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On pavements and the bark of trees I have found whole worlds.

quote by Mark Tobey
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The Old Bark Hut

Oh, my name is Bob the Swagman, before you all I stand,
And I've had many ups and downs while travelling through the land.
I once was well-to-do, my boys, but now I am stumped up,
And I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
Ten pounds of flour, ten pounds of beef, some sugar and some tea,
That's all they give to a hungry man, until the Seventh Day.
If you don't be moighty sparing, you'll go with a hungry gut
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
The bucket you boil your beef in has to carry water, too,
And they'll say you're getting mighty flash if you should ask for two.
I've a billy, and a pint pot, and a broken-handled cup,
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
Faith, the table is not made of wood, as many you have seen
For if I had one half so good, I'd think myself serene
'Tis only an old sheet of bark—God knows when it was cut
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
And of furniture, there's no such thing, 'twas never in the place,
Except the stool I sit upon—and that's an old gin case.
It does us for a safe as well, but you must keep it shut,
Or the flies would make it canter round the old hark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Or the flies would make it canter round the old bark hut.
If you should leave it open, and the flies should find your meat,
They'll scarcely leave a single piece that's fit for man to eat.
But you mustn't curse, nor grumble—what won't fatten will fill up
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In the summer time, when the weather's warm, this hut is nice and cool,
And you'll find the gentle breezes blowing in through every hole.
You can leave the old door open, or you can leave it shut,
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Pavements

there are traces on the pavements
there are eyes on the pavements
sadly looking at us
pavements are like history on strata and decaying leaves
there are booksful of words on the pavements
on the pavements
there are faces
ı haVE BEEN ACquı Nted with
looking at me lonely and sadly
the pavements look as they have come from above
and constructed there
on the pavements
there are many memories carved
there are lonely traces on the pavements
there are eyes on the pavements
we tread on
ı have acquinted with... faces look at me sadly and lonely
the pavements must have drunk from various waters
from many sourCes and fountains
who guesses who passed and gone on this pavements?
there are traces on the pavements
there are faces on the pavements
looking at me..lonely and sadly
when ı walk
and stroll on them lonely and slowly and slowly
Ali TÜRK KESKİ N Translatı on Metin SAHİ N

poem by Metin Sahin
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Two Different Worlds

You know I dont understand why you treat me like this
Its almost like you feel like youre from two different worlds
well, we are todd I dont think so
You should have a listen to me right now
I can feel it now baby I can feel it now, I can feel that
Even though youre a queen and Im only a prince
I felt the magical between us ever since
The first time that I laid eyes on you
I want you to be my girl, so I can hold you
Caress you and let you know that I love you
And day by day my love grows
Heres where I stand, I gotta be your man
I dont care if were from two different worlds
But were from
Two different, two different, were from two different worlds
Two different, two different worlds
I dont understand the way you feel
But its just a dream and it could never be real
So face to face I cant love you
Were from two, different worlds
Two different, two different, were from two different worlds
Two different, two different worlds
Man things are different, birds and bees
Flowers and trees, you and me
But it really doesnt matter, it makes us stronger
Theres more to talk about, well be together longer
Trustin me, have faith in my love
It goes so deep, girl youre so sweet
As a matter of fact, I want you for my wife
Please be a part of my life
I cant believe you wont give up
Your love is strong but boy, so what so what
You cant love me, I cant love you
Were from two, different worlds it doesnt matter
Two different, two different two different,
Were from two different worlds i dont care
Two different so what two different worlds
It could never make a difference in my heart
it could never make a difference
Never could keep us apart
Hold on hold on who cares what the world is sayin?
i do my love goes so deep, mmm, baby hold on
I know baby, lets take it to the climax
Two different, two different two different so different
Were from two different worlds i dont care
Two different so what, two different worlds
So whats it gonna be, you wanna be with me?
I wanna be witchu, my love is true
All you gotta do is get into love
Its like a blessin in disguise, sent from up above

[...] Read more

song performed by LL Cool J
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Two Different Worlds

