Ye Wives Who Scold & Fishes Sell
Ye Wives who scold fishes sell,
Or sing sell your fruit,
I want a wondrous thing to tell,
Then (if you can) be mute.
From some of You one Homer came,
Who wrote a ballad first,
For He knew neither Parents name
Nor livd where he was nurst
His verse in length exceeds us all
So when a crowd he drew,
Like you he got him to a stall,
spoke as long as you.
Some tatterd Mermaid gave him birth
Who crys her oyster wares
Or Else some ragged nymph of earth
Who sings her Mellow pears
If 'twas the nymph of fruit was prest,
Apollo was ye Lover:
With tunefull cry he filld her breast,
got a singing Rover.
A Man, tho blind, yet usd to ply
Where 'ere he heard of Chear;
His dog it seems preserved an eye,
Its Master livd by ear.
Or if Apollo chancd to Love
The Mermaid near ye sea,
Whose shriller voice he taught to move
With buy my oysters pray.
Her shriller voice when raised to Ire
Woud thunder on ye crew,
So from ye Mother ye Sire
Old Homers Iliad grew.
then (as big with child she stood)
The place she sold her fishes
Might in his fancy form a floud
To rage in all th' Odysses.
poem by Thomas Parnell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Inn of Apollo
Have you supped at the Inn of Apollo,
While the last light fades from the West?
Has the Lord of the Sun, at the world's end,
Poured you his ripest and best?
O, there's wine in that Inn of Apollo;
Wine, mellow and deep as the sunset,
With mirth in it, singing as loud
As the skylark sings in a high wind,
High over a crisp white cloud.
Have you laughed in that Inn of Apollo?
Was the whole world molten in music
At once, by the heat of that wine?
Did the stars and the tides and your own heart
Dance with the heavenly Nine?
For they dance in that Inn of Apollo.
Was their poetry croaked by the sages,
Or born in a whisper of wings?
For the music that masters the ages,
Be sure, is the music that sings!
Yes, they sing in that Inn of Apollo.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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What Is A Slave, Mother
What is a slave, mother?—I heard you say
That word with a sorrowful voice, one day;
And it came again to my thoughts last night,
As I laid awake in the broad moonlight;
Methinks I have heard a story told,
Of some poor men, who are bought and sold,
And driven abroad with stripes to toil,
The live-long day on a stranger's soil;
Is this true mother?
May children as young as I be sold,
And torn away from their mother's hold—
From home—from all they have loved and known,
To dwell in the great wide world alone,
Far, far away in some distant place,
Where they never may see their parents’ face?
Ah! how I should weep to be torn from you!
Tell me, dear mother, can this be true?
Alas, yes, my child.
Does the master love the slave child well,
That he takes away in his house to dwell?
Does he teach him all that he ought to know,
And wipe his tears when they sometimes flow—
And watch beside him in sickness and pain,
Till health comes back to his cheek again—
And kneel each night by his side to pray,
That God will keep him through life's rough way?
Alas, no, my child.
Ah, then must the tales I have heard be true,
Of the cruel things that the masters do;
That the poor slaves often must creep to bed,
On their scatter'd straw, but scantily fed;
Be sometimes loaded with heavy chains;
And flogg'd till their blood the keen lash stains;
While none will care for their bitter cry,
Or soothe their hearts when their grief is high.
It is so, my child.
And is it not, mother, a sinful thing,
The bosoms of others with pain to wring—
To bid them go labour and delve the soil,
And seize the reward of their weary toil—
For men to tear men from their homes away,
And sell them for gold, like a lawful prey!
Oh surely the land where such deeds are done,
Must be a most savage and wicked one!
