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Silent Poem

backroad leafmold stonewall chipmunk
underbrush grapevine woodchuck shadblow

woodsmoke cowbarn honeysuckle woodpile
sawhorse bucksaw outhouse wellsweep

backdoor flagstone bulkhead buttermilk
candlestick ragrug firedog brownbread

hilltop outcrop cowbell buttercup
whetstone thunderstorm pitchfork steeplebush

gristmill millstone cornmeal waterwheel
watercress buckwheat firefly jewelweed

gravestone groundpine windbreak bedrock
weathercock snowfall starlight cockcrow

poem by Robert Francis
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I Heard It Through The Grapevine

I bet you're wondering how I knew.
Ah, what you're plans to make me blue.
With some other guy you knew before.
Between the two of us, you know I love you more.
It took me by surprise I must say, when I found out yesterday.
Oh, I heard it through the grapevine. (Heard it through the grapevine)
Not much longer would you be mine. (Not much longer would you be mine)
Oh, I heard it through the grapevine. (Heard it through the grapevine)
And I'm just about to lose my mind.
I know a man ain't supposed to cry.
But these tears I can't hold inside.
Losin' you would end my life you see.
'Cause you mean that much to me.
You could have told me yourself,
Oh, that you love someone else.
Instead I heard it through the grapevine. (Heard it through the grapevine)
Not much longer would you be mine. (Not much longer would you be mine)
Oh, I heard it through the grapevine. (Heard it through the grapevine)
Oh, and I am, and I am just about lose my mind.
People say believe half of what you see.
Oh, and none of what you hear.
Whoa, I jus' can't help being confused.
If it's true please tell me dear.
Do you plan to let me go
For the other guy you left me for
grapevine)
it)
heard it)
it)
it)
heard it)
it)
it)

song performed by Michael Mcdonald
Added by Lucian Velea
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Who Stole Our Outhouse? (Fun Poem, But True)

Several drunken revellers were walking home late Saturday night
When they passed McDougal’s farm and they spied a sight
There behind the farmhouse was an old wooden shack
The outhouse stood tall and noble out back
One had a good idea for a jolly spoof
‘Lets lift the outhouse and put it the up on the roof.’
‘But which roof, there are several there? ’
The others looked and grinned ear to ear
‘Lets stick it on the barn, there is a ladder over there.’
So at two o’clock in the morning they went to work full of glee
But they had to be as quiet as could be

Tipping the outhouse on its side
They carried it to the barn
Then got the ladders from along side the farm house
They leant them against the wooden wall
Then pushed and pulled the outhouse to the roof
Placing it on the top, watched it dangle there
Someone found some wood
To wedge under it, to secure it there.
The drunken revellers made their retreat
They hide behind a hedge, and as they were beat
They fell asleep there before the fun began

McDougal awoke at five that morning
Out to the outhouse he went for a sit
He always said it helped with his concentration
Half asleep he wandered out to the back
Out to the little old wooden shack
As he went to open the door
He suddenly realised the outhouse wasn’t there anymore
‘EE Gads! ! ’ He shouted as he had nowhere to sit
He ran to tell his wife the lovely Mabel-Pitt
‘Someone has stolen our little old wooden shack
The one we love to sit in out back.’

Mabel-Pitt put on her dressing gown
And came down to the door
‘McDougal what are you shouting for? ’
‘Someone has stolen our outhouse and left us with only the pit.’
‘You mean our double seated place where we love to sit? ’
‘Yes my dear, it is really gone,
all that is left is a hole in the ground.’
‘There is no alternative McDougal, dear.’
‘What is that my honey beer? ’
‘You’ll have to sit behind the hedge.’
Unbeknown the revellers were fast asleep there.

As McDougal started to walk to the hedge
He spotted the shadow from the barn

[...] Read more

poem by David Harris
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Stonewall Jackson (Ascribed To A Virginian)

One man we claim of wrought reknown
Which not the North shall care to slur;
A Modern lived who sleeps in death,
Calm as the marble Ancients are:
'Tis he whose life, though a vapor's wreath,
Was charged with the lightning's burning breath -
Stonewall, stormer of the war.

But who shall hymn the Roman heart?
A stoic he, but even more:
The iron will and lion thew
Were strong to inflict as to endure:
Who like him could stand, or pursue?
His fate the fatalist followed through;
In all his great soul found to do
Stonewall followed his star.