I know this girl, shes always on my mind
She lives in her world and I live in mine
I should forget about her and Ive tried
Lord knows Ive tried
But I want to know her, and heres the other side
Ive got someone waiting for me every night
Shes the only one Ive ever loved
And its been that way for the longest time
Shes the one that makes my world go right
And it tears me in two because I know where Ill be tonight
I think she knows it
I think she knows
Two different worlds, two different worlds
One that belongs to me, one could be wrong for me
Two different worlds, two different worlds
Oh, two different worlds
Is she that different or is it the thrill of someone new
Strung out on her, I need her love
I need it bad, and I know, I know its true
Im the one that lies awake alone
I know, shes the one that makes me stray from home
And I know it
Yeah, I know it
Two different worlds, two different worlds
One that I may regret, one that I cant forget
Two different worlds, two different worlds
Oh, always two different worlds
No, I cant explain this emptiness
No, I know I cant go on like this
Two different worlds, two different worlds
Two different worlds
I live in two different worlds
One that I may regret, one that I wont forget
Two different worlds
But I cant live in both, I know
One world I must let go

song performed by Foreigner
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When Worlds Collide

When worlds collide, the best of us
Wont be here with the rest of us
Theyll drop before the paint has dried
When worlds collide, when worlds collide
The young today, I must confess
Have lost the path of righteousness
By settling for something less
The smarty pants, they fail to see
The posture of morality
Is just like common currency
Thats the way it works for me
So I dress like a brushing bride
Because my every move is sanctified
By claiming God is on my side
When worlds collide, when worlds collide
When worlds collide, the virtuous
Will have to take the shuttle bus
But we in limousines shall ride
When worlds collide, when worlds collide
These kids today, they have no pluck
Dont know the value of a buck
They think all politicians suck
But managing economies
Is one of my best qualities
Especially to friends like these
I can favor the ones I please
And if the mandate should be denied me
Then theres always something kept aside
If you have grease then you can slide
When worlds collide, when worlds collide
When worlds collide, the devious,
The cunning, and mischevious
Will mourn the moral men who died
When worlds collide, when worlds collide
The youth today, I must relate
Have not learned to appreciate
The pleasures of the city-state
They waste themselves on drugs and sex
And boogieing in discotheques
Ill take them by their bleach-blond necks
And conscript those I dont reject
Then Ill serve them butchered and fried
For our commander can sleep satisfied
While someones licking ones backside
When worlds collide, when worlds collide

song performed by Todd Rundgren
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The Stringy-Bark Tree

There's the whitebox and pine on the ridges afar,
Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;
There is many another, but dearest to me,
And the king of them all was the stringy-bark tree.
Then of stringy-bark slabs were the walls of the hut,
And from stringy-bark saplings the rafters were cut;
And the roof that long sheltered my brothers and me
Was of broad sheets of bark from the stringy-bark tree.

And when sawn-timber homes were built out in the West,
Then for walls and for ceilings its wood was the best;
And for shingles and palings to last while men be,
There was nothing on earth like the stringy-bark tree.

Far up the long gullies the timber-trucks went,
Over tracks that seemed hopeless, by bark hut and tent;
And the gaunt timber-finder, who rode at his ease,
Led them on to a gully of stringy-bark trees.

Now still from the ridges, by ways that are dark,
Come the shingles and palings they call stringy-bark;
Though you ride through long gullies a twelve months you’ll see
But the old whitened stumps of the stringy-bark tree.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Seasonable Retour-Knell

SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS

Author notes

A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000

In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.

For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.

Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.

One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.

Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllll
For previous version see below
_______________________________________
SPRING SUMMER

Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.

Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.

AUTUMN WINTER

Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.

Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

[...] Read more

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Stringy-Bark Cockatoo

I'm a broken-hearted miner, who loves his cup to drain,
Which often times has caused me to lie in frost and rain.
Roaming about the country, looking for some work to do,
I got a job of reaping off a stringy-bark cockatoo.

Oh, the stringy-bark cockatoo,
Oh, the stringy-bark cockatoo,
I got a job of reaping off a stringy-bark cockatoo.

Ten bob an acre was his price—with promise of fairish board.
He said his crops were very light, 'twas all he could afford.
He drove me out in a bullock dray, and his piggery met my view.
Oh, the pigs and geese were in the wheat of the stringy-bark cockatoo.

The hut was made of the surface mud, the roof of a reedy thatch.
The doors and windows open flew without a bolt or latch.
The pigs and geese were in the hut, the hen on the table flew,
And she laid an egg in the old tin plate for the stringy-bark cockatoo.

For breakfast we had pollard, boys, it tasted like cobbler's paste.
To help it down we had to eat brown bread with vinegar taste.
The tea was made of the native hops, which out on the ranges grew;
'Twas sweetened with honey bees and wax for the stringy-bark cockatoo.

