Our Pote
A pote is sure a goofy guy;
He ain't got guts like you or I
To tell the score;
He ain't goy gumption 'nuff to know
The game of life's to get the dough,
Then get some more.
Take Brother Bill, he used to be
The big shot of the family,
The first at school;
But since about a year ago,
Through readin' Longfeller and Poe,
He's most a fool.
He mopes around with dimwit stare;
You might as well jest not be there,
The way he looks;
You'd think he shuns the human race,
The how he buries down his face
In highbrow books.
I've seen him stand for near an hour,
Jest starin' at a simple flower -
Sich waste o' time;
The scribblin' on an envelope . . .
Why, most of all his silly dope
Don't even rhyme.
Now Brother's Jim's an engineer,
And Brother Tim's a bank cashier,
While I keep store;
Yet Bill, the brightest of the flock,
Might be a lawyer or a doc,
And then some more.
But no, he moons and loafs about,
As if he tried to figger out
Why skies are blue;
Instead o' gittin' down to grips
Wi' life an' stackin' up the chips
Like me an' you.
* * * * * * * * * *
Well, since them final lines I wrote,
We're mournin' for our Brother Pote:
Bill crossed the sea
And solved his problem with the beat,
For now he lies in peace and rest
In Normandie.
He died the bravest of the brave,
And here I'm standin' by his grave
So far from home;
With just a wooden cross to tell
How in the blaze of battle hell
As gloriously there he fell -
Bill wrote his "pome".
poem by Robert William Service
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Related quotes
Ive Been Away
Ive been away so long
Wonder where I went wrong
Spent my last years in a cell
Never ever go away again
Ive been so sad and lonely
Never ever ever gonna go away again
Its a waste of time doing time
When you dindt commit a crime
It wasnt me it was my brother bill
And Id have to tell never gonna speak to bill again
Hes made me sad and lonely
Never ever gonna speak to brother bill again
It was no use, they put my brother on the jury
He bribed the others cause he owns the local brewery
They let me out today
Brother bills gonna pay
No ones ever gonna speak to bill again
Never ever gonna speak to bill again
Hell be too cold and bony
Never ever gonna go away again
Never ever gonna go away again
Never ever gonna go away again
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Brother
Some moments are more momentous
than ever you could believe.
They are so great
that they take your breath away.
It started with a letter from an Aunt
who wrote and said your half brother Bill
would love to hear from you.
I did not have a half brother.
She had that all wrong,
the only Bill I remember
was adopted by my grandparents.
He was her half brother not mine.
However as it turned out
she was right and I was wrong.
For over fifty years,
his existence had been kept from me.
In the proceeding weeks that followed,
I found his address and then his telephone number,
then I phoned him.
For the first time in more than forty years,
I spoke to him.
At first, he could not believe it
and was sad because I never knew about him,
though he did know about me.
He thought I did not want to know him.
I made plans there and then to see him.
In 2001 we had our reunion
and I went back to see him again in 2002.
I could not go back to see him anymore
as my brother Bill passed away in 2003.
They say as one chapter closes another will soon begin.
In 2006, another chapter began,
but that is another story.
13 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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My Hero
Of all the boys with whom I fought
In Africa and Sicily,
Bill was the bravest of the lot
In our dare-devil Company.
That lad would rather die than yield;
His gore he glorified to spill,
And so in every battlefield
A hero in my eyes was Bill.
Then when the bloody war was done,
He moseyed back to our home town,
And there, a loving mother's son,
Like other kids he settled down.
His old girl seemed a shade straight-laced,
For when I called my buddy "Bill,"
She looked at me with some distaste,
Suggesting that his name was "Will."
And then he had to get engaged,
And took unto himself a wife;
And so inevitably caged,
He settled down to wedded life.
He introduced me to his Missis,
But oh I thought her rather silly,
For in between their frequent kisses
She called my hard-boiled here: "Willie."
Now he has long forgot the War,
The which he did a lot to win,
And feeling full of ginger for
He's happy Pop of cherubs twin.
Yet with his air: "Don't care a damn,"
On Main Street he's my hero still . . .
As proud he wheels a double pram
What guy has got the guts of Bill!
poem by Robert William Service
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Sleeping for the Flag
When our boys come home in triumph, brother,
With the laurels they shall gain;
When we go to give them welcome, brother,
We shall look for you in vain.
We shall wait for your returning, brother,
Though we know it cannot be;
For your comrades left you sleeping, brother,
Underneath a southern tree.
