Putting It On Record For Now...
there is this lady-judge
who had two talented and intelligent sons
with leadership qualities
she loved them so much
her husband is a lawyer who defended the poor
and the oppressed
they live on top of a hill away from the rest
they live a very private life
and mind their own affairs
her sons believed in an ideology of liberating the poor from their chains
left her home and fled to the mountains
the military searched them
and they vanished
there were many things that were rumored
one body was found beside a river ridden with bullets
rotten and worms were consuming each wound
another body was later found on the other side of the mountain
under the forest trees with a face that is severely disfigured
they speculated that they were the bodies of her two sons
missing for years and now thought of dead
the lady judge is strong
we do not speak about it
if she were weaker she would have gone insane
her husband got sick
and found no meaning in lawyering for the masses anymore
i must remember this
and write about it
because no one has done it
this i put on record
we did nothing to appease her
we did nothing to
put into the hands of the law those culprits
those were the harsh times
we only prayed
we only offered flowers
we only left towards our own respective homes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sons N Lovers
(ian hunter)
I was your baby-you were my girl
When I asked you to marry me- the tears fell
Sons n lovers, sons n lovers, waving
My childhood goodbye-it seems so sad
Well how long have you been my best friend
This wont be the end of
Sons n lovers-sons n lovers--she wont wanna talk anymore about it
You were my lady- I was your number one
When I said I was leaving- tears run
Sons n lovers-sons n lovers, breakin
Tryin not to hurt each others hearts
Well how long can we exist- I know
We cant go on like this
Sons n lovers-sons and lovers--i dont wanna lie anymore
Was that you I saw--walkin out along the shore
Was that you I saw-talkin to him
Was that you I saw-puttin his hands in yours
Thats alright ma- you can still love him
Thats alright ma- you can still love
And through the years-you know- we will remember
Time will never take old times away
How long for you to discover that- there still some strings attached to
Sons n lovers-sons and lovers
But I dont wanna play anymore
Sons n lovers
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hostage
Lady: hallo
Kidnapper:
Lady weve just kidnapped your husband
Have $800,000 ready by tomorrow night
And lady no police
Or youll never see your husband alive again
Lady: hallo
I remember standing there so petrified
My hand frozen to the phone
As a strangers words that caught in my ears
And chilled me to the bone
Some dark tragedy had come right home to me
Theyd kidnapped my man and his life was in their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life was at the mercy of their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life depending on their gold demands
Lady: hallo
Kidnapper:
Lady, heres your husband through
To warn not to play any games
Husband:
Hi honey listen Im okay
Just make sure you do whatever they tell you
And whatever you do dont go to the police!
Well I couldnt raise that kinda money fast
So I was left no other choice
So I called the police and they came in fast
Saying leave it up to us
Just do as they told
The ransoms in this bag
Well watch over you
And well have your husband back too
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life was at the mercy of their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life depending on their gold demands
Lady: hallo
Kidnapper:
Listen very carefully lady
Drive out to the abandoned shack on highway 16
Throw the package of money out the window and keep driving
And remember lady no police!
Well my heart was heavy as I made that drive
I was sure something was wrong
I soon found the shack
I threw out the bag and I just kept driving on
Then the shots rang out and turned my car about
On the ground one lay but the other had gotten away
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life was at the mercy of their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life depending on their gold demands
Lady:
Well they found my husband a few days later
Yes, the funerals tomorrow
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death Of A Soldier
Five years ago, he had joined the IMA*
In the prime of his life, he has gone today
He was injured fighting the militants
His body was ridden with bullets
Nobody would know for sure
What he had to endure
How much it hurt
While the blood spurt
On the barren ground
Where he was groaning, found
I wonder, what went on in his head
While he lay on the hospital bed
What was he thinking?
While he was sinking
Did he in his last moments of strife
Feel he had wasted his life
Fighting a senseless war
While the world watched from afar
Or, did he while breathing his last, feel proud
As they prepared to wrap him in his shroud.
What are we achieving?
