Rigs O' Barley, The
It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held away to Annie:
The time flew by wi' tentless heed
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion, she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonnie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly:
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:
I ken't her heart was a' my ain:
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs...
I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs...
I ha'e been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I ha'e been merry drinkin';
I ha'e been joyfu' gatherin' gear;
I ha'e been happy thinkin':
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth then a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs...
poem by Robert Burns
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Related quotes
The Rigs o' Barley
It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie;
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,
Till, 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:
I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c.
I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c.
I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Song (It was upon a Lammas night)
It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie:
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early;
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed,
To see me thro' the barley.
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shinning clearly;
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:
I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessing on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She ay shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
I hae been blythe wi' Comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Chorus Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonie:
I'll ne'er forget the happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Rothesay Bay
FU' yellow lie the corn rigs
Far doun the braid hillside;
It is the brawest harst field
Alang the shores o'Clyde,--
And I'm a puir harst-lassie
That stan's the lee-lang day
Shearing the corn-rigs of Ardbeg
Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.
O I had ance a true-love,--
Now, I hae nane ava;
And I had ance three brithers,
But I hae tint them a';
My father and my mither
Sleep i' the mools this day.
I sit my lane amang the rigs
Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.
It's a bonnie bay at morning,
And bonnier at the noon,
But it's bonniest when the sun draps
And red comes up the moon:
When the mist creeps o'er the Cambrays,
And Arran peaks are gray,
And the great black hills, like sleepin' kings,
Sit grand roun' Rothesay Bay,
Then a bit sigh stirs my bosom,
And a wee tear blin's my e'e,--
And I think o'that far Countrie
What I wad like to be!
But I rise content i' the morning
To wark while wark I may
I' the yellow harst field of Ardbeg
Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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John Barley-Corn, My Foe
John Barley-corn, my foe, John,
The song I have to sing
Is not in praise of you, John,
E'en though you are a king.
Your subjects they are legion, John,
I find where'er I go:
They wear your yoke upon their necks,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
By your despotic sway
The people of our country, John,
Are suffering to-day.
You lay the lash upon their backs;
Yet willingly they go
And pay allegiance at the polls,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
You've broken many a heart,
And caused the bitter tear, John,
From many an eye to start,
The widow and the fatherless
From pleasant homes to go,
And lead a life of sin and shame,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
May Heaven speed the hour,
When Temperance shall wear the crown
And Rum shall lose its power;
When from the East unto the West
The people all shall know
Their greatest curse has been removed,
John Barley-Corn, my foe!
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To my Academic Friends
To my academic friends
Who left with me,
.
They walk in the wells,
-in the rigs
-they sings
They control wealth;
But they forget young poets
.
Like me.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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The Wind that Shakes the Barley
There's music in my heart all day,
I hear it late and early,
It comes from fields are far away,
The wind that shakes the barley.
Above the uplands drenched with dew
The sky hangs soft and pearly,
An emerald world is listening to
The wind that shakes the barley.
Above the bluest mountain crest
The lark is singing rarely,
It rocks the singer into rest,
The wind that shakes the barley.
Oh, still through summers and through springs
It calls me late and early.
Come home, come home, come home, it sings,
The wind that shakes the barley.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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There Are No Pre-requisites To Friendship
genuine friendship
is nothing but just presence
there are no per-requisites
no demands
no expectations just the
honesty of being myself
and being yourself
nothing much just the feeling
that i am one like you
too, in this, in that, that
we belong to the same house,
on the same journey
inside this ordinary boat
with us are paddles and
rigs admiring the same
orange sunset between
the shadows of the hills.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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American Slaves
blatent mediocrity, constant uniformity,
tongues pierced with an anvil.
eyes fogged from realization,
minds trained for situations,
paper hearts, electric candles.
cry of desperation, self becomes a nation,
stepping over bodies without heads.
the newscaster plots his story,
selling condoms in purgatory,
fanning the flames o'er the dead.
ghosts in hell, souls without conscience.
take another pill for deliverence.
children buried in unmarked graves.
oil rigs pumping, American slaves.
flag waving, constant craving,
neon lights blink on and off.
sex heals, addictive thrills,
money dressed in naked bills,
drool on the chin, barking cough.
color fears, political cures,
families lost to the raging sea.
morals traded, hard and jaded,
the sick are shunned, the poor are hated,
only the few can afford to be free.
ghosts in hell, souls without conscience.
take another pill for deliverence.
children buried in unmarked graves.
oil rigs pumping, American slaves.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Democracy Died
democracy died...
and no one noticed.
freedom flew from the window,
left a shadow on the perch.
they buried equality
in an unmarked grave.
put the faces of unborn children
on milk cartons no one saw.
they sold justice on the block,
and invested in oil...
now the only sounds in the wasteland,
oil rigs pumping, and the cawing of crows!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Barley Grass
Wavin' corn upon the hillside,
Twinklin' daisies on the rise,
Mystic bushes across the ranges,
Wattle in its spring-time guise,
Stately gums that mark the twinin's
Of the ole creek - let 'em pass.
