The Lion Hunt
Mount -- mount for the hunting -- with musket and spear!
Call our friends to the field -- for the Lion is near!
Call Arend and Ekhard and Groepe to the spoor;
Call Muller and Coetzer and Lucas Van Vuur.
Ride up Eildon-Cleugh, and blow loudly the bugle:
Call Slinger and Allie and Dikkop and Dugal;
And George with the elephant-gun on his shoulder --
In a perilous pinch none is better or bolder.
In the gorge of the glen lie the bones of my steed,
And the hoofs of a heifer of fatherland's breed:
But mount, my brave boys! if our rifles prove true,
We'll soon make the spoiler his ravages rue.
Ho! the Hottentot lads have discovered the track --
To his den in the desert we'll follow him back;
But tighten your girths, and look well to your flints,
For heavy and fresh are the villain's foot-prints.
Through the rough rocky kloof into grey Huntly-Glen,
Past the wild-olive clump where the wolf has his den,
By the black-eagle's rock at the foot of the fell,
We have tracked him at length to the buffalo's well.
Now mark yonder brake where the blood-hounds are howling;
And hark that hoarse sound -- like the deep thunder growling;
'Tis his lair -- 'tis his voice! -- from your saddles alight;
He's at bay in the brushwood preparing for fight.
Leave the horses behind -- and be still every man:
Let the Mullers and Rennies advance in the van:
Keep fast in your ranks; -- by the yell of yon hound,
The savage, I guess, will be out -- with a bound.
He comes! the tall jungle before him loud crashing,
His mane bristled fiercely, his fiery eyes flashing;
With a roar of disdain, he leaps forth in his wrath,
To challenge the foe that dare 'leaguer his path.
He couches -- ay now we'll see mischief, I dread:
Quick -- level your rifles -- and aim at his head:
Thrust forward the spears, and unsheath every knife --
St. George! he's upon us! -- Now, fire, lads, for life!
He's wounded -- but yet he'll draw blood ere he falls --
Ha! under his paw see Bezuidenhout sprawls --
Now Diederik! Christian! right in the brain
Plant each man his bullet -- Hurra! he is slain!
Bezuidenhout -- up man! -- 'tis only a scratch --
(You were always a scamp, and have met with your match!)
What a glorious lion! -- what sinews -- what claws --
And seven-feet-ten from the rump to the jaws!
His hide, with the paws and the bones of his skull,
With the spoils of the leopard and buffalo bull,
We'll send to Sir Walter. -- Now, boys, let us dine,
And talk of our deeds o'er a flask of old wine.
poem by Thomas Pringle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Fight With A Bear
The following appeared in Truth in the form of a prose tale of
considerable length. We have concentrated the essence
thereof into the few verses below. It is a tale of the
Canadian North-West, during the times of the Hudson
Bay Company's rule.
Two youths, employed at the fur fort,
Resolved to have half-day of sport ;
From Jasper House, in the far north,
For game, they joyous issued forth.
The factor of the Hudson Bay
Granted them a few hours' play,
And it was in cold winter time,
When thick on lake was glassy rime ;
But beneath, o'er all their route,
They saw below big speckled trout.
With hatchet, ice they did clear
And the beauteous trout did spear,
For they were longing for a dish
Of this sweet and savory fish,
And they caught many, too, with bait,
For in the day it was not late,
But it was cloudy with snow storm ;
Yet they saw the noble form,
While the hurricane did blow,
Of a fine, noble buffalo,
So they resolved to have a treat
Of the delicious buffalo meat ;
But he did on his haunches rear-
To their surprise it was a bear.
The lake being smooth, the youths did skate,
Resolved for to seal his fate;
A pistol shot made bruin roar,
And from him trickled drops of gore.
They round him skate, and fresh blood drew
When they at him the hatchet threw ;
He chased one and then the other,
For men on skates did him bother.
But the bold Scottish lad, McBeath,
Alas ! he nearly met his death,
When he so boldly did press near
To probe him with the sharp fish spear,
For with fell swoop the paws of bruin
To him they almost did bring ruin ;
But he so dexterously did skate
That he escaped such horrid fate.
And now they skated back to fort
For aid for to renew the sport,
They knew their game was no trifle
So they secured a trusty rifle.
Returning he had fled to wood,
But they tracked him with his blood,
For they did not yet despair
But that they would capture bear.
They saw the elder bushes sway
While he did force through them his way,
And heard the brushwood loudly snap,
Where he went through he left a gap.
They skated swiftly o 'er the ice
And were near brushwood in a trice ;
Full soon the savage beast is slain,
With rifle bullet in his brain.
And now these hunters do take pride
In skin as large as buffalo hide,
For Indian stripped the skin of bear
And left the carcass in his lair.
poem by James McIntyre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lion's Roar
In the jungle, a lion's roar,
Loud rumbling from it's core.
Magnificent mane of golden brown,
He is a king but wears no crown.
