We Should Be More Like Davies
We ought to be more like the great poet William Henry Davies take time to stand and stare
Instead we worry about life and hurry here and there
We stress about our jobs and about our bills to pay
And yet we're getting older and our time clock ticks away.
To keep up with the aspirational Jones the family next door
We must work a bit harder and of money earn more
For they have bought a new car and a new car we too must buy
They smirk at us in our old car as we go driving by.
We should be more like Davies who penned poems of sheep and cows
Who stared for long as they chewed their cud from under leafy boughs
If the Jones have a new car to that they won't lose sleep
Enough of young grass to eat and nice weather satisfies a cow or sheep.
He lost a leg jumping from a train in his hobo days but he got on with his life
And he went back home and settled down and he found himself a wife
And he did not compete with the Jones next door he penned great poems instead
And Davies the Poet is remembered still though he is long with the dead.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leisure
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
poem by William Henry Davies
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Great Time
Sweet Chance, that led my steps abroad,
Beyond the town, where wild flowers grow --
A rainbow and a cuckoo, Lord,
How rich and great the times are now!
Know, all ye sheep
And cows, that keep
On staring that I stand so long
In grass that's wet from heavy rain --
A rainbow and a cuckoo's song
May never come together again;
May never come
This side the tomb.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Patrick Colum
He penned 'The Old Woman Of The Roads' and 'A Cradle Song'
And to Ireland's best lyricists he surely belong
And his haunting ballad 'She Moved Through The Fair'
With any song ever written is one to compare.
And though to the reaper the poet has long gone
His best poems and lyrics will always live on
He sure was a master of the wordsmith trade
Poets like him are born they cannot be made.
The name of Patrick Colum is a memorable name
Even in his own lifetime he did know great fame
The beauty in his verses is for all to see
A man of great talent who penned great poetry.
Many of his poems are good but his best poems are great
And with the best of Eire he is one to rate
And even in death his fan club does grow
Most lovers of poetry a song or poem of Colum's know.
A legend in death and in his own lifetime
Patrick Colum one who penned quite memorable rhyme
His wonderful gift with the World he did share
A poet of the people and his type are rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Likeness
When I came forth this morn I saw
Quite twenty cloudlets in the air;
And then I saw a flock of sheep,
Which told me how these clouds came there.
That flock of sheep, on that green grass,
Well might it lie so still and proud!
Its likeness had been drawn in heaven,
On a blue sky, in silvery cloud.
I gazed me up, I gazed me down,
And swore, though good the likeness was,
'Twas a long way from justice done
To such white wool, such sparkling grass.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Me And Mrs. Jones
Me and mrs. jones, we got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We meet ev'ry day at the same cafe,
Six-thirty i know she'll be there,
Holding hands, making all kinds of plans
While the jukebox plays our favorite song.
Me and mrs., mrs. jones, mrs. jones, mrs. jones,
Mrs. jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We gotta be extra careful that we don't build our hopes too high
Cause she's got her own obligations and so do i,
Me, me and mrs., mrs. jones, mrs. jones, mrs. jones,
Mrs. jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
Well, it's time for us to be leaving,
Iit hurts so much, it hurts so much inside,
Now she'll go her way and i'll go mine,
But tomorrow we'll meet the same place, the same time.
Me and mrs. jones, mrs. jones, mrs. jones.
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Me & Mrs. Jones
Me and Mrs. Jones, we got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We meet ev'ry day at the same cafe,
Six-thirty I know she'll be there,
Holding hands, making all kinds of plans
While the jukebox plays our favorite song.
Me and Mrs., Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,
Mrs. Jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We gotta be extra careful that we don't build our hopes too high
Cause she's got her own obligations and so do I,
Me, me and Mrs., Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,
Mrs. Jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
Well, it's time for us to be leaving,
Iit hurts so much, it hurts so much inside,
Now she'll go her way and I'll go mine,
But tomorrow we'll meet the same place, the same time.
Me and Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones.
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mrs Jones
What are you gonna do today Mrs Jones
Are you gonna chase the pain away Mrs Jones
Or leave it sitting there waiting outside your door
Hoping to find the things you hoped would tell you more
About the dreams that seem to slip away
What are you gonna do today Mrs Jones
Are you going to face the bills to pay Mrs Jones
Or leave them sitting there waiting outside your door
Hoping to find the things you hoped would tell you more
About the dreams that seem to slip away
It's not as if Mr Jones could help in anyway
It's not as if Mr Jones the bills that he could pay
(Repeat first verse)
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene from B-Sides: Seasides & Freerides
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Keeping His First Wife Now
IT’S OH! for a rivet in marriage bonds,
And a splice in the knot untied—
The sanctity of the marriage tie
Is growing more sanctified!
