Uncle Pat
I sent off this morning
Down the road along the river
Which I take but once a year
My walk will take me by the shore
Then inland for a mile or more
From the cold sea spray
A small wood stands upon the hill
An old house near it lies in ruins
Forgotten long ago
And here in a clearing
song performed by by Ash from Trailer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Rosario
Early in the morning as the moon was in the sky,
Early in the morning I kissed my girl goodbye,
For kissing-time is over and it's time and time to go
When you've a long road to travel to Rosario!
Oh wake her &mdash oh shake her! - and the Peter's flying free,
And the pilot's come aboard her, and she's hungry for the sea.
Kissing time is over; And it's time and time to go
And 'a long road to travel to Rosario!'
Summer'll soon be over, the leaves'll fade and die,
And white on every furrow the winter snows'll lie,
But we're bound for the long furrows where never lies the snow,
And we've a long road to travel to Rosario!
Oh wake her - oh shake her! - and the cable surges in
To the roar of a shanty chorus as we make the handspikes spin . . .
Oh she's bound for the long furrows where never lies the snow -
And 'a long road to travel to Rosario!'
And now she smells the deep sea, and now she's gathering way,
And now she meets the rollers in a white smother of spray -
Sou'west an' a half west, and steady as we go . . .
And 'a long road to travel to Rosario!'
Oh, wake her - oh, shake her! - and it's good-bye to the shore,
With the north wind in her topsails, and the whole wide world before . . .
Sou'west an' a half west, and steady as you go -
And a long road to travel to Rosario!'
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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The Longest Dream
It is always the same I take the bus in the morning
but I never get home, can’t tell the driver where to
stop as I have forgotten the name of my valley
I see it clearly when I close my eyes, a small cabin
in the forest’s clearing. My dog is there waiting
and she has waited long.
She hears the sound of a bus nearing the clearing,
but then it changes direction and the sound of its
diesel engine fades slowly away.
She goes back to sleep her patience is endless
she knows she’s not forsaken. I will return to her
when remembering where I live.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Long Road
And I wished for so long cannot stay
All the precious moments cannot stay
It's not like wings have fallen cannot stay
But still something's missing I cannot say yea
Holding hands are daughters and sons
And their faiths are falling down down down down
I have wished for so long
How I wish for you today
Will I walk the long road the long road
Cannot stay the long road
There's no need to say goodbye say goodbye
All the friends and family
All the memories going round round round
I have wished for so long
How I wish for you today
And the wind keeps roarin'
And the sky keeps turning grey
And the sun is setting
The sun won't rise another day
I have wished for so long
How I wish for you today
I have wished for so long
How I wish for you today
Will I walk the long road
We all walk the long road
Will I walk the long road
We all walk the long road
Will I walk the long road
Will I walk the long road
We all walk the long road
Will I walk the long road
We all walk the long road
Will I walk the long road
song performed by by Pearl Jam from Merkinball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The New-England Boy's Song About Thanksgiving Day
Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way,
To carry the sleigh,
Through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather's house away!
We would not stop
For doll or top,
For 't is Thanksgiving Day.
Over the river, and through the wood,
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes,
And bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.
Over the river, and through the wood,
With a clear blue winter sky,
The dogs do bark,
And children hark,
As we go jingling by.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To have a first-rate play-
Hear the bells ring
Ting a ling ding,
Hurra for Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river, and through the wood-
No matter for winds that blow;
Or if we get
The sleigh upset,
Into a bank of snow.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To see little John and Ann;
We will kiss them all,
And play snow-ball,
And stay as long as we can.
Over the river, and through the wood,
Trot fast, my dapple grey!
Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting hound,
For 't is Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river, and through the wood,
And straight through the barn-yard gate;
We seem to go
Extremely slow,
It is so hard to wait.
Over the river, and through the wood-
Old Jowler hears our bells;
He shakes his pow,
With a loud bow wow,
And thus the news he tells.
Over the river, and through the wood-
When grandmother sees us come,
She will say, Oh dear,
The children are here,
Bring a pie for every one.
Over the river, and through the wood-
Now grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurra for the fun!
Is the pudding done?
