Toad Frog And Tadpole
toad frog and their little son tadpole
were so happy pleased and proud
when their home in the far swamp
they did eventually newly renovate
the sun shone sparkling through
their neat rural aquatic homestead
like a friendly radiant bright crisp
clean vibrant yellow golden gate
illuminates intricate filigree lacy patterns
on their carefully arranged plants and flowers
happily they would together all sit outside
sucking in flies merrily for hours and hours
oh happy happy merry summer swamp scene
to renovate their aquatic home was their dream
this little corner swamp swept all spic and span
beauty still saved yet from dread destructive man
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Ha Ha Ha Happy Family
See see Papa Trench Bottom
dig in the mines happily, laugh ha ha happily
and drink at night and hear him
snore before the day
happy happy Papa Trench Bottom
he he he he he ha ha happy happy
at home and at work
See see Mama Big Bottom
she she she he he ha ha happy
Dance happily Cook with joy
toss with levity
and puts dishes aplenty on the table
for all in the family to eat and be merry
See see Teenage Tough Dude
he he he happily walks in the streets
Cool at school
Very Pop with the babes
and eating lots at home, with gravity
very serious in look, sparse in his words
but loves his mom, dad and sis
deep deep within, ha ha happily happily
Happy Happy Teenage Cool Dude
And see Sister Barbie Doll Pretty
Curls and dimples and cute smiles all
Happy hours in the ha ha bathroom
many more hours texting and chatting
and lots and lots of FaceTime
Happy happy walking sexy
all the way to work
and chirping all day like a Paradise Bird
at work at the Rainbow Fast Food Outlet
happy happy talking talking all workday
Ah See Happy happy he he he
she she she happy happy Family
Trench Bottom family he he he
and she she she all day and night
Happy happy Trench Bottoms
Happy happy he he ha ha Happy Family always
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Swamp Music
(ed king - ronnie vanzant)
Going down to the swamp
Gonna watch me a hound dog catch a coon
Well, Im going down to the swamp
Gonna watch me a hound dog catch a coon
You know the hounddog make-a music
On a summer night under a full moon
Lord, fetch my cane pole mama
Gonna catch a bream or maybe two
Lord, fetch my cane pole mama
Gonna catch a bream or maybe two
And when the hound dog start barkin
Sounds like ol son house singin the blues
(chorus)
Hound dog sing that
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
When the hound dog starts singin
I aint got them big ol city blues
Well, hey pretty mama
Lord, just take that city hike
Said go ahead pretty mama
Lord, just take your city hike
Well, Id rather live with the hound dogs
For the rest of my natural born life
(chorus)
Singing that
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Well, Id rather live with the hounddogs
For the rest of my natural born life
Well, Id wanna live with the hound dogs
For the rest of my natural born life
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Frost-King - Song II
Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
The low, sweet tones of happy flowers,
Singing little Violet's name.
'Mong the green trees was it whispered,
And the bright waves bore it on
To the lonely forest flowers,
Where the glad news had not gone.
Thus the Frost-King lost his kingdom,
And his power to harm and blight.
Violet conquered, and his cold heart
Warmed with music, love, and light;
And his fair home, once so dreary,
Gay with lovely Elves and flowers,
Brought a joy that never faded
Through the long bright summer hours.
Thus, by Violet's magic power,
All dark shadows passed away,
And on the home of happy flowers
The golden light for ever lay.
Thus the Fairy mission ended,
And all Flower-Land was taught
The 'Power of Love,' by gentle deeds
That little Violet wrought.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Brighter Shone The Golden Shadows
Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
The low, sweet tones of happy flowers,
Singing little Violet's name.
'Mong the green trees was it whispered,
And the bright waves bore it on
To the lonely forest flowers,
Where the glad news had not gone.
Thus the Frost-King lost his kingdom,
And his power to harm and blight.
Violet conquered, and his cold heart
Warmed with music, love, and light;
And his fair home, once so dreary,
Gay with lovely Elves and flowers,
Brought a joy that never faded
Through the long bright summer hours.
Thus, by Violet's magic power,
All dark shadows passed away,
And o'er the home of happy flowers
The golden light for ever lay.
Thus the Fairy mission ended,
And all Flower-Land was taught
The 'Power of Love,' by gentle deeds
That little Violet wrought.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Frost-King' Song II
Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
The low, sweet tones of happy flowers,
Singing little Violet's name.
'Mong the green trees was it whispered,
And the bright waves bore it on
To the lonely forest flowers,
Where the glad news had not gone.
Thus the Frost-King lost his kingdom,
And his power to harm and blight.