It is this, my child.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hush goes the crowd
(The music plays, the stage is lit, the crowd come in and a man starts to sing)
Hush goes the crowd,
While I sing this sad love ballad,
The story of my heart,
And I continue singing,
One by one,
The leave the theatre,
And soon I’m left alone,
Singing this ballad,
While I weep before every word,
From daybreak to midnight,
From spring till to winter,
I sing this melancholy filled ballad,
Murmuring these words,
As my throat dry’s,
(The man is on his knees)
Now in a empty theatre,
This song still plays,
Even though I’m alone,
My speech does not stop,
And from a sad ballad,
This song his turned into screams,
Shattering through,
Deafening every living being,
But it isn’t even heard,
No not even listened to,
By the muse of this song,
If only she heard my voice,
If only she would come to this theatre,
(Sound of weeping, tears hit the stage floor; the light slowly fades, till there is only silence and darkness)
Then the Hong is hit,
And I awake to sing again,
The same old lyrics,
There is a new audience in the seats,
But she is not here,
She will never be,
Where she is,
Is far away,
(The music plays again and he starts to sing then hush say’s the crowd)
poem by Paurakh Shrestha
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My Simple Joy
I love to spend, stay and live in the sea
MEGGIE, the mermaid they loved to call me
With all the beautiful corals and fishes
These are my life's simple joy, you see
Collecting sea shells, big and small
In my small room i have it all
Consider it a blessing
My entire life, i give thanks.and oh... i wanted to sing
Come and see my favorite things
When the sky is blue, and i am feeling low
I go back to see this place i know
And spend my whole life through
note: I spent my entire younger days swimming in the sea
and my cousins fondly called me, 'Meggie the mermaid' he he.
thank you for any nice comment. Shalom!
poem by Meggie Gultiano
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Market Day
There’s a market in our town, two days a week.
It’s nice to have a browse and take a quick peek.
There’s a riot of colours up and down the street,
And mouth-watering smells from all the food to eat.
There’s an explosion of different sights and sounds,
And dozens of people are leisurely milling around.
At the market, there’s always a great atmosphere,
And there’s nothing for sale there which is too dear.
A mobile van serves up spicy German bratwurst,
Plus a variety of different drinks to quench your thirst.
On one stall, they sell leather purses and handbags:
Cheap ones, plus designer ones, for the would-be WAGs.
In his mobile truck, a rotund butcher chops up some meat:
He promises his customers that his prices can’t be beat.
There’s a stall which sells low price pet supplies.
This is always a big attraction for the penny wise.
Hoping that none of his food will end up in the waste,
The Mediterranean food stall holder offers a free taste.
There are crisps and cakes stacked in crates,
Which are not long off of their sell by date.
From yet another stall, drifts an amazing perfumed smell.
They sell a variety of novelty soap and bath bombs as well.
A Jeweller displays a variety of items made of silver and gold.
He also buys any old unwanted jewellery, if it is being sold.
Then, of course, there’s the doughnut man –
Of this particular stall, I’m a very big fan!
Each market trader has their own unique call,
Trying to attract the customers to their stall.
They brave all weathers – the heat and the freezing cold,
Hoping that, by the close of day, their wares will be sold.
At the end of the day, there are real bargains to be found,
Such as a box of mixed fruit or veg for only a pound.
Come late afternoon, they pack up after a long day.
They load up their vans and are soon on their way.
When they have all gone, all that is left is a space,
And, of the market, there isn’t left a single trace.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Narcissus
A boy, Narcissus long ago lived in Greece
Perfect of body, dark hair fine as fleece
The face of an angel, no one could deny
Fair skin, large eyes as blue as the sky
A nymph for a mother, his father a god
Who ruled over all rivers, narrow 'n broad
Narcissus, loved by Apollo the most handsome of men
Would ascend Mount Olympus, to sojourn now 'n then
He dined with Zeus and with gods great and small
As demigods might at an extravagant Grand Ball
One day Narcissus sat in repose by a clear water pond
Looked down at his image and at once grew fond
Of the beauty neath him so at once he did fall
In love with himself, to the exclusion of all
Eyes only for self, this youth did briefly enjoy
But soon grew deluded and sad lonely boy
He faded, withered and would soon die
He lay on his back gazing up at the sky
Saw the form of Apollo looking down from above
A smile on his face, radiating warmth and pure love
Narcissus left his body, his spirit did rise,
No more burdened by beauty, he saw with new-eyes
Looked down at the earth so far below
Saw where he once lay, a flower did grow
A flower devoid of vanity, stately and sound
Blooming, seeding, spreading, soon to be found
By all who love beauty that speaks to one’s heart
Narcissus!
You're now of Earth’s landscape, no longer apart
poem by Ray Lucero
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Bible Verse
I asked the child why did she curse
Her answer was, she knew not a Bible verse
She never went to church or knew how to say a prayer
So all that she knew, was how to curse and swear,
I was told that her mother had taught her well
But never taught her about heaven or even hell
And all that she knew is from what she had read
While listening to the words that her mother had said.