Hurra for the pumpkin pie!
poem by Lydia Maria Francis Child
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Inland
People that build their houses inland,
People that buy a plot of ground
Shaped like a house, and build a house there,
Far from the sea-board, far from the sound
Of water sucking the hollow ledges,
Tons of water striking the shore,—
What do they long for, as I long for
One salt smell of the sea once more?
People the waves have not awakened,
Spanking the boats at the harbour's head,
What do they long for, as I long for,—
Starting up in my inland bed,
Beating the narrow walls, and finding
Neither a window nor a door,
Screaming to God for death by drowning,—
One salt taste of the sea once more?
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Epilogue
Part 1
a '69 Chevy truck,
making its way slowly
up the old logging road,
centipede crawl, the scent
of the pines...
to a small clearing,
where we set up camp.
pitched the tent,
gathered wood for the fire.
enough daylight left,
we began the climb,
up the steep grade
to the top...
the cry of the bobcat,
startles...
then laughter, and we
moved on up.
an old rattlesnake sunning,
careful, go 'round.
we stood on the face of rock,
looking down through the gorge.
the air pure and heady,
the silence overwhelmed.
two hawks gliding down
beneath us.
for a moment then,
timeless...
i'd almost forgotten,
till a few drops of rain
on this morning's windshield,
brought it all back!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Poem In October
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.
My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.
A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.
Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.
It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of sun light
And the legends of the green chapels
And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and sea
Where a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Sang alive
Still in the water and singingbirds.
And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart's truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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New Year
WHITE year, white year,
Muffled soft in snow,
A diamond spray whose gems are gone
Before their grace we know,
A crystal-coated spray whose hours
Melt when looked upon,
Hoarfrost stars and hoarfrost flowers,
White year!
Green year, green year,
Sweet with sun and showers,
A windblown spray whose blossoms bright
Are the seven-colored hours,
A dancing spray whose leaves are days,
A spray whose leaves delight
In azure gleam and silver haze,
Green year!
New Year, new year
From rosy leaf to gold,
A shining spray on the Tree of Time
Where myriad sprays unfold,
A spray so fair that God may see
And gather it, bloom and rime,
To deck the doors of Eternity,
New Year!
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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A River For Him
(emmylou harris)
I crossed on the river
Therell be no returning
I crossed all the bridges
I watched them all burning
And now Im a stranger
To a strange land Im driven
Where all is forgotten
And nothings forgiven
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
I think of him now
On the road I am taking
And wonder how long
His heart will be breaking
But hell never hear when
The teardrops are falling
Or the sound of my voice
And the name Im calling
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
So sweep for the sons
And the dear darling daughters
For the passing of time
And the parting of waters
For all who have passed through
This world long before me
To a far distant shore line
Where no one waits for me
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Free River
Free River flow, Free River
so cold, Free River
you’re getting old.
Free River don’t cry, Free River
you’ve run dry.
I still see you through my youth’s eyes.
Free River you told no lies, Free River
your path has been made, Free River
all things change.
Free River you made it to the sea.
The friends I swam with once
are now gone, left only me.
Free River you’re worth more than gold, Free River
I've grown old.
I’ve lived by you my whole life and
I’ve left my seed through my wife, Free River
I lie at your shore; now dry,
Free River it’s my time to die.
poem by Patrick Dumas
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Soledad
in true faith to her name
she lives alone in a small house
on the side of a hill
the trees are cut and the grasses
have grown taller
the house sheds of window panes
pillars recede their heights
soledad in true faith to her name
continues to live alone in that small house
on the side of the dead hill
she waits for her beloved
who long died in the war.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Family Forgiveness
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be.
For the teen that use to be,
The nine year old girl whom eyes now,
Turn to water falls with the site of the bedroom,
Her daddy not to long ago tucked her in for the night,
And her little brother and her shared their pillow fights.
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be.
For that teenage girl,
Knowing that her sister,
Her own bloods hand constructed all of this,
Makes it even more heart breaking.
Even after all this time has gone by,
That same teenage girl can’t understand,
Why would her own blood destroy,
Her real dads house after he is dead.
The disrespect lay there so apparent,
green and in dirt.
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be.
For destroying all that is left,
For destroying all that you were holding on too.
Once to be a respectable mans,
Nine year old girls play house,
But now is only just a house of pot.
