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21 Jump Street [The Fight Breaks Out]

Cast: Jonah Hill, Channing Tatum

clip from 21 Jump Street (2012)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Jonah Forced By God Warms Assyrian Nineveh

Jonah an Old Testament prophet
from Galilee his story takes place
between years 780 B.C to 760 B.C.

Assyria was a powerful evil nation
Israel's most dreaded enemy foreign.
The Lord spoke unto Jonah told him

to go to Nineveh capital of Assyria
to preach to warn sinful Ninevites. Jonah 1: 2.
Jonah by God's word commanded

told to warn the Ninevites to repent
or suffer judgement for wickedness.
But Jonah disobeys the will of God

Jonah plots swiftly high tales it out
180 degrees in opposite direction
Jonah boy child brought back to life

resurrected by Elijah the prophet 1 Kings 17: 17-24.
Jonah son of Amittai the son of truth 2 Kings 14: 25.
Jonah departed not to Nineveh but

to Tarshish with motives of what?
Were Jonah's motives fear revenge?
Assyrians had committed terrible

atrocities against the people of Israel
traveling into their midst was terrifying?
Jonah despised hated the Assyrians

desired in his heart for God to punish
Assyria? Jonah knew God's nature.
Jonah knew if repentance he preached

to the Ninevites they would repent?
God would spare them punishment. Jonah 4: 2.
Jonah disobeyed fled toward Tarshish

because he knew God to be gracious
merciful, slow to anger, and abundant
in loving-kindness, regretting calamity.

Jonah knew God would forgive regret
his decision to destroy Nineveh a city
of more than 120,000 men domestic

animals living in spiritual darkness;
not knowing the difference between

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Jonah and the Grampus

I'll tell you the story of Jonah,
A really remarkable tale;
A peaceful and humdrum existence he had
Until one day he went for a sail.

The weather were grand when they started,
But later at turn of the tide
The wind started blowing, the water got rough,
And Jonah felt funny inside.

When the ship started pitching and tossing
He tried hard his feelings to smother,
At last he just leant his head over the side
And one thing seemed to bring up another.

When the sailors saw what he were doing
It gave them a bit of a jar;
They didn't mind trippers enjoying theirselves,
But thowt this 'ere were going too far.

Said one "Is there nowt you can think on
To stop you from feelin' so bad?"
And Jonah said "Aye, lift me over the side
And chuck me in, there's a good lad."

The sailor were not one to argue,
He said "Happen you know what's best."
Then he picked Jonah up by the seat of his pants
And chucked him in, as per request.

A Grampus came up at that moment,
And seeing the old man hard set,
It swam to his side and it opened its mouth
And said "Come in lad, out of the wet."

Its manner were kindly and pleading,
As if to say R.S.V.P.
Said Jonah "I've eaten a kipper or two,
But I never thowt one would eat me."

The inside of Grampus surprised him,
'Twere the first time he'd been behind scenes;
He found 'commodation quite ample for one
But it smelled like a tin of sardines.

Then over the sea they went cruising,
And Jonah were filled with delight;
With his eye to the blow-'ole in t'Grampus's head
He watched ships that passed in the night.

[...] Read more

poem by Marriott Edgar
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Jonah

Thus sung the king—some angel reach a bough
From Eden's tree to crown the wisest brow;
And now thou fairest garden ever made,
Broad banks of spices, blossom'd walks of shade,
O Lebanon! where much I love to dwell,
Since I must leave thee Lebanon, farewel!

Swift from my soul the fair Idea flies,
A wilder sight the changing scene supplies,
Wide seas come rolling to my future page,
And storms stand ready when I call, to rage.
Then go where Joppa crowns the winding shore,
The prophet Jonah just arrives before,
He sees a ship unmooring, soft the gales,
He pays, and enters, and the vessel sails.

Ah wou'dst thou fly thy God? rash man forbear,
What land so distant but thy God is there?
Weak reason, cease thy voice.—They run the deep,
And the tir'd prophet lays his limbs to sleep.
Here God speaks louder, sends a storm to sea,
The clouds remove to give the vengeance way;
Strong blasts come whistling, by degrees they roar
And shove big surges tumbling on to shore;
The vessel bounds, then rolls, and ev'ry blast
Works hard to tear her by the groaning mast;
The sailors doubling all their shouts and cares
Furl the white canvas, and cast forth the wares,
Each seek the God their native regions own,
In vain they seek them, for those Gods were none.
Yet Jonah slept the while, who solely knew,
In all that number, where to find the true.
To whom the pilot: sleeper, rise and pray,
Our Gods are deaf; may thine do more than they.

But thus the rest: perhaps we waft a foe
To heav'n itself, and that's our cause of woe;
Let's seek by lots, if heav'n be pleas'd to tell;
And what they sought by lots, on Jonah fell:
Then whence he came, and who, and what, and why
Thus rag'd the tempest, all confus'dly cry,
Each press'd in haste to get his question heard,
When Jonah stops them with a grave regard.