I asked the child why did she lie
Her response to me, it is better than to cry
As things got bad and then they turned worse
That's all that she knew, and she knew not a Bible verse,
Her mother had told her the things not to do
But then they differed from other's points of view
And all the child knew was from what she had seen
As she watched her mother, which was unforeseen.
I asked the child why did she steal
Taking from others for a terrible ordeal
She answered me, as she placed the goods in her purse
'It is the way that I am', and I know not of a Bible verse
Someday soon I will probably smoke and drink
Spoke the child to me as she began to think
But then am I not the girl that my mother did raise
And every day to my mother, I give her praise.
I asked the child why did she fight
She then said to me, it's better than being polite
Her mother's honor again she had to defend
And fighting is all that she could comprehend
So the child then wiped the pain off of her face
As she slowly walked away in sadness and disgrace
The last thing she said to me as we did converse
She said, I truly wish that I knew a Bible verse.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Wind Child
The Wind has a voice,
A sad, sweet voice
I've heard it sing
Long and beautiful
Like Wind should be,
Carrying forever
The singing Wind is rarely heard
It's quiet and soft and
Unnoticeable
I am a Wind Child
I hear the Wind as
She sings her sad, sweet song
I am a Wind Child
And I sing with the Wind
Wind Children are rare as
True Hope
Special as Love
Wind Child
Is me
poem by Sahar Alive
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Apollo
Lets move, lets shake
Lets bleed, lets fake
Lets go for broke
Lets make mistakes
Lets see, lets win
Lets pray, lets cheat
Lets have another dance
Lets watch our feet
Lets die in the arms
Of the girls we love
Lets sell our souls
To the man above
Lets move, lets go
Lets hop, lets start
Lets paint the town
Lets break a few hearts
Well run, well shout
Well thrash, well cry
But well never grow old
And well never die
Lying on a bed
With apollo in my arms
Doing everything we should
And being killed by her charms
Ive got apollo in my heart
Shes tearing me apart
She looks like an angel
Held here in my arms
Though I close my eyes
And I turn away
Im not letting go
No, not at this stage
Because knowing is only half of it
No matter what they say
And seeing her is believing
From miles and miles away
Shes closed her eyes
And shes turned away
Shes letting go
And I know shell say
Lets die in the arms
Of the girls we love
Lets sell our souls
To the man above
song performed by by Omd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Middle of a Crowd
Today I was in the middle of a crowd and that when I heard her. Her sweet voice filtered out all the cell phones with the different ringtones. All the voices of the people from a businessman making a million dollar deal to a toddler having a tantrum because his mom won't buy him a juice-box. Her voice even may the barking dogs bark mute and the birds chirping song silent and her voice was the only one my ears heard. In the middle of a crowd is where I wrote this poem because the lady's voice I heard was poetry.
Black Oysters
The rustic women dived,
And collected in the baskets
The black oysters feed
On the breast of muddy sands.
When boiled, the oysters
Opened their doors tightly closed,
To sooth with flesh delicious
The hungry stomachs boors owned.
When the oyster roast,
Served on star tables with spoon,
On to the crest of taste
The rich were taken.
Vitamin ‘E’ oozing
Black oysters
Stimulate pale withered nights
Into red hot throbbing.
Small fishes seen
Whispering the black oysters,
Dreams and pain,
Moist with river water.
Silent in the basket,
Grand black oysters
Open the tales wet,
Unknown to the humans.
poem by Fabiyas M V
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Town Girls Dream
she was a litle town girl with a common name
a little town girl seeking fortune and fame.
she would do what ever her agent said
including with him going to bed.
she said that nothing would get in her way
and to an audience she would play.
she had the voice of an angel so rare
and with the world she wanted to share.
she was a little town singer
a MARILYN MONROE ringer.
her beauty like her voice
would capture the hearts of men
and take her to her journeys end.
realizing that there are so many who
would abuse, which one should she choose?
starting to feel hurt, lonely, depressed
she went to a church that she heard
voices of beauty filling the air
walked in and started to stare.
for in the church no one was there.
but the voices continued to sing
and filled her heart with strange emotions
and she raised her voice in devotion.
her voice so beautiful
that it resouded through out the town
that people left their homes to follow the sound.
then they saw this girl with her back to the crowd
looking up at the cross, with her
arms outstretched to her sides.
singing HALELUJAH ON HIGH.
her voice touching all that stood there
a voice which was beyond compare.
the people joined in and started to sing
startled and in dismay, she turned and tried to run away.
but the people stopped her at the door
and begged her to stay
and fell to their knees and began to pray.
seeing this she got choked up inside.
for now the choice was no longer hers
but of the LORD, who gave her this voice
for the world to see.
that in GOSPEL, she was meant to be.
she raised her voice once again.
now who do you think this is my friend?
poem by Louis Rams
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Fruit Together
A plum went to market
to buy some grapes,
everyone was was there
that day.