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be,
Because she is my sister, and I have to.
It is in the contract,
And my conscience tells me so.
This will always be,
Forgiven but not forgotten.
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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He Miss The Old Town
He miss the old town by the ocean and he misses the smell of the sea
And in his moments of nostalgia in fancy he hear and see
The silver gulls above the wide beach in small flocks they call as they fly
And the soft pipings of the sooty oystercatchers echo in the clear morning sky.
He was a young man of the sixties and young men they age and grow old
All year round he rode the big surf waves in a wet suit to keep out the cold
Till he wandered far from the ocean fell in love, married and settled down
An ageing dad with teenage daughters he lives in a big inland Town.
He is out of practice for surfing and he lives far from the ocean shore
A champion young surfer of the sixties perhaps he will surf never more
You can take the man from the ocean but the ocean does not leave the man
Though far from the roar of the surf waves he well may live out his time span.
He miss the old town by the ocean though he now might feel a stranger there
A champion young surfer of the late sixties till lust for wander it took him to elsehwere
in his imaginings he rides the big waves and on his face the ocean spray
And at heart he is a coastal person though from there he lives far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The River and the Dam
The river flows down the hill,
Till it finds it is slowing
The dam stands as tall as a mill,
To stop the river from its flowing
The water accepts its fate,
Yet it rises as it waits
The dam stands it's ground
The river never finding a way around.
The river flows once more my friend
The dam did break and shall not mend
poem by Drew Fisher
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The River And The Road
THE merrymaking's over
The riverside is still,
The Sun, a radiant rover,
Gone down behind the hill.
The red Road goes awinding
Along the riverside;
The River, no man minding,
Winds on to meet the tide.
O Naiad of green places!
I pray you pause and say
How many pretty faces
Looked down on you to-day?
The River runs in silence
(A fern-frond is her load);
Just here and just a mile hence
She curves to kiss the road.
And now the kiss is over,
And now the tryst is done,
By flats of fern and clover
The River ripples on.
Again the Road turns to her,
Red-winding through the green;
The Road would pause and woo her,
But gray rocks stand between.
And here he rounds a boulder
And hurries to her side:
The River turns her shoulder;
She will not be his bride.
O fickle River, straying
Through green lands on and on,
A fern-tree heard you saying
'The Road will come anon.'
Not so, but you will waken
To lonely days and sore.
The Road a vow has taken
To play Love's fool no more.
On high the sunset lingers
With one still star above,
And there the merry singers
Sing silverly of Love.
And now in distance dewy
They halt awhile, and so
Wave hands with 'Coo-ee, Coo-ee!'
Ho, laggard down below!'
If she should cease to worry
And say, 'I love but you' —
'O hurry, hurry, hurry!'
And 'Adieu, Adieu, Adieu!'
This one last chance I give her
To lighten my heart's load,
And if she play the River
Then I shall prove the Road.
I caught her, heard her sighing,
And felt the moment's charm. . . .
'Tis sweet when day is dying
To walk so, arm in arm!
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Lonely Road
Tis dark and lonely,
Walking here alone.
This cold stony road
I have made my own.
Tis where the brave few
Dare to venture thru.
They walk here in search-
Search of life anew.
The coldness chills inside;
I grit my teeth and hold on.
Though sad and long, I make this road my own
Tis lonely out here,
To lean on, there's far and few.
So many times, i cry,
Screaming, 'Where are you? '
I want to turn around,
Quit and walk away.
The pressure is too much-
Too much for me to stay.
But then i see, o'er the hill
A faint glimering light.
Hope springs eternal
In the darkest of nights.
You come close and
I feel you take my hand,
Pull me up, help me fight.
You help me stand.
'My child, ' you whisper,
'I walked this road, still do.
Only now i walk it
Just to help you.'
I feel his might all around
As with faith renewed i push on.
Raise my hands high
As i cry,
'This lonely road i make my own.'
Let everyone leave me, l
Let them walk away.
I'm getting out of here, I wasn't meant to stay.
This lonely road is the only way home.
Walk it I must, even if I'm alone.
So hear it now, as I toil by, this lonely road, I make my own!
It's pain and hardship
I will do my best to bear,
I will keep pushing on
When there's no one nowhere.