For dinner we had goanna hash, we thought it mighty hard;
They wouldn't give us butter, so we forced down bread and lard.
Quondong duff, paddy-melon pie, and wallaby Irish stew
We used to eat while reaping for the stringy-bark cockatoo.

When we started to cut the rust and smut was just beginning to shed,
And all we had to sleep on was a dog and sheep-skin bed.
The bugs and fleas tormented me, they made me scratch and screw;
I lost my rest while reaping for the stringy-bark cockatoo.

At night when work was over I'd nurse the youngest child,
And when I'd say a joking word, the mother would laugh and smile.
The old cocky, he grew jealous, and he thumped me black and blue,
And he drove me off without a rap—the stringy-bark cockatoo.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Best Of Both Worlds

(robert palmer)
We want the best of both worlds
We want it slow and hot
We like to taste revenge, yeah
But we cant waste the shot
We want to see from both sides
We like it cool and fast
We want to get it over
We like to make it last
Keep it on
Its getting closer
The best of both worlds
Double fun
Well make the most, girl
To get the best of both worlds
We must obey the law
What goods a place to stand up
Without a place to fall?
Two and one
Fast and slow girl
The best of both worlds
Double fun
Id like to now propose a toast
To the best of both worlds
I think about the war that is no fight at all
I think about the peace that is a fight for all
The best of both worlds
Keep it on
Fast and slow girl
The best of both worlds
Tight as a drum, loose as a gun holster
Yeah, its getting closer
Why do we waste our breath, child
On what we like the most
Seeing as weve wound up here
We ought to do them both
Back and forth
We get the most
Yeah, the best of both worlds
South and north
Id like to now propose a toast
To the best of both worlds
Two and one
Fast and slow girl
The best of both worlds
Double fun
Well make the most girl to get the best of both worlds

song performed by Robert Palmer
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The Georgics

GEORGIC I

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-
Such are my themes.
O universal lights
Most glorious! ye that lead the gliding year
Along the sky, Liber and Ceres mild,
If by your bounty holpen earth once changed
Chaonian acorn for the plump wheat-ear,
And mingled with the grape, your new-found gift,
The draughts of Achelous; and ye Fauns
To rustics ever kind, come foot it, Fauns
And Dryad-maids together; your gifts I sing.
And thou, for whose delight the war-horse first
Sprang from earth's womb at thy great trident's stroke,
Neptune; and haunter of the groves, for whom
Three hundred snow-white heifers browse the brakes,
The fertile brakes of Ceos; and clothed in power,
Thy native forest and Lycean lawns,
Pan, shepherd-god, forsaking, as the love
Of thine own Maenalus constrains thee, hear
And help, O lord of Tegea! And thou, too,
Minerva, from whose hand the olive sprung;
And boy-discoverer of the curved plough;
And, bearing a young cypress root-uptorn,
Silvanus, and Gods all and Goddesses,
Who make the fields your care, both ye who nurse
The tender unsown increase, and from heaven
Shed on man's sowing the riches of your rain:
And thou, even thou, of whom we know not yet
What mansion of the skies shall hold thee soon,
Whether to watch o'er cities be thy will,
Great Caesar, and to take the earth in charge,
That so the mighty world may welcome thee
Lord of her increase, master of her times,
Binding thy mother's myrtle round thy brow,
Or as the boundless ocean's God thou come,
Sole dread of seamen, till far Thule bow
Before thee, and Tethys win thee to her son
With all her waves for dower; or as a star
Lend thy fresh beams our lagging months to cheer,
Where 'twixt the Maid and those pursuing Claws
A space is opening; see! red Scorpio's self
His arms draws in, yea, and hath left thee more
Than thy full meed of heaven: be what thou wilt-
For neither Tartarus hopes to call thee king,

[...] Read more

poem by Virgil
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The Corsair

'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our soul's as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
whom slumber soothes not - pleasure cannot please -
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
And where the feebler faint can only feel -
Feel - to the rising bosom's inmost core,
Its hope awaken and Its spirit soar?
No dread of death if with us die our foes -
Save that it seems even duller than repose:
Come when it will - we snatch the life of life -
When lost - what recks it but disease or strife?
Let him who crawls enamour'd of decay,
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away:
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head;
Ours - the fresh turf; and not the feverish bed.
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang - one bound - escapes control.
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loath'd his life may gild his grave:
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
For us, even banquets fond regret supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory;
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,
When those who win at length divide the prey,
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,
How had the brave who fell exulted now!'

