En.Citatepedia^®.ro

adventure ***** JANUARY FEET

2001 January trains my feet
as wild gypsy rover
scant vagabond
vagrant
wandere
to be nomad
without back pack of tent
homeless in the mind and
phsycical shield and shelter
roaming around
Philippine city capital
along the highway of nothingness
it is in great contrast
blind people think
that i am roaming around
like scavenger collecting
empty cans
i wander to pick up
loiterring friends
retrieving promotional agencies
for minimum wage
for summer job survival

poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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Whereever I May Roam

Wherever I May Roam
...and the road becomes my bride
I have stripped of all but pride
so in her I do confide
and she keeps me satisfied
gives me all I need
...and with dust in throat I crave
only knowledge will I save
to the game you stay a slave
rover wanderer
nomad vagabond
call me what you will
but I'll take my time anywhere
free to speak my mind anywhere
and I'll redefine anywhere
anywhere I may roam
where I lay my head is home
...and the earth becomes my throne
I adapt to the unknown
under wandering stars I've grown
by myself but not alone
I ask no one
...and my ties are severed clean
the less I have the more I gain
off the beaten path I reign
rover wanderer
nomad vagabond
call me what you will
but I'll take my time anywhere
I'm free to speak my mind anywhere
and I'll never mind anywhere
anywhere I may roam
where I lay my head is home
but i'll take my time anywhere
free to speak my mind
and I'll take my find anywhere
anywhere I may roam
where I lay my head is home
carved upon my stone
my body lie, but still I roam
wherever I may roam

song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wild Geese

(A Lament for the Irish Jacobites.)

I have heard the curlew crying
On a lonely moor and mere;
And the sea-gull's shriek in the gloaming
Is a lonely sound in the ear:
And I've heard the brown thrush mourning
For her children stolen away;--
But it's O for the homeless Wild Geese
That sailed ere the dawn of day!

For the curlew out on the moorland
Hath five fine eggs in the nest;
And the thrush will get her a new love
And sing her song with the best.
As the swallow flies to the Summer
Will the gull return to the sea:
But never the wings of the Wild Geese
Will flash over seas to me.

And 'tis ill to be roaming, roaming
With homesick heart in the breast!
And how long I've looked for your coming,
And my heart is the empty nest!
O sore in the land of the stranger
They'll pine for the land far away!
But day of Aughrim, my sorrow,
It was you was the bitter day!

poem by Katharine Tynan
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Sunrise Is An Eternity Begging Wander Come Calling

some are born with wander thirst
need to move to travel to explore
change life circumstances employment
cyclic changes cycle time ashore

some do not care if they are home or not
insistent wander thirst soon demands leavings
wide open spaces high mountain air breathings
beauty in pristine empty spaces traversed

who can cage wild souls without killing heart
born to the wild from freedom cannot be apart
some are born to call of danger unknown exploration
mountains plains continents call to explorer quest brain
explorer may die a vagabond before long track is over
but diadems of starry skies romance such a gypsy rover

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Wherever I May Roam

(whispered) ...and the road becomes my bride
...and the road becomes my bride
I have stripped of all but pride
so in her I do confide
and she keeps me satisfied
gives me all I need
...and with dust in throat I crave
only knowledge will I save
to the game you stay a slave
rover wanderer
nomad vagabond
call me what you will
but I'll take my time anywhere
free to speak my mind anywhere
and I'll redefine anywhere
anywhere I may road
where I lay my head is home
(whispered) ...and the earth becomes my throne
...and the earth becomes my throne
I adapt to the unknown
under wandering stars I've grown
by myself but not alone
I ask no one
...and my ties are severed clean
the less I have the more I gain
off the beaten path I reign
rover wanderer
nomad vagabond
call me what you will
but I'll take my time anywhere
I'm free to speak my mind anywhere
and I'll never mind anywhere
anywhere I may roam
where I lay my head is home
but i'll take my time anywhere
free to speak my mind
and I'll take my find anywhere
anywhere I may roam
where I lay my head is home
carved upon my stone
my body lie

song performed by by Metallica from Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roofs

(For Amelia Josephine Burr)

The road is wide and the stars are out
and the breath of the night is sweet,
And this is the time when wanderlust should seize upon my feet.
But I'm glad to turn from the open road and the starlight on my face,
And to leave the splendour of out-of-doors for a human dwelling place.

I never have seen a vagabond who really liked to roam
All up and down the streets of the world and not to have a home:
The tramp who slept in your barn last night and left at break of day
Will wander only until he finds another place to stay.

A gypsy-man will sleep in his cart with canvas overhead;
Or else he'll go into his tent when it is time for bed.
He'll sit on the grass and take his ease so long as the sun is high,
But when it is dark he wants a roof to keep away the sky.