An Hebrew man you see, who God revere,
He made this world, and makes this world his care,
His the whirl'd sky, these waves that lift their head,
And his yon land, on which you long to tread.
He charg'd me late, to Nineveh repair,
And to their face denounce his sentence there:

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Parnell
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Do They Know It's Christmas

It's Christmas time
There's no need to be afraid
At Christmas time
We let in light and we banish shade
(Jonah doing Boy George)
And in our world of plenty
We can spread a smile of joy
Throw your arms around the world
At Christmas time
(Jonah doing George Michael)
But say a prayer
Pray for the other ones
At Christmas time it's hard
(Chino doing Simon LeBon)
But when you're having fun
There's a world outside your window
(Jonah doing George Michael joins in)
And it's a world of dread and fear
Where the only water flowing is
(Jonah doing Bono joins in)
The bitter sting of tears
(Jonah doing Bono)
And the Christmas bells that are ringing
Are clanging chimes of doom
Well, tonight thank God it's them instead of you.
(Jonah) And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time.
The greatest gift they'll get this year is life
(Chino) Oh-oh
(Jonah) Where nothing ever grows
No rain or rivers flow
Do they know it's Christmas time at all?
(Grady)Here's to you
(Jonah)raise a glass for everyone
(Grady)Here's to them
(Jonah)underneath that burning sun
(Everyone)Do they know it's Christmas time at all?
Chorus (Everyone)
Feed the world
Feed the world
Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time again
Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time again
Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time again

song performed by Deftones
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bible Stories: Jonah (Part I)

Chapter I:

To Jonah, came the word of God,
The son of Amittai,
“Go to city of Nineveh
And warn them that their wickedness
Has come before the Lord! ”

But Jonah tried to flee from God
And boarded fast a ship;
He paid the fare to reach Tarshish,
To escape from the Lord!

God raised a tempest on the sea
That tried to break the ship;
The mariners got frightened much,
‘Each one cried to his God! ’

They threw the cargo in the sea,
While Jonah lay asleep;
The captain rudely told Jonah,
‘Pray God, we mustn’t perish! ’

They cast lots to detect the one,
Who brought them misfortune;
Poor Jonah turned to be culprit!
They questioned his business.

Then Jonah told them, ’I’m Hebrew,
My God’s the Creator!
He is the God of Heaven, earth,
And made the land and sea.’

When Jonah told he fled the Lord,
The men were seized with fear;
The sea was turning turbulent;
At stake were their lives dear.

So, Jonah told them, ‘Pick me up;
Throw me into the sea;
The storm was on account of me;
Perhaps, it could calm be.

The men rowed hard but saw no land;
The sea grew furious;
They prayed to God to forgive them,
And hurled Jonah in sea!

To their surprise, the sea turned calm;
May be, they did right thing;

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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Jonah 180 Degrees Of Misdirection

Jonah an Old Testament prophet
from Galilee his fab story takes place
between years 780 B.C to 760 B.C.

Assyria was a powerful evil nation
Israel’s most dreaded enemy foreign.
The Lord spoke unto Jonah told him

go to Nineveh capital of Assyria
preach to warn sinful Ninevites.
Jonah 1: 2.
Jonah by God’s word commanded

told to warn the Ninevites to repent
or suffer judgement for wickedness.
But Jonah disobeys the will of God

Jonah plots swiftly high tales it out
180 degrees in opposite direction
Jonah boy child brought back to life

resurrected by Elijah the prophet
1 Kings 17: 17-24.
Jonah son of Amittai the son of truth
2 Kings 14: 25.
Jonah departed not to Nineveh but

to Tarshish with motives of what?

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Today... 'Greater than Jonah

Jonah with Jesus could not remotely compare
for none like my Lord Jesus can be found anywhere.
Jonah in his disobedience ran away,
But Jesus in obedience determined to stay.

Into the depths of the sea Jonah was then sent
but into the depths of hell my Saviour went.
For three days under the sea Jonah had to stay
but Jesus in triumph tore the bars of death away.

Jonah cried out to God and from drowning was spared
But my Lord was forsaken and not a soul cared.
Jonah's message to Nineveh was restricted
but my Lords work saved the world as was predicted.

Jesus my Lord and God is far beyond compare
and His glory with another He will not share.
That is why the people on earth heard Him declare
That One much greater than Jonah was standing there.

(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)

poem by Roy Allen
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Assyrian City Nineveh Repents

Jonah disobeyed fled toward Tarshish
because knowing God to be gracious
merciful, slow to anger, and abundant
in loving-kindness, regretting calamity.

Jonah knew God would forgive regret
his decision to destroy Nineveh a city
of more than 120,000 men domestic

animals living in spiritual darkness;
not knowing the difference between
their right hand and their left; between

good and evil. Jonah by God was forced
to voice God’s forty day warning and thus
Jonah 3: 1-4.
the king of Nineveh ordered a great fast.

All wore from greatest to the least
sackcloth, none ate nor drank not,
man nor domestic animal; all the men

called to God with strength repented
of bad ways violence of their hands.
God turned back from his burning anger

felt regret spared Nineveh did not perish.
Jonah 3: 5-10.
What moral by Jonah’s story is taught?
Jonah’s story teaches obedience necessary,

without question, to obey the will of God;
taught a willingness of spirit, gratitude,
compassion God’s grace patience mercy.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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We Are Jonah

