The Unabashed Bouquets
Upon the higher back of the albatross
It rains, it floods;
And if I am not beautiful by now,
I will be beautiful by then: I can see by the lights
That my father put in
As he whipped me, as I wrote the novels that no one
Reads,
I killed the dragon by which my friends were sewn
But never fed:
Beautiful irony of the butterfly crushed on the super
Fine roadway;
But I am no longer afraid: I still have my dreams,
By my scars,
By my liquor glass- I still have my friends,
Even if I should have died high up on the wild
Back of the buffalo,
Never read, by the red lips of wild flowers, the unabashed
Bouquets the dead Indians dead in the gutters
Of the old fashioned roadways: Again, I loved you,
Erin, but you are too busy serving the truancies of your
Highwaymen to understand my love,
Unabashed and unbred- Aren’t you, Erin;
Yet still my sweet love, my dead light bulb by which
I got to bed every night- Erin,
Amen.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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To Erin On The Death Of Her Pony
Erin will remember when others have forgot
Her lovely Shetland pony Camelot
Loose on the road and luck not on his side
Struck by a car near Belgrave Heights he died.
Life can be cruel it's always been that way
And for damage done to car poor Erin has to pay
She lost her pony that not bad enough
And huge damage bill makes it that much more tough.
A pony's just a pony some people might say
And they cost a lot to keep on corn and hay
But those who love horses don't look at cost
And when their equine die they grieve for friendship lost.
In cards her friends have sent their sympathy
They know how hard for her this has to be
And though sympathy won't recover her loss
Her friends are there for to help her bear her cross.
And long after all the others have forgot
Poor Erin will remember Camelot
Her little horse who died on the Roadway
Near Birdsland where his bigger horse friends stay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Pallet Of Your Burning Sun
The horses this time sleep standing up, Erin;
And my scars have switched sides once again like girls
Skipping rope,
Sending fibrillose and vibrant shadows once again over
The estuaries of their deep and rich
Graveyards: The sky above them is first blue and then purple,
The same way I saw you out taming your yards:
I saw you jogging like an angel floating like a fish beside my
Car, Erin; and it doesn’t matter if you do not love me,
Erin: I am not a boy to be employed by your love:
I am a vagrant and truant of love. While I have tasted the lips of
One of my muses, that’s all that she allowed me while
She returned from my swingset to her husband, and now where
Do you think I am standing, Erin, but out in the burning
Opulence of your son:
I am down in your opulent grotto with my toy gun, Erin:
And I don’t want to go empty handed on Halloween or Valentines
And you are the only one, E- E-
You are the only one and the sky is first blue and then purple
Underneath the pallet of your burning sun.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Suicidal Munchkin
Watching the Wizard of Oz,
I dream of Tyco Brahe’s nose, and serious
Fights between scientists and their
Dwarfs;
And map paintings of stars and their hills;
And sadly, ever so sadly,
Erin- of dryads who have no love for mortal men:
Her busts are a ballad of a perfectly nippled
Power plant;
Her perfume the rich streams of auburn kelp
The gold fish show off through until they
Are scooped out and made for prizes
Of redneck lovers at the fair;
But she does not need to worry, because I am
Too uneasy for Occam’s Razor, Erin:
For easy love:
I am not beautiful Erin, and whoever you are loving
Right now,
It is a better love than I could return to you, if
My face was a mirror for your vanity-
Tesla never made love to a woman, but he lived in
Fancy hotels in Colorado Springs;
And he invented electricity until it was stolen away,
And I am left hanging;
And I only went away from you to find new inventions of
Tender muses,
Of other high school valleys too beautiful to ever have
Stopped romancing about, I suppose; Erin,
But do not feel uneasy; these are your dreams the laboratory
Mice are spinning,
And maybe I will buy a house under my imperfect
Angle underneath the distant Pleiades;
But please, please don’t ever come to visit me.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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The Exile Of Erin
There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill:
For his country he sign'd, when at twilight repairing
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.
But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion,
For it rose o'er his own native isle fo the ocean,
Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion.
He sang the bold anthem of Erin Go Bragh!