While so many families are grieving
Over the loss of their sons’ lives
Some of whom have left behind wailing kids and wives
It’s time we learnt to live in peace
And this cross border tension had ceased.
*IMA: Indian Military Academy
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sita - 2
Sita
stumbling with the stones of forest
reached the cottage of
Maharshi Balmiki
the great sage gave her shelter
to stay in the cottage
Sita spend her days and nights
with the tribals
in the memory of her beloved husband
gave birth of two sons
Lav and Kush
both sons were brought up with tribals
acquired the knowledge and
to sing the Ramayana
one day both sons reached
the palace of his father
begging and singing on Ramayana
a long story is hidden in between
when Sita met her beloved husband
she prayed the mother earth
to immerse her
on her heart
it was the end of Sita
the ideal indian lady
who vowed only for her beloved Rama
an ideal to the people of the earth also.
Her whole world was limited
to her two sons
the most obedient to her husband
to the people of state Ayodhyay
capable to cross the fire - examination
to show her tranquility
after return from Lanka
to show the people her purity
for the sake of people of Ayodhyaya
the brave and intelligent lady
in the history of the world
who always honoured the society
being worshipped by the Indian
for her sacrifice to the society
and the people of his country
but i could not stop my tears
while imaging Sita
my eyes burst into tears.
poem by Ramesh Rai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Lady of Immaculate Conception!
I searched for a lady
With beauty, not external,
But of the heart,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!
I searched for a lady
With eyes without envy,
But glowing innocence,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!
I searched for a lady
With modesty, not vanity,
And heart full of piety,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!
I searched for a lady
With grace, not of movements,
But of the soul,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!
I searched for a lady
With wisdom, not knowledge,
And full of kindness,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!
I searched for a lady
With virtues, not vices,
And one who’s exemplary,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!
Where can I find her?
-One without sin, not earthly,
One born immaculate:
And it was Mother Mary-
The Mother of Jesus:
She was that only one!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-28-2000
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Remember
I remember being ten years old
And wondering what I would be?
I talked it over with my father
And he said, “We’ll see.”
I remember being twenty years old
And wondering all about life.
I found myself getting married
And learning to be a wife.
I remember being thirty years old
With 2 sons at my side.
I saw a few strands of gray hair
Which I tried to hide.
I remember being forty-five
And birthdays coming too soon.
I was teaching kids all about music
And waiting for vacations in June.
I remember when I turned fifty
And my body started to change.
The hormonal and emotional challenges
All became so strange.
I remember becoming fifty-eight
When retirement came my way.
I thought to myself, “ Now what do I do? ”
On every single day?
I remember becoming seventy
When breast cancer came to me.
I decided I wanted to live some more
So I created poetry.
All that I remember from that point on
Is where I am today
Using this pen that’s in my hand.
It’s become my way to say
Thank You.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Granville Calhoun
I wanted to be County Judge
One more term, so as to round out a service
Of thirty years.
But my friends left me and joined my enemies,
And they elected a new man.
Then a spirit of revenge seized me,
And I infected my four sons with it,
And I brooded upon retaliation,
Until the great physician, Nature,
Smote me through with paralysis
To give my soul and body a rest.
Did my sons get power and money?
Did they serve the people or yoke them,
To till and harvest fields of self?
For how could they ever forget
My face at my bed-room window,
Sitting helpless amid my golden cages
Of singing canaries,
Looking at the old court-house?
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sons And Daughters
There's a place in the city they call the Archway
Where we rented three rooms for a dollar a day
and I worked semi-skilled at the capstans for years
And my wife was a good woman but the love disappeared
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
When a marriage goes down they're the loneliest ones
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
How I hope they can cope with the damage I've done
I found me a band, I went out on tour
So the kids wouldn't know I was with them no more
When they said, "Where's me dad?" She'd say, "He's a star!"
Oh if only stars knew what fools they all are.