And the round old fox, stepped up to make his speech
His ship was on the rocks, and rescue out of reach
Spotlit he stood, said what he thought he should
Half the crowd did laugh, though there was no joke
And soon the other half were swallowed up in smoke
A robin on the wing, could be heard to sing, the strangest thing
Grandma, we are jonah
Rolling along in the teeth of a whale
Then the plane did land, for some it did not crash
From it emerged a man, in trainers and moustache
Down he laid his load, upon the heated road
Then the road did part, and the tar did melt
He loosened up his heart, he tightened up his belt
Like a piece of string, then he began to sing, like a pearly king
Grandma, we are jonah
Rolling along in the teeth of a whale
Then the scene did shift, to a sun kissed sea
There was montgomery clift, jonah, the whale and me
As the sun it set, montgomery placed his bet
Then the whale did yawn, and fell asleep in four
From dusk till dawn, you shoul have heard him snore
From tierra-del-fuego, to the alaskan snows... there she blows!
Grandma, we are jonah
Rolling along in the teeth of a whale
My dear old grandma, we are jonah
Rolling along in the teeth of a whale
Grandma
We are jonah, rolling along in the teeth of a whale

song performed by Waterboys
Added by Lucian Velea
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We Are Jonah

And the round old fox, stepped up to make his speech
His ship was on the rocks, and rescue out of reach
Spotlit he stood, said what he thought he should
Half the crowd did laugh, though there was no joke
And soon the other half were swallowed up in smoke
A robin on the wing, could be heard to sing, the strangest thing
Grandma, we are jonah
Rolling along in the teeth of a whale
Then the plane did land, for some it did not crash
From it emerged a man, in trainers and moustache
Down he laid his load, upon the heated road
Then the road did part, and the tar did melt
He loosened up his heart, he tightened up his belt
Like a piece of string, then he began to sing, like a pearly king
Grandma, we are jonah
Rolling along in the teeth of a whale
Then the scene did shift, to a sun kissed sea
There was montgomery clift, jonah, the whale and me
As the sun it set, montgomery placed his bet
Then the whale did yawn, and fell asleep in four
From dusk till dawn, you shoul have heard him snore
From tierra-del-fuego, to the alaskan snows... there she blows!
Grandma, we are jonah
Rolling along in the teeth of a whale
My dear old grandma, we are jonah
Rolling along in the teeth of a whale
Grandma
We are jonah, rolling along in the teeth of a whale

song performed by Waterboys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Jonah’s Motives Were Destruction Of Nineveh

To Tarshish with motives of what?
Were Jonah’s motives fear revenge?
Assyrians had committed terrible

atrocities against the people of Israel
traveling into their midst was terrifying?
Jonah despised hated the Assyrians

desired in his heart for God to punish
Assyria? Jonah knew God’s nature.
Jonah knew if repentance he preached

to the Ninevites they would repent?
God would spare them punishment.
Jonah 4: 2.
Jonah disobeyed fled toward Tarshish.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sugar Hill

Writer Dolly Parton
Up on Sugar Hill we'd go walkin'
Hand in hand while the south wind blowed
Bob whites callin', black crows cawkin',
Countin' the warts on a toad in the road
Down in the mill pond swimmin naked
Showin' more than we should have showed
We were just kids explorin' nature
Learnin more than we should have knowed
Sug, Sug, Sug, Sugar Hill memories
Stealing sugar on the mountainside
Sug, Sug, Sug, Sugar Hill sugar
Sweeter than candy and cake and pie
A yellow dress drapin off of my shoulder
Seein' myself in the lookin glass
Older now and a little bit bolder
Thinkin' about our summers past
Up on Sugar Hill we'd go walkin'
Hand in hand up the mountainside
Teenage lovers plannin' and talkin'
Dreamin' of a future for you and I
Sug, Sug, Sug, Sugar Hill memories
Stealin' sugar on the mountain top
Sug, Sug, Sug, Sugar Hill sugar
Sweeter than ice cream and soda pop
Years have past, we're married with children
Our days are happy and our memories fond
We still find it quite appealin'
To go to Sugar Hill and swim naked in the pond
Sug, Sug, Sug, Sugar Hill memories
Stealin' sugar on the mountaintop
Sug, Sug, Sug, Sugar Hill sugar
Sweeter than ice cream and soda pop
Up on Sugar Hill theres a wealth of treasure
Down its memory lane I go walking still
What it means to me is more than I can measure
Golden moments up on Sugar Hill
Up on Sugar Hill with the fireflies glowin
Sound of katydids and the whipperwill
Honeysuckle bloomin and a mountain stream flowin
A little spot of heaven up on Sugar Hill
Up On Sugar Hill with the bobwhites callin
Black crows cawkin', and the soft wind blows
Up on Sugar Hill there are love birds talkin'
Up on Sugar Hill where the good times roll
Sug, Sug, Sug, Sugar Hill memories
Stealin sugar on the mountainside
Sug, Sug, Sug, Sugar Hill sugar
Sweeter than candy and cakes and pies
A little spot of heaven up on Sugar Hill

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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Carric-Thura

Fingal, returning from an expedition which he had made into the Roman province, resolved to visit Cathulla, king of Inistore, and brother to Comala, whose story is related at large in the preceding dramatic poem. Upon his coming in sight of Carric-thura, the palace of Cathulla, he observed a flame on its top, which, in those days, was a signal of distress. The wind drove him into a bay at some distance from Carric-thura, and he was obliged to pass the night on shore. Next day he attacked the army of Frothal, king of Sora, who had besieged Cathulla in his palace of Carric-thura, and took Frothal himself prisoner, after he had engaged him in a single combat. The deliverance of Carric-thura is the subject of the poem; but several other episodes are interwoven with it. It appears, from tradition, that this poem was addressed to a Culdee, or one of the first Christian missionaries, and that the story of the spirit of Loda, supposed to be the ancient Odin of Scandinavia, was introduced by Ossian in opposition to the Culdee's doctrine. Be this as it will, it lets us into Ossian's notions of a superior Being; and shows us that he was not addicted to the superstition which prevailed all the world over, before the introduction of Christianity.