'Sad is my fate!'- said the heart-broken stranger -
'The wild deer and wolf to the covert can flee;
But I have no refuge from famine and danger:
A home and a country remain not to me!
Never again, in my green, sunny bowers,
Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours;
Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers,
And strike to the numbers of Erin Go Bragh!
'Erin, my country! though sad and forsaken,
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore!
But, alas! in a far - foreign land I awaken,
And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more!
Oh! cruel fate, wilt thou never replace me
In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase me?
Never again shall my brothers embrace me!-
They died to defend me!- or live to deplore!
'Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood?
Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall?
Where is the mother that looked on my childhood?
And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all?
Ah! my sad soul, long abandoned by pleasure!
Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure?
Tears, like the rain-drops, may fall without measure;
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall!
'Yet - all its fond recollections suppressing -
One dying wish my lone bosom shall draw:
Erin!- an exile bequeaths thee his blessing!
Land of my forefathers!- Erin go bragh!
Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion,
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean!
And thy harp-striking bards sind aloud with devotion,-
ERIN MAVOURNEEN! ERIN GO BRAGH!'
poem by Thomas Campbell
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The Wild Geese
Wild geese fly overhead
In the wild Autumn weather.
Souls of the newly-dead
Crying and flying together.
Home from the last great fight,
The souls of the Irish farin'
With a wild heart in the night,
A grey eye turned to Erin.
High and high in the sky,
From the red fields of slaughter
Ever they fly and cry
For the brown bog, the grey water.
Wild geese in the wild even,
Steady and strong their flight,
Their beds are made in Heaven,
All of the down white.
They have forgone that bliss
Till they have seen once more
The little land of peace,
Green and bright as of yore.
High o'er the sheep and cattle,
The bogs and the mountains lone,
The souls new-home from the battle
Cry their love and are flown.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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All Dead, All Dead
Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rainbow
Watch the white dawn gleam,
To the thunder of hidden guns.
I hear the hot shells scream
Through skies as sweet as a dream
Where the silver dawn-break runs.
And stabbing of light
Scorches the virginal white.
But I feel in my being the old, high, sanctified thrill,
And I thank the gods that the dawn is beautiful still.
From death that hurtles by
I crouch in the trench day-long,
But up to a cloudless sky
From the ground where our dead men lie
A brown lark soars in song.
Through the tortured air,
Rent by the shrapnel's flare,
Over the troubleless dead he carols his fill,
And I thank the gods that the birds are beautiful still.
Where the parapet is low
And level with the eye
Poppies and cornflowers glow
And the corn sways to and fro
In a pattern against the sky.
The gold stalks hide
Bodies of men who died
Charging at dawn through the dew to be killed or to kill.
I thank the gods that the flowers are beautiful still.
When night falls dark we creep
In silence to our dead.
We dig a few feet deep
And leave them there to sleep -
But blood at night is red,
Yea, even at night,
And a dead man's face is white.
And I dry my hands, that are also trained to kill,
And I look at the stars - for the stars are beautiful still.
poem by Leslie Coulson
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Erin, Oh Erin
Like the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare's holy fane,
And burn'd through long ages of darkness and storm,
Is the heart that sorrows have frown'd on in vain,
Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm.
Erin, oh Erin, thus bright through the tears
Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears.
The nations have fallen, and thou still art young,
Thy sun is but rising, when others are set;
And though slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung,
The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee yet.
Erin, oh Erin, though long in the shade,
Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade.
Unchill'd by the rain, and unwaked by the wind,
The lily lies sleeping through winter's cold hour,
Till Spring's light touch her fetters unbind,
And daylight and liberty bless the young flower.
Thus Erin, oh Erin, thy winter is past,
And the hope that lived through it shall blossom at last.
poem by Thomas Moore
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The King of Erin's Daughter
THE King of Erin's Daughter had wind-blown hair and bright,
The King of Erin's Daughter, her eyes were like the sea;
(O Rose of all the roses, have you forgotten quite
The story of the days of old that once you told to me?)
The King of Erin's Daughter went up the mountain side
And who but she was singing as she went upon her way,
'O somewhere waits a King's Son and I shall be his bride,
And tall he is and fair he is and none shall say him nay.'