If you call a gypsy a vagabond, I think you do him wrong,
For he never goes a-travelling but he takes his home along.
And the only reason a road is good, as every wanderer knows,
Is just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to which it goes.

They say that life is a highway and its milestones are the years,
And now and then there's a toll-gate where you buy your way with tears.
It's a rough road and a steep road and it stretches broad and far,
But at last it leads to a golden Town where golden Houses are.

poem by Joyce Kilmer
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The national minimum wage has not been increased in 9 years. By year's end, 21 States across America will have a minimum wage exceeding the Federal minimum wage.

quote by Sherwood Boehlert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sojourner

Are your herds all dead
That you walk the street alone?
And do you have your own bed
When the toiling day is done?
City nomad without his herd
Wanderer, pilgrim of the mind
Wont you rest your tired head
You herdsman of a kind?

Were your ancestors cattle rearers
Who sought where grasses were green?
But you have mingled with the city dwellers
Leaving your herds either dead or lean
Tell me, city nomad
Why did you leave your father's way
And choose the city, tis' sad
That you roam the streets day by day

Or are you of the gypsy race
And your clan, minstrels and magicians?
Who wander from place to place
Sleeping and waking in caravans
Foxes have holes, and bird the trees
Do you have any to call your home?
Some live in houses, some in tents
Why do choose the streets to roam?

I am but a sojourner in every city
Seeking my God and the crown
And may he lead me to that heavenly city
A better place to call my own! !

poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen
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St. Alexis, Patron of Beggars

We who beg for bread as we daily tread
Country lane and city street,
Let us kneel and pray on the broad highway
To the saint with the vagrant feet.
Our altar light is a buttercup bright,
And our shrine is a bank of sod,
But still we share St. Alexis' care,
The Vagabond of God.

They gave him a home in purple Rome
And a princess for his bride,
But he rowed away on his wedding day
Down the Tiber's rushing tide.
And he came to land on the Asian strand
Where the heathen people dwell;
As a beggar he strayed and he preached and prayed
And he saved their souls from hell.

Bowed with years and pain he came back again
To his father's dwelling place.
There was none to see who this tramp might be,
For they knew not his bearded face.
But his father said, "Give him drink and bread
And a couch underneath the stair."
So Alexis crept to his hole and slept.
But he might not linger there.

For when night came down on the seven-hilled town,
And the emperor hurried in,
Saying, "Lo, I hear that a saint is near
Who will cleanse us of our sin,"
Then they looked in vain where the saint had lain,
For his soul had fled afar,
From his fleshly home he had gone to roam
Where the gold-paved highways are.

We who beg for bread as we daily tread
Country lane and city street,
Let us kneel and pray on the broad highway
To the saint with the vagrant feet.
Our altar light is a buttercup bright,
And our shrine is a bank of sod,
But still we share St. Alexis' care,
The Vagabond of God!

poem by Joyce Kilmer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With All Struggles Gone

Things have gotten old.
And,
Things have gotten...
Better reminisced to live.
Than,
Adding a freshness to have,
In a 'today' NOW that's given.
'Cause...
Too many people fear what's new.
And...
Would rather live a life,
They had and once knew.

Too many people roaming like they've lost their way home.
Too many people roaming like they feel all alone.
Too many people roaming by themselves and condoning,
Misery and headaches as if purchased and owned.
And groaning with a moaning just to have it known...
They're afflicted to a suffering and wanting it shown,
They've been beaten and deceived as if needed to moan.

Too many people roaming like they've lost their way home.
Too many people roaming like they feel all alone.
Too many people roaming by themselves and condoning,
They've been beaten and defeated as if to need and moan.

Things have gotten old.
And,
Things have gotten...
Better reminisced to live.
Than,
Adding a freshness to have,
In a 'today' NOW that's given
'Cause...
Too many people fear what's new.
And...
Would rather live a life,
They had and once knew.

Too many people roaming like they've lost their way home.
Too many people roaming like they feel all alone.
Too many people roaming by themselves and condoning,
They've been beaten and deceived as if to need and moan.

Too many people roaming like they've lost their way home.
Too many people roaming like they feel all alone.
Too many people roaming by themselves and condoning,
Misery and headaches as if purchased and owned.
And groaning with a moaning just to have it known...
They're afflicted to a suffering and wanting it shown,
They've been beaten and defeated with a needing to moan.

Too many people suffering and they want it known,
They would rather have their lives to live with all struggles gone.
They would rather have their lives to live with all struggles gone.