Sleeping to waken
In this weary world no more;
Sleeping for your true-lov'd country, brother,
Sleeping for the flag you bore.
You were the first on duty, brother,
When "to arms" your leader cried--
You have left the ranks forever, brother,
You have laid your armies aside.
From the awful scenes of battle, brother,
You were set forever free,
When your comrades left you sleeping, brother,
Underneath that southern tree.
You have cross'd the clouded river, brother,
To the mansions of the best,
"When the wicked cease from troubling," brother,
"And the weary are at rest."
Surely we would not recall you, brother,
But the tears flow fast and free,
When we think of you sleeping, brother,
Underneath a southern tree.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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The Answer
Bill has left his house of clay,
Slammed the door and gone away:
How he laughed but yesterday!
I had two new jokes to tell,
Salty, but he loved them well:
Now I see his empty shell.
Poker-faced he looks at me;
Peeved to miss them jokes - how h
Would have belly-laughed with glee!
He gives me the pip, I swear;
Seems just like he isn't there:
Flown the coop - I wonder where?
Bill had no belief in "soul";
Thought the body was the whole,
And the grave the final goal.
Didn't reckon when we pass,
This old carcass maybe has
Spirit that sneaks out like gas.
"Look here, Bill, I'm asking you
What's the Answer? Tell me true:
Is death the end of all we do?
"Hand me out the dope - are we
No more than monkeys on a tree?"
... And then I swear to God I see
bill bat an eye and - wink at me.
poem by Robert William Service
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My Brother Bill
This is the sad true story about my brother Bill
who was four years older than me.
He was born and then tossed aside by his mother
who left him to his father’s parents to raise,
then promptly disappeared out of his life forever.
My grandparents brought him up
hoping his father would take care of him
when he returned from the war.
His father also my dad returned from the war
married with another son and didn’t want to know.
They gave him a nickname in private
so no one else would know.
In private, they always called him Dopey.
My sister and I were told
our grandparents had adopted him
and he was nothing to do with us.
When my dad’s parents died in 1958 and 59
plans were made to come back to England
where my mother’s parents were still alive
and leave Bill far behind.
Then as his mother had done eighteen years before
his father abandoned him as well.
For a while, he had to live on the streets
taking handout from where ever he could.
He was arrested for vagrancy and sent to jail.
Getting out he got himself a job and began to build a life.
He got married and started a family,
until one night he came home
and found his wife in bed with another man,
and a divorce followed and he was alone again.
Then after 25 years, his job vanished
and he had to find another.
One day in 2000, he got a telephone call
and did not know whether to believe it or not.
It was a call he never thought he would ever get,
a call from his younger brother - me.
As we talked on the phone, some truths came to pass
his brother and his sister did not know about him.
They were told he had been adopted
and were nothing to do with them.
However, I had found the truth,
which incensed my mother enough to disown me.
We met one another for the first time
after forty-two years in 2001 and again in 2002.
In 2003, this sad story ends,
in the March of that year
Bill succumbed to a heart attack.
His final words were a testament to his life.
No one loved me enough to care.
The sad truth is someone did
and that someone was me.
We never had enough time together,
circumstances kept us apart,
but he was my brother
and will remain in my heart.
2 November 2009
Authors Note:
The facts are as Bill told them to me. A sad refrain to a wonderful guy who was tainted by my parents as being bad and no good. If the truth were known he was probably better than the both of them. He was a guy who would give you the shirt of his back if you needed it. My brother Bill, may he now rest in peace.
DVH - 2009
poem by David Harris
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For Bill - My Brother
Who was aged five when I was born
My brother
Who hid my toys and broke my dolls
My brother
Who avoided his sister at school all day
My brother
Who tolerated my teenage years
My brother
Who as an adult became a friend
My brother
Who mellowed with each passing year
My brother
Who supported my desire to immigrate
My brother
Who was there when others weren't
My brother
Who buried our parents while I was gone
My brother
Who cherished every visit I made
My brother
Who had his ticket to visit me here
My brother
Who unexpectedly died this year
My brother
poem by Evelyn Macdonald
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Brother Brother
Brother Brother
Please Come Back Home
I Wish We All Would Have Known
Brother Brother
Why Arent You Here?