HAST thou left thy blue course in heaven, golden-haired son of the sky! The west opened its gates; the bed of thy repose is there. The waves come to behold thy beauty. They lift their trembling heads. They see thee lovely in thy sleep; they shrink away with fear. Rest in thy shadowy cave, O sun! let thy return be in joy.

But let a thousand lights arise to the sound of the harps of Selma: let the beam spread in the hall, the king of shells is returned! The strife of Crona is past, like sounds that are no more. Raise the song, O bards! the king is returned with his fame!

Such were the words of Ullin, when Fingal returned from war; when he returned in the fair blushing of youth with all his heavy locks. His blue arms were on the hero; like a light cloud on the sun, when he moves in his robes of mist, and shows but half his beams. His heroes followed the king: the feast of shells is spread. Fingal turns to his bards, and bids the song to rise.

Voices of echoing Cona! he said; O bards of other times! Ye, on whose souls the blue host of our fathers rise! strike the harp in my hall: and let me hear the song. Pleasant is the joy of grief; it is like the shower of spring when it softens the branch of the oak, and the young leaf rears its green head. Sing on, O bards! to-morrow we lift the sail. My blue course is through the ocean, to Carric-thura's walls; the mossy walls of Sarno, where Comala dwelt. There the noble Cathulla spreads the feast of shells. The boars of his woods are many; the sound of the chase shall arise!

Cronnan, son of the song! said Ullin; Minona, graceful at the harp! raise the tale of Shilric, to please the king of Morven. Let Vinvela come in her beauty, like the showery bow when it shows its lovely head on the lake, and the setting sun is bright. She comes, O Fingal! her voice is soft, but sad.

Vinvela. My love is a son of the hill. He pursues the flying deer. His gray dogs are panting around him; his bow-string sounds in the wind. Dost thou rest by the fount of the rock, or by the noise of the mountain stream? The rushes are nodding to the wind, the mist flies over the hill. I will approach my love unseen; I will behold him from the rock. Lovely I saw thee first by the aged oak of Branno; thou wert returning tall from the chase; the fairest among thy friends.

Shilric. What voice is that I hear? that voice like the summer wind! I sit not by the nodding rushes; I hear not the fount of the rock . Afar, Vinvela, afar, I go to the wars of Fingal. My dogs attend me no more. No more I tread the hill. No more from on high I see thee, fair moving by the stream of the plain; bright as the bow of heaven; as the moon on the western wave.

Vinvela. Then thou art gone, O Shilric! I am alone on the hill! The deer are seen on the brow: void of fear they graze along. No more they dread the wind; no more the rustling tree. The hunter is far removed, he is in the field of graves. Strangers! sons of the waves! spare my lovely Shilric!

Shilric. If fall I must in the field, raise high my grave, Vinvela. Gray stones, and heaped up earth, shall mark me to future times. When the hunter shall sit by the mound, and produce his food at noon, "some warrior rests here," he will say; and my fame shall live in his praise. Remember me, Vinvela, when low on earth I lie!

Vinvela. Yes! I will remember thee! alas! my Shilric will fall! What shall I do, my love, when thou art for ever gone? Through these hills I will go at noon: I will go through the silent heath. There I will see the place of thy rest, returning from the chase. Alas! my Shilric will fall; but I will remember Shilric.

And I remember the chief, said the king of woody Morven; he consumed the battle in his rage. But now my eyes behold him not. I met him one day on the hill; his cheek was pale: his brow was dark. The sigh was frequent in his breast: his steps were towards the desert. But now he is not in the crowd of my chiefs, when the sounds of my shields arise. Dwells he in the narrow house, the chief of high Carmora?

Cronnan! said Ullin of other times, raise the song of Shilric! when he returned to his hills, and Vinvela was no more. He leaned on her gray mossy stone he thought Vinvela lived. He saw her fair moving on the plain; but the bright form lasted not: the sunbeam fled from the field, and she was seen no more. Hear the song of Shilric; it is soft, but sad!

I sit by the mossy fountain; on the top of the hill of winds. One tree is rustling above me. Dark waves roll over the heath. The lake is troubled below. The deer descend from the hill. No hunter at a distance is seen. It is mid-day: but all is silent. Sad are my thoughts alone. Didst thou but appear, O my love? a wanderer on the heath? thy hair floating on the wind behind thee; thy bosom heaving on the sight; thine eyes full of tears for thy friends, whom the mists of the hill had concealed? Thee I would comfort, my love, and bring thee to thy father's house?

But is it she that there appears, like a beam of light on the heath? bright as the moon in autumn, as the sun in a summer storm, comest thou, O maid, over rocks, over mountains, to me? She speaks: but how weak her voice! like the breeze in the reeds of the lake.

