Storms of November
Every Spring I look forward to the storms
of November that roll down from up north
Green trees and warm sun adumbrates
the cold and fog that envelop the Lakes
From Superior to South Chicago
beginning the first of November
As monster ore freighters like the fabled
Edmund Fitzgerald are broken and go down
With all hands aboard lost to the storm's fury
in a matter of hours on the raging lake
Now I think fondly of those ships at rest
that once carried the ore for industry
Like other survivors of disaster I am blessed
that I forget the hardship and grueling work
and the sacrifice of family life for a job!
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald
The legend lives on from the chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called gitche gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of november turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the edmund fitzgerald weighed empty.
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of november came early.
The ship was the pride of the american side
Coming back from some mill in wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for cleveland
And later that night when the ships bell rang
Could it be the north wind theyd been feelin?
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too,
Twas the witch of november come stealin.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of november came slashin.
When afternoon came it was freezin rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind.
When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin.
Fellas, its too rough to feed ya.
At seven p.m. a main hatchway caved in, he said
Fellas, its been good tknow ya
The captain wired in he had water comin in
And the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when his lights went outta sight
Came the wreck of the edmund fitzgerald.
Does any one know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searches all say theyd have made whitefish bay
If theyd put fifteen more miles behind her.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
May have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters.
Lake huron rolls, superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old michigan steams like a young mans dreams;
The islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below lake ontario
Takes in what lake erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of november remembered.
In a musty old hall in detroit they prayed,
In the maritime sailors cathedral.
The church bell chimed till it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the edmund fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call gitche gumee.
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of november come early!
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anchor to Windward
Lakeboat mariners look forward to winter lay-up all summer long. The last voyage north from the steel mills in South Chicago begins before dawn with autumn winds and a cup of hot black coffee from the galley to ward off the chill. Guys congregate on the wind-swept decks, stomping feet and talking of this and that - wives and kids and days spent lounging before the new TV and drinking Budweiser.
'See you next spring, Mick? '
'Not on the Mighty Fitz, you won't! '
His shipmates laugh. They all know Mick's final paycheck is all but spent as soon as he signs off the boat. His wife and three kids live in a four room flat in Canaryville on Chicago's south side. Mick's not ready to swallow the anchor yet. He'll be back with the rest of us eager to sail another season on the Lakes. We keep an anchor to windward.
first day of November
raw winds astern-
lake is dark and deep
life ashore-
rent due
first of the month
morning till night
chores to do-
house in disarray
bar tab
eats up the bonus-
wife in a snit
first day of April
seabag packed-
Mighty Fitz welcomes us
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Down Lo Ho (Interlude)
Featuring The Refugee All Stars
I wanna dedicate this song,
gone til november,
to all you ladies out there,
crying all alone in your room,
and all you fellas,
goin down south, and not making it back,
may the lord bless your soul.
Every time I make a run,
girl you turn around and cry,
I ask myself why oh why,
see you must understand,
I cant work a 9 to 5,
so ill be gone til november,
said ill be gone til november,
ill be gone til november,
you tell my girl ill be gone til november,
ill be gone til november,
ill be gone til november,
you tell my girl ill be gone til november,
janurary, feburary, march, april, may,
I see you crying but girl i cant stay,
ill be gone til november,
ill be gone til november,
and give a kiss to my mother,
girl I gotta leave please dont cry,
when I come back you know the limits the sky,
ill take you out to dinner to your favorite spot,
fejuion and fateesion just to get you high,
drive by movies by the cemetary,
if my corps could talk then i'd tell him I was sorry,
life stories of the rich and famous,
some guy with the name some guy name less,
every time I make a run,
girl you turn around and cry,
I ask myself why oh why,
see you must understand,
I cant work a 9 to 5,
so ill be gone til november,
said ill be gone til november,
ill be gone til november,
you tell my girl ill be gone til november,
ill be gone til november,
ill be gone til november,
you tell my girl ill be gone til november,
janurary, feburary, march, april, may,
I see you crying but girl I cant stay,
ill be gone til november,
ill be gone til november,
yo give a kiss to my mother,
we are none had to do some,
so im knocking on h
song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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November Nights
September nights
Tend to scream
'Baby I thought you
Said you loved me'
October nights
Remind me
Of 'we' the 'us':
So in love.
November nights
November nights
What A fright
November nights
Ending of my present life
Nothing ever seemed so right
I need you by my side
I died, I died on November nights
September nights
what a wonderful thing
My beginning
How Ironic.
My birth day
Our beginning
Oh what a wonderful month
September means love
October nights
Oh so beautiful
Happiness, hope
A whole family
My daddies' birthdays
One here, one deceased
Praised and mourned
Mixed Octobers
November nights
Panic. Thanksgiving.
Thanks for what?