Leave me here to lie, a-lazin'
In the noddin' barley grass.
Barley grass was noddin', noddin'
'Long the dear ole township track
Where, in school days, we were ploddin':
Four mile there an' four mile back.
Teacher, on the summer mornin's,
Called us, scoldin', from the class,
An' we wasted precious moments
Pickin' out the barley grass.
Barley grass insinuatin',
In a summer long ago,
Gained a girl maternal ratin',
Made a chap a holy show.
'Some one's been to walk with some one
Down the creek-side with a lass.
Fie, it ain't no use denyin'
Tell-tale seeds of barley grass.'
Came a time, when fortune frownin'
Sent a spring in cruel guise:
Wilted corn upon the hillside,
Brown soil barren on the rise,
Droopin' gums along the ole creek
Dry beneath a sky of brass;
An' we longed for just the sight of
One green tuft of barley grass.
But we battle on together,
Her an' me that mockin' spring,
Never losin' faith or doubting'
What the future was to bring.
Watchin', waitin' for the dawnin',
For the time of trial to pass;
An' 'twas her that found one mornin'
That first peep of barley grass.
We don't want no wreath of roses,
We don't want no immortelles,
When the last of us reposes
In the last of earthly spells.
Plant above - we ain't presumin'
To be writ on stone or brass
Just a modest, unassumin',
Simple bit of barley grass.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Skull And Bones
Skull And Bones,
hands on the heart,
finger on the button...
chosen, and groomed,
covered by the veil,
world by design.
economics held,
population control,
Aids and starvation,
and war after war.
oil rigs, nuclear nights,
done step by step;
all part of the plan....
Skull And Bones!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Willie Brew'd A Peck O' Maut
O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut,
And Rob and Allen cam to see;
Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night,
Ye wadna found in Christendie.
Chorus.-We are na fou, we're nae that fou,
But just a drappie in our ee;
The cock may craw, the day may daw
And aye we'll taste the barley bree.
Here are we met, three merry boys,
Three merry boys I trow are we;
And mony a night we've merry been,
And mony mae we hope to be!
We are na fou, &c.
It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie;
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee!
We are na fou, &c.
Wha first shall rise to gang awa,
A cuckold, coward loun is he!
Wha first beside his chair shall fa',
He is the King amang us three.
We are na fou, &c.
poem by Robert Burns (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A barley corn is better than a diamond to a cock.
Honkytonk U
My grandmother owned a night club
On the Arkansas-Oklahoma line
Mama put me on a Greyhound
And I went to stay with her in the summertime
I'd box up those empty long-necks
And stack 'em in the back and make a ham
Then at night she'd let me sneak out
Of the kitchen and let me sit in with the band
Yes, I have sacks and quarterbacks
And broke my share of bones along the way
I knew it wouldn't last forever
Semi-pro always means semi-payed
I started climbing drilling rigs
I'm oil field trash and proud as I can be, yeah
Then I took my songs and guitar
And sang 'em for a man from Tennessee
I've played every beer joint tavern
From New York City out to Pasadena
Every corn dog fair and rodeo
And sold out every basketball arena
Like to get down with my boys
In Afghanistan and Baghdad City too
I am a red, white and blue blood
Graduate of Honky Tonk U
A star can't burn forever
And the brightest ones will someday lose their shine
But the glass won't ever be
Half empty in my optimistic mind
I'll still have a song to sing
And a band to turn it up and play it loud
As long as there's a bar room
With a corner stage and a honky tonk crowd
I've played every beer joint tavern
From New York City out to Pasadena
Every corn dog fair and rodeo
And sold out every basketball arena
I like to get down with my boys
In Afghanistan and Baghdad City too
Son, I'm a red, white and blue blood
Graduate of Honky Tonk U
song performed by by Toby Keith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Happy Flatite
We were living in a flat; it was number eighty-three.
At eighty-four the Barleys lived, a fearsome man was he.
He had a wife and numerous kids. We heard then rip and cuss,
Some three feet and a quarter off, across the hall from us.
And when the Barley boys broke out, and ended up in fight,
Or when the Barley baby read the Riot Act at night,
And on their balcony their cat put up an eerie moan,
The fearful Barley family might as well have been our own.
When Barley after parting with some others of the ilk
Came panting up the narrow stairs, and drank our jug of milk,
Then broke out at his missus, and as fiercely answered she –
Where was the great advantage of our marked sobriety?