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
When a marriage goes down they're the loneliest ones
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
How I hope they can cope with the damage I've done
I got a new contract, I got a new life
No more capstans for me and I've got a new wife
Sometimes she gets angry, says she wants a family
Then that nightmare returns like a ghost haunting me
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
When a marriage breaks up you're the loneliest ones
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
How I hope you all cope with the damage we done
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Death Penalty
Bring back the death penalty screamed a lady as the blood ran, dripping from the cold concrete as her sons blood fled from its body. Bring back, bring back the death penalty screamed a mother as her child dies slowly watching the pools of life fade away from his eyes.
Bring back, bring back the death penalty screamed a mother while she watched her child being killed by the hands of another man, bring back the death penalty.
Bring back the death penalty as she screamed holding her dying child while he laid his last words and breath upon her chest. Bring back the death penalty she screamed in mercy so that she will so that she will no longer have to hold any more of her dying sons and lay them in graves before she lays in her own.
Bring back the death penalty she screamed as her sons soul left his body and he became another victim to a violent society. Bring back the death penalty, bring back our sons.
poem by Melvyn Mohan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sons & Daughters
(ian hunter)
Theres a place in the city they call the archway
Where we rented three rooms for a dollar a day
And I worked semi-skilled at the capstans for years
And my wife was a good woman but the love disappeared
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
When a marriage goes down theyre the loneliest ones
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
How I hope they can cope with the damage Ive done
I found me a band, I went out on tour
So the kids wouldnt know I was with them no more
When they said, wheres me dad? shed say, hes a star!
Oh if only stars knew what fools they all are.
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
When a marriage goes down theyre the loneliest ones
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
How I hope they can cope with the damage Ive done
I got a new contract, I got a new life
No more capstans for me and Ive got a new wife
Sometimes she gets angry, says she wants a family
Then that nightmare returns like a ghost haunting me
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
When a marriage breaks up youre the loneliest ones
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
How I hope you all cope with the damage we done
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Safe In Mind (Chris Gross Remix)
Don't you go to turn around
i know the moon hands tied us
Can you find where hides the love
Breathing down your neck...
Someone's found a way
Someone's found a way
Someone's found a way
Someone's found a way
Someone's found a way
Someone's found a way
Someone's found a way
Someone's found a way
I see the moon, the moon sees
All that i do is twist in the unreal
Someone's found a way
To break into my mind
Someone's found a way
To break into my mind
Someone's found a way
To break into my mind
Someone's found a way
To break into my mind
(Someone's found a way...)
....To break into my mind....
Aaaahhh...
Aaaahhhh...
live's a gun that's always pointing
live's a gun that's pointing in my face
(Someone's found a way...)
(Someone's found a way...)
(Someone's found a way...)
(Someone's found a way...)
Aaaahhh...
(Someone's found a way...)
(Someone's found a way...)
(Someone's found a way...)
Aaaahhhh...
(Someone's found a way...)
(Someone's found a way...)
(Someone's found a way...)
Aaaahhh...
Someone's found a way...
Someone's found a way...
Aaaahhh...
Someone's found a way...
Someone's found a way...
(To break into my mind...)
(To break into my mind...)
I like...
The street, the smells
The sense of the underworld
Sometimes you come face to face with yourself
song performed by by Unkle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Berwick's Fairest
The fairest one in Berwick when she was in her prime
But that was fifteen years ago and that's going back in time
She may be only forty but she has put on weight
And the one who once had many suitors goes un-noticed of late.
Her primary school going sons of ten and eleven she raises them on her own
And she works hard for to make ends meet and better times she's known
Three years back her husband left her for another and child support to her doesn't pay
And for her children and her own survival she must battle all the way.
Ever since her husband left her she's left her body go into disrepair
And of how she looks to others she seem to no longer care
She has put on twenty kilos and much gray in her brown hair
And for one only in her mid life she is showing much wear and tear.
That she was Berwick's fairest might seem hard to realize
For if you had known her in her prime day her you may not recognize
And for one who looked quite attractive up to a decade ago
She has aged so very quickly and the hard life on her show
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mad Gardener's Song
He thought he saw an Elephant,
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
'At length I realise,' he said,
The bitterness of Life!'
He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sister's Husband's Niece.
'Unless you leave this house,' he said,
'I'll send for the Police!'
He thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
'The one thing I regret,' he said,
'Is that it cannot speak!'
He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus.
'If this should stay to dine,' he said,
'There won't be much for us!'
He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
'Were I to swallow this,' he said,
'I should be very ill!'
He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
'Poor thing,' he said, 'poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed!'
He thought he saw an Albatross
That fluttered round the lamp:
He looked again, and found it was
A Penny-Postage Stamp.
'You'd best be getting home,' he said:
'The nights are very damp!'
He thought he saw a Garden-Door
That opened with a key:
He looked again, and found it was
A Double Rule of Three:
'And all its mystery,' he said,
'Is clear as day to me!'
He thought he saw a Argument
That proved he was the Pope:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bar of Mottled Soap.
'A fact so dread,' he faintly said,
'Extinguishes all hope!'
poem by Lewis Carroll
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kill Your Sons
All your two-bit psychiatrists
Are giving you electroshock
They said, theyd let you live at home with mom and dad
Instead of mental hospitals
But every time you tried to read a book
You couldnt get to page 17
cause you forgot where you were
So you couldnt even read
Dont you know theyre gonna kill your sons
Dont you know gonna kill, kill your sons
Theyre gonna kill, kill your sons
Until they run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run away
Mom informed me on the phone
She didnt know what to do about dad
Took an axe and broke the table
Arent you glad youre married
And sister, she got married on the island
And her husband takes the train
Hes big and hes fat
And he doesnt even have a brain
Theyre gonna kill your sons
Dont you know theyre gonna kill, kill your sons
Dont you know theyre gonna kill, kill your sons
Until they run away
Creedmore treated me very good
But paine whitney was even better
And when I flipped out on phc
I was so sad, I didnt even get a letter
All of the drugs, that we took
It really was lots of fun
But when they shoot you up with thorizene on crystal smoke
You choke like a son of a gun
Dont you know theyre gonna kill your sons
Dont you know theyre gonna kill, kill your sons
Dont you know theyre gonna kill, kill your sons
Until they run, run, run, run, run, run, run away
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Late
HOPE? What! hope !—you say there is hope for the long-lost one!
Hope! when the light is out; hope! when the oil is done;
Hope! No, no, good lady! no hope for me, at least;
No home for me but the clammy grave when life has ceased.
Hope! Well, there might have been hope had my mother lived; but, then,
5
God struck her dead, and I was left alone among men.
God knows how I loved her; and shall I never see her again?
Is there no glimpse of heaven for those who are doomed to pain?
Oh, cannot she come and kiss me? Oh, cannot she pray by my side,
As she did long ago on that terrible evening before she died?
10
If she prayed God would hear her, and perhaps—but no;
I'm too old a sinner for mercy—there is nothing for me but woe.
You say that I yet could be saved if I sorrowed for my sin;
That the Lord is at heaven's gate to take poor sinners in!
God knows that I hate my sin, but I feel that it cannot be;
15
I've so often forsaken Him, that He must have forsaken me.
Nay, don't offer a prayer for me, lady, it's only mocking at God:
Who knows but my tired heart still may rest beneath the sod?
For I always loved the sunny fields and the sweet, sweet flowers,
And longed to be pure once again like them, in my better hours.
20
But after I first had fallen the devil opened my eyes,
And I saw that the world knew my shame, and I hadn't the heart to rise;
So I gave up trying to be good, and sank down lower in sin,
Tho' the thought of poor dead mother made me always hate it within.
Oh, many's the night that I've wandered about thro' rain and snow,
25
Wandered about in the street, and didn't know where had to go;
And I've often crept to the river and looked at it, still and black,
And thought how every one spurned me—but something held me back.
I remember how once, when I stopped, half-dead, one rainy day,
To rest on his steps for a moment, the servants drove me away;
30
Drove me away like a dog from the door of the man for whom,
O God! I had given up all in this world and beyond the tomb.
But don't weep at my story, good lady; I'm not worth it living or dead!