They didn't come
just to play.
Fruit was what
they needed most.
The apple came
to buy some pears,
Pears came to
buy some apples.
They ended up
buying each other.
What a fix,
so fruity was it.
Everyone went home
that day,
so they could all
make some fruit pies.
What a site this
was, seeing each
one making pies out,
of each other,
somehow pies
were made this
day, you ask
How was this done?
you figure it out,
I just wrote
the poem.
wrote 4-14-07
Rejected
Alas ! I have lost my God,
My beautiful God Apollo.
Wherever his footsteps trod
My feet were wont to follow.
But Oh ! it fell out one day
My soul was so heavy with weeping,
That I laid me down by the way ;
And he left me while I was sleeping.
And my soul awoke in the night,
And I bowed my ear for his fluting,
And I heard but the breath of the flight
Of wings and the night-birds hooting.
And night drank all her cup,
And I went to the shrine in the hollow,
And the voice of my cry went up :
' Apollo ! Apollo ! Apollo ! '
But he never came to the gate,
And the sun was hid in a mist,
And there came one walking late,
And I knew it was Christ,
He took my soul and bound it
With cords of iron wire,
Seven times round He wound it
With the cords of my desire.
The cords of my desire,
While my desire slept, ,
Were seven bands of wire
To bind my soul that wept.
And He hid my soul at last
In a place of stones and (ears,
Where the hours like days went past
And the days went by like years.
And after many days
That which had slept awoke,
And desire burnt in a blaze,
And my soul went up in the smoke.
And we crept away from the place
And would not look behind,
And the angel that hides his face
Was crouched on the neck of the wind.
And I went to the shrine in the hollow
Where the lutes and the flutes were playing,
And cried : ' I am come, Apollo,
Back to thy shrine, from my straying.'
But he would have none of my soul
That was stained with blood and with tears,
That had lain in the earth like a mole,
In the place of great stones and fears.
And now I am lost in the mist
Of the things that can never be,
For I will have none of Christ
And Apollo will none of me.
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Adopted
i was adopted at my birth, they paid my mother
what they thought it was worth. (medical bills)
she said that she could not care for me
she was too young and wanted to be free.
i was raised by two adoptive parents
who had loved me from the start.
and swore they would never break my heart.
they gave me all that i could want or desire
and their love grew like a flaming fire.
they were always honest with me
and they told me about my mothers plight
and with her parents, she did fight.
in her mind:
she knew that her mother had to give her away
but in her heart, she did pray.
mother! why did'nt you fight to keep me?
everyone is struggling in this economy.
you left without a sign or trace
and i want so much to see your face.
my loving adoptive parents told me from the start
that you had left, but with a broken heart.
every night i have a vision of you in my mind
and you're crying and asking why.
i've gotten permission to finally meet you
i'm so scared, i don't know what to do.
how will i react? what will i say?
so to the LORD i will pray.
when we finally met, we both broke down.
but they were tears of joy and happiness
that a mother and daughter share.
she kissed me and wiped away my tear.
she told me that it was the smartest move she made
for your adoptive parents, love you
more than words can say.
now i have two mothers with whom
i could share my love, and it was given
to me from the LORD up above.
poem by Louis Rams
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The Blessing
THE MASTER He was hungry:
‘Shall we not dine,’ said He,
‘On the good fruit amongst the leaves
Of this delightful tree?’
But oh! the fig-tree bore no fruit.
‘Wither,’ He bade it, ‘to the root,
For thus deceiving me.’
The Master He was hungry.
He plucked the grains so red
Of wheat that grew beside the way,
And He was bravely fed.
‘For this,’ He said, ‘I guerdon thee,
Through all the years, a type to be
Of Christ, the Living Bread.’
The Master He was thirsty.
He raised His hand on high,
And crushed the good red grapes that grew
The nearest to the sky.
‘And as thou gavest me drink of thine,
So must I pour my blood, O Vine,
When I for man shall die.’