November killed my father
November nights
A car crash
14 years ago
And then you end me
November nights
November nights
What A fright
November nights
Literal ending of his life
Nothing ever seems all right
Momma needed him by her side
He died, He died on a November night
poem by Gabriella Franco
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Your Love
No matter what season comes to call,
it doesn’t matter whether it rains or snows
or the north wind blows cold
as long as you are at my side
I can weather any storm
because with you I know
your love will keep me warm.
30 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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November Rain
November rain washed away my guilt
November rain washed away my pain
November rain - so tired I felt
November rain was not just any rain
Long I longed with deep torment
For so long my body waited
November rain, , , , Oh, sweet friend
November rain- slowly I faded.
November rain- I cried within
Steady and slowly, it kept on pouring
November rain, watered my skin
And deep inside, I heard my roaring.
November rain, it refused to quit
November rain kept on pouring
And alone outside, in the streets I wept-
dripping... dripping and falling.
poem by Amy Phillip
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In For The Kill
Thunder shattered the dawn
Raging with fury, the king has come
The power of terror will reign
There is no mercy in pleading
In for the kill, no quarter be shown
Live for the thrill of battle alone
Blessed by the will to die for the throne
In for the kill
In for the kill
Freedom is taken by storm
The blood on his hands is still running warm
The power of terror will reign
There is no mercy in pleading
In for the kill, no quarter be shown
Live for the thrill of battle alone
Blessed by the will to die for the throne
In for the kill
For the kill
Thunder shattered the dawn
Raging with fury, the king has come
Death and destruction riding the storm
Blood on his hands still running warm
In for the kill
The king has come
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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North Atlantic Sea
The North Atlantic Sea raged bitter cold
as a convoy of ships sailed swiftly as could be.
A wolf pack of submarines
were waiting somewhere
beneath the cold waters there.
Everyone scanned the icy waters
for some tell tale sign
as the merchant navy steamed on.
A destroyer was their bodyguard
in case trouble flared.
The sky’s clouds were grey
and filled with snow and followed them
into the eastern horizon.
Suddenly an enormous explosion
lit up the sky.
A U-boat had hit a target
and many brave men
were heading for a watery grave.
The destroyer raced towards the stricken ship
as another explosion rocked the sea.
The U-boats were finding their targets.
The destroyer disengaged
and started a depth charge run.
The merchant ships could only steam ahead
as fast as they could
through the icy water
of the North Atlantic Sea.
The destroyer circled again and again,
until finally the bow of a U-boat
surfaced off the port side.
Sailors jumped into the waters
hoping to save their lives.
The destroyer’s Captain ordered
lifeboats to be lowered
to save as many as he could.
Two dozen lives were saved that day
in a bleak November.
The destroyer then went back
to help the merchant men.
Several of the merchant fleet
had slowed and picked up survivors there.
However, many were lost
to the North Atlantic Sea
on this day in the life
of one convoy during the war,
and the brave men
who faced terrible conditions there
on a cruel sea.
12 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Take Me Back To Chicago
Take me back to chicago
Lay my soul to rest
Where my life was free and easy
Remember me at my best
Take me back to chicago
Where music was all I had
I tried to be good as I could
And sometimes that made me sad
Take me back to chicago, to chicago
Why dont you take me back
Take me back, take me back
To chicago
I still dream of the lake of peacefulness
The warm summer breeze
cause my life was so much simpler then
Street corners and tastee freeze
Take me back to chicago
cause hustlins not my style
L.a. was just a bit too hard
I wish I could be a child
Livin back in chicago, in chicago
Why dont you take me back
Take me back, take me back
To chicago
Take me back to chicago
Lay my soul to rest
Where my life was free and easy
Remember me at my best
Take me back to chicago
cause hustlins not my style
L.a. was just a bit too hard
I wish I could be a child
Livin back in chicago, in chicago
Why dont you take me back
Take me back, take me back
To chicago
Take me back, take me back....
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grant—1885
BLESSED are Pain, the smiter,
And Sorrow, the uniter!
For one afflicted lies—
A symboled sacrifice—
And all our rancor dies!
No North, no South! O stern-faced Chief,
One weeping ours, one cowled Grief—-
Thy Country—bowed in prayer and tear—
For North and South—above thy bier!
For North and South! O Soldier grim,
The broken ones to weep for him
Who broke them! He whose terrors blazed
In smoking harvests, cities razed;
Whose Fate-like glance sent fear and chill;
Whose wordless lips spake deathless will—
Till all was shattered, all was lost—
All hands dropped down—all War's red cost
Laid there in ashes—Hope and Hate
And Shame and Glory!