II.
Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle
Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while:
Such were the sounds that thrill'd the rocks along,
And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song!
In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand,
They game-carouse-converse-or whet the brand:

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Trees

whenever the lustre of my amber glistens,
i could feel the price it had exacted on the trees,
blood red tears meandering rough and uneven tracks
to land where they were kept like a child for a million years

they emerge to fascinate us with coruscating tales
of the romances with time, lost on the memory of men,
the dinosaurs, the first forests, the insects -
which now sparkle with such subtlety - they draw us
to the heart of their very existence, the million
years in the now, solidified, and now dangling right
at the door to the heart, our bossom

the trees, the trees, so many of them
standing tall and proud, as if broadcasting to us
if they had not been around, creation
would have been at a standstill

the trees, the trees, they fuel the world
a panacea to foibles rolled into one tall order, -
so that our cars run, our kitchen cooks, our umbrella works,
the news reach us handsomely wrapped, the chopsticks
to pick our food, the clogs to walk and rattle autumn,
the medicine to heal our rebellious body, fruits for
the seasons, the table for us to write on and a cosy
space for the dead to dream on

when they stand in a fusion at the break of dawn
it feels one has stumbled upon a meditative realm
of the highest kind - the orchestra blasting away
in them permeates every hidden place - they only help
to enhance that robustness and promises of the day
the sun channels its recuperative light - leaves that dance,
filter the music and the essence of the day

trees, trees.... abodes of birds, animals, they tell
on the weather, sing the storm before it approaches
and whistles to us fine spring tunes

trees trees standing so tall, majestic affording
a luxuriance to cool ourselves as we brood over
our destiny - trees our only saviours as the earth
climbs the mercury ever ready to send us
into obivion in a spinning fiery hot cauldron

second version:

whenever the lustre of my amber
glistens, i could feel the price

[...] Read more

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Worlds Greatest

I am a mountain.
I am a tall tree.
Oh I am a swif wind sweeping the country.
I am river down in the valley.
Oh I am a vision, I can see clearly.
If any one asks you who I am just stand up tall look them in the face and say..
Im that star up in the sky
Im that moutain deep up high.
Hey you made it
Im the worlds greatest*m
Im that little bit of hope in my backs against the rope I can feel it, mm
Im the worlds greatest.
I am a giant.
I am a egale.
Oh I am a lion down in the jungle
I am a marching band
I am the people
I am heavin head
I am a hero
If any one asks you who I am just stand up tall look them in the face and say..
Im that star up in the sky
Im that moutain deep up high.
Hey you made it
Im the worlds greatest
Im that little bit of hope in my backs against the rope I can feel it.
Im the worlds greatest.
Im that star up in the sky
Im that moutain deep up high.
Hey you made it
Im the worlds greatest
Im that little bit of hope in my backs against the rope I can feel it.
Im the worlds greatest.
Ohh
Im that star up in the sky
Im that moutain deep up high.
Hey you made it
Im the worlds greatest
Im that little bit of hope in my backs against the rope I can feel it.
Im the worlds greatest.
Im that star up in the sky
Im that moutain deep up high.
Hey you made it
Im the worlds greatest
Im that little bit of hope in my backs against the rope I can feel it.
Im the worlds greatest.

song performed by R. Kelly
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Georgic 2