Violet conquered, and his cold heart
Warmed with music, love, and light;
And his fair home, once so dreary,
Gay with lovely Elves and flowers,
Brought a joy that never faded
Through the long bright summer hours.
Thus, by Violet's magic power,
All dark shadows passed away,
And on the home of happy flowers
The golden light for ever lay.
Thus the Fairy mission ended,
And all Flower-Land was taught
The "Power of Love," by gentle deeds
That little Violet wrought.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Swamp
There's a swamp at the end your bed, he said,
at the end of my bed there's a swamp.
My daddy told me so, he did
whenever I wouldn't stay in bed.
There's a swamp at the end of your bed.
The swamp at the end of my bed
is filled with icky worms,
they squirm about and wriggle.
They're horrible, slippery worms, they are
They're horrible, slippery worms.
Still, I stole my daddy's boots last night,
I stole my daddy's boots
and when the hand strikes 12 O'clock
down to the end of the bed, I'll go
to the end of the bed, to the end of the bed,
down to the very edge.
Down in the quagmire's inners
lurk monsters, big and bold,
maybe an odd old leather boot
has fallen, so I'm told.
It will be such fun to explore it,
the swamp that seeps through the floor.
My daddy thinks I'll stay in my bed,
but staying in bed is a bore, I say
staying in bed is a bore.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flowers Of The Nipa Palm
the flowers of the nipa palm assume the color of
the brown, brackish swamp
expectedly, these flowers shine on the swamp
like fists of an angry man
deep within the thick covering, if one tries hard enough
to open what it has closed for all these years
is a white cloud, thick with syrup, something sweet
its fruits, from the flowers of its fists.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Frog Named Jo
It must be nice, being a frog on the side of the road.
At least you are more appealing than a toad.
You sit in the grass that matches your jade scales
It seems as though flies fly to you, compelled
To be your delicacy, to be eaten.
And the flies appear gladly beaten.
And all seems in this natural scene
So peaceful and so serene,
And in our cruel world, that is what we see,
‘How Happy ore' others some can be'
But the point that we miss in all of this beauty,
Is that the world is not just for ‘me'
I may have my hard times, and so will you
But somewhere else in the world, someone is suffering too.
Now, as we leave this simple frog to its seeming life of bliss,
We don't ever look back, for it is not something to miss.
This frog had no connection to you
So why should you care what next it will do?
From this place, the frog could be snatched up by a bat
It will feed the bat family, and that will be that.
For some object of little acknowledgement from you
Is now something permanently lost from view.
But that frog could have had a family of its own;
A life, friends, a job, a home.
It seems foolish to think of these characteristics of a frog on the street,
But is it just as foolish as thinking of the people you meet?
All day long, many lives collide,
But we make sure to stand to the side.
In life, we never know what will come next,
All we can do is give every moment our best.
poem by Heidi Fiore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Boy's Gone
The boy's gone. The boy's gone home.
What will happen to a face in the crowd when it finally gets too crowded.
And will happen to the origins of sound after all the sounds have sounded
Well I hope I never have to see that day but by god I know it's headed our way
So I better be happy now that the boy's going home. The boy's gone home.
And what becomes of a day for those who rage against it
And who will sum op the phrase for all left standing around in it
Well I suppose we'll all make our judgement call
We'll walk it alone, stand up tall, then march to the fall
So we better be happy now that we'll all go home.
Be so happy with the way you are
Be so happy that you made it this far
Go on be happy now. Please be happy now
Because this is something else
this is something else
I tried to live my life and live it so well
But when it's all over is it heaven or is it hell
I better be happy now that no one can tell, nobody knows
I'm gonna be happy with the way that I am
I'm gonna be happy with all that I stand for
I'm gonna be happy now because the boy's going home.
The boy's gone home.
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Croaking Toad And The Leopard Frog
The croaking toad and the leopard frog,
Were drinking beer on a hollow log.
And the croaking toad said, you're my best bud,
Man you can really hold your suds.
And the leopard frog replied in kind,
Another friend like you, I couldn't find.
You're my best friend when skies are grey,
You're by my side come what may.
I'd rather drink my beer with you,
Than catch blue bottles the whole day through.
Let's drink one more to the breaking dawn,
While we listen quietly to the crickets song.
But the croaking toad said I must go,
I'm very sleepy and the cock just crowed.
I'll see you tonight for a cold one or two,
I really love this black swamp brew.
And the leopard frog said I'll be here,
With my styrofoam ice chest sitting near.
Just bring some peanuts when you come round,
With beer they taste so good going down.