"Returnest thou safe from the war? Where are thy friends, my love? I heard of thy death on the hill; I heard and mourned thee, Shilric! Yes, my fair, I return: but I alone of my race. Thou shalt see them no more; their graves I raised on the plain. But why art thou on the desert hill? Why on the heath alone?

" Alone I am, O Shilric! alone in the winter-house. With grief for thee I fell. Shilric, I am pale in the tomb."

She fleets, she sails away; as mist before the wind; and wilt thou not stay, Vinvela? Stay, and behold my tears! Fair thou appearest, Vinvela! fair thou wast, when alive!

By the mossy fountain I will sit; on the top of the hills of winds. When mid-day is silent around, O talk with me, Vinvela! come on the light-winged gale! on the breeze of the desert, come! Let me hear thy voice, as thou passest, when mid-day is silent around!

Such was the song of Cronnan, on the night of Selma's joy. But morning rose in the east; the blue waters rolled in light. Fingal bade his sails to rise; the winds came rustling from their hills. Inistore rose to sight, and Carric-thura's mossy towers! But the sign of distress was on their top: the warning flame edged with smoke. The king of Morven struck his breast: he assumed at once his spear. His darkened brow bends forward to the coast: he looks back to the lagging winds. His hair is disordered on his back. The silence of the king is terrible!

Night came down on the sea: Rotha's bay received the ship. A rock bends along the coast with all its echoing wood. On the top is the circle of Loda, the mossy stone of power! A narrow plain spreads beneath covered with grass and aged trees, which the midnight winds, in their wrath, had torn from their shaggy rock. The blue course of a stream is there! the lonely blast of ocean pursues the thistle's beard. The flame of three oaks arose: the feast is spread round; but the soul of the king is sad, for Carric-thura's chief distrest.

The wan cold moon rose in the east. Sleep descended on the youths! Their blue helmets glitter to the beam; the fading fire decays. But sleep did not rest on the king: he rose in the midst of his arms, and slowly ascended the hill, to behold the flame of Sarno's tower.

The flame was dim and distant; the moon hid her red face in the east. A blast came from the mountain, on its wings was the spirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrors, and shook his dusky spear. His eyes appear like flames in his dark face; his voice is like distant thunder. Fingal advanced his spear in night, and raised his voice on high.

Son of night, retire; call thy winds, and fly! Why dost thou come to my presence, with thy shadowy arms? Do I fear thy gloomy form, spirit of dismal Loda! Weak is thy shield of clouds; feeble is that meteor, thy sword! The blast rolls them together; and thou thyself art lost. Fly from my presence, son of night; call thy winds, and fly!

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poem by James Macpherson
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Thurso’s Landing

I
The coast-road was being straightened and repaired again,
A group of men labored at the steep curve
Where it falls from the north to Mill Creek. They scattered and hid
Behind cut banks, except one blond young man
Who stooped over the rock and strolled away smiling
As if he shared a secret joke with the dynamite;
It waited until he had passed back of a boulder,
Then split its rock cage; a yellowish torrent
Of fragments rose up the air and the echoes bumped
From mountain to mountain. The men returned slowly
And took up their dropped tools, while a banner of dust
Waved over the gorge on the northwest wind, very high
Above the heads of the forest.
Some distance west of the road,
On the promontory above the triangle
Of glittering ocean that fills the gorge-mouth,
A woman and a lame man from the farm below
Had been watching, and turned to go down the hill. The young
woman looked back,
Widening her violet eyes under the shade of her hand. 'I think
they'll blast again in a minute.'
And the man: 'I wish they'd let the poor old road be. I don't
like improvements.' 'Why not?' 'They bring in the world;
We're well without it.' His lameness gave him some look of age
but he was young too; tall and thin-faced,
With a high wavering nose. 'Isn't he amusing,' she said, 'that
boy Rick Armstrong, the dynamite man,
How slowly he walks away after he lights the fuse. He loves to
show off. Reave likes him, too,'
She added; and they clambered down the path in the rock-face,
little dark specks
Between the great headland rock and the bright blue sea.

II
The road-workers had made their camp
North of this headland, where the sea-cliff was broken down and
sloped to a cove. The violet-eyed woman's husband,
Reave Thurso, rode down the slope to the camp in the gorgeous
autumn sundown, his hired man Johnny Luna
Riding behind him. The road-men had just quit work and four
or five were bathing in the purple surf-edge,
The others talked by the tents; blue smoke fragrant with food
and oak-wood drifted from the cabin stove-pipe
And slowly went fainting up the vast hill.
Thurso drew rein by
a group of men at a tent door
And frowned at them without speaking, square-shouldered and
heavy-jawed, too heavy with strength for so young a man,
He chose one of the men with his eyes. 'You're Danny Woodruff,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Songs of Selma

ARGUMENTAddress to the evening star:

An apostrophe to Fingal and his times. Minonasings before the king the song of the unfortunate Colma; and the bards exhibit other specimens of their poetical talents; according to an annual custom established by the monarchs of the ancient Caledonians.

STAR of descending night! fair is thy light in the west! thou that liftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud: thy steps are stately on thy hill. What dost thou behold in the plain? The stormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings: the hum of their course is in the field. What dost thou behold, fair light? But thou dost smile and depart. The waves come with joy around thee: they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewell, thou silent beam! Let the light of Ossian's soul arise!