Predator and enemy they have two,
Human hunters, Hyenas too.
The lion and his lioness pride,
If you cross them, run, don't hide.
The roar of a Lion,
The rolling sound of thunder,
The chase of a Lion,
His prey runs asunder.
The Lion's roar is his symbol,
Of Strength, Of Leadership, Of pride,
The raw Roar sound is tribal,
His pride, so true, abide.
Fight of A Buffalo with Wolves
We were so deeply impressed with the courage displayed by a buffalo
in a prose tale that we transposed the description into verse.
A buffalo, lord of the plain,
With massive neck and mighty mane,
While from his herd he slowly strays,
He on green herbage calm doth graze ;
And when at last he lifts his eyes,
A savage wolf he soon espies ;
But scarcely deigns to turn his head,
For it inspires him with no dread.
He knows the wolf is treacherous foe,
But feels he soon could lay him low.
A moment more, and there's a pair,
Whose savage eyes do on him glare ;
But with contempt them both he scorns,
Unworthy of his powerful horns.
Their numbers soon do multiply,
But the whole pack he doth defy ;
He could bound quickly o'er the plain,
And his own herd could soon regain.
His foes they now are full a score,
With lolling tongues pant for his gore ;
He hears their teeth all loudly gnash,
So eager his big bones to crash.
On every side they him infest,
The north, the south, the east, the west ;
Fierce rage doth now gleam from his eye,
Resolved to conquer or to die.
'Round him they yelp and howl and growl,
He glares on them with angry scowl ;
They circle closer him around,
He roars and springs with mighty bound ;
And of his power gives ample proof,
Felling them with horn and hoof.
Though some lay dead upon the plain,
Yet their attack was not in vain,
For they have tasted of his blood,
Resolved it soon shall pour a flood.
He feels that they have torn his hide,
And streams gush from each limb and side ;
He rushes on them in despair
And tosses them full high in air.
But others rush on him and pull
Down to the earth that glorious bull ;
On the flesh of this noble beast,
Their bloody jaws they soon do feast.
Full worthy of a better fate,
Far from his herd and his dear mate ;
And they do look for him in vain,
His bones do whiten now the plain.
poem by James McIntyre
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Makanna's Gathering
Wake! Amakósa, wake!
And arm yourselves for war.
As coming winds the forest shake,
I hear a sound from far:
It is not thunder in the sky,
Nor lion's roar upon the hill,
But the voice of HIM who sits on high,
And bids me speak his will!
He bids me call you forth,
Bold sons of Káhabee,
To sweep the White Men from the earth,
And drive them to the sea:
The sea, which heaved them up at first,
For Amakósa's curse and bane,
Howls for the progeny she nurst,
To swallow them again.
Hark! 'tis UHLANGA'S voice
From Debè's mountain caves!
He calls you now to make your choice --
To conquer or be slaves:
To meet proud Amanglézi's guns,
And fight like warriors nobly born:
Or, like Umláo's feeble sons,
Become the freeman's scorn.
Then come, ye Chieftains bold,
With war-plumes waving high;
Come, every warrior young and old,
With club and assagai.
Remember how the spoiler's host
Did through our land like locusts range!
Your herds, your wives, your comrades lost --
Remember -- and revenge!
Fling your broad shields away --
Bootless against such foes;
But hand to hand we'll fight to-day,
And with their bayonets close.
Grasp each man short his stabbing spear --
And, when to battle's edge we come,
Rush on their ranks in full career,
And to their hearts strike home!
Wake! Amakósa, wake!
And muster for the war:
The wizard-wolves from Keisi's brake,
The vultures from afar,
Are gathering at UHLANGA'S call,
And follow fast our westward way --
For well they know, ere evening-fall,
They shall have glorious prey!
poem by Thomas Pringle
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The Hunters Of Men
HAVE ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men?
The lords of our land to this hunting have gone,
As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn;
Hark! the cheer and the hallo! the crack of the whip,
And the yell of the hound as he fastens his grip!
All blithe are our hunters, and noble their match,
Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch.
So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men!
Gay luck to our hunters! how nobly they ride
In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride!
The priest with his cassock flung back on the wind,
Just screening the politic statesman behind;
The saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayer,
The drunk and the sober, ride merrily there.
And woman, kind woman, wife, widow, and maid,
For the good of the hunted, is lending her aid:
Her foot's in the stirrup, her hand on the rein,
How blithely she rides to the hunting of men!
Oh, goodly and grand is our hunting to see,
In this 'land of the brave and this home of the free.'
Priest, warrior, and statesman, from Georgia to Maine,
All mounting the saddle, all grasping the rein;
Right merrily hunting the black man, whose sin
Is the curl of his hair and the hue of his skin!
Woe, now, to the hunted who turns him at bay!
Will our hunters be turned from their purpose and prey?
Will their hearts fail within them? their nerves tremble, when
All roughly they ride to the hunting of men?
