On The Banks Of The Old Ponchartrain
Recorded by: hank williams, sr.
Written by: hank williams sr. & ramona vincent
I [a] travelled from [a7] texas to [d] old louis-[a] anne
Thru valleys, oer mountains and [e7] plains
Both [a] footsore and [a7] weary I [d] rested a-[a] while
On the [e7] banks of the old ponchar-[a] train.
The fairest young maiden that I ever saw
Passed by as it started to rain
We both found a shelter beneath the same tree
On the banks of the old ponchartrain.
We hid from the shower an hour or so
She asked me how long Id remain
I told her that Id spend the rest of my days
On the banks of the old ponchartrain.
I just couldnt tell her that I ran away
From jail on a west texas plain
I prayed in my heart I would never be found
On the banks of the old ponchartrain.
Then one day a man put his hand on my arm
And said I must go west again
I left her alone without saying goodbye
On the banks of the old ponchartrain.
Tonight as I sit here alone in my cell
I know that shes waiting in vain
Im hoping and praying someday to return
To the banks of the old ponchartrain.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The Auld Triangle
A hungry feeling
Came oer me stealing
And the mice were squeeling
In my prison cell
And that auld triangle went jingle-jangle
All along the banks of the royal canal
Oh! to start the morning
The warden bawling
Get up out of bed, you! and clean out your cell!
And that auld triangle went jingle-jangle
All along the banks of the royal canal
Oh! the screw was peeping
And the loike was sleeping
As he lay weeping
For his girl sal
And that auld triangle went jingle-jangle
All along the banks of the royal canal
On a fine spring evening
The loike lay dreaming
And the sea-gulls were wheeling
High above the wall
And that auld triangle went jingle-jangle
All along the banks of the royal canal
Oh! the wind was sighing
And the day was dying
As the loike lay crying
In his prison cell
And that auld triangle went jingle-bloody-jangle
All along the banks of the royal canal
In the womens prison
There are seventy women
And I wish it was with them
That I did dwell
Then that auld triangle could go jingle-jangle
All along the banks of the royal canal
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Banks of The Shore
have i wandered too far this time
to feel the presence of Your hand
i cant say that i've been blind
building castles in the sand
seems kinda funny for me to say
words i've said before
feeling's too heavy for me to pray
on the banks of the shore
on the banks of the shore
at the foot of the cross
my heart's aching and sore
and my soul's feeling lost...
could You spare an angel or two
put a rainbow in the sky
just to let me know that You
care if i live or die
maybe i'll get it right this time
find the key to the door
just need some peace of mind
on the banks of the shore
on the banks of the shore
at the foot of the cross
my heart's aching and sore
and my soul's feeling lost
on the banks of the shore
at the foot of the cross
my heart's aching and sore
and my soul's feeling lost....
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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National Song (E.C.)
There is no land like England
Where banks rise day by day,
There are no banks like English banks
To make the people pay.
There is no such land of castles
Where an Englishman is free
To read his smutty literature
With muffins at his tea.
Chorus:
For the French have comic papers
Not that nice Britons read 'em,
But the bawdy little Britons
Have bank sharks to bleed 'em
And to keep an eye on their readin' matter
Lest they should overhear the distressing chatter
Of the new economical theories
And ask inconvenient queetfes.
poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The first week Banks was with us, we knew he was going to be a star.
quote by Hank Sauer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song
I.
Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires--
The sun from India's shore retires--
To EVAN'S banks with temp'rate ray,
Home of my youth! he leads the day.
O banks to me for ever dear!
O stream, whose murmurs still I hear!
All, all my hopes of bliss reside
Where EVAN mingles with the CLYDE .
II.
And she in simple beauty drest,
Whose image lives within my breast,
Who trembling heard my parting sigh,
And long pursued me with her eye!
Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine,
Oft in the vocal bowers recline?
Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide,
Muse, while the EVAN meets the CLYDE ?
III.
Ye lofty banks that EVAN bound,
Ye lavish woods that wave around,
And o'er the stream your shadows throw,
Which softly winds so far below--
What secret charm to mem'ry brings
All that on EVAN'S border springs?
Sweet banks!--ye bloom by MARY'S side!
Blest stream!--she views thee haste to CLYDE!
IV.
Can all the wealth of INDIA'S coast
Atone for years in absence lost?
Return, ye moments of delight,
With richer treasures bless my sight!
Swift from this desert let me part,
And fly to meet a kindred heart!