They’re getting mixed up in society,
There’s an awful family row,
For Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Is “keeping” his first wife now!
Oh! she belonged to the smart, smart set
(Where reasons are far to seek)—
And the wedding and “crush” are remembered yet
As the “smart” things of the week.
Never an atom of love had she,
But they had a child somehow—
And Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Has the love of his first wife now.
Mad for “notice” and “talk” was she—
A butterfly blind as a bat—
She would flaunt for a season a divorcee,
Or divorce him, failing that.
He played his part and she held his heart
As light as her marriage vow—
But Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Has a hold on his first wife now.
She swore in Court what the world knew false,
With never a thought of shame—
She was free to flaunt to her heart’s content,
But she found it mighty tame:
The talk of the “town” for a week or two—
The gush, the smirk and the bow—
But Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Is the God of his first wife now!
Her soul grew sick of the smart, smart set,
Or her conscience drove her wild—
Or she craved for “notice” and “talk” once more—
Or perhaps because of the child;
But they met at last and they met again—
No matter the where or how—
And Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Is in love with his first wife now.
’Tis a “terrible life” for the second young wife,
But she married him too for “place”;
And she mustn’t forget that a smarting set
Belongs to the human race.
They say it’s fixed up in camera,
And, if that is the case, I’ll vow,
That Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Will marry his first wife now.
And there is a song of the English world
And a song for the English race:
The second husband and second wife
Must ever take second place.
So cherish the best that you find in the first,
And a margin of width allow:
The future looks after itself too well!
Look after the first ones now.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mangan
Arguably the greatest poet old Ireland has seen
'Twas he penned the poem known as 'Dark Rosaleen'
In eighteen forty nine in his mid forties in poverty he died
Though true genius of him never can be denied
The great James Clarence Mangan Ireland's National bard
His journey through life was to say the least hard
He lived as he died in abject poverty
Yet one could not name many poets as great as he
From consumption and poor diet and neglect he died very young
For him no State funeral and he was unsung
Despite his hard life it seems a remarkable feat
That so many great poems the great poet did bequeath
To Ireland and it's people though he died just past his prime
As one of the poor souls of the Dublin of his time.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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John Masefield He Wrote Long Stories In Rhyme
For many years England's Poet Laureate but that's going back in time
John Masefield he wrote long stories in rhyme
True genius of him none could deny
His great poems to his greatness testify,
In the Literary World John Masefield held in high esteem
Of his era perhaps the poet supreme
As a young man as a deck hand he spent some time at sea
And much of the bigger World out there he did see
His Saltwater Ballads his ticket to fame
And in poetry his became a household name
His last remains in Nature's bosom lay
But his long narrative poems are read and enjoyed today
Far from England's shore by many a Masefield fan
He lives in his poems the great Ledbury man.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Arguably John Clare
In the English language the greatest poet of Nature is arguably John Clare
Many of his bird and animal and insect poems are gems beyond compare
Yet he died in Northampton mental asylum where he had lived for many years
He penned such marvellous poetry though his life was full of tears.
His Nature poems of the nineteenth century are relevant to today
The Badger and The Landrail, The Fox and Clock a Clay
The Pettichap, The Cuckoo and The Thrush's Nest
When Writing about Nature Clare was at his best.
In death the poor shepherd poet from Helpston has come into his own
His poems poetic classics around the World are known
The greatest Nature poet of England as many would agree
A poet for the ages from a life of poverty.
As a boy amongst Nature in the fields of Helpston he knew of happiness
But sad to think one like him in life did not know of success
With any English Nature poet he favourably does compare
The legendary one of Helpston the reamarkable John Clare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poets
an old woman poet,
stood behind the table,
doling out plate after plate,
to the line of faces...
taking the time...
to ask each their name.
a young student poet,
jerked from the picket line,
beaten, and arrested...
now sits in jail.
the young man poet,
just home after a 12 hour shift,
went next door and mowed
his elderly neighbor's grass.
a young girl poet,
took in the stray cat,
fed it, and held it...
and rocked it to sleep.
the poor poet,
makes a pallot on the floor
of his empty room,
for the homeless to sleep on.
the old man poet,
goes to work again,
minimum wage with a smile,
to feed his sick wife...
the common poet,
build houses, works on machines,
tills gardens, works on cars...
treats everyone the same...
and no one knows his name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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1 Pedophile Ring For Animals: Heifer International
What are livestock men
who in the guise of charity
run an international pedophile
ring for the slavery and
slaughter of baby animals?