The Master He was passing
From men He held so dear.
The feast with bread and wine was made;
The Friday Cross was near.
‘Droop not!’ He spoke, and blessed their food:
‘The broken Body and the Blood
Sustain you year by year.’
And corn and wine thenceforth have stood
His symbols everywhere.
poem by Mary Colborne-Veel
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Villanelle
Apollo left the golden Muse
And shepherded a mortal's sheep,
Theocritus of Syracuse!
To mock the giant swain that woo's
The sea-nymph in the sunny deep,
Apollo left the golden Muse.
Afield he drove his lambs and ewes,
Where Milon and where Battus reap,
Theocritus of Syracuse!
To watch thy tunny-fishers cruise
Below the dim Sicilian steep
Apollo left the golden Muse.
Ye twain did loiter in the dews,
Ye slept the swain's unfever'd sleep,
Theocritus of Syracuse!
That Time might half with HIS confuse
Thy songs,--like his, that laugh and leap, -
Theocritus of Syracuse,
Apollo left the golden Muse!
poem by Andrew Lang
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Let Us Pray
(words & music by b. kaye - b. weisman)
Come praise the lord for he is good
Mmm come join in love and brotherhood
Well hear the word and bring our gifts of bread and wine
And well be blessed beneath the sign
So let us pray together, pray together
Pray with the one mighty voice (heavenly voice)
And let us sing together, sing together
Pray and well rejoice (well rejoice)
When strangers reach out for your hand (for your hand)
Respond to them and understand (heaven obeyed to understand)
Well rise as one to calm the storm outside the gate (calm the storm)
With faith in him well never leave (never leave)
So let us pray together, pray together
Pray with the one mighty voice (heavenly voice)
And let us sing together, sing together
Pray and well rejoice (well rejoice)
(well rejoice)
The love of God is on our side (love is, love is on our side)
We have the strength to move the tide (well move the tide)
The world will say so, therell be peace and love for all (love for all)
And we must give our brothers love
So let us pray together, pray together
Pray with the one mighty voice (heavenly voice)
And let us sing together, sing together
Pray and well rejoice (well rejoice)
Love for all, love for all to the lord
Well rejoice love for all to the lord
Well rejoice love for all to the lord
Well rejoice for the lord
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unfaithfulness
When Thetis and Peleus got married
Apollo stood up at the sumptuous wedding feast
and blessed the bridal pair
for the son who would come from their union.
'Sickness will never visit him,' he said,
'and his life will be a long one.'
This pleased Thetis immensely:
the words of Apollo, expert in prophecies,
seemed a guarantee of security for her child.
And when Achilles grew up
and all Thessaly said how beautiful he was,
Thetis remembered the god's words.
But one day some elders came in with the news
that Achilles had been killed at Troy.
Thetis tore her purple robes,
pulled off rings, bracelets,
flung them to the ground.
And in her grief, remembering that wedding scene,
she asked what the wise Apollo was up to,
where was this poet who spouts
so eloquently at banquets, where was this prophet
when they killed her son in his prime?
And the elders answered that Apollo himself
had gone down to Troy
and with the Trojans had killed her son.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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The Tree of Liberty
WE’LL PLANT a Tree of Liberty
In the centre of the land,
And round it ranged as guardians be,
A vowed and trusty band;
And sages bold and mighty soul’d
Shall dress it day by day:
But woe unto the traitor who
Would break one branch away.
Then sing the Tree of Liberty
For the vow that we have made;
May it so flourish that when we
Are buried in its shade,
Fair Womanhood and Love and Good,
All pilgrims pure shall go
Its growth to bless for happiness—
O may it flourish so!
Till felled by gold as bards have told,
In the Old World once it grew,
But there its fruits were ever sold
And only to the Few:
But here at last, uncurs’d by caste,
Each man at Nature’s call
Shall pluck as well what none may sell,
The fruit that blooms for All.
By gold ’twas felled as bards have held
In the Old World where it grew,
But here the power that there dispelled
Its life shall be its dew:
The evil bout of Time is out,
And gold no more a thrall,
Shall here but build for Truth and gild
The fruit that blooms for All.
Then sing the Tree of Liberty,
And the men who shall defend
Its glorious future righteously
For this all-glorious end—
That happiness all men to bless
Out with its growth may grow—
Our Southern Tree of Liberty
Shall flourish even so!
poem by Charles Harpur
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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