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Many Muddied Sluggers Live With Something To Prove

Slime backs,
Who are slime backs...
Will slime back.
On backs.

Slime backs,
Who are slime backs...
Will slime back.
On backs.

Many mud sluggers thowing sludge,
Don't think they're slime backs...
Sliming back.

Those mud sluggers throwing sludge,
Don't think they're slime backs...
Sliming back.

Slime backs,
Who are slime backs...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Great War Poems

I.

The same old soldiers walking along the same old skyline

2.

Dead hand through the sandbags reaching out for the cream­and ­white butterfly

3

mud/water under duckboards/mud/rats scamper in starshell darkness/mud/smell of shit and rotting bodies/mud/resting your sweaty forehead on the sandbags OVER THE TOP the first men in the lunar landscape.

4.

What did you do to the Great Whore, Daddy?'

5.

Poppies slightly out­of­focus and farmcarts bringing in the peaceful dead.

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poem by Adrian Henri
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Heaven

Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond;
But is there anything Beyond?
This life cannot be All, they swear,
For how unpleasant, if it were!
One may not doubt that, somehow, Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And, sure, the reverent eye must see
A Purpose in Liquidity.
We darkly know, by Faith we cry,
The future is not Wholly Dry.
Mud unto mud! - Death eddies near -
Not here the appointed End, not here!
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time.
Is wetter water, slimier slime!
And there (they trust) there swimmeth One
Who swam ere rivers were begun,

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poem by Rupert Brooke (1913)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mud On My Shoe (A Poem About Regret)

I walk alone.
Sometimes the day is sunny.
Sometimes the day is cloudy.
Rainy.
Thunderstorms loom and threaten.
But, alas, there is no umbrella
to shield me
and to shield
the turbulent storm in my heart.
The dismal weather matches my fluctuating mood
of melancholy and regret.

The puddle looms but I don't see it.
Am I weary rose-colored glasses?
Perhaps.
Sometimes a girl can only see a puddle
when she is already in it.
Such is life. Such is love. Such is heartache.

Mud clings to my shoe.

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poem by Julie A Smith
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The Urchin in Dr. Radhakrishnan Rd.

Still the din dashes about in his dreams
now louder in the spaced quiet:
an occasional auto-rickshaw backfiring revving
spluttering
too close for chancy comfort
some blaring tv hoisted above craning necks

Over the squeezed out crackling mud sidewalk
his head buried in the crook of his charred bony arm
his right elbow crusted in a masked-eye pattern
his left spindly leg knotted at the knee
jauntily splayed in a triangle on his right
the mud-soaked sole inturned at the angle
as if to cushion the prickly grains on bare scorched skin
a defensive gesture against cold dust wind noise pain
the slight lukewarm breeze lifting from Marina Beach
teasing the settled dust the strangled pores
he had for a blanket

Through the dropped jaw rosy-pink at the bled bitten lips

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poem by T. Wignesan
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If I Should Fall From Grace With God

If I should fall from grace with god
Where no doctor can relieve me
If Im buried neath the sod
But the angels wont receive me
Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
This land was always ours
Was the proud land of our fathers
It belongs to us and them
Not to any of the others
Let them go, boys
Let them go, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
Bury me at sea
Where no murdered ghost can haunt me
If I rock upon the waves
Then no corpse can lie upon me

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song performed by Pogues
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bread & Blood

(graham russell)
Im not afraid of losing you or saying good-bye
If someone needs you more than me, I will understand why
Id never stand between someone whos holding your heart
But I cant let a superstition tear us apart
Who has the right to speak fire from above
If heaven is away from you, that is the place I will give up
For falling in love cant be taking these lips from the cup
Dont fill her mind with bread and blood
Dont confuse strength with pride and mud
I have a faith in love thats thicker than all bread and blood
Im not afraid to face the truth of what I believe
If love was never meant to choose, it could never succeed
And we may always stand alone in everyones sight
And be the judge unto ourselves between wrong and right
Who puts a price on eternitys sin
Who throws the first stone shall search for perfection again
For you are the reason that pleasure was taken from the pain
Dont fill her mind with bread and blood
Dont confuse strength with pride and mud

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song performed by Air Supply
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Borough. Letter XXII: Peter Grimes

Old Peter Grimes made fishing his employ,
His wife he cabin'd with him and his boy,
And seem'd that life laborious to enjoy:
To town came quiet Peter with his fish,
And had of all a civil word and wish.
He left his trade upon the sabbath-day,
And took young Peter in his hand to pray:
But soon the stubborn boy from care broke loose,
At first refused, then added his abuse:
His father's love he scorn'd, his power defied,
But being drunk, wept sorely when he died.

Yes! then he wept, and to his mind there came
Much of his conduct, and he felt the shame,--
How he had oft the good old man reviled,
And never paid the duty of a child;
How, when the father in his Bible read,
He in contempt and anger left the shed:
"It is the word of life," the parent cried;
--"This is the life itself," the boy replied;

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poem by George Crabbe
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Trivia ; or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London : Book II.

Of Walking the Streets by Day.

Thus far the Muse has trac'd in useful lays
The proper implements for wintry ways;
Has taught the walker, with judicious eyes,
To read the various warnings of the skies.
Now venture, Muse, from home to range the town,
And for the public safety risk thy own.
For ease and for dispatch, the morning's best;
No tides of passengers the street molest.
You'll see a draggled damsel, here and there,
From Billingsgate her fishy traffic bear;
On doors the sallow milk-maid chalks her gains;
Ah! how unlike the milk-maid of the plains!
Before proud gates attending asses bray,
Or arrogate with solemn pace the way;
These grave physicians with their milky cheer,
The love-sick maid and dwindling beau repair;
Here rows of drummers stand in martial file,
And with their vellum thunder shake the pile,

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poem by John Gay
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Sweetest Girl

Swetest girl
Is playing in the mud today
Swetest girl
Is eating mud
Sweates girl
Is all dirty
Because she has mud all over her
And incudling her clothes

poem by Aldo Kraas
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