You Diddnt Have Anything To Fear
Things Would Have Gotten Better
Throught This Past Painful Year
You Took Your Own Life Brother
Just Like So Many Others
Your Family Just Looks At Pictures And Has To Stare
Thats The Only Way We See You And Its Just Not Fair
We All Miss Your Big Smile
That You Had On Your Face Every Day
I Love You Sister
The Words You Said Every Single Day
I Miss The Way You HUgged Me
The Way You Would Always Be There
Now Once Again All I Do Is sit and Stare
poem by Heather Hesse
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Jest 'fore christmas
Father calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!
Mighty glad I ain't a girl - ruther be a boy,
Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy!
Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake -
Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!
'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me,
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!
Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;
First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at!
Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide,
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,
An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!"
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!
Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,
As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,
Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile!
But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show,
Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know
That Buff'lo Bill an' cow-boys is good enough for me!
Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be!
And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still,
His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"
The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become
Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!
But I am so perlite an' 'tend so earnestly to biz,
That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"
But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me
When, jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be!
For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys,
Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys;
So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's,
An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes;
Say "Yessum" to the ladies, an' "Yessur" to the men,
An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again;
But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree,
Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!
poem by Eugene Field
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Brother To Brother Hymn
Brother to brother
I know that I can always coun on you
Because you are my brther
And I am your brother also
Brother to brother
Your life is different than mine
You live in Brazil
I live in Canad a country that is more advanced in technology
Brother to brother
I will pray for you
Eventhough you don't believe in God
Brother to brother I will email you more frequently
Brother to brother I will sing you a song
Brother to brother I hope the saints will go to Sao paulo and watch you While you are sleeping
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Bill
'Gentle brother, answer truly,
Tell what you be.
But, I pray, tax not unduly
Your sagacitee.
Is your brand u-ni-fi-cation
Is't, or is your appellation
Something mild and shorter still?
Answer truly, Brother Bill.'
Gentle brother answered truly,
Though in language hot
For his temper was unruly:
'Don't talk blinded rot!
Blow u-ni-fi-blanky-cation!
If you want me name an' station
My true moniker is Bill,
An' I work at Johnson's mill.'
'Gentle brother, wax not ireful.
I'm not out for jokes.
Yea, and conseuqnces direful
Smite bad-temepered blokes.
I've no doubt, all day perspiring,
You graft hard. I'm not inquiring
Who you are or what you do,
But what are you? Answer true.'
Brother Bill stood wildly staring,
Anger in his eye;
And, beligerently glaring,
Thus he made reply:
'Up at Johnson's mill I'm working,
And I ain't a bloke for shirking.
If you want me answer true,
I'm a better man that you!'
'Gentle brother, of your senses
You seem quite bereft.
Just consider how immense is....'
Here's Bill's dirty left
Took the catechist right squarely,
And Bill forthwith bounced him fairly,
Punched till he was out of breath.
Bill despised a shibboleth.
Note ye how each platform spouter,
Playing at 'the game,'
Strives to label ev'ry doubter
With a foolish name.
With sly tricks and ruses clever
They are keenly seeking ever
To affix a party brand
To all voters in the land.
List, ye party politicians,
Talking near and far,
We don't want vague propositions
As to what you are.
For the shibboleths of party
Rightly earn the curses hearty
Of all honest men and true.
Let is hear of what you DO.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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If It Aint One Thing Its Another
(bobby carmichael/ tony stampley/joe stampley)
I got up this morning tried to get off of work
I couldnt even find not one clean shirt
There was no hot water when I jumped in the shower
I know my boss is gonna dock me an hour
The older I get the more I discover
If it aint one thing its another
I got the car, I tried to get motivated
Now Im stuck in the traffic, all Im doing is waiting
The fool behind me keeps blowin his horn
I got my top laid back and its coming up a storm
The older I get the more I discover
If it aint one thing its another
Light bill phone bill water and gas
Pay day comes and it goes so fast
Theres no way out and Im telling you brother
If it aint one thing its another
I got to the job and I tried to explain
The boss said you wont have to do that again
I called home just to tell her the news
She said bye bye baby Im leaving you
She took the kids and shes gone to her mothers
If it aint one thing, its another
Light bill phone bill water and gas
Pay day comes and it goes so fast
Theres no way out and Im telling you brother
If it aint one thing its another
If it aint one thing its another
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God's Grief
"Lord God of Hosts," the people pray,
"Make strong our arms that we may slay
Our cursed foe and win the day."
"Lord God of Battles," cries the foe,
"Guide us to strike a bloody blow,
And lay the adversary low."
But brooding o'er the battle smother
Bewails the Lord: "Brother to brother,
Why must ye slaughter one another?
When will ye come to understand
My peace, and hand reach out to hand,
In every race, in every land?"