6/8/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boys Gone
The boys gone. the boys gone home.
What will happen to a face in the crowd when it finally gets too crowded.
And will happen to the origins of sound after all the sounds have sounded
Well I hope I never have to see that day but by God I know its headed our way
So I better be happy now that the boys going home. the boys gone home.
And what becomes of a day for those who rage against it
And who will sum op the phrase for all left standing around in it
Well I suppose well all make our judgement call
Well walk it alone, stand up tall, then march to the fall
So we better be happy now that well all go home.
Be so happy with the way you are
Be so happy that you made it this far
Go on be happy now. please be happy now
Because this is something else
This is something else
I tried to live my life and live it so well
But when its all over is it heaven or is it hell
I better be happy now that no one can tell, nobody knows
Im gonna be happy with the way that I am
Im gonna be happy with all that I stand for
Im gonna be happy now because the boys going home.
The boys gone home.
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daytime Dilemma
She came from a happy home
A very happy home a very happy home
Miss personality, a grade 'a' student naturally
She had it all worked out but things aren't what
They seem is this real or just a dream?
And things will never ever be the same again
She came from a happy home
A very happy home a home of happiness
Miss personality, a grade 'a' student naturally
She had it all in place but things aren't what
They seem is this real or just a dream?
Things will never ever be the same again
The dangers, it's the dangers of love
The dangers, it's the dangers
She came from a happy home
A vey happy home a vert happy scene
She caught him with another it turns out it
Was her mother what a tragedy can things be
What they seem is this just some crazy dream
Things may never ever be the same again
The dangers, it's dangers of love
The dangers, it's the dangers
Keep telling li-ie-ies, but you dis you know you did
It's coming,. it's coming,. it's coming
The dangers, it's the dangers of love
The dangers, it's the dangers
What went wrong she couldn't tell but we know
It all too well
The dangers, it's the dangers of love
The dangers, it's the dangers
song performed by by Ramones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh, Why Not Be Happy?
[RUY BLAS, Act II.]
Oh, why not be happy this bright summer day,
'Mid perfume of roses and newly-mown hay?
Great Nature is smiling--the birds in the air
Sing love-lays together, and all is most fair.
Then why not be happy
This bright summer day,
'Mid perfume of roses
And newly-mown hay?
The streamlets they wander through meadows so fleet,
Their music enticing fond lovers to meet;
The violets are blooming and nestling their heads
In richest profusion on moss-coated beds.
Then why not be happy
This bright summer day,
When Nature is fairest
And all is so gay?
poem by Victor Hugo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Night After The Picnic
And 'Happy! Happy! Happy!'
Rang the bells of all the hours;
'Shyly! Shyly! Shyly!'
Looked and listened all the flowers;
They were wakened from their slumbers,
By the footsteps of the fair;
And they smiled in their awaking
On the faces gathered there.
'Brightly! Brightly! Brightly!'
Looked the overhanging trees,
For beneath their bending branches
Floated tresses in the breeze.
And they wondered who had wandered
With such voices and so gay;
And their leaflets seemed to whisper
To each other: 'Who are they?'
They were just like little children,
Not a sorrow's shade was there;
And 'Merry! Merry! Merry!'
Rang their laughter thro' the air.
There was not a brow grief-darkened,
Was there there a heart in pain?
But 'Happy! Happy! Happy!'
Came the happy bells' refrain.
When the stately trees were bending
O'er a simple, quiet home,
That looked humble as an altar,
Nestling 'neath a lofty dome;
Thither went they gaily! gaily!
Where their coming was a joy,
Just to pass away together
One long day without alloy.
'Slowly! Slowly! Slowly!'
Melted morning's mist away,
Till the sun, in all its splendor,
Lit the borders of the bay.
'Gladly! Gladly! Gladly!'
Glanced the waters that were gray,
While the wavelets whispered 'Welcome!'
To us all that happy day.
And 'Happy! Happy! Happy!'
Rang the bell in every heart,
And it chimed, 'All day let no one
Think that ye shall ever part.
Go and sip from every moment
Sweets to perfume many years;
Keep your feast, and be too happy
To have thought of any tears.'
There was song with one's soul in it,
And the happy hearts grew still
While they leaned upon the music
Like fair lilies o'er the rill;
Till the notes had softly floated
Into silent seas away
O'er the wavelets, where they listened
While they rocked upon the bay.
And ---- 'Dreamy! Dreamy! Dreamy!'
When the song's sweet life was o'er,
Drooped the eyes that will remember
All its echoes evermore.
And 'Stilly! Stilly! Stilly!'