Ho! alms for our hunters! all weary and faint,
Wax the curse of the sinner and prayer of the saint.
The horn is wound faintly, the echoes are still,
Over cane-brake and river, and forest and hill.
Haste, alms for our hunters! the hunted once more
Have turned from their flight with their backs to the shore:
What right have they here in the home of the white,
Shadowed o'er by our banner of Freedom and Right?
Ho! alms for the hunters! or never again
Will they ride in their pomp to the hunting of men!
Alms, alms for our hunters! why will ye delay,
When their pride and their glory are melting away?
The parson has turned; for, on charge of his own,
Who goeth a warfare, or hunting, alone?
The politic statesman looks back with a sigh,
There is doubt in his heart, there is fear in his eye.
Oh, haste, lest that doubting and fear shall prevail,
And the head of his steed take the place of the tail.
Oh, haste, ere he leave us! for who will ride then,
For pleasure or gain, to the hunting of men?
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Spanked
Heh!
Im all feed up, watchin tv
Some place to feast my eyes, oh
I always drift on commercials, yeah yeah
This one blew my mind, oh
Hey, tell me who youre gonna call, when you need that affection
You got to have it quick (got to have it quick)
There just aint no love line in her direction, oh
All you bad bad boys - call her up on the spank line, ah yeah
All you bad bad boys - call her up on the spank line, uh, whoa, aw
Three dollars, first minute, gosh, man, after that, it cost ya four
And shell be up for negotiations, if you call back for more
Now who youre gonna call when you need that special (special) little something
You can say what you like, its all confidential, oh
All you bad bad boys - call her up on the spank line, huh
All you bad bad boys - call her up on the spank line, whoa
(solo)
Hey!
All you bad bad boys - with your mind blown
All you bad bad boys - got one man horny, spanked
All you bad bad boys - call her up on the spank line, ah, hey
All you bad bad boys - call her up on the spank line, uh
All you bad bad boys - yeah, its a spank line, ha ha ha ha
All you bad bad boys - just call her up, call her up
One man horny, spanked
All you bad bad boys - one man horny, spanked, bad bad bad boys
All you bad bad boys - just call her up, its a spank line
song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Take Your Freedom
Take your freedom
If you dare oppose the virulent ogre
In the blood spilling lair
Amidst thorns and thistles.
Take your freedom
From the lion's den
Through the fire of repression
Out of the jaws of death.
Freedom so won
From the fiery tongs of battle
In a perilous struggle
Forever remains a treasure
To be fiercely guarded.
poem by Influence Salubi
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The Wild Huntsman
The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn,
To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo!
His fiery courser snuffs the morn,
And thronging serfs their lord pursue.
The eager pack, from couples freed,
Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake;
While answering hound, and horn, and steed,
The mountain echoes startling wake.
The beams of God's own hallow'd day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, called sinful man to pray,
Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd:
But still the Wildgrave onward rides;
Halloo, halloo! and, hark again!
When, spurring from opposing sides,
Two Stranger Horsemen join the train.
Who was each Stranger, left and right,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell;
The right-hand steed was silver white,
The left, the swarthy hue of hell.
The right-hand Horseman, young and fair,
His smile was like the morn of May;
The left, from eye of tawny glare,
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.
He waved his huntsman's cap on high,
Cried, 'Welcome, welcome, noble lord!
What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,
To match the princely chase, afford?'-
'Cease thy loud bugle's changing knell,'
Cried the fair youth, with silver voice;
'And for devotion's choral swell,
Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise.
'To-day, the ill-omen'd chase forbear,
Yon bell yet summons to the fane;
To-day the Warning Spirit hear,
To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain.'-
'Away, and sweep the glades along!'
The Sable Hunter hoarse replies;
'To muttering monks leave matin-song
And bells, and books, and mysteries.'
The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed,
And, launching forward with a bound,
'Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede,
Would leave the jovial horn and hound?
'Hence, if our manly sport offend!
With pious fools go chant and pray:-
Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend;
Halloo, halloo! and, hark away!'
The Wildgrave spurr'd his courser light,
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill;
And on the left and on the right,
Each Stranger Horseman follow'd still.
Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn,
A stag more white than mountain snow;
A louder rung the Wildgrave's horn,
'Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!'
A heedless wretch has cross'd the way;
He gasps the thundering hoofs below;-
But, live who can, or die who may,
Still, 'Forward, forward!' on they go.
See, where yon simple fences meet,
A field with Autumn's blessings crown'd;
See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet,
A husbandman with toil embrown'd:
'O mercy, mercy, noble lord!
Spare the poor's pittance,' was his cry,
'Earn'd by the sweat these brows have pour'd,
In scorching hour of fierce July.'-
Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads,
The left still cheering to the prey;
The impetuous Earl no warning heeds,
But furious holds the onward way.
'Away, thou hound! so basely born,
Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!'-
Then loudly rung his bugle-horn,
'Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!'