He followed his star on the Romney march
Through the sleet to the wintry war;
And he followed it on when he bowed the grain -
The Wind of the Shenandoah;
At Gaines's Mill in the giants' strain -
On the fierce forced stride to Manassas-plain,
Where his sword with thunder was clothed again,
Stonewall followed his star.

His star he followed athwart the flood
To Potomac's Northern shore,
When midway wading, his host of braves
'My Maryland!' loud did roar -
To red Antietam's field of graves,
Through mountain-passes, woods, and waves,
They followed their pagod with hymns and glaives,
For Stonewall followed a star.

Back it led him to Marye's slope,
Where the shock and the fame he bore;
And to green Moss-Neck it guided him -
Brief respite from throes of war:
To the laurel glade by the Wilderness grim,
Through climxed victory naught shall dim,
Even unto death it piloted him -
Stonewall followed his star.

Its lead he followed in gentle ways
Which never the valiant mar;
A cap we sent him. bestarred, to replace
The sun-scorched helm of war:
A fillet he made of the shining lace
Childhood's laughing brow to grace -

[...] Read more

poem by Herman Melville
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Ducking Buttercup

In the midst of our last argument,
I did a reaching to kiss your lips.
And you balled your fist,
Prepared to hit me.

In the midst of our last argument,
I did a reaching to kiss your lips.
And you balled your fist,
Prepared to hit me.
To do it and split.

But I...
Am not a ducking buttercup.
Someone that gives up easy.
No I...
Am not a ducking buttercup.
Someone that gives up easy...
To appease someone,
Who is quick to leave.
After a plucking of me has been done.

In the midst of an argument...
I'm not a ducking buttercup,
Easily plucked when I've had enough.

No I...
Am not a ducking buttercup.
Easily plucked when I've had enough.
No I...
Am not a ducking buttercup.
I've got a backbone tough that's rough enough.

In the midst of our last argument,
I did a reaching to kiss your lips.
And you balled your fist,
Prepared to hit me.
To do it and split.

But I...
Am not a ducking buttercup.
Someone that gives up easy,
When the going gets tough!

Believe me when I say,
I'm not a ducking buttercup.
Believe me when I say,
I'm not a ducking buttercup.
Believe me when I say,
I'm not a ducking buttercup.
Someone that gives up easy,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lift Me Up Like You've Plucked a Buttercup

When you come around finding you have found,
You've settled down.
With slowed jets ready to quit your lippin'
And prepared to sit and begin to listen'...
You've done shifted from a drifter position.
And it's there to be gripped!
All that life has blessed you with!
ooo-ooo

Many in fits can't handle what they get.
And they seek partnerships...
That end in arguments,
Gone ballistic.
Left in realistic lethal pieces.

Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been sneezing.
Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been breathing.

Just leave don't mention...
Any attitude you've got,
That's dropped you mopin'!
Take a little whiff of me I'll free you easy.
I'm that destiny you need.

Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been sneezing.
Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been breathing.

When you come around finding you have found,
You've settled down.
With slowed jets ready to quit your lippin'
And prepared to sit and begin to listen'...
You've done shifted from a drifter position.
And it's there to be gripped!
All that life has blessed you with!
ooo-ooo

Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Previlege (Live)

Isnt it strange that a gift could be an enemy?
Isnt it weird that a privilege could feel like a chore?
Maybe its me but this line isnt going anywhere,
maybe if we looked hard enough, we could find a backdoor.
(find yourself a backdoor).
I see you in line, dragging your feet
you have my sympathy.
The day you were born, you were born free.
That is your privilege. (chorus)
Isnt it strange that the man standing in front of me
doesnt have a clue why hes waiting, or what he is waiting for?
Maybe its me, but im sick of wasting energy.
Maybe if i look in my heart I could find a backdoor.
(Find yourself a backdoor).
I see you in line, dragging your feet
you have my sympathy.
The day you were born, you were born free.
That is your
That is your privilege.
(Find yourself a backdoor).
I see you in line, dragging your feet
you have my sympathy.
The day you were born, you were born free.
That is your privilege. *2

song performed by Incubus
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Honeysuckle Baby

My honeysuckle, baby.
Baby, you’re my honeysuckle.
You’re my Honeysuckle Baby.
My Honeysuckle Baby, baby.
From the bush I pluck you,
Put your tart body to my lips,
And draw your sweetness in with my mouth.
My Honeysuckle Baby—that’s what you are.
The baby from whom I get delectable honey.
What fine sweetness through that nice honey.
Fine, fine sweetness, my Honeysuckle Baby.
The honey is you, baby.
The sweetness is yours, honey.
You’re my honey, but you share your sweetness.
And that’s why I keep going to the bush.
And sucking it in: your great sweetness…

poem by Micheal Valencia
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Fragments

I am the monarch of the Sea,
The ruler of the Queen's Navee,--
When at anchor here I ride,
My bosom swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers at a foeman's taunts.

