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One Afternnon that Summer.

Despite the fact
that other local kids

were in the hay barn playing
Jane stood at the barn doors

looking in apprehensively
and you stood beside her

waiting for her to move in
or say something

but she just stood looking in
are we allowed in to play?

she asked
sure as long as we don't

cause damage to the hay bales
you replied

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poem by Terry Collett
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A Real Motorcycle

Unspeakable. The word that fills up the
poem, that the head
tries to excise.
At 6 a.m., the wet lion. Its sewn plush face
on the porch rail in the rain.
Heavy rains later, & maybe a thunderstorm.
12 or 13 degrees.

Inside: an iris, candle, poster of the
many-breasted Artemis in a stone hat
from Anatolia

A little pedal steel guitar

A photograph of her at a table by the sea,
her shoulder blocked by the red geranium.
The sea tho invisible can be smelled by the casual watcher
Incredible salt air
in my throat when I see her.

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poem by Erin Mouré
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To Hell Or Havana

Hurry up McGillacuddy, you’ll soon be on your way.
No more you’ll hunt the pheasants with a shotgun by the bay,
No more you’ll watch the farmers cutting turf down by the bogs,
Or sheep up on the mountains being herded by the dogs.

You’ll seldom hear the pipes again or watch the colleens dance.
You’ll join the long tradition; no there’s not a single chance,
That there’s work for you in Ireland; the economy is dead.
It’s nineteen fifty four my boy; too many mouths to be fed

Hurry up McGillacuddy show them that you’re keen,
Get on that dock and board that ship you’re almost seventeen.
Don’t show them that your heart is broke or that you want to cry,
You’re proud to be an Irishman so hold your head up high.

This ship is packed with emigrants from England, Scotland, Wales.
They’re singing blimey British songs and telling taller tales.
They say you’ve got a brogue my friend and that you’re young and green,
Your patriotic pride is hurt when you’re almost seventeen.

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poem by James Bredin
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Working Man's Wage

(wynn varble/leslie satcher)
I've seen mornings when a thousand bales of hay
Looked like a mountain to a boy my age
And i've seen my daddy in that hot southern sun
Move those mountains one by one
And i've seen that same man come home from the mill
Pull forty hours for a hundred-dollar bill
I've watched him struggle and i've watched him age
Raising a family on a working man's wage
I grew up on a working man's wage
Blood, sweat and tears on every dollar he made
For the little he earned there was so much he gave
And i hope i am worthy of a working man's wage
I pick this guitar six nights a week
Daddy can't believe they're paying me
It would be so easy to let it go to my head
But there's just one thing that i can't forget
I grew up on a working man's wage
Blood, sweat and tears on every dollar he made
For the little he earned there was so much he gave

[...] Read more

song performed by Trace Adkins
Added by Lucian Velea
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Working Man's Wage

(wynn varble/leslie satcher)
I've seen mornings when a thousand bales of hay
Looked like a mountain to a boy my age
And i've seen my daddy in that hot southern sun
Move those mountains one by one
And i've seen that same man come home from the mill
Pull forty hours for a hundred-dollar bill
I've watched him struggle and i've watched him age
Raising a family on a working man's wage
I grew up on a working man's wage
Blood, sweat and tears on every dollar he made
For the little he earned there was so much he gave
And i hope i am worthy of a working man's wage
I pick this guitar six nights a week
Daddy can't believe they're paying me
It would be so easy to let it go to my head
But there's just one thing that i can't forget
I grew up on a working man's wage
Blood, sweat and tears on every dollar he made
For the little he earned there was so much he gave

[...] Read more

song performed by Trace Adkins
Added by Lucian Velea
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Comfort Me

Wake me my lady
Dont let me sleep
Open my eyes
To the wonders you keep
Let me look at you
See how you shine
Ill fall in love
Like Ive done every time
Lay me in soft green grass
Down where the river runs
Under the mountain caps
Gold with the setting sun
Walk me along the bay
Beyond the verdant trees
Carry me with your grace
Forever comfort me
You walk on water
Searching the east
The souls of the masses
Pass at your feet

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song performed by Tim McGraw
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Beowulf

LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well

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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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This is the land the sunset washes,

This is the land the sunset washes,
These are the banks of the Yellow Sea;
Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery!

Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails.

poem by Emily Dickinson
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This—is the land—the Sunset washes

266

This—is the land—the Sunset washes—
These—are the Banks of the Yellow Sea—
Where it rose—or whither it rushes—
These—are the Western Mystery!

Night after Night
Her purple traffic
Strews the landing with Opal Bales—
Merchantmen—poise upon Horizons—
Dip—and vanish like Orioles!

poem by Emily Dickinson
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An Ass

It is difficult for
An ass to differentiate
The load of salt and
Cotton bales
Do not make me an ass
O my master.

I am here with the sun
With the moon with the star
With the insects with the moths
With the plant And with
Land air water
All are with me
O my master
Make me clean and transparent.

O my master
Make me fit to shine
Make me fit to dine
I am with you

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poem by Gajanan Mishra
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