So said, so done: - A single bound
Clears the poor labourer's humble pale;
Wild follows man, and horse, and hound,
Like dark December's stormy gale.
And man and horse, and hound and horn,
Destructive sweep the field along;
While, joying o'er the wasted corn,
Fell Famine marks the maddening throng.
Again uproused, the timorous prey
Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill;
Hard run, he feels his strength decay,
And trusts for life his simple skill.
Too dangerous solitude appear'd;
He seeks the shelter of the crowd;
Amid the flock's domestic herd
His harmless head he hopes to shroud.
O'er moss and moor, and holt and hilt,
His track the steady blood-hounds trace;
O'er moss and moor, unwearied still,
The furious Earl pursues the chase.
Full lowly did the herdsman fall; -
'O spare, thou noble Baron, spare
These herds, a widow's little all;
These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care!'-
Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads,
The left still cheering to the prey;
The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds,
But furious keeps the onward way.
'Unmanner'd dog! To stop my sport
Vain were thy cant and beggar whine,
Though human spirits, of thy sort,
Were tenants of these carrion kine!'-
Again he winds his bugle-horn,
'Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!'
And through the herd, in ruthless scorn,
He cheers his furious hounds to go.
In heaps the throttled victims fall;
Down sinks their mangled herdsman near;
The murderous cries the stag appal,-
Again he starts, new-nerved by fear.
With blood besmear'd, and white with foam,
While big the tears of anguish pour,
He seeks, amid the forest's gloom,
The humble hermit's hallow'd bower.
But man and horse, and horn and hound,
Fast rattling on his traces go;
The sacred chapel rung around
With, 'Hark away! and, holla, ho!'
All mild, amid the rout profane,
The holy hermit pour'd his prayer;
'Forbear with blood God's house to stain;
Revere his altar, and forbear!
'The meanest brute has rights to plead,
Which, wrong'd by cruelty, or pride,
Draw vengeance on the ruthless head:-
Be warn'd at length, and turn aside.'
Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads;
The Black, wild whooping, points the prey:-
Alas! the Earl no warning heeds,
But frantic keeps the forward way.
'Holy or not, or right or wrong,
Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn;
Not sainted martyr's sacred song,
Not God himself, shall make me turn!'
He spurs his horse, he winds his horn,
'Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!'-
But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne,
The stag, the hut, the hermit, go.
And horse and man, and horn and hound,
And clamour of the chase, was gone;
For hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound,
A deadly silence reign'd alone.
Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around;
He strove in vain to wake his horn,
In vain to call: for not a sound
Could from his anxious lips be borne.
He listens for his trusty hounds;
No distant baying reach'd his ears:
His courser, rooted to the ground,
The quickening spur unmindful bears.
Still dark and darker frown the shades,
Dark as the darkness of the grave;
And not a sound the still invades,
Save what a distant torrent gave.
High o'er the sinner's humbled head
At length the solemn silence broke;
And, from a cloud of swarthy red,
The awful voice of thunder spoke.
'Oppressor of creation fair!
Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool!
Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor!
The measure of thy cup is full.
'Be chased for ever through the wood;
For ever roam the affrighted wild;
And let thy fate instruct the proud,
God's meanest creature is his child.'
'Twas hush'd: - One flash, of sombre glare,
With yellow tinged the forests brown;
Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling hair,
And horror chill'd each nerve and bone.
Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill;
A rising wind began to sing;
And louder, louder, louder still,
Brought storm and tempest on its wing.
Earth heard the call;- her entrails rend;
From yawning rifts, with many a yell,
Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend
The misbegotten dogs of hell.
What ghastly Huntsman next arose,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell;
His eye like midnight lightning glows,
His steed the swarthy hue of hell.
The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn,
With many a shriek of helpless woe;
Behind him hound, and horse, and horn,
And, 'Hark away, and holla, ho!'
With wild despair's reverted eye,
Close, close behind, he marks the throng,
With bloody fangs and eager cry;
In frantic fear he scours along.-
Still, still shall last the dreadful chase,
Till time itself shall have an end;
By day, they scour earth's cavern'd space,
At midnight's witching hour, ascend.
This is the horn, and hound, and horse,
That oft the lated peasant hears;
Appall'd, he signs the frequent cross,
When the wild din invades his ears.
The wakeful priest oft drops a tear
For human pride, for human woe,
When, at his midnight mass, he hears
The infernal cry of, 'Holla, ho!'
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Yonder he Goes!
Always our fathers were hunters, lords of the pitiless spear,
Chasing in English woodlands the wild white ox and the deer,
Feeling the edge of their knife-blades, trying the pull of their bows,
At a sudden foot in the forest thrilling to ' Yonder he goes ! '
Safe for the space of a summer the cubs may tumble and play,
Boldly from April to August the dog-fox chooses his way;
But soon as the beech leaf reddens, soon as the chill wind blows,
He must steal, cat-foot, listening, ready for' Yonder he goes ! '
The sound of a horn in the bracken, the sound of a cheer in the ride;
Fourteen couple running for blood as though to the I brush of him tied!