And yet, his weary words despite,
Went murderously on the fight,
Till God from mankind hid His sight,
Saying: "Poor children, must you gain
To brotherhood through millions slain?
--Was anguish on the Cross in vain?"
poem by Robert William Service
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Gypsy Jill
They're hanging Bill at eight o' clock,
And millions will applaud.
He killed, and so they have to kill,
Such is the will of God.
His brother Tom is on my bed
To keep me comforted.
I see his bleary, blotchy face,
I hear his sodden snore.
He plans that he can take Bill's place;
I felt worse than a whore
As in his arms I cried all night,
Thinking of poor Bill's plight.
I keep my eyes upon the clock;
It nears the stroke of eight.
I think how bravely Bill will walk
To meet his gallows fate . . .
His loaded gun is in the tent,--
I know now what he meant.
Though Tom is boastful he will wed
With me, no more to part,
I'll put a bullet through his head,
Another through my heart:
At eight, stone-dead we three will be,
--Bill, Tom and me.
poem by Robert William Service
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My brother.
My brother's so sweet
in time's of need.
my brother's so responsible
he taught me a lot of things.
my brother's so funny
we even teared from laughing.
my brother's so fierce
don't mess with him when hes angry.
my brother fell in love
and he's very very happy.
my brother made up his mind
and had a nice sweet family.
my brother is far away
i'm sad when i think of him.
but the most I love about
my brother hes always there for me
when I need him the most.
Stains
The three ghosts on the lonesome road
Spake each to one another,
"Whence came that stain about your mouth
No lifted hand may cover?"
"From eating of forbidden fruit,
Brother, my brother."
The three ghosts on the sunless road
Spake each to one another,
"Whence came that red burn on your foot
No dust nor ash may cover?"
"I stamped a neighbor's hearth-flame out,
Brother, my brother."
The three ghosts on the windless road
Spake each to one another,
"Whence came that blood upon your hand
No other hand may cover?"
"From breaking of a woman's heart,
Brother, my brother."
"Yet on the earth clean men we walked,
Glutton and Thief and Lover;
White flesh and fair it hid our stains
That no man might discover."
"Naked the soul goes up to God,
Brother, my brother."
poem by Theodosia Garrison
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Our Brother John
He left Ireland in nineteen fifty two
Our brother John the man I barely knew
He was the eldest of the family
And the Homeland he was never more to see.
In life our brother John he journeyed far
He lived through peace time and he lived through war
In Korea with the Air Force of the U.S.A.
Far distant from the fields of Claraghatlea.
One of my sisters Mary wrote to me
She said our brother died with dignity
In death as in his life he showed his bravery
And at least now of his sufferings he's free.
Our brother John left two sons and a wife
And he worked hard all of his working life
Only in his sixties he seemed young to die
He was my hero when I was a boy.
From Millstreet thousands of sea miles away
Our brother John in a distant graveyard lay
And though I'd not seen him for more than thirty years
The news of his passing reduced me to tears.
He was the quiet man never spoke too loud
And of our brother John we felt so proud
In his death from his sufferings he found his release
And may he rest forevermore in peace.
poem by Francis Duggan
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He Was My Brother
He was my brother
Five years older than I
He was my brother
Twenty-three years old the day he died
Freedom writer
They cursed my brother to his face
Go home outsider
This town's gonna be your buryin' place
He was singin' on his knees
An angry mob trailed along
They shot my brother dead
Because he hated what was wrong
He was my brother
Tears can't bring him back to me
He was my brother
And he died so his brothers could be free
He died so his brothers could be free
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He Was My Brother
He was my brother
Five years older than I
He was my brother
Twenty-three Years old the day he died
Freedom writer
They cursed my brother to his face
Go home outsider
This town's gonna be your buryin' place
He was singin' on his knees
An angry mob trailed along
They shot my brother dead
Because he hated what was wrong
He was my brother
Tears can't bnng him back to me
He was my brother
And he died so his brothers could be free
He died so his brothers could be free
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He Is My Blood...
More than the blood of my blood. He is my friend,
my rock...my brother.
Brother, in times of need, never judging, always there.
My Brother, could, would, always make things right.
Brother, never made much ado, about the task at
hand...he just did it.
Brother, who lifted me, when I was down.
Brother, who brought the laughter, amid the pain.
Brother, the word he never spoke...was 'no'.
Brother, who had the answers, to my questions.
Brother, who by example, did walk the path of right.
Brother, in all my years...in all my life, never have
I met another...like my loving brother.