The King of Erin's Daughter–O fair was she and sweet–
Went laughing up the mountain without a look behind
Till on the lofty summit that lay beneath her feet
She found a King's Son waiting there, his brows with poppies twined.
O tall was he and fair was he. He looked into her face
And whispered in her ear a word un-named of mortal breath
And very still she rested, clasped close in his embrace,
The King of Erin's Daughter, for the bridegroom's name was Death.
poem by Norah M. Holland
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We Are One
Sweet Emerald isle across the sea,
Swift speeds my heart to thee.
My soul doth soar to Erin's shore
To take my rest there evermore.
I breathe when I am on your turf,
The greatest place on earth.
I wither and die when we're apart,
Tho' your music sings within my heart.
To thee my mind must fly,
When my soul feels it may die.
Alone dear Erin, you have the cure
I needs must walk upon your shore.
And when I lay my weary head
To rest; I am not dead,
For my soul soars high above your sea.
Ireland, the Universe, and me.
poem by Rosi Caswell
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Love Is As Beautiful
Love is as beautiful as a blooming flower
Love is as beautiful as a spring shower
Love is as beautiful as a tall oak tree
Love is as beautiful as the wild sea
Love is as beautiful as a bird in flight
Love is beautiful under God’s moonlight
Love is as beautiful as a star filled sky
Love is as beautiful as the clouds that drift by
Love is as beautiful as virgin sand
Love is two people hand in hand
Love is beautiful so I hope you see
I’m very glad love found you and me
11-25-05/RJH
poem by Ray Hansell
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Beautiful Night
Someones gone out fishing
Someones high and dry.
Someones on a mission to the lonely lorelei.
Some folks got a vision of a castle in the sky
And Im left stranded, wondering why.
You and me together
Nothing feels so good
Even if I get a medal from my local neighbourhood
I wont need a castle, theyve got castles in versailles
And Im still stranded, wondering why.
Make it a beautiful night for me
Its a beautiful night for love
A wonderful sight for lovers of love to behold
Make it a beautiful night for me
Its a beautiful night for love
A wonderful sight for lovers of love to behold
Some boats on the ocean
Were here in this room
Seems to me the perfect way to spend an afternoon
We can look for castles, pretty castles in the sky
No more wondering, wondering why.
Things can go wrong, things can go right
Things can go bump, in the dead of the night
So let me be there, let me be there
Let me be there with you in the dead of the night
Make it a beautiful night for me
Its a beautiful night for love
A wonderful sight for lovers of love to behold
Make it a beautiful night for me
Its a beautiful night for love
A wonderful sight for lovers of love to behold
Yeah, its a beautiful night
Yeah, its a beautiful night
Yeah, beautiful night, beautiful night
Its such a beautiful night, beautiful night
(repeat to fade)
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Dreams
In My Dreams
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Saturday, May 1,2010 @11: 08 AM
My dearest daughter
In my dreams we walk together
In my dreams we talk together
In my dreams we go to the park together
In my dreams we go to Subway together
I know how you like your tuna with honey muster on it
You introduced me to it and now that is the only way I’ll have it
I know how you love movies especially the scary ones
I take you to movies with your friends and we’d have popcorn and soda
We would go to the Shopping mall and I buy you whatever you liked
How you love those pretzels tots and lemon aid
We would wipe the salt off for it is just too salty
You loved wristbands so we’d buy some and some strange comic books
I’d ask you how your day was going and how is school
You always replied, “It’s okay. Everything is fine.”
You always like to keep it short and simple for some reason
I would take your hand and we would fly across the sky together
We were free as birds of a feather together
In my dream it’s just you and me
We are songs with four part harmonies
What I loved about you is that you were open to listening to my music as well
We would stroll through fields of flowers
You would pick one, just one and hand it to me
In my dreams we would go to the amusement park
You loved the ride that is a swing
You went on with a little boy for he was afraid to go on by himself
I thought that was so sweet your concern for others
I would hug you and tell you how beautiful you are
I would say to you that you are the most beautiful girl on the planet
You would reply “Stop. I’m not.”
I would say, “To me you are more beautiful than the blue sky.”