***************************************** *
Heifer International is a Little Rock Arkansas based livestock
consortium
which in the guise of charity and ending hunger promotes the agony
of animal slavery and slaughter around the world as it simultaneously
causes animal product related disease, and animal agriculture related
deforestation and global heating. Animal agriculture does not end
hunger.
It causes hunger by furthering a food system which creates a maximum
1000 lbs an acre of murdered animal flesh (as compared to 450,000
pounds an acre for centenarian fruit and nut trees) .
Bill Clinton has advanced this project.
Heifer International kidnaps baby animals from their mothers
and sends them terrorized in cages overseas to confinement
and death.
I WOULD NOT SAIL WITH SHEEP
When I was once in Baltimore
A man came up to me and cried
`Come, I have eighteen hundred sheep,
And we sail on Tuesday's tide.'
`If you will sail with me, young man,
I'll pay you fifty shillings down.
These eighteen hundred sheep I take
From Baltimore to Glasgow town.'
He paid me fifty shillings down.
I sailed with eighteen hundred sheep;
We soon had cleared the harbour's mouth,
We soon were in the salt sea deep.
The first night we were out at sea.
Those sheep were quiet in their mind.
The second night they cried with fear –
They smelt no pastures in the wind.
They sniffed, poor things, for their green fields.
They cried so loud I could not sleep:
For fifty thousand shillings down
I would not sail again with sheep.
-William Henry Davies- 1871 to 1940
(Davies was born in the UK.. lived several years as a hobo
in the US.. broke his leg hopping a train.. and returned to
England and began writing)
poem by O. Anna Niemus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Be An Anthology Poet
To be an anthology poet whose work
Children hate to read in school
And re-discover in later life as meaningful and beautiful-
To be an anthology poet
And have generations know one’s poems
As part of the eternal canon-
To be an anthology poet
One of the few names
That has survived
When thousands of one’s contemporaries’ have not-
To be an anthology poet
To have written a few of the great and the memorable poems-
To be an anthology poet
To be what I am not
And most likely never will be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Money
When I had money, money, O!
I knew no joy till I went poor;
For many a false man as a friend
Came knocking all day at my door.
Then felt I like a child that holds
A trumpet that he must not blow
Because a man is dead; I dared
Not speak to let this false world know.
Much have I thought of life, and seen
How poor men’s hearts are ever light;
And how their wives do hum like bees
About their work from morn till night.
So, when I hear these poor ones laugh,
And see the rich ones coldly frown—
Poor men, think I, need not go up
So much as rich men should come down.
When I had money, money, O!
My many friends proved all untrue;
But now I have no money, O!
My friends are real, though very few.
poem by William Henry Davies
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The Road
I, too, would ease my old car to a stop
on the side of some country road
and count the stars or admire a sunset
or sit quietly through an afternoon....
I'd open the door and go walking
like James Wright across a meadow,
where I might touch a pony's ear and
break into blossom; or, like Hayden
Carruth, sustained by the sight
of cows grazing in pastures at night,
I'd stand speechless in the great darkness;
I'd even search on some well-traveled road
like Phil Levine in this week's New Yorker,
the poet driving his car to an orchard
outside the city where, for five dollars,
he fills a basket with goddamned apples.
poem by Richard Jones
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Mr. Jones
Mr. jones
Put a wiggle in your stride
Loosen up
I believe he'll be alright
Changing clothes
Now he's got ventilated slacks
Bouncing off the walls
Mr. jones is back!
Bulge out
And wind your waist
Tight pants
Got curly hair
Drinking cold beer
From metal cans
Moonshine
And handi-wipes!
Mr. jones is back in town
It's his lucky day
Hold up your hands and shout
Jones is on his way
Pitter pat
Mr. jones is back in town
Aces high
Now his pants are falling down
He looks so fine
In those patent leather shoes
Mr. jones, you look tired
I believe you'll be alright
Sales men
Conventioneers
Some rock stars
With tambourines
Short skirts
And skinny legs
Selling bibles
And real estate
It's a big day for mr. jones
He is not so square
Mr. jones will stick around
He's everybody's friend
Fast cars
And motorbikes
I'm sure glad
He's on our side
The jones gang
Down at the bar
Watch out, this time
They've gone too far
They call for mr. jones
They put him in charge
Mr. jones will help us out
He's a lucky guy
It is mr. jones' birthday party
For another year
In his hotel room party favors
It's a holiday
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is this life if, so full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.
quote by W.H. Davies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?
quote by W.H. Davies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.
quote by W.H. Davies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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