And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts
His sisters and his cousins!
Whom he reckons by the dozens,
And his aunts!

'I am the lowliest tar
That sails the water.
And you, proud maiden, are
My captain's daughter.'

'Refrain, audacious tar.
Your suit from pressing;
Remember what you are,
And whom addressing.'

For I am called Little Buttercup,--dear Little Buttercup,
Though I never could tell why;
But still I'm called Buttercup,--poor Little Buttercup,
Sweet Little Buttercup I!

Fair moon, to thee I sing
Bright regent of the heavens;
Say, why is every thing
Either at sixes or at sevens!

He is an Englishman!
For he himself has said it,
And it's greatly to his credit
That he is an Englishman.

poem by Louisa May Alcott
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Honeysuckle Rose

Evry honeybee.... fills with jealousy
When they see you out with me
I dont blame them....goodness knows
Honeysuckle rose
When youre passin by....flowers drop and sigh
And I know the reason why
Youre much sweeter....goodness knows
Honeysuckle rose
Dont buy sugar....you just have to touch my cup
Youre my sugar....its so sweet when you stir it up
When Im taking sips...from your tasty lips
Seems the honey fairly drips
Youre confection.....goodness knows
Honeysuckle rose.
(instrumental break)
Dont buy sugar....you just have to touch my cup
Youre my sugar....its so sweet when you stir it up
When Im taking sips...from your tasty lips
Seems the honey fairly drips
Youre confection.....goodness knows
Honeysuckle rose.
I said youre confection.....goodness knows
Honeysuckle rose.

song performed by Louis Armstrong
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-55

Honeysuckle(Japanese Honeysuckle,
Madhumati, Lonicera japonica)
(Dutch Honeysuckle, Madhumati,
Lonicera periclymenum 'Serotina')
(Translucent Honeysuckle
Lonicera quinquelocularis)
(Cape Honeysuckle, Tecomaria capensis)

Somewhere at the northern Bharath
Born you with honeyed fragrance
Sending in whiffs your redolence
Sensing in sniffs all me in mirth

Somewhere shrubby somewhere viny
Some are lancelike, some are oval
Branching leafing shining brainy
Changing white to yellow by fall..

Made in medicated make wholesome
Sprayed in heavenly nectar awesome
Suckled honey humming to embosom
Elsewhere in red-orange decor winsome

What could it be than the bestest
What else could be than the sweetest
So you are the sweetest heartiest
So you are the heartiest bestest

poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Miniature Woman

The Blue-Eyed Giant, the Miniature Woman
and the Honeysuckle

He was a blue-eyed giant,
He loved a miniature woman.
The woman's dream was of a miniature house
with a garden where honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.

The giant loved like a giant,
and his hands were used to such big things
that the giant could not
make the building,
could not knock on the door
of the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
at that house.

He was a blue-eyed giant,
he loved a miniature woman,
a mini miniature woman.
The woman was hungry for comfort
and tired of the giant's long strides.
And bye bye off she went to the embraces of a rich dwarf with a garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.

Now the blue-eyed giant realizes,
a giant isn't even a graveyard for love:
in the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house...

poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Honeysuckle

Honeysuckle, oh Honeysuckle
Watching as you grow
In the springtime and summer rain
Remembering children's games
Remembering still from a breeze
Blowing a secret scent
From my youth, still are seen
Memories, from where I have been.

Oh Honeysuckle, precious dream
Walking down our road
From a boy, unto a man
Laughing at growing old
Precious dream, and precious life
Strolling dream in mind
Standing there, in the air
Reminded me of a different time.