And it does arise in its strength! I behold my departed friends. Their gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other years. Fingal comes like a watery column of mist! his heroes are around: and see the bards of song, gray-haired Ullin! Stately Ryno! Alpin with the tuneful voice! the soft complaint of Minona! How are ye changed, my friends, since the days of Selma's feast! when we contended, like gales of spring, as they fly along the hill, and bend by turns the feebly whistling grass.

Minona came forth in her beauty: with downcast look and tearful eye. Her hair flew slowly on the blast, that rushed unfrequent from the hill. The souls of the heroes were sad when she raised the tuneful voice. Often had they seen the grave of Salgar, the dark dwelling of white-bosomed Colma. Colma left alone on the hill, with all her voice of song! Salgar promised to come: but the night descended around. Hear the voice of Colma, when she sat alone on the hill.

Colma. It is night, I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard on the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds!

Rise, moon! from behind thy clouds. Stars of the night, arise! Lead me, some light, to the place where my love rests from the chase alone! his bow near him, unstrung: his dogs panting around him. But here I must sit alone, by the rock of the mossy stream. The stream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of my love! Why delays my Salgar, why the chief of the hill, his promise? here is the rock, and here the tree! here is the roaring stream! Thou didst promise with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgar gone? With thee, I would fly from my father; with thee, from my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes; we are not foes, O Salgar!

Cease a little while, O wind! stream, be thou silent awhile! let my voice be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me! Salgar! it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree, and the rock. Salgar, my love! I am here. Why delayest thou thy coming? Lo! the calm moon comes forth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are gray on the steep, I see him not on the brow. His dogs come not before him, with tidings of his near approach. Here I must sit alone!

Who lie on the heath beside me? Are they my love and my brother? Speak to me, O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speak to me; I am alone! My soul is tormented with fears! Ah! they are dead! Their swords are red from the fight. O my brother! my brother! why hast thou slain my Salgar? why, O Salgar! hast thou slain my brother? Dear were ye both to me! what shalt I say in your praise? Thou wert fair on the hill among thousands! he was terrible in fight. Speak to me; hear my voice; hear me, song of my love! They are silent; silent for ever! Cold, cold, are their breasts of clay! Oh! from the rock on the hill, from the top of the windy steep, speak, ye ghosts of the dead! speak, I will not be afraid! Whither are ye gone to rest? In what cave of the hill shall I find the departed? No feeble voice is on the gale: no answer half-drowned in the storm!

I sit in my grief; I wait for morning in my tears! Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead. Close it not till Colma come. My life flies away like a dream: why should I stay behind? Here shall I rest with my friends, by the stream of the sounding rock. When night comes on the hilt; when the loud winds arise; my ghost shall stand in the blast, and mourn the death of my friends. The hunter shall hear from his booth. he shall fear but love my voice! For sweet shall my voice be for my friends: pleasant were her friends to Colma!

Such was thy song, Minona, softly-blushing daughter of Torman. Our tears descended for Colma, and our souls were sad! Ullin came with his harp! he gave the song of Alpin. The voice of Alpin was pleasant: the soul of Ryno was a beam of fire! But they had rested in the narrow house: their voice had ceased in Selma. Ullin had returned, one day, from the chase, before the heroes fell. He heard their strife on the hilt; their song was soft but sad! They mourned the fall of Morar, first of mortal men! His soul was like the soul of Fingal: his sword like the sword of Oscar. But he fell, and his father mourned: his sister's eyes were full of tears. Minona's eyes were full of tears, the sister of car-borne Morar. She retired from the song of Ullin, like the moon in the west, when she foresees the shower, and hides her fair head in a cloud. I touched the harp with Ullin; the song of mourning rose!

Ryno. The wind and the rain are past; calm is the noon of day. The clouds are divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies the inconstant sun. Red through the stony vale comes down the stream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O stream! but more sweet is the voice I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the son of song, mourning for the dead! Bent is his head of age; red his tearful eye. Alpin, thou son of song, why alone on the silent hill? why complainest thou, as a blast in the wood; as a wave on the lonely shore?

Alpin. My tears, O Ryno! are for the dead; my voice for those that have passed away. Tall thou art on the hill; fair among the sons of the vale. But thou shalt fall like Morar; the mourner shall sit on thy tomb. The hills shall know thee no more; thy bow shall in thy hall unstrung.

Thou wert swift, O Morar! as a roe on the desert; terrible as a meteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the storm. Thy sword in battle, as lightning in the field. Thy voice was a stream after rain; like thunder on distant hills. Many fell by thy arm; they were consumed in the flames of thy wrath. But when thou didst return from war, how peaceful was thy brow! Thy face was like the sun after rain; like the moon in the silence of night; calm as the breast of the lake when the loud wind is laid.

Narrow is thy dwelling now! Dark the place of thine abode! With three steps I compass thy grave. O thou who wast so great before! Four stones, with their heads of moss, are the only memorial of thee. A tree with scarce a leaf, long grass, which whistles in the wind, mark to the hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed. Thou hast no mother to mourn thee; no maid with her tears of love. Dead is she that brought thee forth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan.