Thus far the tilth of fields and stars of heaven;
Now will I sing thee, Bacchus, and, with thee,
The forest's young plantations and the fruit
Of slow-maturing olive. Hither haste,
O Father of the wine-press; all things here
Teem with the bounties of thy hand; for thee
With viny autumn laden blooms the field,
And foams the vintage high with brimming vats;
Hither, O Father of the wine-press, come,
And stripped of buskin stain thy bared limbs
In the new must with me.
First, nature's law
For generating trees is manifold;
For some of their own force spontaneous spring,
No hand of man compelling, and possess
The plains and river-windings far and wide,
As pliant osier and the bending broom,
Poplar, and willows in wan companies
With green leaf glimmering gray; and some there be
From chance-dropped seed that rear them, as the tall
Chestnuts, and, mightiest of the branching wood,
Jove's Aesculus, and oaks, oracular
Deemed by the Greeks of old. With some sprouts forth
A forest of dense suckers from the root,
As elms and cherries; so, too, a pigmy plant,
Beneath its mother's mighty shade upshoots
The bay-tree of Parnassus. Such the modes
Nature imparted first; hence all the race
Of forest-trees and shrubs and sacred groves
Springs into verdure.
Other means there are,
Which use by method for itself acquired.
One, sliving suckers from the tender frame
Of the tree-mother, plants them in the trench;
One buries the bare stumps within his field,
Truncheons cleft four-wise, or sharp-pointed stakes;
Some forest-trees the layer's bent arch await,
And slips yet quick within the parent-soil;
No root need others, nor doth the pruner's hand
Shrink to restore the topmost shoot to earth
That gave it being. Nay, marvellous to tell,
Lopped of its limbs, the olive, a mere stock,
Still thrusts its root out from the sapless wood,
And oft the branches of one kind we see
Change to another's with no loss to rue,
Pear-tree transformed the ingrafted apple yield,
And stony cornels on the plum-tree blush.
Come then, and learn what tilth to each belongs
According to their kinds, ye husbandmen,
And tame with culture the wild fruits, lest earth

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poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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The Amber Whale

WE were down in the Indian Ocean, after sperm, and three years out;
The last six months in the tropics, and looking in vain for a spout,—
Five men up on the royal yards, weary of straining their sight;
And every day like its brother,—just morning and noon and night—
Nothing to break the sameness: water and wind and sun
Motionless, gentle, and blazing,—never a change in one.
Every day like its brother: when the noonday eight-bells came,
'Twas like yesterday; and we seemed to know that to-morrow would be the same.
The foremast hands had a lazy time: there was never a thing to do;
The ship was painted, tarred down, and scraped; and the mates had nothing new.
We'd worked at sinnet and ratline till there wasn't a yarn to use,
And all we could do was watch and pray for a sperm whale's spout—or news.
It was whaler's luck of the vilest sort; and, though many a volunteer
Spent his watch below on the look-out, never a whale came near,—
At least of the kind we wanted: there were lots of whales of a sort,—
Killers and finbacks, and such like, as if they enjoyed the sport
Of seeing a whale-ship idle; but we never lowered a boat
For less than a blackfish, —there's no oil in a killer's or finback's coat.
There was rich reward for the look-out men,—tobacco for even a sail,
And a barrel of oil for the lucky dog who'd be first to 'raise' a whale.
The crew was a mixture from every land, and many a tongue they spoke;
And when they sat in the fo'castle, enjoying an evening smoke,
There were tales told, youngster, would make you stare—stories of countless shoals
Of devil-fish in the Pacific and right-whales away at the Poles.
There was one of these fo'castle yarns that we always loved to hear,—
Kanaka and Maori and Yankee; all lent an eager ear
To that strange old tale that was always new,—the wonderful treasure-tale
Of an old Down-Eastern harpooneer who had struck an Amber Whale!
Ay, that was a tale worth hearing, lad: if 'twas true we couldn't say,
Or if 'twas a yarn old Mat had spun to while the time away.

'It's just fifteen years ago,' said Mat, 'since I shipped as harpooneer
On board a bark in New Bedford, and came cruising somewhere near
To this whaling-ground we're cruising now; but whales were plenty then,
And not like now, when we scarce get oil to pay for the ship and men.
There were none of these oil wells running then,—at least, what shore folk term
An oil well in Pennsylvania,—but sulphur-bottom and sperm
Were plenty as frogs in a mud-hole, and all of 'em big whales, too;
One hundred barrels for sperm-whales; and for sulphur-bottom, two.
You couldn't pick out a small one: the littlest calf or cow
Had a sight more oil than the big bull whales we think so much of now.
We were more to the east, off Java Straits, a little below the mouth,—
A hundred and five to the east'ard and nine degrees to the south;
And that was as good a whaling-ground for middling-sized, handy whales
As any in all the ocean; and 'twas always white with sails
From Scotland and Hull and New England,—for the whales were thick as frogs,
And 'twas little trouble to kill 'em then, for they lay as quiet as logs.
And every night we'd go visiting the other whale-ships 'round,
Or p'r'aps we'd strike on a Dutchman, calmed off the Straits, and bound
To Singapore or Batavia, with plenty of schnapps to sell

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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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The King of the Vasse

A LEGEND OF THE BUSH.