Honeysuckle, oh Honeysuckle
Blooming once again
In the air, and I’ll be there
Longing for your scent,
For the boy, who was lost
Not ready to survive
Then you He caught, and you he taught
How to live, and how to smile.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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The Windigo

Go easy wit' de paddle, an' steady wit' de
oar
Geev rudder to de bes' man you got among
de crew,
Let ev'ry wan be quiet, don't let dem sing no
more
W'en you see de islan' risin' out of Grande
Lac Manitou
Above us on de sky dere, de summer cloud
may float
Aroun' us on de water de ripple never show,
But somet'ing down below us can rock de
stronges' boat,
W'en we 're comin' near de islan' of de
spirit Windigo!

De carcajou may breed dere, an' otter sweem
de poole
De moosh-rat mak' de mud house, an' beaver
buil' hees dam
An' beeges' Injun hunter on all de Tête de
Boule
Will never set hees trap dere from spring
to summer tam.

But he 'll bring de fines' presen' from upper
St. Maurice
De loup marin an' black-fox from off de
Hodson Bay
An' hide dem on de islan' an' smoke de pipe
of peace
So Windigo will help heem w'en he travel
far away.

We shaintee on dat islan' on de winter seexty-
nine
If you look you see de clearin' aroun' de
Coo Coo Cache,
An' pleasan' place enough too among de spruce
an' pine
If foreman on de shaintee is n't Cyprien
Palache.

Beeg feller, alway watchin' on hees leetle
weasel eye,
De gang dey can't do not'ing but he see dem
purty quick
Wit' hees 'Hi dere, w'at you doin' ?' ev'ry
tam he 's passin' by
An' de bad word he was usin' , wall! it offen

[...] Read more

poem by William Henry Drummond
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March

The sun is hotter than the top ledge in a steam bath;
The ravine, crazed, is rampaging below.
Spring -- that corn-fed, husky milkmaid --
Is busy at her chores with never a letup.

The snow is wasting (pernicious anemia --
See those branching veinlets of impotent blue?)
Yet in the cowbarn life is burbling, steaming,
And the tines of pitchforks simply glow with health.

These days -- these days, and these nights also!
With eavesdrop thrumming its tattoos at noon,
With icicles (cachectic!) hanging on to gables,
And with the chattering of rills that never sleep!

All doors are flung open -- in stable and in cowbarn;
Pigeons peck at oats fallen in the snow;
And the culprit of all this and its life-begetter--
The pile of manure -- is pungent with ozone.

poem by Boris Pasternak
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Stonewall Jackson

Mortally Wounded at Chancellorsville

The Man who fiercest charged in fight,
Whose sword and prayer were long -
Stonewall!
Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong,
How can we praise? Yet coming days
Shall not forget him with this song.

Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead,
Vainly he died and set his seal -
Stonewall!
Earnest in error, as we feel;
True to the thing he deemed was due,
True as John Brown or steel.

Relentlessly he routed us;
But we relent, for he is low -
Stonewall!
Justly his fame we outlaw; so
We drop a tear on the bold Virginian's bier,
Because no wreath we owe.

poem by Herman Melville
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Army Of Northern Virginia

Army of Northern Virginia, army of legend,
Who were your captains that you could trust them so surely?
Who were your battle-flags?
Call the shapes from the mist,
Call the dead men out of the mist and watch them ride.
Tall the first rider, tall with a laughing mouth,
His long black beard is combed like a beauty's hair,
His slouch hat plumed with a curled black ostrich-feather,
He wears gold spurs and sits his horse with the seat
Of a horseman born.
It is Stuart of Laurel Hill,
'Beauty' Stuart, the genius of cavalry,
Reckless, merry, religious, theatrical,
Lover of gesture, lover of panache,
With all the actor's grace and the quick, light charm
That makes the women adore him-a wild cavalier
Who worships as sober a God as Stonewall Jackson,
A Rupert who seldom drinks, very often prays,
Loves his children, singing, fighting spurs, and his wife.
Sweeney his banjo-player follows him.
And after them troop the young Virginia counties,
Horses and men, Botetort, Halifax,
Dinwiddie, Prince Edward, Cumberland, Nottoway,
Mecklenburg, Berkeley, Augusta, the Marylanders,
The horsemen never matched till Sheridan came.
Now the phantom guns creak by. They are Pelham's guns.
That quiet boy with the veteran mouth is Pelham.
He is twenty-two. He is to fight sixty battles
And never lose a gun.
The cannon roll past,
The endless lines of the infantry begin.
A. P. Hill leads the van. He is small and spare,
His short, clipped beard is red as his battleshirt,
Jackson and Lee are to call him in their death-hours.
Dutch Longstreet follows, slow, pugnacious and stubborn,
Hard to beat and just as hard to convince,
Fine corps commander, good bulldog for holding on,
But dangerous when he tries to think for himself,
He thinks for himself too much at Gettysburg,
But before and after he grips with tenacious jaws.
There is D. H. Hill-there is Early and Fitzhugh Lee-
Yellow-haired Hood with his wounds and his empty sleeve,
Leading his Texans, a Viking shape of a man,
With the thrust and lack of craft of a berserk sword,
All lion, none of the fox.
When he supersedes
Joe Johnston, he is lost, and his army with him,
But he could lead forlorn hopes with the ghost of Ney.
His bigboned Texans follow him into the mist.
Who follows them?

