The Song Of The Old Mother
I RISE in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
And the young lie long and dream in their bed
Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,
And their ~y goes over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:
While I must work because I am old,
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Rowers Chant
Row till the land dip 'neath
The sea from view.
Row till a land peep up,
A home for you.
Row till the mast sing songs
Welcome and sweet.
Row till the waves, out-stripped,
Give up dead beat.
Row till the sea-nymphs rise
To ask you why
Rowing you tarry not
To hear them sigh.
Row till the stars grow bright
Like certain eyes.
Row till the noon be high
As hopes you prize.
Row till you harbour in
All longing's port.
Row till you find all things
For which you sought.
poem by Thomas Sturge Moore
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The Rower's Chant
ROW till the land dip 'neath
The sea from view.
Row till a land peep up,
A home for you.
Row till the mast sing songs
Welcome and sweet,
Row till the waves, outstripped,
Give up, dead beat.
Row till the sea-nymphs rise
To ask you why
Rowing you tarry not
To hear them sigh.
Row till the stars grow bright
Like certain eyes.
Row till the noon be high
As hopes you prize.
Row till you harbour in
All longing's port.
Row till you find all things
For which you sought.
poem by Thomas Sturge Moore
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Keep The Fire
Theres a river in
Evening ember glow
And youre wishing you could see
How far it flows
Rolling on to an endless sea
Youd be well on your way
If you could only set sail.
But dreams can drift away
And sails can fill with doubt
Wheres your vision
If the embers flicker out?
Dont let it slip from view
The horizons are waiting
Your river is fading
(chorus)
So keep the fire burning tonight
See just what comes into sight
Dont take forever
Take it through the night
And believe the sun
Will rise with the dawn
Thats all you need to go on
But for tonight
Just keep the fire burning bright
I will never need to ask
What have I done?
Comes a moment when its clear
Theres only one.
Oh, whatever you need of me
Ive made up my mind
Ill give you more than youve asked for
And there are those who can foresee
Where we will go
All the future...
I dont really want to know
Only that youll be here with me.
While the embers still glow
Well be safe till tomorrow.
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Seed
The wind carried the seed
Into the air to who knows where
Across the weeds, floated the seed
Until to rest on the earth, which laid bare.
And then cried the seed upon the rise
Someday I, I will be a tree,
Liken my brothers, who will be like me
And I will grow to touch the sky.
The seed again journeyed upon the wind
Over the grass and wooded paths
Above the trees, cousins to him
Past the flowers who were his friends.
While he dreamed someday; he too would have many limbs.
The seed finally lighted upon the ground
From where he chose, so his mighty roots would grow
God will water me and give me light, he cried
He will also destroy my enemies and help me rise,
But then arrived a bird, who ate the seed.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Fire In The Sky
All alone in a sleepless night
Passing time with a runaway moon
talkin' to myself
Wishing I was somewhere else
It's been too long since I held you girl
Twice a thousand miles
But my heart won't beat alone
I need the love I left behind
Hold back the dawn awhile
This will all work out
Don't let this dream die
There's a fire in the sky
It's like the light in your eyes
Thinkin' of you
And I won't give up till your in my arms
Never give up till what's lost is found
Won't give up on your sweet, sweet love again
Now the night is dark with diamonds
And I'm standing inside the rain
Giving up your love
Was the worst mistake I made
There's a sound I hear in the distance
Seems it's calling out my name
Well I'll pay most any price
I just hope I'm not too late
Turn back the clock awhile
Things will all work out
That's what the dream is all about
There's a fire in the sky
It's like the light in your eyes
Oh, it's true
That I won't give up till your in my arms
Never give up till what's lost is found
Won't give up on your sweet, sweet love
Turn back the clock awhile
Things will all work out
That's what the dream is all about
I see a fire in the sky
Just like the light in your eyes
Thinkin' of you
That I won't give up till your in my arms
Never give up till what's lost is found
Won't give up on your sweet, sweet love
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Must Have Been The Roses
Annie laid her head down in the roses.
She had ribbons, ribbons, ribbons, in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
I dont know, it must have been the roses,
The roses or the ribbons in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
Ten years the waves roll the ships home from the sea,
Thinkin well how it may blow in all good company,
If I tell another what your own lips told to me,
Let me lay neath the roses, till my eyes no longer see.
I dont know, it must have been the roses,
The roses or the ribbons in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
One pane of glass in the window,
No one is complaining, no, come in and shut the door,
Faded is the crimson from the ribbons that she wore,
And its strange how no one comes round any more.
I dont know, it must have been the roses,
The roses or the ribbons in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
Annie laid her head down in the roses.