Nor more may aught my steps divide
From that dear stream which flows to CLYDE.
poem by Helen Maria Williams
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Urara
Euroka, go over the tops of the hill,
For the ~Death-clouds~ have passed us to-day,
And we'll cry in the dark for the foot-falls still,
And the tracks which are fading away!
Let them yell to their lubras, the Bulginbah dogs,
And say how our brothers were slain,
We shall wipe out our grief in the blood of their chief,
And twenty more dead on the plain -
On the blood-spattered spurs of the plain!
But the low winds sigh,
And the dead leaves fly,
Where our warriors lie,
In the dingoes' den - in the white-cedar glen
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
Urara! Urara!
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
The Wallaroos grope through the tufts of the grass,
And crawl to their coverts for fear;
But we'll sit in the ashes and let them pass
Where the boomerangs sleep with the spear!
Oh! our hearts will be lonely and low to-night
When we think of the hunts of yore;
And the foes that we sought, and the fights which we fought,
With those who will battle no more -
Who will go to the battle no more!
For the dull winds sigh,
And the dead leaves fly,
Where our warriors lie,
In the dingoes' den - in the white-cedar glen
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
Urara! Urara!
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
Oh! the gorges and gullies are black with crows,
And they feast on the flesh of the brave;
But the forest is loud with the howls of our foes
For those whom they never can save!
Let us crouch with our faces down to our knees,
And hide in the dark of our hair;
For we will not return where the camp-fires burn,
And see what is smouldering there -
What is smouldering, mouldering there!
Where the sad winds sigh -
The dead leaves fly,
And our warriors lie;
In the dingoes' den - in the white-cedar glen
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
Urara! Urara!
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
poem by Henry Kendall
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Banks have a new image. Now you have 'a friend,' your friendly banker. If the banks are so friendly, how come they chain down the pens?
Young Munro the Sailor
'Twas on a sunny morning in the month of May,
I met a pretty damsel on the banks o' the Tay;
I said, My charming fair one, come tell to me I pray,
Why do you walk alone on the banks o' the Tay.
She said, Kind sir, pity me, for I am in great woe
About my young sailor lad, whose name is James Munro;
It's he has been long at sea, seven years from this day,
And I come here sometimes to weep for him that's far, far away.
Lovely creature, cease your weeping and consent to marry me,
And my houses and all my land I will give to thee,
And we shall get married without any delay,
And live happy and contented on the banks o' the Tay.
Believe me, my sweet lady, I pity the sailor's wife,
For I think she must lead a very unhappy life;
Especially on a stormy night, I'm sure she cannot sleep,
Thinking about her husband whilst on the briny deep.
Oh, sir! it is true, what you to me have said,
But I must be content with the choice I've made;
For Munro's he's young and handsome, I will ne'er deny,
And if I don't get him for a husband, believe me, I will die.
Because, when last we parted, we swore to be true,
And I will keep my troth, which lovers ought to do;
And I will pray for his safe return by night and by day,
That God may send him safe home to the banks o' the Tay.
Forgive me, noble heart, for asking to marry you,
I was only trying your love, if it was really true;
But I've found your love is pure towards your sailor lad,
And the thought thereof, believe me, makes my heart feel glad.
As homeward we retraced our steps her heart seemed glad,
In hopes of seeing again her brave sailor lad,
He had promised to marry her when he would return,
So I bade her keep up her spirits and no longer mourn.
Dear creature, the lass that's true to her sweetheart deserves great praise,
And I hope young Munro and you will spend many happy days,
For unto him I know you will ever prove true,
And perchance when he comes home he will marry you.
What you have said, kind sir, I hope will come true,
And if it does, I'll make it known to you;
And you must come to the marriage, which you musn't gainsay,
And dance and rejoice with us on the marriage-day.
When we arrived in Dundee she bade me good-bye,
Then I told her where I lived, while she said with a sigh,
Kind sir, I will long remember that morning in May,
When I met you by chance on the banks o' the Tay.
When three months were past her sailor lad came home,
And she called to see me herself alone,
And she invited me to her marriage without delay,
Which was celebrated with great pomp the next day.
So I went to the marriage with my heart full of joy,
And I wished her prosperity with her sailor boy;
And I danced and sang till daylight, and then came away,
Leaving them happy and contented on the banks o' the Tay.
So all ye pretty fair maids, of high or low degree,
Be faithful to your sweethearts when they have gone to sea,
And never be in doubts of them when they are far away,
Because they might return and marry you some unexpected day.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The (Not-So-Great) Bailout of 2008
Gather round children,
as I tell the tale,
Of how all the banks
started to fail.