Ha, ha! I'm not frightened of Death, nor the devils that dance round my bed:
There cannot be any hell deeper nor fuller of devils and strife
35
Than the hell that burns in my heart, and the fire that eats out life.
poem by Frederick George Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where It Was At Back Then
Husband,
last night I dreamt
they cut off your hands and feet.
Husband,
you whispered to me,
Now we are both incomplete.
Husband,
I held all four
in my arms like sons and daughters.
Husband,
I bent slowly down
and washed them in magical waters.
Husband,
I placed each one
where it belonged on you.
'A miracle,'
you said and we laughed
the laugh of the well-to-do.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Invocation To The Social Muse
Señora, it is true the Greeks are dead.
It is true also that we here are Americans:
That we use the machines: that a sight of the god is unusual:
That more people have more thoughts: that there are
Progress and science and tractors and revolutions and
Marx and the wars more antiseptic and murderous
And music in every home: there is also Hoover.
Does the lady suggest we should write it out in The Word?
Does Madame recall our responsibilities? We are
Whores, Fräulein: poets, Fräulein, are persons of
Known vocation following troops: they must sleep with
Stragglers from either prince and of both views.
The rules permit them to further the business of neither.
It is also strictly forbidden to mix in maneuvers.
Those that infringe are inflated with praise on the plazas—
Their bones are resultantly afterwards found under newspapers.
Preferring life with the sons to death with the fathers,
We also doubt on the record whether the sons
Will still be shouting around with the same huzzas—
For we hope Lady to live to lie with the youngest.
There are only a handful of things a man likes,
Generation to generation, hungry or
Well fed: the earth’s one: life’s
One: Mister Morgan is not one.
There is nothing worse for our trade than to be in style.
He that goes naked goes further at last than another.
Wrap the bard in a flag or a school and they’ll jimmy his
Door down and be thick in his bed—for a month:
(Who recalls the address now of the Imagists?)
But the naked man has always his own nakedness.
People remember forever his live limbs.
They may drive him out of the camps but one will take him.
They may stop his tongue on his teeth with a rope’s argument—
He will lie in a house and be warm when they are shaking.
Besides, Tovarishch, how to embrace an army?
How to take to one’s chamber a million souls?
How to conceive in the name of a column of marchers?
The things of the poet are done to a man alone
As the things of love are done—or of death when he hears the
Step withdraw on the stair and the clock tick only.
Neither his class nor his kind nor his trade may come near him
There where he lies on his left arm and will die,
Nor his class nor his kind nor his trade when the blood is jeering
And his knee’s in the soft of the bed where his love lies.
I remind you, Barinya, the life of the poet is hard—
A hardy life with a boot as quick as a fiver:
Is it just to demand of us also to bear arms?
poem by Archibald MacLeish
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Strange Wild Song
He thought he saw an Elephant
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
"At length I realize," he said,
"The bitterness of life!"
He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sister's Husband's Niece.
"Unless you leave this house," he said,
"I'll send for the police!"
he thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
"The one thing I regret," he said,
"Is that it cannot speak!"
He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus.
"If this should stay to dine," he said,
"There won't be much for us!"
He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a Coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
"Were I to swallow this," he said,
"I should be very ill!"
He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
"Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed!"
poem by Lewis Carroll
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Forsaken
Holy Mother of God, Merciful Mary. Hear me! I am very weary. I have come
from a village miles away, all day I have been coming, and I ache for such
far roaming. I cannot walk as light as I used, and my thoughts grow confused.
I am heavier than I was. Mary Mother, you know the cause!
Beautiful Holy Lady, take my shame away from me! Let this fear
be only seeming, let it be that I am dreaming. For months I have hoped
it was so, now I am afraid I know. Lady, why should this be shame,
just because I haven't got his name. He loved me, yes, Lady, he did,
and he couldn't keep it hid. We meant to marry. Why did he die?
That day when they told me he had gone down in the avalanche, and could not
be found until the snow melted in Spring, I did nothing. I could not cry.
Why should he die? Why should he die and his child live? His little child
alive in me, for my comfort. No, Good God, for my misery! I cannot face
the shame, to be a mother, and not married, and the poor child to be reviled
for having no father. Merciful Mother, Holy Virgin, take away this sin I did.