She had ribbons, ribbons, ribbons, in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Fires
The fire burns low
Where it has burned ages ago,
Sinks and sighs
As it has done to a hundred eyes
Staring, staring
At the last cold smokeless glow.
Here men sat
Lonely and watched the golden grate
Turn at length black;
Heard the cooling iron crack:
Shadows, shadows,
Watching the shadows come and go.
And still the hiss
I hear, the soft fire's sob and kiss,
And still it burns
And the bright gold to crimson turns,
Sinking, sinking,
And the fire shadows larger grow.
O dark-cheeked fire,
Wasting like spent heart's desire,
You that were gold,
And now crimson will soon be cold--
Cold, cold,
Like moon-shadows on new snow.
Shadows all,
They that watched your shadows fall.
But now they come
Rising around me, grave and dumb....
Shadows, shadows,
Come as the fire-shadows go.
And stay, stay,
Though all the fire sink cold as clay,
Whispering still,
Ancestral wise Familiars--till,
Staring, staring,
Dawn's wild fires through the casement glow.
poem by John Freeman
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A Woman's Mood
I THINK to-night I could bear it all,
Even the arrow that cleft the core,—
Could I wait again for your swift footfall,
And your sunny face coming in at the door.
With the old frank look and the gay young smile,
And the ring of the words you used to say;
I could almost deem the pain worth while,
To greet you again in the olden way!
But you stand without in the dark and cold,
And I may not open the long closed door,
Nor call thro’ the night, with the love of old,—
“Come into the warmth, as in nights of yore!”
I kneel alone in the red fire-glow,
And hear the wings of the wind sweep by;
You are out afar in the night, I know,
And the sough of the wind is like a cry.
You are out afar—and I wait within,
A grave-eyed woman whose pulse is slow;
The flames round the red coals softly spin,
And the lonely room’s in a rosy glow.
The firelight falls on your vacant chair,
And the soft brown rug where you used to stand;
Dear, never again shall I see you there,
Nor lift my head for your seeking hand.
Yet sometimes still, and in spite of all,
I wistful look at the fastened door,
And wait again for the swift footfall,
And the gay young voice as in hours of yore.
It still seems strange to be here alone,
With the rising sob of the wind without;
The sound takes a deep, insisting tone,
Where the trees are swinging their arms about.
Its moaning reaches the sheltered room,
And thrills my heart with a sense of pain;
I walk to the window, and pierce the gloom,
With a yearning look that is all in vain.
You are out in a night of depths that hold
No promise of dawning for you and me,
And only a ghost from the life of old
Has come from the world of memory!
You are out evermore! God wills it so!
But ah! my spirit is yearning yet!
As I kneel alone by the red fire-glow,
My eyes grow dim with the old regret.
O when shall the aching throb grow still,
The warm love-life turn cold at the core!
Must I be watching, against my will,
For your banished face in the opening door?
It may be, dear, when the sequel’s told
Of the story, read to its bitter close;
When the inner meanings of life unfold,
And the under-side of our being shows—
It may be then, in that truer light,
When all our knowledge has larger grown,
I may understand why you stray to-night,
And I am left, with the past, alone.
poem by Jenning Carmichael
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This Fire Is Just False
With the fire about to start,
I saw up high, and there were the stars.
I put more wood in, the fire was going.
As the heat rise, so did your name,
It screamed, and scream in my head.
I sat there paralyzed,
I wanted to know why,
Why is it that your name was on my mind?
You were there, and you are there,
I can't forget you, I just can't.
I want to be next to you,
Keeping you in my arms, feeling the warmth,
Like I did in front of the fire.
As the heat rise, you were there,
As I got warm your name was there.
All I'm trying to say is,
Your name is in my head.
And I on your way,
I'll move aside, get cold,
And forget your name was there.
Because this fire is just false,
I forgive you for trying to make me love you,
But I don't deserve you.
Dear friend I must say good-bye,
Even though, I hate to lie.
poem by Brando De La Cruz
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I Found Her Out There
I found her out there
On a slope few see,
That falls westwardly
To the sharp-edged air,
Where the ocean breaks
On the purple strand,
And the hurricane shakes
The solid land.
I brought her here,
And have laid her to rest
In a noiseless nest
No sea beats near.
She will never be stirred
In her loamy cell
By the waves long heard
And loved so well.
So she does not sleep
By those haunted heights
The Atlantic smites
And the blind gales sweep,
Whence she often would gaze
At Dundagel's far head,
While the dipping blaze
Dyed her face fire-red;
And would sigh at the tale
Of sunk Lyonnesse,
While a wind-tugged tress
Flapped her cheek like a flail;
Or listen at whiles
With a thought-bound brow
To the murmuring miles
She is far from now.
