of those who fought and died for us in Foreign Lands—
Gave their young lives for our sake
(Was it all a grand mistake?)
Sons of Master Will and Harry born abroad in Foreign Lands!
Ah, my girl, our lives are narrow, and in sordid days like these,
I can hate the things that banished ‘Foreign Lands across the seas,’
But with all the world before us, God above us—hearts and hands,
I can sail the seas in fancy far away to Foreign Lands.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Homes Of England
The stately homes of England
How beautiful they stand!
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land!
The deer across their green sward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.
The merry homes of England!
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!
There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told;
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.
The cottage homes of England!
By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silv'ry brook,
And round the hamlet-fanes;
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves;
And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the bird beneath their eaves.
The free fair homes of England!
Long, long in hut and hall
May hearts of native proof be rear'd
To guard each hallow'd wall.
And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flow'ry sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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So We Are Now Refugees
Little drops from heaven's ballister
Ceaslessly falls upon our land
Heaven weeps on us without remedy
Our land is excessively watered
Gutters are fed to yhe throats
Rivers rages above their banks
Furrows are submerged with ridges
Our farmlands suddenly vamoosed
Our homes are sacked by floods
From upper Benue to down Niger
Our homes laid postrate in floods
Old people cry for help
Mothers screamed for washed away children
Lives bodies float on water surface
Hues reign in our habitations
No more homes, no more land
Floods has eaten over our land
No more glitter in our birthplace
We are now refugees in our land
poem by Babatunde Aremu
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You Left It Up To Me
When I let you go
I cursed myself with empty hands
Strong enough to watch you walk
But not enough to understand
With spiteful eyes you burn for my grace
I was trying to stand outside of this
You were trying to save face
You can say that I dont care
I dont care
You can hope that we still
Have something left to share
But just between you baby and me
Just between me baby and you
Theres nothing there
I finally found someone I can hold
You ask me to defend myself
As if I shouldnt be so bold well
Get that look off of your face
I dont have the time
You dont have the place
To say that I dont care
I dont care
To hope that we still
Have something left to share
And just between me baby and you
Just between you baby and me
Theres nothing there
Baby what are you gonna do
I cant salvage any truth for you
Everybody else already knows
It hurts you to realize
So leave well enough
Enough alone
And you dont need my hands
To help you understand
You dont need to hear my voice
(you have no choice)
So dont be throwing stones
The closer we get
The harder they come
Now even if your feeling alone
Dont come home
Cause when it was up to you
When it was up to you
You left it up to me
Oh you left
Oh you left
Oh you left it up to me
When it was up to you
You left it up to me
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quiet Please, There's A Lady On Stage
(carole bayer-sager & peter allen)
Quiet please, there's a lady on stage
She may not be the latest rage
But she's singing and she means it
And she deserves a little silence
Quiet please, there's a woman up there
And she's been honest through her songs
Long before your consciousness was raised
Doesn't that deserve a little praise
So put your hands together and help her along
All that's left of the singer's
All that's left of the song
Stand for the ovation
And give her one last celebration
Quiet please, there's a person up there
And she's been singing of the things
That none of us could bear to hear for ourselves
Give her your respect if nothing else
Quiet please, there's a lady on stage
Conductor, turn the final page
And when it's over we can all go home
But she lives on -- on the stage alone.
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tripping...
you go places
riding on a bus
transferring to a boat
sitting for a moment
on a port
seeing people disembarking
on a plank of wood
outside a launch
you see children lifted by their fathers
mothers with umbrella
sunny days
a line of green trees along the
seemingly endless road
more days to
circumnavigate an island
of white sands
night when you are alone with
everyone
staying for a while
checking their bags and
clothes
days are going fast
passing you by
on wish not to hold on any hour
you flow
like a river, yes always like a river
not a part of you wishing a clog
a barrier
you are like a rubber stretched
nothing snaps
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gods and Guns
The people of the night
Surely know when death will come
But it's far too stern to hinder
When there's nowhere left to run
Deep within the shadows
Lurks what they don't want to see
Hoping that it stays there
As a threat from an absentee
They mask their grief in the midst of day
Until the light in the sky disappears
When men with guns and torches
Resurrect their deepest fears
Effacing their homes and families
Collapsing them one by one
These men take hold of the children
And they scream of gods and guns
Too young to know the reason why
The kids stand by for command
But when grown men act like animals
It's hard to spot helping hands
Still, they gather and they listen
With each day they'll lose more blood
Another needless Sudan tragedy
In the quest for peace and love
(Written on September 4,2012)
© Ricky Randall
September 6,2012
poem by Ricky Randall
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Happy Halloween
The blood that she let
Left me empty and upset.
My life now goes on forever.
I killed hitler with my fangs and a song.
His gardens died quickly,
He didn't belong.
Love was a dropp of blood for awhile,
Mine was to feed for the blood that she let.
Then I met friendly people on the street.
When I left them they were white as a sheet.
Tommorrow night I will eat candy,
My costume is real
My woman my blood to let
My tongue the blood to feel.
Give me a costume and reason to smile
I just use darkness and death all the while.
So, suck it up, you crazy believers
That we are the invisible creatures of myth
My journey for you
Is what she left.
The blood that she let
Is all that she left.
Happy Halloween.