Fourteen couple screaming for blood, and every hound of them knows
This is his right from the ages - the heart-stirring ‘ Yonder he goes!'
Not for the lust of killing, not for the places of pride,
Not for the hate of the hunted we English saddle and ride,
But because in the gift of our fathers the blood in our veins that flows
Must answer for ever and ever the challenge of ‘Yonder he goes !’
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Hunting Song of the Seeonee Pack
As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled
Once, twice, and again!
And a doe leaped up -- and a doe leaped up
From the pond in the wood where the wild deer sup.
This I, scouting alone, beheld,
Once, twice, and again!
As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled
Once, twice, and again!
And a wolf stole back -- and a wolf stole back
To carry the word to the waiting Pack;
And we sought and we found and we bayed on his track
Once, twice, and again!
As the dawn was breaking the Wolf-pack yelled
Once, twice, and again!
Feet in the jungle that leave no mark!
Eyes that can see in the dark -- the dark!
Tongue -- give tongue to it! Hark! O Hark!
Once, twice, and again!
His spots are the joy of the Leopard: his horns are the Buffalo's pride --
Be clean, for the strength of the hunter is known by the gloss of his hide.
If ye find that the Bullock can toss you, or the heavy-browed Sambhur can gore;
Ye need not stop work to inform us; we knew it ten seasons before.
Oppress not the cubs of the stranger, but hail them as Sister and Brother,
For though they are little and fubsy, it may be the Bear is their mother.
"There is none like to me!" says the Cub in the pride of his earliest kill;
But the Jungle is large and the Cub he is small. Let him think and be still.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Frog and the Lion
A LITTLE FROG WENT OUT ONE DAY
TO HAVE A FROGGIE WALK,
HE SAW A LION ON HIS WAY
AND STOPPED TO HAVE A TALK.
AND THEN THE LION SAID TO HIM,
THERE’S FLIES UPON MY BACK,
AND I AM FEELING PRETTY GRIM
WHILE STANDING IN THIS TRACK.
SO IF YOU CLIMB ABOARD MY FRIEND,
YOU’LL HAVE A LOVELY FEED,
I’LL FLICK MY TAIL SO I CAN SEND
THE FLIES TO FILL YOUR NEED.
SO FROGGIE CLIMED ON LION’S BACK
AND ATE AND ATE AND ATE,
AND LION STOOD UPON THE TRACK
TO WAIT AND WAIT AND WAIT.
ONE DAY LION LOOKED AT FROG
AND SAW HIS EYES WERE DIM,
THEN LET HIM DOWN INTO THE BOG
SO HE COULD HAVE A SWIM.
AND THEN THE FROG CAME BACK AGAIN
THE LION TO ATTEND.
HE CLIMBED BACK IN THE LIONS MANE,
THE LION WAS HIS FRIEND.
AS TIME WENT BY THE FROG GOT FAT.
AND LION WAITED ON.
THEN FROG WAS EATEN BY THAT CAT,
AND SO THE FROG WAS GONE.
THE FROGGIE IN THE LION,
JUST SCHRIVLED RIGHT AWAY.
THE FROG WAS FULL OF POISON.
THE LION DIED THAT DAY.
THE MORAL OF THIS STORY.
IS TWOFOLD, LISTEN ON.
JUST BE VERY CAREFULL,
BEFORE YOUR DAYS ARE GONE.
CHOOSE YOU VERY WISELY
THE FRIENDS WITH WHOM YOU GREET.
AND DON’T BE LIKE THE LION.
BE CAREFULL WHAT YOU EAT
poem by George Savige
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GOD's Elephant - Beating Back The Lion...