Who on his staff is this? who is this whose head is white with age; whose eyes are red with tears? who quakes at every step? It is thy father, O Morar! the father of no son but thee. He heard of thy fame in war; he heard of foes dispersed. He heard of Morar's renown; why did he not hear of his wound? Weep, thou father of Morar! weep; but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead; low their pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thy voice; no more awake at thy call. When shall it be morn in the grave, to bid the slumberer awake Farewell, thou bravest of men! thou conqueror in the field! but the field shall see thee no more; nor the dark wood be lightened with the splendor of thy steel. Thou hast left no son. The song shall preserve thy name. Future times shall hear of thee; they shall hear of the fallen Morar.

The grief of all arose, but most the bursting sigh of Armin. He remembers the death of his son, who fell in the days of his youth. Carmor was near the hero, the chief of the echoing Galmal. Why burst the sigh of Armin? he said. Is there a cause to mourn? The song comes, with its music, to melt and please the soul. It is like soft mist, that, rising from a lake, pours on the silent vale; the green flowers are filled with dew, but the sun returns in his strength, and the mist is gone. Why art thou sad, O Armin, chief of sea-surrounded Gorma?

Sad I am! nor small is my cause of wo. Carmor, thou hast lost no son; thou hast lost no daughter of beauty. Colgar the valiant lives; and Annira, fairest maid. The boughs of thy house ascend, O Carmor! but Armin is the last of his race. Dark is thy bed, O Daura! deep thy sleep in the tomb! When shalt thou awake with thy songs? with all thy voice of music?

Arise, winds of autumn, arise; blow along the heath! streams of the mountains, roar! roar, tempests, in the groves of my oaks! walk through broken clouds, O moon! show thy pale face, at intervals! bring to my mind the night, when all my children fell; when Arindal the mighty fell! when Daura the lovely failed! Daura, my daughter! thou wert fair; fair as the moon on Fura , white as the driven snow; sweet as the breathing gale. Arindal, thy bow was strong. Thy spear was swift on the field. Thy look was like mist on the wave: thy shield, a red cloud in a storm. Armar, renowned in war, came, and sought Daura's love. He was not long refused: fair was the hope of their friends!

Erath, son of Odgal, repined: his brother had been slain by Armar. He came disguised like a son of the sea: fair was his skiff on the wave; white his locks of age; calm his serious brow. Fairest of women, he said, lovely daughter of Armin! a rock not distant in the sea bears a tree on its side: red shines the fruit afar! There Armar waits for Daura. I come to carry his love! She went; she called on Armar. Nought answered, but the son of the rock. Armar, my love! my love! why tormentest thou me with fear! hear, son of Arnart, hear: it is Daura who calleth thee! Erath the traitor fled laughing to the land. She lifted up her voice; she called for her brother and for her father. Arindal! Armin! none to relieve your Daura!

Her voice came over the sea. Arindal my son descended from the hill; rough in the spoils of the chase. His arrows rattled by his side; his bow was in his hand; five dark-gray dogs attended his steps. He saw fierce Erath on the shore: he seized and bound him to an oak. Thick wind the thongs of the hide around his limbs: he loads the winds with his groans . Arindal ascends the deep in his boat, to bring Daura to land. Armar came in his wrath, and let fly the gray-feathered shaft. It sunk, it sunk in thy heart, O Arindal, my son! for Erath the traitor thou diest. The oar is stopped at once; he panted on the rock and expired. What is thy grief, O Daura, when round thy feet is poured thy brother's blood! The boat is broke in twain. Armar plunges into the sea, to rescue his Daura, or die. Sudden a blast from a hill came over the waves. He sunk, and he rose no more.

Alone on the sea-beat rock, my daughter was heard to complain. Frequent and loud were her cries. What could her father do? All night I stood on the shore. I saw her by the faint beam of the moon. All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind; the rain beat hard on the hill. Before morning appeared her voice was weak. it died away, like the evening breeze among the grass of the rocks. Spent with grief, she expired; and left thee, Armin, alone. Gone is my strength in war! fallen my pride among women! When the storms aloft arise; when the north lifts the wave on high! I sit by the sounding shore, and look on the fatal rock. Often by the setting moon, I see the ghosts of my children. Half viewless, they walk in mournful conference together. Will none of you speak in pity. They do not regard their father. I am sad, O Carmor, nor small is my cause of wo.

Such were the words of the bards in the days of song: when the king heard the music of harps, the tales of other times! The chiefs gathered from all their hills, and heard the lovely sound. They praised the voice of Cona; the first among a thousand bards! But age is now on my tongue; my soul has failed: I hear, at times, the ghosts of bards, and learn their pleasant Song. But memory fails on my mind. I hear the call of years; they say, as they pass along, Why does Ossian sing? Soon shall he lie in the narrow house, and no bard shall raise his fame! Roll on, ye dark-brown years; ye bring no joy on your course! Let the tomb open to Ossian, for his strength has failed. The sons of song are gone to rest. My voice remains, like a blast, that roars, lonely, on a sea-surrounded rock, after the winds are laid. The dark moss whistles there; the distant mariner sees the waving trees!

By "the son of the rock," the poet means the echoing back of the human voice from a rock.

Ossian is sometimes poetically called "the voice of Cona".