About how the government
bailed out the rich,
Rather than the poor,
which would have been a switch.
People were greedy,
for something called cash,
Brokers on Wall Street had plenty,
so what they did seems rash.
And so they started
robbing regular people blind.
That's how America (and the World)
got into a bind.
The banks began approving loans for homes,
to anyone who might need.
The value would go up,
and you could re-mortgage indeed.
People started spending
what they never had.
The way money was their religion
was awfully sad.
People would spend thousands of dollars,
On luxury items and diamond rings,
While poor children went without
food, braces and things.
The world was on a bubble
about to break.
Still banks pushed loans and investments
with ratings that were fake.
The economy crashed
like a run away train.
Regular people watched as their savings
and retirement went down the drain.
The president and congress
fearing another crash,
put together
a bailout plan fast.
They reasoned, if we don't fix the economy
the whole ship will sink.
'You don't understand, ' they claimed
the world is on the brink.
And so the government taught future generations,
handing (the rich) a bone,
That's it's okay to spend
more than you own.
poem by Joseph DeMarco
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Banks Of Ohio
I asked my love to take a walk, to take a walk, just a little walk
Down the side where the waters flow, down by the banks of the Ohio
Chorus:
And only say that you'll be mine, in no other's arms entwined
Down the side where the waters flow, down by the banks of the Ohio
I held a knife against his breast, as into my arms he pressed
He cried, "My love, don't you murder me, I'm not prepared for eternity"
(chorus)
I wandered home 'tween twelve and one, I cried, "My God, what have I done?
I've killed the only man I love, he would not take me for his bride"
(chorus)
Down by the banks of the Ohio
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song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Luckenbach, Texas
(bobby gene emmons, chips moman)
The only two things in life that make it worth living
Is guitars tuned good and firm-feeling women.
Well, i don't need my name in the marquee lights,
I got my song and i got you with me tonight.
Let's go to luckenbach, texas
With waylon and willie and the boys
This successful life we're living's
Got us feuding like the hatfields and mccoys.
Between hank williams pain songs,
Steve goodman train songs,
Blue eyes crying in the rain,
Out in luckenbach, texas,
Ain't nobody feeling no pain.
So baby let's sell your diamond ring
To buy some boots and faded jeans and go away.
This coat and tie is choking me
In your high society you cry all day.
We've been so busy keeping up with the jones
Four-car garage and we're still building on.
Let's go to luckenbach, texas,
Waylon and willie and the boys.
This successful life we're living's
Got us feuding like the hatfields and mccoys.
Between hank williams pain songs,
Steve goodman train songs,
Blue eyes crying in the rain,
Luckenbach, texas,
Ain't nobody feeling no pain.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gloomy Night Is Gath'ring Fast
The gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
Yon murky cloud is filled with rain,
I see it driving o'er the plain;
The hunter now has left the moor,
The scatt'red coveys meet secure;
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.
The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn
By early Winter's ravage torn;
Across her placid, azure sky,
She sees the scowling tempest fly;
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave:
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonie banks of Ayr.
'Tis not the surging billows' roar,
'Tis not the fatal, deadly shore;
Tho' death inev'ry shape appear,
The wretched have no more to fear:
But round my heart the ties are bound,
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound;
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,
To leave the bonie banks of Ayr.
Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales,
Her heathy moors and winding vales;
The scenes where wretched Fancy roves,
Pursuing past, unhappy loves!
Farewell my friends! Farewell my foes!
My peace with these, my love with those--
The bursting tears my heart declare,
Farewell, my bonie banks of Ayr.
poem by Robert Burns
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Dear Brother
Recorded by hank williams, sr. (with audrey williams)
Words and music by hank williams, sr.
[c] dear brother, mama left us this morning
Deaths [g7] angels took her a-[c] way
Shes gone to meet daddy up there in heaven
But [g7] well meet again some [c] day. [c7]
She [f] left this world with a [c] smile on her face
Whispring the saviours [g7] name
[c] dear brother, mama left us this morning
For the [g7] city where is no [c] pain.
As I stood by her bedside, those last few moments
I lived my childhood again
I thought of you brother and of the old homestead
And my tears they fell like rain.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mary, the Maid o' the Tay
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Tay,
Whaur me and my Mary oft did stray;
But noo she is dead and gone far away,
Sae I maun mourn for lovely Mary, the Maid o' the Tay,
The first time I met her 'twas in the month of May,
And the sun was shining bricht on the Silvery Tay;
I asked her name and she modestly did say,
"Some fouks ca's me lovely Mary, the Maid o' the Tay."