Yet her shade, maybe,
Will glide underground
Till it catch the sound
Of that western sea
As it swells and sobs
Where she once domiciled,
And joy in its throbs
With the heart of a child.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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A Woman's Mood
I think to-night I could bear it all,
Even the arrow that cleft the core, --
Could I wait again for your swift footfall,
And your sunny face coming in at the door.
With the old frank look and the gay young smile,
And the ring of the words you used to say;
I could almost deem the pain worth while,
To greet you again in the olden way!
But you stand without in the dark and cold,
And I may not open the long closed door,
Nor call thro' the night, with the love of old, --
"Come into the warmth, as in nights of yore!"
I kneel alone in the red fire-glow,
And hear the wings of the wind sweep by;
You are out afar in the night, I know,
And the sough of the wind is like a cry.
You are out afar -- and I wait within,
A grave-eyed woman whose pulse is slow;
The flames round the red coals softly spin,
And the lonely room's in a rosy glow.
The firelight falls on your vacant chair,
And the soft brown rug where you used to stand;
Dear, never again shall I see you there,
Nor lift my head for your seeking hand.
Yet sometimes still, and in spite of all,
I wistful look at the fastened door,
And wait again for the swift footfall,
And the gay young voice as in hours of yore.
It still seems strange to be here alone,
With the rising sob of the wind without;
The sound takes a deep, insisting tone,
Where the trees are swinging their arms about.
Its moaning reaches the sheltered room,
And thrills my heart with a sense of pain;
I walk to the window, and pierce the gloom,
With a yearning look that is all in vain.
You are out in a night of depths that hold
No promise of dawning for you and me,
And only a ghost from the life of old
Has come from the world of memory!
You are out evermore! God wills it so!
But ah! my spirit is yearning yet!
As I kneel alone by the red fire-glow,
My eyes grow dim with the old regret.
O when shall the aching throb grow still,
The warm love-life turn cold at the core!
Must I be watching, against my will,
For your banished face in the opening door?
It may be, dear, when the sequel's told
Of the story, read to its bitter close;
When the inner meanings of life unfold,
And the under-side of our being shows --
It may be then, in that truer light,
When all our knowledge has larger grown,
I may understand why you stray to-night,
And I am left, with the past, alone.
poem by Arthur Bayldon
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Feeble And Unworthy
Sometimes I glance beyond my dreams,
look upon the millions of distant stars
that blink at me from the dark heavens.
I then read the great philosophies
that line my filled bookshelves,
then suddenly I feel feeble and unworthy
whenever I lift my pen towards them.
I try to transcend my work
to cover most categories,
but always seem to be dragged back
to being the solitary of one.
Back to the humble beginnings
that swim around in my thoughts
haunting me again and again.
I strike out again and again
seeking new and uncharted directions
stumbling on and on to the end.
Another of my mile stones
that leaves me exhausted at the end
and glow no more than the previous,
leaving me looking at the greats
feeling feeble and unworthy.
One day I say to myself
my marker will enhance
the mantle crown I wish
and that will sit steadily on my head
and I will again look at the stars
blinking in the dark heavens
and this time smile back at them.
24 June 2012
poem by David Harris
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Hymn Of Throe
It's easy to try,
There's no use to cry
It's time to wipe the
Tears till dry
From fire to ashes
Gust of wind blow with howl
Wings of flame brings me fame
All I have are satchel of blames
Blow me cold,
Hold me still
Pills I have will make me ill
All I need is stains of grieve
Hymn of throe
Scud with thorns
Lift me up with
Rueful of hate
Slit me deep
Make me weep
Hymn of throe
Will repose me blithe
poem by Amir Amzah
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Paradise Seed
Where is the seed
Of the tree felled,
Of the forest burned,
Or living root
Under ash and cinders?
From woven bud
What last leaf strives
Into life, last
Shrivelled flower?
Is fruit of our harvest,
Our long labour
Dust to the core?
To what far, fair land
Borne on the wind
What winged seed
Or spark of fire
From holocaust
To kindle a star?
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
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I Am He
I am he,
Spoke the acorn to the tree
Said the flower to the seed
Replied the wind to the breeze
And standing up in awe
Stood an oak tree standing tall
And below his roots did lie
The acorn who did cry
That I am he.
Like the wind who fathers the breeze
Or the flower, who nourishes the seed
To grow up and be like he
I am he.
I am he said the father to the sky
And the stars in the night
To his son that he held
To become like himself
And I am he.
I am he
Said the raven to its young
And the bear to its cub
And the wind to the breeze
That I am he.