Too many people suffering and they want it known,
They would rather have their lives to live with all struggles gone.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Vagabond You

You can't stop roaming,
from one end to the other.
The fatigued way's restless edge,
pushes you on the wall of Promises bay!
So, is your love.
Relentless, monotonous, dull;
Can't quench your thirst, all the way.
The roads, hills, desert,
everywhere, you make your,
unbound, compact, sojourn!
No tent, no, fireplace
or bread, wine could fill
your incessant life's lust.
Vagabond You,
no hands can shackle,
your Primitive hands.

poem by Debdarshana Sen
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The Rovers

Over the fields we go, through the sweets of the purple clover,
That letters a message for us as for every vagrant rover;
Before us the dells are abloom, and a leaping brook calls after,
Feeling its kinship with us in lore of dreams and laughter.

Out of the valleys of moonlight elfin voices are calling;
Down from the misty hills faint, far greetings are falling;
Whisper the grasses to us, murmuring gleeful and airy,
Knowing us pixy-led, seeking the haunts of faery.

The wind is our joyful comrade wherever our free feet wander,
Over the tawny wolds to the meres and meadows yonder;
The mild-eyed stars go with us, or the rain so swiftly flying,
Racing us over the wastes where the hemlocks and pines are sighing.

Across the upland dim, down through the beckoning hollow­
Oh, we go too far and fast for the feet of care to follow!
The gypsy fire in our hearts for the wilderness wide and luring;
Other loves may fail but this is great and enduring.

Other delights may pall, but the joy of the open never;
The charm of the silent places must win and hold us forever;
Bondage of walls we leave with never a glance behind us.
Under the lucent sky the delights of the rover shall find us.

poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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It has now been over 7 years since Congress last raised the minimum wage to its current level of $5.15 per hour. Since that last increase, Congress's failure to adjust the wage for inflation has reduced the purchasing power of the minimum wage to record low levels.

quote by Jon Corzine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gypsy Lou

by Bob Dylan
If you getcha one girl, better get two
Case you run into Gypsy Lou
She's a ramblin' woman with a ramblin' mind
Always leavin' somebody behind.
Hey, 'round the bend
Gypsy Lou's gone again
Gypsy Lou's gone again.
Well, I seen the whole country through
Just to find Gypsy Lou
Seen it up, seen it down
Followin' Gypsy Lou around.
Hey, 'round the bend
Gypsy Lou's gone again
Gypsy Lou's gone again.
Well, I gotta stop and take some rest
My poor feet are second best
My poor feet are wearin' thin
Gypsy Lou's gone again.
Hey, gone again
Gypsy Lou's 'round the bend
Gypsy Lou's 'round the bend.
Well, seen her up in old Cheyenne
Turned my head and away she ran
From Denver Town to Wichita
Last I heard she's in Arkansas.
Hey, 'round the bend
Gypsy Lou's gone again
Gypsy Lou's gone again
Well, I tell you what if you what if you want to do
Tell you what, you'll wear out your shoes
If you want to wear out your shoes
Try and follow Gypsy Lou.
Hey, gone again
Gypsy Lou's 'round the bend
Gypsy Lou's 'round the bend.
Well, Gypsy Lou, I been told
Livin' down on Gallus Road
Gallus Road, Arlington
Moved away to Washington.
Hey, 'round the bend
Gypsy Lou's gone again
Gypsy Lou's gone again
Well, I went down to Washington
Then she went to Oregon
I skipped the ground and hopped a train
She's back in Gallus Road again.
Hey, I can't win
Gypsy Lou's gone again
Gypsy Lou's gone again
Well, the last I heard of Gypsy Lou
She's in a Memphis calaboose
She left one too many a boy behind
He committed suicide.
Hey, you can't win
Gypsy Lou's gone again
Gypsy Lou's gone again

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Miss The Mississippi And You

(Bill Haley)
I'm growing tired on the big city lights
Tired of the glamour and tired of the sights
In all my dreams I am roaming once more
Back to my home on the old river shore
I am sad and weary, far away from home
Miss the Mississippi and you
Days are dark and dreary
Everywhere I go
Miss the Mississippi and you
Roaming the wide world over
Always along and blue
Nothing seems to cheer me under heaven's door
Miss the Mississippi and you
I'm growing tired on the big city lights
Tired of the glamour and tired of the sights
In all my dreams I am roaming once more
Back to my home on the old river shore
I am sad and weary, far away from home
Miss the Mississippi and you
Days are dark and dreary
Everywhere I go
Miss the Mississippi and you

song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Miss The Mississippi & You

(bill haley)
Im growing tired on the big city lights
Tired of the glamour and tired of the sights
In all my dreams I am roaming once more
Back to my home on the old river shore
I am sad and weary, far away from home
Miss the mississippi and you
Days are dark and dreary
Everywhere I go
Miss the mississippi and you
Roaming the wide world over
Always along and blue
Nothing seems to cheer me under heavens door
Miss the mississippi and you
Im growing tired on the big city lights
Tired of the glamour and tired of the sights
In all my dreams I am roaming once more
Back to my home on the old river shore
I am sad and weary, far away from home
Miss the mississippi and you
Days are dark and dreary
Everywhere I go
Miss the mississippi and you

song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Congress has not raised the minimum wage since 1997. The minimum wage is now at its lowest level in 50 years adjusted for inflation.

quote by Russ Carnahan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Great Chicago Fire

The great Chicago Fire, friends,
Will never be forgot;
In the history of Chicago
It will remain a darken spot.
It was a dreadful horrid sight
To see that City in flames;
But no human aid could save it,
For all skill was tried in vain.