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
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Tin Cup Chalice

By: jimmy buffett
1974
I wanna back to the island
Where the shrimp boats tie up to the pilin
Gimme oysters and beer
For dinner every day of the year and Ill feel fine
Ill feel fine
Chorus:
I wanna be there
Wanna go back down and lie beside the sea there
With a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Yeah now, the sun goes slidin cross the water
Sailboats they go searchin for the breeze
Salt air it aint thin
It can stick right to your skin and make you feel fine
Makes you feel fine
Chorus:
I wanna be there
Wanna go back down and a get high by the sea there
With a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Yes and now you heard my strange proposal
So get that packard up and lets move
I wanna be there before the day
Tries to steal away and leave us behind
Ive made up my mind
Chorus:
And I wanna be there
I wanna go back down and die beside the sea there
With a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Coda:
Yeah with a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Again... to miss jane

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hollywood

People running everywhere
Got no place to go
Got no time to look around to find out where they are
Where they are
Where they are
People having such a race
Dont know where it ends
Got beat the other man, not getting anywhere
Anywhere
Anywhere
Hollywood
Crazy neighborhood
Never understood why I stay
Hollywood
Lovely lady hood
Make you feel good
Every day
Feeling the nights flash by
Under the glowing eyes
Of the sweet butterflies
Watch
What you say
When you say it
Someone you know
Will betray it
Will betray it
Hollywood
Oh, crazy neighborhood
Never understood why I stay
Heard it through the grapevine
Heard it through the grapevine
Heard it through the grapevine

song performed by Chicago
Added by Lucian Velea
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(Straight To Your Heart) Like A Cannonball

Well you know sometimes it gets so hard
And everything don't seem to rhyme
I take a walk out in my backyard and go
Do do loo do do, do do loo do do
Waiting for the sun to shine
And you know sometimes it gets so painful
Just like talking to yourself
When everything don't seem to have no rhyme or reason we all go
Do do loo do do, do do loo do do
Waiting for the sun to shine
We move along
Keep singing our song
Straight to your heart like a cannonball
La la ti da, la la ti da...
Doo do loo do do.....
Waiting for the sun to shine
Well you know, everyday we hear it through the grapevine
That's why I'm so tired of hearing it through the grapevine anymore
Because you hear it through the grapevine
It's just a dirty rotten waste of time, we go
Do do loo do do
While waiting for the sun to shine
We move along
Keeping singing our song
Straight to your heart like a cannonball
La la ti da, la la ti da...
Doo do loo do do.....
We move along
Keep singing our song
Straight to your heart like a cannonball......

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Like A Cannonball

Well you know sometimes it gets so hard
And everything don't seem to rhyme
I take a walk out in my backyard and go
Do do loo do do, do do loo do do
Waiting for the sun to shine
And you know sometimes it gets so painful
Just like talking to yourself
When everything don't seem to have no rhyme or reason we all go
Do do loo do do, do do loo do do
Waiting for the sun to shine
We move along
Keep singing our song
Straight to your heart like a cannonball
La la ti da, la la ti da...
Doo do loo do do.....
Waiting for the sun to shine
Well you know, everyday we hear it through the grapevine
That's why i'm so tired of hearing it through the grapevine anymore
Because you hear it through the grapevine
It's just a dirty rotten waste of time, we go
Do do loo do do
While waiting for the sun to shine
We move along
Keeping singing our song
Straight to your heart like a cannonball
La la ti da, la la ti da...
Doo do loo do do.....
We move along
Keep singing our song
Straight to your heart like a cannonball......

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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