And looking up in belief
Lied an acorn from a tree
From which that it had fallen
Knowing he had been calling’
To be like he.
So, I am he
Like the father is the child
And the flower is the seed
The raindropp to the sea
I am he!
And he is me
Replied the oak tree to the seed.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Hanging Tree....
i took an axe
and cut down the hanging tree...
every blow a blow for
human decency, equality, and freedom.
and i sawed it up into logs,
and built a fire with them.
into the fire i threw
prejudice, hatred, greed, and apathy.
i watched it burn till
nohing was left but the
crackling of the embers...
even the wind grew still in prayer!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Seeds A Star/tree Medley
Were a people black as is your night
Born to spread ammas eternal light
Which since time began
Has been to bring truth to every man
Our ancestors have since long ago
Passed their wisdom down so we to know
For here lies the key
That will help unfold the mistery
A seeds a star
A seeds a stars a seed
A stars a seed
A stars a seeds a star
In myself I do contain
The elements of sun and rain
First a seed with roots that swell
I gradually burst through my shell
Pushing down into the ground
The root of me is homeward bound
A trunk, a leaf and there I am
A miracle of least by far
Tree - you are the longest living one we know
The largest of all plants and still you grow
Tree - within your branches theres such history
So much of what were searching for to know
Every fifty years we celebrate
Po tolo, our star, as it rotates
Though infinitely small
It is still the heaviest of them all
(background)
A seeds a star
A seeds a stars a seed
A stars a seed
A stars a seeds a star
A seeds a star
A seeds a stars a seed
A stars a seed
A stars a seeds a star
(background-simultaneous)
Ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
Kesse ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
Kesse ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
Kesse ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
And some believe antennas are their leaves
That spans beyond our galaxy
Theyve been, they are and probably will be
Who are the mediocrity
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dedication To Joseph Mazzini
Take, since you bade it should bear,
These, of the seed of your sowing,
Blossom or berry or weed.
Sweet though they be not, or fair,
That the dew of your word kept growing,
Sweet at least was the seed.
Men bring you love-offerings of tears,
And sorrow the kiss that assuages,
And slaves the hate-offering of wrongs,
And time the thanksgiving of years,
And years the thanksgiving of ages;
I bring you my handful of songs.
If a perfume be left, if a bloom,
Let it live till Italia be risen,
To be strewn in the dust of her car
When her voice shall awake from the tomb
England, and France from her prison,
Sisters, a star by a star.
I bring you the sword of a song,
The sword of my spirit's desire,
Feeble; but laid at your feet,
That which was weak shall be strong,
That which was cold shall take fire,
That which was bitter be sweet.
It was wrought not with hands to smite,
Nor hewn after swordsmiths' fashion,
Nor tempered on anvil of steel;
But with visions and dreams of the night,
But with hope, and the patience of passion,
And the signet of love for a seal.
Be it witness, till one more strong,
Till a loftier lyre, till a rarer
Lute praise her better than I,
Be it witness before you, my song,
That I knew her, the world's banner-bearer,
Who shall cry the republican cry.
Yea, even she as at first,
Yea, she alone and none other,
Shall cast down, shall build up, shall bring home;
Slake earth's hunger and thirst,
Lighten, and lead as a mother;
First name of the world's names, Rome.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Banking Coal
Whoever it was who brought the first wood and coal
To start the Fire, did his part well;
Not all wood takes to fire from a match,
Nor coal from wood before it’s burned to charcoal.
The wood and coal in question caught a flame
And flared up beautifully, touching the air
That takes a flame from anything.
Somehow the fire was furnaced,
And then the time was ripe for some to say,
“Right banking of the furnace saves the coal.”
I’ve seen them set to work, each in his way,
Though all with shovels and with ashes,
Never resting till the fire seemed most dead;
Whereupon they’d crawl in hooded night-caps
Contentedly to bed. Sometimes the fire left alone
Would die, but like as not spiced tongues
Remaining by the hardest on till day would flicker up,
Never strong, to anyone who cared to rake for them.
But roaring fires never have been made that way.
I’d like to tell those folks that one grand flare
Transferred to memory tissues of the air
Is worth a like, or, for dull minds that turn in gold,
All money ever saved by banking coal.
poem by Jean Toomer
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You
From eyes I will read.
Don’t say, what you say
but remain you.
Dismantle the tower,
go for a walk,
when the moon climbs on dew.
Seed by seed
we went mad
leaf by leaf I held you.
Sit on the bank
wash your feet,
rock by rock pain were you.
Stars will go
sun will rise.
At the dawn, I want you.
Sins were many
birds were few.
In twilight zone
a cuckoo flew.
poem by Satish Verma
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