In the year of 1871,
In October on the 8th,
The people in that City, then
Was full of life, and great.
Less than four days it lay in ruins,
That garden City, so great
Lay smouldering in ashes,
In a sad and pitiful state.

It was a sad, sad scene indeed,
To see the fire arise,
And hear the crackling of the flames
As it almost reached the skies,
And sadder still, to hear the moans,
Of people in the flames
Cry for help, and none could get,
Ah, die where they remained.

To see the people run for life;
Up and down the blazing streets,
To find then, their escape cut off
By the fiery flaming sheets,
And others hunting for some friend
That perhaps they never found,
Such weeping, wailing, never was known,
For a thousands miles around.

Some people were very wealthy
On the morning of the 10th.
But at the close of the evening,
Was poor, but felt content,
Glad to escape from harm with life
With friends they loved so well,
Some will try to gain more wisdom,
By the sad sight they beheld.

Five thousand people were homeless,
Sad wanderers in the streets,
With no shelter to cover them,
And no food had they to eat.
They wandered down by the lake side,
Lay down on the cold damp ground,
So tired and weary and homeless,
So the rich, the poor, was found.

Mothers with dear little infants,
Some clinging to the breast.
People of every description
All laid down there to rest,
With the sky as their covering,
Ah, pillows they had none.
Sad, oh sad, it must have been,
For those poor homeless ones.

Neighboring Cities sent comfort,
To the poor lone helpless ones,
And God will not forget them
In all the years to come.
Now the City of Chicago
Is built up anew once more,
And may it never be visited
With such a great fire no more.

poem by Julia A Moore
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I do not support raising the minimum wage, and the reason is as follows. When the minimum wage is raised, workers are priced out of the market. That is the economic reality that seems, at least so far, to be missing from this discussion.

quote by John Sununu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jackdaw

ALOOF from his tribe
On the elm-tree's top,
A jackdaw perched
A hand-reach up.

Silent he sat
On the branch, nor stirred,
And I saw m him
A changeling bird.

Grass was worn
Round pots and a pan,
A flea-bitten horse,
And a tilted van,

Where tinker's or gypsy's
Brats at play
Made vagrant's game of
Some citizen's way.

I watched the daw
On the branch, beguiled:
I saw a vagrant
From the wild.

The entail broken
What had he?
The humour of one
Out of his degree.

The franchise of one
Without kith or kind,
And only the pauper's
Single mind!

The daws on the elms
Kept tribal speech,
And he perched there,
Within a hand's reach-

He flew; his flight
Neither high nor wide
Was a vagabond's
To a seedman's stride.

A dog on the ground
Was rubbing for fleas;
Rags were there
He fluttered to these:

Held a bright rag up
Like a banner won,
And went and hid it
Behind a stone!

poem by Padraic Colum
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Comrade Vagabond

I am just a vagabond, I am just a vagabond! !
Across the globe, I move on….
Seeking not my home….
I am just a vagabond, I am just a vagabond! !

From Luit, through the Mississippi, I saw the Volga’s beauty…
From Ottawa, via Austria, I hugged the Paris City.
From Ellora to Chicago, I spread the splendor of antiquity…
I listened to Ghalib’s couplets in Dushanbe Minaret with gaiety.
Sitting on Mark Twain’s grave, I spoke of Gorky…
Everytime the strangers appear, being tied with a bond….
So I am vagabond, so Iam vagabond! !

With so many aimless vagabonds, I do have a goal…
To share the colours of life is just my goal.
With so many aimless vagabonds, I do have a goal…
To share the colours of life is just my goal.

I have seen so many skyscrapers, so great…
So have I seen homeless poors by their shade.
I have seen evergreen gardens in front of some home…
So have I seen dried flowers dying in blossom.

The bonded labourers across the Nations makes me feel tensed…
Our own fellow beings have been strangers in their home…
So I am vagabond, I am just a vagabond..
Across the globe, I move on….
Seeking not my home….
I am just a vagabond, I am just a vagabond! !

(Originally composed in Assamese as ‘Moi Eti Jajabor’ by Dr. Bhupen Hazarika)

(Set to original tune)

poem by Kamal Jyoti Borah
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