Let the baby not be. Only take the stigma off of me!
I have told no one but you, Holy Mary. My mother would call me 'whore',
and spit upon me; the priest would have me repent, and have
the rest of my life spent in a convent. I am no whore, no bad woman,
he loved me, and we were to be married. I carried him always in my heart,
what did it matter if I gave him the least part of me too? You were a virgin,
Holy Mother, but you had a son, you know there are times when a woman
must give all. There is some call to give and hold back nothing.
I swear I obeyed God then, and this child who lives in me is the sign.
What am I saying? He is dead, my beautiful, strong man! I shall never
feel him caress me again. This is the only baby I shall have.
Oh, Holy Virgin, protect my baby! My little, helpless baby!
He will look like his father, and he will be as fast a runner and as good
a shot. Not that he shall be no scholar neither. He shall go to school
in winter, and learn to read and write, and my father will teach him to carve,
so that he can make the little horses, and cows, and chamois,
out of white wood. Oh, No! No! No! How can I think such things,
I am not good. My father will have nothing to do with my boy,
I shall be an outcast thing. Oh, Mother of our Lord God, be merciful,
take away my shame! Let my body be as it was before he came.
No little baby for me to keep underneath my heart for those long months.
To live for and to get comfort from. I cannot go home and tell my mother.
She is so hard and righteous. She never loved my father, and we were born
for duty, not for love. I cannot face it. Holy Mother, take my baby away!
Take away my little baby! I don't want it, I can't bear it!
And I shall have nothing, nothing! Just be known as a good girl.
Have other men want to marry me, whom I could not touch, after having known
my man. Known the length and breadth of his beautiful white body,
and the depth of his love, on the high Summer Alp, with the moon above,
and the pine-needles all shiny in the light of it. He is gone, my man,
I shall never hear him or feel him again, but I could not touch another.
I would rather lie under the snow with my own man in my arms!
So I shall live on and on. Just a good woman. With nothing to warm my heart
where he lay, and where he left his baby for me to care for. I shall not be
quite human, I think. Merely a stone-dead creature. They will respect me.
What do I care for respect! You didn't care for people's tongues
when you were carrying our Lord Jesus. God had my man give me my baby,
when He knew that He was going to take him away. His lips will comfort me,
his hands will soothe me. All day I will work at my lace-making,
and all night I will keep him warm by my side and pray the blessed Angels
to cover him with their wings. Dear Mother, what is it that sings?
I hear voices singing, and lovely silver trumpets through it all. They seem
just on the other side of the wall. Let me keep my baby, Holy Mother.
He is only a poor lace-maker's baby, with a stain upon him,
but give me strength to bring him up to be a man.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Seashores Of Old Mexico
I left, out of Tucson, with no destination in mind.
I was runnin' from trouble and the jail-term the Judge had in mind.
And the border meant freedom, a new life, romance,
And that's why I thought I should go,
And start my life over on the seashores of old Mexico.
My first night in Juarez, lost all the money I had.
One bad senorita made use of one innocent lad.
But I must keep on runnin'; it's too late to turn back:
I'm wanted in Tucson, I'm told.
Yeah, an' things'll blow over on the seashores of old Mexico.
Two Mexican farmers en route to a town I can't say,
Let me ride on the back of a flatbed half-loaded with hay.
Down through Durango, Colima, Almiera,
Then in the Manzanillos,
Where I slept on the seashores of old Mexico.
After one long siesta, I came wide awake in the night.
I was startled by someone who shadowed the pale moonlight.
My new-found companion, one young senorita,
Who offered a broken hello,
To the gringo she found on the seashores of old Mexico.
She spoke of Sonora and swore that she'd never return,
For her Mexican husband, she really had no great concern.
'Cause she loved the gringo, my red hair and lingo:
That's all I needed to know.
Yeah, I found what I needed on the seashores of old Mexico.
Yeah, she loved the gringo, my red hair and lingo:
That's all I needed to know, ha, ha.
Yeah, I found what I needed on the seashores of old Mexico.
Instrumental fade.
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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