Oh, charming Mary o' the Tay,
Queen o' my soul by nicht and day;
But noo thou'rt gane and left me here
To weep for you, sweet Mary dear.
Oh, bonnie Mary o' the Tay,
Joy o' my heart and Queen o' May;
With thee I aye felt happy and gay
While rambling with thee on the banks o' the Tay.
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Tay,
With my Mary ye seemed ever gay;
But noo ye seem baith dark and drear,
For my puir heart ye canna cheer.
My Mary was handsome and fair to be seen,
She bad bonnie fair hair and twa blue een;
And she was, aye happy while we carelessly did stray
Alang the banks o' the Silvery Tay.
Oh, Mary dear, I mourn thy loss,
To me the world seems nought but dross;
Sae I maun mourn baith nicht and day
For my lovely Mary, the Maid o' the Tay.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Blythe was She
Blythe, blythe and merry was she,
Blythe was she but and ben;
Blythe by the banks of Ern,
And blythe in Glenturit glen.
By Ochtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonnier lass
Than braes o’ Yarrow ever saw.
Blythe, &c.
Her looks were like a flow’r in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn:
She tripped by the banks of Ern,
As light’s a bird upon a thorn.
Blythe, &c.
Her bonnie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lee;
The evening sun was ne’er sae sweet,
As was the blink o’ Phemie’s e’e.
Blythe, &c.
The Highland hills I’ve wander’d wide,
And o’er the Lowlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blythest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.
Blythe, &c.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Funny Money
Some poems may be funny,
But mine is not so funny,
A shocking reality,
That involves money.
The funny thing about money,
It makes the world go round,
The real and funny money,
Banks make the world go around,
By loaning and keeping money,
A dirty secret found,
They even do the laundry,
We all are so confound!
We love the smell of money,
But don't smell the funny money,
The banks are in big trouble,
They found one, now it's double.
And that's not so funny,
Coz it's one too many.
Interest Rate
Interest rate should be fixed
In such a manner and style
So that both the commercial banks
And their clients are benefited
But unfortunately many people
Incur loss as a result of
High interest rate
The central bank should encourage
The commercial banks
To go for investment
In the lucrative sectors
In order to create more fund
And to enable them to give more loans
And lower interest rate
For the entrepreneurs
If the commercial banks
Lower interest rate
For the depositors
The latter will not be discouraged much
Since people deposit money mainly
To keep it in a safe place
If the commercial banks
Lower interest rate
For the entrepreneurs
Many more people will take loan
As a result
Both the parties will be benefited
According to Islam
If there is more good elements
Than bad effects
Exist in a thing
It becomes halal
Therefore if most of the people are benefited
By taking loans it becomes okay
poem by Asif Andalib
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Otter Creek
Past meadows, beyond trees, down muddy banks flows otter creek.
King fisher in branches, perched, poised.
Skydiver, bullet from above, silent splash, into otter creek.
Muscles plucked from their beds, shells discarded, gathered for fun, pass up not one.
Trout fry swim swiftly, cray fish beneath rocks avoid seeking hands, pincers poised, threatening stance.
Kids crossing fallen logs, catching frogs, skipping rocks, swimming in otter creek.
Mud wars rage, picnic blanket laid on the green glade near otter creek.
We follow paw prints, beneath willow tree roots, den site dug deep into muddy banks of otter creek.
Within the town of Franklinville, hot summers day, sister, niece, and I, our dad's.
Never saw the otters of the creek, only paw prints, left proof of an existence.
In memories I venture, hoping, just a glimpse.
To sit once again, past meadows, beyond trees, down muddy banks, there it flows, otter creek.
poem by Gary Kedron
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Many young Japanese were hearing for the first time the words of Native people from the West.
quote by Dennis Banks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Modern Day Okies!
hard dust bowl depression days,
the banks came with tractors and guns
and papers to take away...
the old home places, the farms,
their way of life, their family way....
kicked them off like they were trash...
called them Okies...
white trash, despised by
all the 'good' people who still had....
drove them west, migrant camps or die...
faceless, homeless, expendable...
and now the tide has turned,
and more American people
kicked off, kicked out...
the bank comes 'round again....
taking no prisoners!
the weak and poorest will die....
the strong ones will fight!
call us what you want...
white, black, Hispanic, dont matter
what color or where from!
we're not your trash!
keep looking down from your towers,
one day they'll fall on you...
your banks will crash...
and they'll be no one there to help,
no one left to do your work!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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