Cause this lonely road
I made my own.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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The House In The Woods
At the back of the houses there is the wood.
While there is a leaf of summer left, the wood
Makes sounds I can put somewhere in my song,
Has paths I can walk, when I wake, to good
Or evil: to the cage, to the oven, to the House
In the Wood. It is a part of life, or of the story
We make of life. But after the last leaf,
The last light--for each year is leafless,
Each day lightless, at the last--the wood begins
Its serious existence: it has no path,
No house, no story; it resists comparison...
One clear, repeated, lapping gurgle, like a spoon
Or a glass breathing, is the brook,
The wood's fouled midnight water. If I walk into the wood
As far as I can walk, I come to my own door,
The door of the House in the Wood. It opens silently:
On the bed is something covered, something humped
Asleep there, awake there--but what? I do not know.
I look, I lie there, and yet I do not know.
How far out my great echoing clumsy limbs
Stretch, surrounded only by space! For time has struck,
All the clocks are stuck now, for how many lives,
On the same second. Numbed, wooden, motionless,
We are far under the surface of the night.
Nothing comes down so deep but sound: a car, freight cars,
A high soft droning, drawn out like a wire
Forever and ever--is this the sound that Bunyan heard
So that he thought his bowels would burst within him?--
Drift on, on, into nothing. Then someone screams
A scream like an old knife sharpened into nothing.
It is only a nightmare. No one wakes up, nothing happens,
Except there is gooseflesh over my whole body--
And that too, after a little while, is gone.
I lie here like a cut-off limb, the stump the limb has left...
Here at the bottom of the world, what was before the world
And will be after, holds me to its back
Breasts and rocks me: the oven is cold, the cage is empty,
In the House in the Wood, the witch and her child sleep.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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A Wet Day In July
Such wild and chilly weather with heavy showers of sleety rain
That flood the spouting and the creek and the storm water drain
And the paddocks around the Powlett river seem like an inland sea
And water everywhere about as far as the eyes can see.
The old bloke Mick scratches his head as he looks up at the sky
Saying more rain clouds o'er the ocean 'twill make a wet
July
On either side of the highway from Bass into Wonthaggi there's water everywhere
The paddock by our house is waterlogged 'tis like a quagmire there.
In July in south west Gippsland the weather often wild and cold and wet
But according to Mick from Bass this one the wettest yet
In more than sixty years of life he has known big rainfall
But yesterday is the wettest day he ever can recall.
In the paddocks between Kilcunda and Dalyston water everywhere about
And the Powlett river is overflowing it's banks and it's surplus water is flooding out
Making the land look like an inland sea and cattle on the hill bellow for hay
And in the coastal lands of south west Gippsland another rainy July day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Cannot Say Much Of Anything
I cannot say much of anything-
The weight is too heavy to lift-
The hill is too high to walk up-
Everything is more difficult now-
And I bring with it the grief
For so many no longer here.
Yet I am still here-
And will step by step go on
As best and as long as I can-
The road has been long-
It is still before me
Though it does not stretch out into the distance
As it once did-
I walk on slowly
And I look ahead
So as not to fall
But often in my thought
It is not the road ahead
But the one behind
I still walk on.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Further On
Where the road is dark
and the seat is soaked
where the gun is cocked
and the bullet's cold
where the miles are marked in blood and gold
I'll meet you further on up the road
Got on my dead man's suit
and my smilin' skull ring
my lucky graveyard boots
and a song to sing
I got a song to sing, keep me out of the cold
and I'll meet you further on up the road
Further on up the road
further on up the road
where the way is dark
and the night is cold
but one sunny morning we'll rise, I know
and I'll meet you further on up the road
Well I been out in the desert
was doin' my time
searching through the dust
looking for a sign
if there's a light up ahead
well, buddy, I don't know
but I got this fever
burning in my soul
so let's take the good times as they come
and I'll meet you further on up the road
Further on up the road
further on up the road
where the way is dark
and the night is cold
one sunny morning we'll rise, I know
and I'll meet you further on up the road
one sunny morning we'll rise, I know
and I'll meet you further on up the road
yeah I'll meet you further on up the road
well I'll meet you further on up the road
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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