Beat the hearts of some, I ween,
That can see the unseen mystery
Which a song may strive to screen.
Then 'Gaily! Gaily! Gaily!'
Rang the laughter everywhere,
From the lips that seemed too lightsome
For the sigh of any care.
And the dance went 'Merry! Merry!'
Whilst the feet that tripped along,
Bore the hearts that were as happy
As a wild bird's happy song.
And sweet words with smiles upon them,
Joy-winged, flitted to and fro,
Flushing every face they met with
With the glory of their glow.
Not a brow with cloud upon it --
Not an eye that seemed to know
What a tear is; not a bosom
That had ever nursed a woe.
And how 'Swiftly! Swiftly! Swiftly!'
Like the ripples of a stream,
Did the bright hours chase each other,
Till it all seemed like a dream;
Till it seemed as if no ~Never~
Ever in this world had been,
To o'ercloud the ~brief Forever~,
Shining o'er the happy scene.
Dimly! dimly fell the shadows
Of the tranquil eventide;
But the sound of dance and laughter
Would not die, and had not died;
And still 'Happy! Happy! Happy!'
Rang the voiceless vesper bells
O'er the hearts that were too happy
To remember earth's farewells.
Came the night hours -- faster! faster!
Rose the laughter and the dance,
And the eyes that should look weary
Shone the brighter in their glance:
And they stole from every minute
What no other day could lend --
They were happy! happy! happy!
But the feast must have an end.
'Children, come!' the words were cruel --
'Twas the death sigh of the feast;
And they came, still merry! merry!
At the bidding of the priest,
Who had heard the joy-bells ringing
Round him all the summer day.
'Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy!'
Did he hear an angel say?
'Happy! happy! still more happy!
Yea, the happiest are they.
I was moving 'mid the children
By the borders of the bay,
And I bring to God no record
Of a single sin this day.
'Happy! Happy! Happy!'
When your life seems lone and long,
You will hear that feast's bells ringing
Far and faintly thro' my song.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Farewell of a Virginia Slave Mother
Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage
Gone, gone, - sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go
Faint with toil, and racked with pain
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play;
From the cool spring where they drank;
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there;
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er
And the fetter galls no more!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
From Virginia's hills and waters
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
By the holy love He beareth;
By the bruised reed He spareth;
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Farewell
Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go
Faint with toil, and racked with pain
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play;
From the cool sprmg where they drank;
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there;
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er
And the fetter galls no more!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
From Virginia's hills and waters
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
By the holy love He beareth;
By the bruised reed He spareth;
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nature Was Drawing Me Along (Septilla / Spanish Septet)
The whole of summer weavers gathered
violets, arum-lilies grew among the reeds
in the swamp, morning glories were like weeds,
some long-tailed widow-birds fluttered,
all day finches sang a twittering song,
vibrant nature was drawing me along
in colours of green, purple, yellow and red.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Happy Now
She came to me at last
and I am happy now
I bask in afterglow of love
and I am happy now.
She came to me in night
in magic of a starlit night
full moon shining bright
an enchanting full moon night.
Wearing a sexy, little summer dress
perfumed, bright eyed, seductive now
looking, vibrant stunning; enticing temptress,
allured, bewitched, beguiled; I am happy now.
She wore a sexy, little summer dress
showing off curves, of exposed naked flesh
and perfume, of anticipating; sexual suspense
and I am happy now, I am happy now in flesh.
The memory of this sensual spicy night
shines radiant clear and brilliant bright,
memory of her intoxicating boundless love
shines brighter, than all burning stars above.
In summer love springs water that flows
from a sweet secret mountain stream,
from a hidden cliff in surrounding rocks
where I have, pleasantly swimming been.
I love the fair forest that grows
near this secret mountain stream,
with these sweet memories dreams
I am happy, contemplating beauty seen.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Toads Revenge
The spider ate the fly,
captured in a web of uncertainty.
The toad ate the spider,
captured in the swamp of reality.
The snake ate the toad,
captured in the grasses of fantasy.
The hawk ate the snake,
captured in the shade of unrest.
The man ate the golden hawk,
captured in the sky of extinction.
The man died with a broken arrow.
The toad had poison within the marrow.
poem by Saint Eule
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Come Home!
When wintry winds are no more heard,
And joy's in every bosom,
When summer sings in every bird,
And shines in every blossom,
When happy twilight hours are long,
Come home, my love, and think no wrong!
When berries gleam above the stream
And half the fields are yellow,
Come back to me, my joyous dream,
The world hath not thy fellow!
And I will make thee Queen among
The Queens of summer and of song.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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