GOD Pulled The Lion’s Teeth
GOD Crushed The Lion’s Claws
GOD Took The Lion’s Roar
… and made it very small
GOD Tore Off The Lion’s Tail
GOD Cut The Lion’s Mane
‘Til The Lion’s Voracious Voice
Became Lame and Tamed … and Shamed
Because That Lion Was A Coward
That Crazed Lion Was A Bully
Looking Only For The Weak
To Feast On Them Fully
Not Because It Was Hungry
Not Because It Was In Need
Terror Became Its Creed
Because Its Favorite Taste … Was Greed
It Was The Nature Of That Beast
To Be The Enemy Of My Peace
But GOD Changed Me Into An Elephant
When GOD Saw Me On My Knees
That Lion Chose Me As Victim
It Thought I’d Be Irrelevant
Because It Had No Idea …
I’d Become GOD’ Elephant
… I Am One Of GOD’s Messengers
Hear Me Trumpet HIS Sound
See How Christian Courage Charge
and Shake Lions Underground
See My Ivory Tusks Of Hope
Raised High In Silhouette Moonlight
Gleaming As I Spoke
My Prayers Thru Every Night
See My Ears So Huge To Cool
Fiery Heat That Must Come
Caressing My Full Faith Form
As Heart Beats A Thunder-Drum
GOD Gave Me Wings Of The Wind
GOD Gave Me Echoes Of The Sea
Gave Me A Stand Like A Snowcapped Mountain
And A Trunk Like A Baobab Tree
Yes … GOD Gave Me Two Lightning Spears
GOD Gave Me Two Winged Shields
GOD Gave Me An Earth-Arced Back
To Fearlessly Bear HIS Will …
As GOD Watches Over My Rivers
GOD Guards My Misty Rainbow
GOD Has Shone On All My Dawns
and All Victories Over My Foes …
… and The Lions Came With Stealth
Fierce Lions Came Every Hour
They Thought This Prey Would Cower
While This Pachyderm, They’d Devour
Lions Came With Uncanny Power
They Came With Their Pride Of Lions
But Snarls & Snaps Were No Match
For The Song-Sung To Heavenly Zion
and GOD Cracked The Lion’s Jaw
GOD Strangled The Lion’s Throat
GOD Took The Meat Out Of Its Mouth
and Tore The Tongue Out Of Its Gloat
GOD Sapped The Lion’s Strength
GOD Broke The Lion’s Back
and Thru A Million Stars … I Will Tell
How GOD … Stopped The Lions’ Attack
I Am GOD’s Elephant
The One They Came To Ingest
and Tho’ They Jumped & Scratched & Bit
I Shook Lions Off Like Insects
Yes, I Shook Lions Off My Back
I Turned Their Roars Around
I Hurled It Back In Their Faces
and Stomped Them Below – Down
… Those Lions Say There Is No God
Yet, They Worship Their Belly and Dollars
They’ll Wish They Hunted For The Truth
When They Starve In Their Lair Of Liars
Those Lions Claim There Is No God
As They Bow Down and Feed On Other Things
They Are On The Prowl As Thieves
Trying To Steal Crowns From Kings
and GOD Himself Will Come Free Us
From The World’s Ring-Master’s Circus
and Lead Us To A Land So Lush
Where Footpads Can Again Grow Plush
… I March Thru Jungles Of Jericho
My Huge Head Is Shaking To and ‘Fro
Listen To My Blessed Bellow
Which Made Lions Sound Like Mosquitoes
Because I Am GOD’s Elephant
The Lions Will Learn Not To Push
For You Can’t Move Or Make Bent Or Rush
A Big Believer From The Burning Bush
I Am GOD’s Elephant
Behemoth Brave, Yet Delicate
My Mammoth Memory Will Not Forget
… That I Am GOD’s Elephant
To Holy Water I Journey To Make It
Then Even My Burial Mound Will Be Sacred
No Predator Nor Poacher Can Take It
Our Graveyard, GOD Won’t Forsake It …
I Am GOD’s Elephant
I Hold A Memory For GOD’s Wrath To Come
I Am GOD’s Elephant
My Trumpet Sounds Forth To Warn
I Am GOD’s Elephant
I’m Calling Out My Testament
and A Portrait Of An Elephant
Is On My Crest To Time Indefinite …
From The Ancient Of Days
To Future Events
I Do Admit
I Am GOD’s Elephant
and GOD Pulled The Lion’s Teeth
GOD Crushed The Lion’s Claws
GOD Took The Lion’s Roar
… and made it very small
GOD Tore Off The Lion’s Tail
GOD Cut The Lion’s Mane
‘Til The Lion’s Voracious Voice
Became Lame and Tamed … and Shamed
… Before & For HIS Elephant …
Written & ©: 7/26/10
By: The MoonBee
poem by MoonBee Canady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be A Lion
(charlie smalls)
There is a place well go
Where there is mostly quiet
Flowers and butterflies
A rainbow lives beside it
And from a velvet sky
A summer storm
You can feel the coolness in the air
But youre still warm
And then a mighty roar
Will start the sky to cryin
But not even lightning
Will be frightening my lion
And with no fear inside
No need to run
No need to hide
Youre standing strong and tall
Youre the bravest of them all
If on courage you must call
Then just keep on tryin
And tryin, and tryin
Youre a lion
In your own way, be a lion
Come on be a lion
I am standing strong and tall
Youre the bravest of them all
If on courage you must call
Keep on tryin
And tryin, and tryin
Im a lion
In my own way
Im a lion
A lion
A lion
A lion
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Hallow's Eve
There's a graveyard down, beside the glen
near where the shop man dwells.
The woods are deep and none dare sleep
when the banshees scream and yell.
That's where two brothers lay a trap
to scare their sisters dear.
Their sisters, returning from the dance,
by twilight would be here.
Some bones they'd found
from some dead beast
long buried in the bog.
They'd lit a Candle in the Skull
and practiced moaning loud.