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poem by James Macpherson
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Roan Stallion

The dog barked; then the woman stood in the doorway, and hearing
iron strike stone down the steep road
Covered her head with a black shawl and entered the light rain;
she stood at the turn of the road.
A nobly formed woman; erect and strong as a new tower; the
features stolid and dark
But sculptured into a strong grace; straight nose with a high bridge,
firm and wide eyes, full chin,
Red lips; she was only a fourth part Indian; a Scottish sailor had
planted her in young native earth,
Spanish and Indian, twenty-one years before. He had named her
California when she was born;
That was her name; and had gone north.
She heard the hooves and
wheels come nearer, up the steep road.
The buckskin mare, leaning against the breastpiece, plodded into
sight round the wet bank.
The pale face of the driver followed; the burnt-out eyes; they had
fortune in them. He sat twisted
On the seat of the old buggy, leading a second horse by a long
halter, a roan, a big one,
That stepped daintily; by the swell of the neck, a stallion. 'What
have you got, Johnny?' 'Maskerel's stallion.
Mine now. I won him last night, I had very good luck.' He was
quite drunk, 'They bring their mares up here now.
I keep this fellow. I got money besides, but I'll not show you.'
'Did you buy something, Johnny,
For our Christine? Christmas comes in two days, Johnny.' 'By
God, forgot,' he answered laughing.
'Don't tell Christine it's Christmas; after while I get her something,
maybe.' But California:
'I shared your luck when you lost: you lost me once, Johnny, remember?
Tom Dell had me two nights
Here in the house: other times we've gone hungry: now that
you've won, Christine will have her Christmas.
We share your luck, Johnny. You give me money, I go down to
Monterey to-morrow,
Buy presents for Christine, come back in the evening. Next day
Christmas.' 'You have wet ride,' he answered
Giggling. 'Here money. Five dollar; ten; twelve dollar. You
buy two bottles of rye whiskey for Johnny.'
A11 right. I go to-morrow.'
He was an outcast Hollander; not
old, but shriveled with bad living.
The child Christine inherited from his race blue eyes, from his
life a wizened forehead; she watched
From the house-door her father lurch out of the buggy and lead
with due respect the stallion
To the new corral, the strong one; leaving the wearily breathing
buckskin mare to his wife to unharness.

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Burglar Of Babylon

On the fair green hills of Rio
There grows a fearful stain:
The poor who come to Rio
And can't go home again.

On the hills a million people,
A million sparrows, nest,
Like a confused migration
That's had to light and rest,

Building its nests, or houses,
Out of nothing at all, or air.
You'd think a breath would end them,
They perch so lightly there.

But they cling and spread like lichen,
And people come and come.
There's one hill called the Chicken,
And one called Catacomb;

There's the hill of Kerosene,
And the hill of Skeleton,
The hill of Astonishment,
And the hill of Babylon.

Micuçú was a burglar and killer,
An enemy of society.
He had escaped three times
From the worst penitentiary.

They don't know how many he murdered
(Though they say he never raped),
And he wounded two policemen
This last time he escaped.

They said, "He'll go to his auntie,
Who raised him like a son.
She has a little drink shop
On the hill of Babylon."

He did go straight to his auntie,
And he drank a final beer.
He told her, "The soldiers are coming,
And I've got to disappear."

"Ninety years they gave me.
Who wants to live that long?
I'll settle for ninety hours,
On the hill of Babylon.

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poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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University Of Central Florida Volleyball

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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Bible Stories: Jonah (Part III)

Chapter 3:

The word of God to Jonah came,
A second time and said,
‘Set out to Nineveh, announce
The message, I give you! ’

So, Jonah went to Nineveh,
As per the Lord’s command;
It was a very large city;
It took him three full days!

And Jonah walked throughout the place,
And told what God bade him,
‘In forty days more, Nineveh
Shall be a destroyed town! ’

When people heard Jonah’s message,
Their faith in God improved;
Both great and small, they wore sack-cloth,
And fasted much and prayed!

The king too sat in ashes, dressed
In sack-cloth and much prayed;
He decreed that none should eat, drink-
No man or any beast!

They called to God in loud a voice,
And vowed to give up sin;
They hoped that God would forgive them,
And let them not perish.

The Lord was pleased by what they did;
He saw their change of heart;
His wrath was put under the lid,
As Jonah did his part!

(4-25-2007)

poem by John Celes
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Bible Stories: Jonah (Part IV)

Chapter 4:

What God had done, displeased Jonah;
In angry mood, he prayed,
‘I knew You’ll show clemency, Lord,
That’s why at first, I fled! ’

‘You’re a gracious, merciful God,
You’re slow to punish men;
And this is what I had said then;
You’re slow to anger, Lord! ’

‘Lord, take away my life from me,
’Tis better, I be dead! ’
God asked him, ‘Is your anger just? ’
Jonah had not replied.

He left the city to its east,
And built him small a hut;
And in its shade, waited to see,
What happened to men, beast!

God made a gourd plant grow over,
To give him more of shade;
Jonah was happy with cover,
His discomfort did fade!

Next day, God sent a worm to kill
The plant which withered fast;
The scorching sun then made him ill,
To faint, he turned almost.

The sun made Jonah angry more,
‘Better I die, ’ he said;
When God asked him, he thus replied,
‘The plant’s death made me sore! ’

And then the Lord explained Jonah,
‘You feel for gourd, not own.
You neither sowed the seed, nor raised,
The plant that lived one night! ’

‘Concerned are you, about a plant
For which you labored not;
And when it perished over-night,
You’re angry enough to die! ’

‘Oh, should I not show concern for
Great Nineveh city?
One twenty thousand men live there,

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poem by John Celes
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