Death and Fate
Fall back! Another touch is thine;
He drank not of thy poisoned wine,
Nor blindly met thy blind-thrown lance,
Nor died for sightless time or chance—
But waited, suffered, bowed and tried,
Till all the dross was purified;
Till every well of hate was dried;
And North and South in sorrow vied,
And then—at God's own calling—died!
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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November
November;
One of those months
caught in the middle
between two seasons
Split down
into two's
Like daylight
and darkness
'Always feels like home
in twilight,
and just before the dawn
before the birds song'
A time that never lasted
too long
November is warm
thunderstorms at night...
frozen water at dawn.
Sullen lead gray mornings
swallowed by the cold
empty afternoon's sunshine.
November then slumbers with
it's blanket of darkness
in frozen silence
no solace...just solitude
poem by Midnights Voice
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The train dogs
Out of the night and the north;
Savage of breed and of bone,
Shaggy and swift comes the yelping band,
Freighters of fur from the voiceless land
That sleeps in the Arctic zone.
Laden with skins from the north,
Beaver and bear and raccoon,
Marten and mink from the polar belts,
Otter and ermine and sable pelts--
The spoils of the hunter's moon.
Out of the night and the north,
Sinewy, fearless and fleet,
Urging the pack through the pathless snow,
The Indian driver, calling low,
Follows with moccasined feet.
Ships of the night and the north,
Freighters on prairies and plains,
Carrying cargoes from field and flood
They scent the trail through their wild red blood,
The wolfish blood in their veins.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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I'll Have My Christmas Cake And Eat It Too
November...
December...
Two more howevers
Two more pure hangovers
With Christmas about to crash down
I'm sure there will be no survivors
Santa Claus discovered the 'slim fast diet'
Lost 200 Lbs and joined a rock/roll band
As a drummer now down in Jamaica
He's changed his name and his game
Known now as Rasta Claus
poem by Midnights Voice
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Chicago Sestina
I am surprised by the streets of Chicago
when the palm of winter grips them with snow
as if to forgive the city’s mistakes
and give it a canvas that’s new, white, and clean–
its fingers, the branches on all of the trees
kneading the air that blows in from the lake.
I’ve never lived next to the pulse of the lake
(until I set foot down the side of Chicago)
breathing in through the streets and out through the trees
welcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.
It lets my mind slip into thinking it’s clean
as if to personally forgive my mistakes.
“But what have you done to forgive your mistakes? ”
Did I ask this? Or is that the voice of the lake?
Some days, not even does it appear clean,
worn down from its tall standing neighbor, Chicago.
It scrapes at the sky, asking it for more snow
to stick to and freeze the trunks of the trees.
If I were a branch on one of these trees
incapable of making a single mistake,
I’d grab at the sky as it shook out the snow
and grow my roots thick till they tasted the lake.
But I wouldn’t bend to the force of Chicago
that’s constantly keeping me from being clean.
And what does it mean to try to be clean?
I don’t understand the stillness of the trees
when they’re being attacked by the size of Chicago
as if to glorify the city’s mistakes
that glisten like stars at night on the lake
before it all froze and was covered with snow.
Ah! To imagine how long there’s been snow.
How can something this old still feel so clean
and dance through the wind that swoops in from the lake?
Is it the kneading by the spiny branches on trees
trusting that there will be no more mistakes
that leaves these the only pure thing in Chicago?
Here comes the snow that seeks out the trees
Am I now clean? Where are my mistakes?
Chicago belongs where it lay with the lake.
poem by Brian Maloney
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November
Remember November
its leaves are
orange, red and gold
a melody of colour
just before the chill.
Sometimes its warmth
is like a crisp spring day
or the last of September
and yet winter is close
like a dark shadow.
Winter, lit with a medley
of scents, of mulled wine,
hot toddies, Xmas puddings
to light the days
and dark evenings
It brings pictures
of childhood memories
of cold mists, coal fires,
Bonfire nights
mistletoe and Christmas trees,
Teenage parties
are long gone now
new beaux, new dresses,
expectations of love,
a kiss at a cold doorway.
What are your dreams
my little ones,
where will November
lead you to?
Take a leap of faith.
poem by Ruth Walters
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The Open Road
THE roads of the Sea
Are thronged with merchantmen;
East and West, North and South
They go and come again.
All precious merchandise
They bear in their hold:
Lest the people be starving
In the night and cold.
Now tell me, good merchants,
How this thing can be
That the white ships are thronging
The roads of the sea?
For there's death in the skies
And there's death on the earth;
And men talked of famine
And a frozen hearth.
Yet the ships they go crowding
The roads of the sea;
They bring home their treasures
To you and to me.
O listen, good people,
And hearing, praise God,
That the watch-dogs are keeping
The ships on their road!
They sit watchful and steady
Where the North winds blow;
Sleepless they are keeping
The roads the ships go.
In the day, in the hour,
They will spring--until then,
Their eyes keep the courses
Of the merchantmen.