There's a graveyard down, beside the glen
near where the shop man dwells.
The woods are deep and none dare sleep
when the banshees scream and yell.
The girls returning from the dance
found not what you'd suppose:
Some scattered bones, some ashes
and their little brothers' clothes.
The town folk searched the hills for days
For Henry and his brother John
They never found the bodies
that were buried in the bog.
There's a graveyard down, beside the glen
near where the shop man dwells.
The woods are deep and none dare sleep
when the banshees scream and yell.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The wolf
Like a grey shadow lurking in the light,
He ventures forth along the edge of night;
With silent foot he scouts the coulie's rim
And scents the carrion awaiting him.
His savage eyeballs lurid with a flare
Seen but in unfed beasts which leave their lair
To wrangle with their fellows for a meal
Of bones ill-covered. Sets he forth to steal,
To search and snarl and forage hungrily;
A worthless prairie vagabond is he.
Luckless the settler's heifer which astray
Falls to his fangs and violence a prey;
Useless her blatant calling when his teeth
Are fast upon her quivering flank--beneath
His fell voracity she falls and dies
With inarticulate and piteous cries,
Unheard, unheeded in the barren waste,
To be devoured with savage greed and haste.
Up the horizon once again he prowls
And far across its desolation howls;
Sneaking and satisfied his lair he gains
And leaves her bones to bleach upon the plains.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be A Lion
There is a place well go,
Where there is mostly quiet;
Flowers and butterflies,
A rainbow lives beside it.
And from a velvet sky,
A summer storm;
You can feel the coolness in the air
But youre still warm,
And then a mighty roar
Will start the sky to cryin;
But not even lightening
Will be frightening to my lion.
And with no fear inside,
No need to run, no need to hide,
Youre standing strong and tall,
Youre the bravest of them all
If on courage we must call,
Then just keep on tryin
And tryin and tryin-
Youre a lion,
In your own way, be a lion.
Come on, be a lion!
Im standing strong and tall!
Youre the bravest of them all!
If on courage you must call-
Keep on trying and...
Trying and trying...
Im a lion!
In my own way, Im a lion!
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tiger Man
(words & music by lewis - burns)
I am the king of the jungle
They call me the tiger man
I am the king of the jungle
They call me tiger man
If you cross my path
You take your own life in your hands
Yeah, I get up on a mountain
And I call my black cat back
Yeah, I get up on a mountain
And I call my black cat back
My black cat comes a runnin
And the hound dogs get way back
Yeah, I get up on a mountain
And I call my black cat back
Yeah, I get up on a mountain
And I call my black cat back
My black cat comes a runnin
And the hound dogs get way back
Yeah, I get up on a mountain
And I call my black cat back
Yeah, I get up on a mountain
And I call my black cat back
My black cat comes a runnin
And the hound dogs get way back
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bullet
I like that,
(laughs) I saw how you did that scott (laughs)
Like whats his name there
Drummer of 15 drums there
Whats his name?
Excuse me now Ive got a call
Ill take this call from valhalla*
Please tell my friends from outer space
You are my son youll take my place
And if the revolution comes
Ive got some good friends there
Take my place after all you are my son
You take the moon Ill take the sun
And by the way if the revolution comes
Please take my rifles and take my guns
A single bullet loaded in each one
And if you dont like my melody
Ill sing it in a major key
Ill sing it very happily
And if
Everybody is
All aboard
Lets take it back
To that minor chord
You are my son youll take my place
Be still my friends from outer space
Ill take this call from valhalla
Excuse me now I got a call
Ive got some good friends there
Revolution comes
A single bullet loaded in each one
Please take my rifles and take my guns
And by the way
If the revolution comes
Take my rifles
Take my guns
You take my place because you are my son
Excuse me now Ill take the sun
Ill take my place in valhalla
And if the revolution comes
Please take my guns
*(viking heaven)
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad Boys
(myles goodwyn)
Published by northern goody two tunes, ltd./capac - ascap
I look out the window, see the fishes get the run-around
I tell the boys I gotta be movin on
Im tired of playin the game, the endings always the same
Odds are you wont last too long
I can see you, you cant see me
Dont feel shame no more
Im not here, youre not there
That I know for sure
Bad boys, they call us
Bad boys, they call us
Bad boys
Left on the street to fend for yourself
You do what you can to get by
The choice is run with the pack
You make a take on the sly
This time Ill go it alone
Im gonna make good on my own
No more of this foolish pride
I can see you, you cant see me
I dont care no more
Im not here, youre not there
That I know for sure
Bad boys, they call us
Bad boys, they call us
Bad boys
Dont wanna be in a cell
Dont wanna end up in hell
I know I dont like what I see
Dont want it to happen to me
I gotta get out of this town
No sense in hanging around
Time I found out what I want to be
Nobody wants to run, and nobody wants to hide
The moment of truth becomes a burning inside
Hey look at me, and youll see
How Ive changed my ways
Im not there, youre not here
Wont have people say
Bad boys, bad boys
Bad boys, see how they run
Bad boys, they call us
Bad boys, they call us
Bad boys, see how they run
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Riding of the Rebel
He was the Red Creek overseer, a trusted man and true,
Whose shoulder never left the wheel when there was work to do;
Through all the day he rode the run, and when the lights grew dim
The sweetest wife that ever loved would wait and watch for him.