In my dreams just you and me
I would tell you how cars would stop and people would just look at you
In my dreams you still loved me
In my dreams you still do
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Tis Gone, And For Ever
'Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking,
Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the dead --
When Man, from the slumber of ages awaking,
Look'd upward, and bless'd the pure ray, ere it fled.
'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning,
But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning,
That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning,
And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er thee.
For high was thy hope, when those glories were darting
Around thee, through all the gross clouds of the world;
When Truth, from her letters indignantly starting,
At once, like a sun-burst, her banner unfurl'd.
Oh! never shall earth see a moment so splendid!
Then, then -- had one Hymn of Deliverance blended
The tongues of all nations -- how sweet had ascended
The first note of liberty , Erin, from thee!
But, shame on those tyrants who envied the blessing!
And shame on the light race, unworthy its good,
Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies, caressing
The young hope of Freedom, baptised it in blood.
Then vanish'd for ever that fair sunny vision,
Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision,
Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and elysian,
As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Erin! The Tear and the Smile in Thine Eyes
Erin! the tear and the smile in thine eyes
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies,
Shining through sorrow's stream,
Saddening through pleasure's beam,
Thy suns with doubtful gleam,
Weep while they rise.
Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease,
Erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall increase,
Till, like the rainbow's light,
Thy various tints unite,
And form in heaven's sight
One arch of peace!
poem by Thomas Moore
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Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore
Rich and rare were the gems she wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore;
But oh! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand.
"Lady! dost thou not fear to stray,
So lone and lovely through this bleak way?
Are Erin's sons so good or so cold,
As not to be tempted by woman or gold?"
"Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm,
No son of Erin will offer me harm: --
For though they love woman and golden store,
Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more!"
On she went, and her maiden smile
In safety lighted her round the green isle;
And blest for ever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride.
poem by Thomas Moore
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My Beautiful World
My Beautiful World is kind
My Beautiful World is sweet
My Beautiful World is nice
My Beautiful World is generous
My Beautiful World is selfless
My Beautiful World has given me everything i need, and then some
I love My Beautiful World, and My Beautiful World loves me
I am the only one on My Beautiful World
But i am not lonely, not in the least bit
My Beautiful World and I have each other
But...there is a problem
My Beautiful World is tired
My Beautiful World is sore
My Beautiful world has wounds and scars
Some will never heal
I do everything i can to help
My Beautiful World wants to explode
and the thing is...
I'm still on My Beautiful World
So if she explodes, I explode with her
It would be an honor to go like that...
But that is not how i want it to end
I want to be on My Beautiful World forever
If you haven't figured it out yet
My Beautiful world isn't a world at all
She is a very special person...
who happens to mean the world to me.
poem by That lil emo kid
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O Beautiful Butterfly
Beautiful, beautiful
Purple, violet, red
Spotted and varied
Butterfly, butterfly
Little Rishu does say
Come and play
Butterfly, butterfly
Like you
I want to fly
Very, very high
And view
Beautiful flowers
And playing kids
Who oft skids
While running
Playing in the garden
O beautiful butterfly
Come and take me high
High above in the sky
O my sweet butterfly, butterfly
Shashikant Nishant Sharma 'साहिल'
==========©SNS==14 November 2010==Patna==========
{This poem was written on the children day on seeing my little nephew playing in the garden.}
poem by Shashikant Nishant Sharma
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'Erin Go Braugh' I attest
is the Gaelic phrase that's known best;
But I swear it is better
how she's wearing that sweater
as Erin go bra-less.
quote by by Chuck Audette
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Melville and Coghill - The Place Of The Little Hand
DEAD, with their eyes to the foe,
Dead, with the foe at their feet;
Under the sky laid low
Truly their slumber is sweet,
Though the wind from the Camp of the
Slain Men blow,
And the rain on the wilderness beat.
Dead, for they chose to die
When that wild race was run;
Dead, for they would not fly,
Deeming their work undone,
Nor cared to look on the face of the sky,
Nor loved the light of the sun.
Honor we give them and tears,
And the flag they died to save,
Rent from the raid of the spears,
Wet from the war and the wave,
Shall waft men’s thoughts through the dust of the years,
Back to their lonely grave!
poem by Andrew Lang
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