Forget not, good people,
When ye heap the white board,
When ye draw to the hearth-fire,
To praise the Lord,
That the watch-dogs unsleeping
Keep the roads of the Sea,
Up by the Northern Lights
Where the great ships be.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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I See Lakes On The Pics
and i turn myself instead to those images
on the net, i surf: serenity, gratitude, bliss,
divinity and eternity, and what appears on screen
are pictures of lakes, and there is this
Lake Moraine of Alberta
a lake so placid, a swan taking its way to the other side
green trees and an old castle on the other
so serene,
and there is the figure of a man raising his hands
to the sky, on top of a mountain, overlooking a lake,
so grateful, perhaps that amidst all these beauty
he is there still alive to see, to savor, to praise, to thank, to be silent
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Legend Fable
centuries-old stand carved stone tablets
hundreds of tsunami warning stone markers
fabled tsunami waves devouring land lives
devastation legendary loss dwarfs memories
scale wave force shadow outruns warnings
witness awareness realities lost in three generations
generation enduring disaster becomes aged survivors
experience memory disaster to their children passes
experience more distant to their grandchildren passes
three generations fades forgotten from living memories
experience reality legend myth fable forget
three generations till people warnings forget
community crucial knowledge people forget
busy with lives love jobs experiences people forget
all except wise souls tsunami warnings heeding forget
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Gone til November
Intro: (spoken)
I dedicate this record, the carnival to all you brothers takin long
Trips down south, virginia, baltimore, all around the world, and your
Girl gets this message that you aint comin back. shes sittin back
In the room, the lights are off, shes cryin, and then my voice comes in
Pow!, in the middle of the night, and this is what I told her for you
Chorus: (sung)
Every time I make a run, girl, you turn around and cry
I ask myself why, oh why
See, you must understand, I cant work a 9 to 5
So Ill be gone til november
Said Ill be gone til november, Ill be gone til november
Yo, tell my girl, yo, Ill be gone til november
Ill be gone til november, Ill be gone til november
Yo, tell my girl, yo, Ill be gone til november
January, february, march, april, may
I see you cryin, but girl, I cant stay
Ill be gone til november, Ill be gone til november
And give a kiss to my mother
Verse 1: (sung)
When I come back, therell be no need to clock
Ill have enough money to buy out blocks
Tell my brother, go to school in september
So he wont mess up in summer school in the summer
Tell my cousin, jerry, wear his condom
If you dont wear condom, youll see a red lump
Woh oh oh oh
You sucker mcs, you got no flow
I heard your style, youre s-o s-o
Repeat chorus
Verse 2: (rap)
I had to flip nuttin and turn it into somethin
Hip-hop turns to the future rock when I smash a punk (bing!)
Commit treason, then Ill have a reason to hunt you down
Its only right, its rappin season
Yeah, you with the loud voice, posin like youre top choice
Your voice, Ill make a hearse out of your rolls royce
Besides, I got my girl to remember
And Ill commit it that Ill be back in november
Repeat chorus
I know the hustles hard, but we gotta enterprise, the carnival
song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gone til November
Intro: (spoken)
I dedicate this record, the carnival to all you brothers takin long
Trips down south, virginia, baltimore, all around the world, and your
Girl gets this message that you aint comin back. shes sittin back
In the room, the lights are off, shes cryin, and then my voice comes in
Pow!, in the middle of the night, and this is what I told her for you
Chorus: (sung)
Every time I make a run, girl, you turn around and cry
I ask myself why, oh why
See, you must understand, I cant work a 9 to 5
So Ill be gone til november
Said Ill be gone til november, Ill be gone til november
Yo, tell my girl, yo, Ill be gone til november
Ill be gone til november, Ill be gone til november
Yo, tell my girl, yo, Ill be gone til november
January, february, march, april, may
I see you cryin, but girl, I cant stay
Ill be gone til november, Ill be gone til november
And give a kiss to my mother
Verse 1: (sung)
When I come back, therell be no need to clock
Ill have enough money to buy out blocks
Tell my brother, go to school in september
So he wont mess up in summer school in the summer
Tell my cousin, jerry, wear his condom
If you dont wear condom, youll see a red lump
Woh oh oh oh
You sucker mcs, you got no flow
I heard your style, youre s-o s-o
Repeat chorus
Verse 2: (rap)
I had to flip nuttin and turn it into somethin
Hip-hop turns to the future rock when I smash a punk (bing!)
Commit treason, then Ill have a reason to hunt you down
Its only right, its rappin season
Yeah, you with the loud voice, posin like youre top choice
Your voice, Ill make a hearse out of your rolls royce
Besides, I got my girl to remember
And Ill commit it that Ill be back in november
Repeat chorus
I know the hustles hard, but we gotta enterprise, the carnival
song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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