She brought him dower of golden hair and eyes of laughing blue,
Stout heart and cunning bridle-hand to guide the mulga through;
And when the mob was mustered from the box flats far and wide
She loved to mount the wildest colts that no one else would ride.
And once it chanced a wayward steed, half-mouthed and roughly broke,
Denied the touch of gentle hand and gentler words she spoke,
And, plunging forward like the ship that feels the autumn gales,
He reared and lost his footing and fell backwards on the rails.
Her husband bent above her with cold terror at his heart --
The form was still he loved so well, the wan lips would not part;
And all the day in trance she lay, but when the stars smiled down
He heard his name low-whispered and he claimed her still his own.
And afterwards he spoke his fear: 'Heart's love, if you should die! . . .
Unless you take our orders from some other man than I,
You shall never finger bridle, never mount on horse's back,
Till the outlaw on Glenidol is a broken lady's hack!'
There's an outlaw on Glenidol that is known through all the West,
And three men's lives are on his head, bold riders of the best;
The station lads have heard the sneer that travelled far and wide,
And flung the answering challenge: 'Come and teach us how to ride!'
Roll up, ye merry riders all, whose honour is to guard!
We've mustered up the ranges and the Rebel's in the yard,
His open mouth and stamping foot and keen eye flashing fire
Repeat the temper of his dam, the mettle of his sire.
Roll up, ye merry riders all, from hut and camp and town!
You'll have to stick like plaster when the stockyard rails go down.
But the boss will come down handsome, as the boss is wont to come,
To the first who brings The Rebel under spurs and greenhide home.
And the stockmen heard the challenge from the Cooper to the Bree,
And rode from hut and cattle-camp by one and two and three
To keep their horseman's honour clean and play a hero's part,
To best the bold Glenidol boys and break The Rebel's heart.
And Ruddy Neil, the breaker, from the Riverine came through
With all the latest breaking-gear and all the wiles he knew,
But ere the saddle was secured, before a girth was drawn,
The Rebel's forefoot split his skull -- they buried him at dawn!
Marora Mick, the half-caste, from the Flinders River came
To give the South-the-Border boys a lesson at the game;
But he got a roguish welcome when he entered New South Wales,
For The Rebel used his blood and brains to paint the stockyard rails!
And Mulga Jack came over from the Yuinburra side --
The horse was never foaled, they say, that Mulga could not ride;
With a mouth as hard as a miser's heart, a will like the Devil's own,
The Rebel made for the Stony Range, with the man who wouldn't be thrown;
The Rebel made for the Stony Range, where the plain and the scrub-land meet,
And the dead boughs cracked at his shoulder-blade, the stones leapt under his feet,
And the ragged stems of the gidyeas cut and tore as they blundered past . . .
And Jack lay cold in the sunset gold -- he had met with his match at last.
And once again the challenge rang, the bitterer for scorn,
And spoke the bold Glenidol boys, their jackets mutlga-torn:
'A week have we been hunting him and riding fast and hard
To give you all another chance -- The Rebel's in the yard!'
And the stockmen heard the challenge from the Cooper to the Bree;
But 'I'm getting old!' 'I'm getting stiff!' or 'I've a wife, you see!'
Came whispered to the border; and the horse they could not tame
Had saved Glenidol from disgrace and cleansed a sullied name.
But ere the reddening sun went down and night on the ranges broke
A stranger youth to the slip-rails rode, and fastened his horse and spoke
Softly and low, yet none so low but that every man there heard:
'I've come to tackle your outlaw colt,' -- and he looked as good as his word.
He bridled The Rebel in failing light, and saddled the colt and drew
The straps of his gearing doubly tight, and looked that his 'length' was true.
He mounted The Rebel and gave the word, and the clattering rails went down,
And the outlaw leapt at the open gate and into the shadows brown;
But he settled himself to the soothing voice and the touch of the fondling hand,
As it followed the curve of his arching neck from wither to forehead-band;
His flanks were wet with the fresh-sprung sweat, his shoulders lathered with foam,
And he bent to the bridle and played with the bit as he came at a canter home.
And the boys were dumb with wonder, and sat, and the Red Creek overseer
Was first to drop from the stockyard fence and give him a hearty cheer.
He raised his hat in answer and --- the golden hair floated free!
And the blue eyes lit with laughter as she shouted merrily:
'You can reach me down my bridle, give my girths and saddle back,
For the outlaw of Glenidol is a broken lady's hack!'
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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