When Barley bedded early he would shake the common floor
And fill the gulf of night with an intolerable snore,
And people in the other wing at us their bluchers threw –
What good if we slept soft as snow and silent as the dew?
This Barley when unoccupied would fill my study chair,
And utilise much time, and take up space I could not spare,
To tell me of the deeds he’d done, his drinkings deep and vast,
And ladies who had loved him in his sanguinary past.
And Mrs. Barley dropped in – in the morning, as a rule –
And stayed till lunch and chattered like a ladies’ boarding-school.
Then she borrowed bread and onions, and wondered if she might
Leave her little Willie with us. She was going out till night.
Our little flat’s forsaken; we have left St. Kilda road;
We knew not where to go to, and we haven’t an abode;
But no flat in any building that we’d suffered in was worth
The comfort of a camp-out. So we’re flat upon the earth!
poem by Edward George Dyson
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Bannocks O' Bear Meal
Chorus:
Bannocks o' bear meal,
Bannocks o' barley,
Here's to the Highlandman's
Bannocks o' barley!
Wha, in a brulyie, will
First cry a parley?
Never the lads wi' the
Bannocks o' barley,
Chorus:
Wha, in his wae days,
Were loyal to Charlie?
Wha but the lads wi' the
Bannocks o' barley!
Chorus:
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Land Gone Black
the sound of gunfire
rapes the virgin night...
another innocent goes down....
the soldiers of petroleum
buy a whore, a dime, a quarter.
dine on the flesh of children;
pray to the neon god.
waving the flags of mouths
that only speak with teeth.
nothing holy that cant be bought....
step on bodies without faces,
piss on the graves of babies....
winner take all, all is nothing!
and the wind of the beast
knocks at the blackened windows....
in the empty houses of the poor,
the worthless, the forgotten.
the sound of gunfire rips the stillness....
the gods of anger and self
fornicate in the stench,
keeping time to the rhythm
of oil rigs in a land gone black!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Fields Of Gold
Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
Youll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold
So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold
Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
Well forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold
See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that Ive broken
But I swear in the days still left
Well walk in the fields of gold
Well walk in the fields of gold
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broadford Bazaar
Dirty white caravans down our road, sailing.
Vivas, cortinas, weaving in their wake.
With hot, red-faced drivers, horns flattened, fists whaling,
Putting trust in blind corners as they overtake.
And its ''all come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car.
Theres home-dyed woolens, and wee plastic [cuillins]
[blessed? ] [cuchulains? ]
[cuchulain == mythical irish hero --- wee plastic cuchulains? ]
[[email protected] (jo lobb) explains: broadford is a town on
Skye (where the road that passes dun ringill leaves the main
Road, incidentally) and skyes famous cuillin hills are nearby.
I suppose tourists could be expected to buy wee plastic models
Of spectacular hills .... also, the cuillin hills are ''also
Known as the coolins or cuchullins, possibly after an ossianic
Hero..., so maybe wee plastic model heroes do make sense, after
All.]
The day of the broadford bazaar.
Out of the north, no oil-rigs are drifting.
And jobs for the many are down to the few.
Blue-bottle choppers, they visit no longer.
Like flies to the jampots, they were just passing through.
And its ''all come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car
Where once stood oil-rigs so phallic
Theres only swear-words in gaelic
To say at the broadford bazaar.
All kinds of people come down for the opening.
Crofters and cottiers, white [wild? ] settlers galore.
[crofter == farmer renting land]
[cottier == farmer renting land]
And up on the hill, theres an old sheep thats dying,
But it had two new lambs born just a fortnight before.
And its ''all come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car.
Well take pounds, francs and dollars from the well-heeled,
And stamps from the green shield.
The day of the broadford bazaar.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women's harvest song
I am waving a ripe sunflower,
I am scattering sunflower pollen to the four world-quarters.
I am joyful because of my melons,
I am joyful because of my beans,
I am joyful because of my squashes.
The sunflower waves.
So did the corn wave
When the wind blew against it,
So did my white corn bend
When the red lightning descended upon it,
It trembled as the sunflower
When the rain beat down its leaves.
Great is a ripe sunflower,
And great was the sun above my corn-fields.
His fingers lifted up the corn-ears,
His hands fashioned my melons,
And set my beans full in the pods.
Therefore my heart is happy
And I will lay many blue prayer-sticks at the shrine of Ta-wa.
I will give corn to Ta-wa,
Yellow corn, blue corn, black corn.
I wave the sunflower,
The sunflower heavy with pollen.
I wave it, I turn it, I sing,
Because I am happy.
poem by Amy Lowell
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