MY tale which I have brought is of a time
Ere that fair Southern land was stained with crime,
Brought thitherward in reeking ships and cast
Like blight upon the coast, or like a blast
From angry levin on a fair young tree,
That stands thenceforth a piteous sight to see.
So lives this land to-day beneath the sun,—
A weltering plague-spot, where the hot tears run,
And hearts to ashes turn, and souls are dried
Like empty kilns where hopes have parched and died.
Woe's cloak is round her,—she the fairest shore
In all the Southern Ocean o'er and o'er.
Poor Cinderella! she must bide her woe,
Because an elder sister wills it so.
Ah! could that sister see the future day
When her own wealth and strength are shorn away,
A.nd she, lone mother then, puts forth her hand
To rest on kindred blood in that far land;
Could she but see that kin deny her claim
Because of nothing owing her but shame,—
Then might she learn 'tis building but to fall,
If carted rubble be the basement-wall.

But this my tale, if tale it be, begins
Before the young land saw the old land's sins
Sail up the orient ocean, like a cloud
Far-blown, and widening as it neared,—a shroud
Fate-sent to wrap the bier of all things pure,
And mark the leper-land while stains endure.
In the far days, the few who sought the West
Were men all guileless, in adventurous quest
Of lands to feed their flocks and raise their grain,
And help them live their lives with less of pain
Than crowded Europe lets her children know.
From their old homesteads did they seaward go,
As if in Nature's order men must flee
As flow the streams,—from inlands to the sea.

In that far time, from out a Northern land,
With home-ties severed, went a numerous band
Of men and wives and children, white-haired folk:
Whose humble hope of rest at home had broke,
As year was piled on year, and still their toil
Had wrung poor fee from -Sweden's rugged soil.
One day there gathered from the neighboring steads,
In Jacob Eibsen's, five strong household heads,—
Five men large-limbed and sinewed, Jacob's sons,

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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Beyond The End

Beyond the end
By: jimmy buffett, marshall chapman, will jennings
1985
We are a long way from anything, I told him. up ahead turn left and
Were fifteen or twenty minutes from cancun. turn right and youve
Got a batch of sixty miles of nothing. so who are we seeing,
Where is he and how do we get in touch.
- travis mcgee from the lonely silver rain
Mayan moon was burnin
We saw visions
Of the past returnin
On the shore
The band was playin
We all heard
What the moon was sayin
The world keeps closin in
It has before
It will again
A voice beyond the wind
Says we must go
Beyond the end
So follow
Beyond the end
A sea of friends are singin
Vaya con dios [go with god]
Mis amigos [my friends]
We take their hopes and feelins
To some new world
Well be revealin
Old worlds keep closin in
They have before
They will again
Voices call
Beyond the wind
Say we must go
Beyond the end
And follow
Beyond the end
(guitar break)
Old worlds keep closin in
They have before
They will again
Voices call
Beyond the wind
Say we must go
Beyond the end
Old worlds (old worlds) keep closin in (keep closin in)
They have before (they have before)
They will again
Voices call (voices call)

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song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tiny Bubble

If youre part of my love
Dont leave home tonight
While were sleeping we can learn to see that
All the worlds a tiny bubble
Floating inside
Those of us who notice are
Expected to hide
All the worlds a tiny bubble
Floating inside, the truth
When I look in your eyes
I can see the sky
Shining down upon the perfect garden
All the worlds a tiny bubble
Floating inside
Those of us who notice are
Expected to hide
All the worlds a tiny bubble
Floating inside the truth
You cant imagine just what Ive been going through
I wouldnt wish it on a soul much less on you
I well remember when my heart was free
My soul could laugh, so could we
If youre part of my love
Dont leave home tonight
While were sleeping we can learn to see that
All the worlds a tiny bubble
Floating inside
Those of us who notice are
Expected to hide
All the worlds a tiny bubble
Floating inside, the truth
You cant imagine just what Ive been going through
I wouldnt wish it on a soul much less on you
I well remember when my soul was free
My heart could sing, so could we
If youre part of my love
You wont leave home tonight
While were sleeping we can learn to see that
All the worlds a tiny bubble
Floating inside
All the worlds a tiny bubble
Floating inside
All the worlds a tiny bubble
Repeat to end

song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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