Springs around the corner
what wondrous things we'll see,
bulbs popping up above the ground
giving joy to you and me,
time to tidy up our plot, lots of digging too,
weeds to pull, beds to hoe
lots of things will have to go.
You have to be a little brave
if that rose you want to save,
but you will learn that over time
you've got to be cruel, just to be kind,
The flower beds need a tidy
take all that dead stuff off the top,
veg plots being well dug over
hoping for a bumper crop.
Seeds to sow, hope they'll grow !
then the lawn will need a mow.
And when all the hard work is done
you can sit back and be pleased,
wind , rain and sun you have grown all you need.
Baa Baa Black Sheep
We don't want your wool.
Please sir, Please sir,
I have three bags full.
You are too old.
You are out of date.
But I work hard,
And I'm never late.
You don't have the
Look we're looking for.
That's no reason to
Boot me out the door.
We want new skills
For this vocation.
But I have twice
You have too much
But they have none!
They don't even know how!
Baa Baa Black sheep,
We don't want your wool.
I've been played the fool.
When he emigrated to North Dakota
Daddy came to help fill needed quota
Of young, strong men of honest worth
For untamed land at its new birth.
He met my mother, strong as he,
Raised seven kids including me.
He broke wild mustangs to the halter
And from cold or heat would never falter.
The settlers in this brand new land
Weren’t looking for the wild cow-hand,
The drifter who’d collect his pay,
Then casually be on his way.
Some would then join an outlaw band,
Before the law came to the land.
Though their kind earned infamous glory,
Men like my dad were the real story.
North Dakota had only been a state,
Ten years when Daddy tested fate.
He left Eastern standards and aesthetics,
Armed only with his strong work ethics.
He and his kind would build the schools,
And churches and towns and follow rules.
It took big men to build the west.
I claim my dad one of the best.
He homesteaded in nineteen hundred one
And that is how the west was won.
Hey, how are you
Have you heard this one?
Where there’s a midnight sun
Listen to me now,
Listen up young one
One day I left someone
Where did you say
you were going?
She looked so sad
with her tears showing
showing her a map of you,
around the world to you,
flying so fast at you,
I left my Papua New Guinea,
my home sweet home for you.
So... like déjàvu,
You look so...
Do I know you?
No, don't say no...
I know you!
you were in my dreams
You know that moment,
when you see her,
that lifts you high
into outer space so high
oh how I longed for you,
Just you and me,
your seasons, my wonder..
I wonder when thunders,
remind my mind,
my sleeping child,
But Nova's away..
They say people say,
you'd miss home,
you'll miss POM..
you said no,
No, No, No
you'll be home
From winter to Autumn
Just you and I
you'll be fine
So when the leaves fall,
Or when snow falls,
Our time, may be dying,
Maybe someday I'll find,
My child no child,
and the sun so fine,
I'll be home bound,
To my Ocean playground..
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound on my drumes i like to pound.
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound i think it has a very cool sound.
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound i would love to here it going around.
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound don't let it turn your smile into a frown.
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound here there where ever i am found in the sky or on the ground.
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound i am so glad JESUS CHRIST i have found. Bubba bubba bound Bubba bound and heaven someday i am bound.
Buba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound.
On the outer Paroo where most septics are few
And the outhouse has still pride of place;
Poor old Toby McPhee worked a small property
With his son and his darling wife Grace.
When the milking was due and the harvesting too,
His son Fred seemed to just disappear.
Though they looked everywhere this bewildered old pair
Found no trace of their poor little dear.
I've the paddock to plough and I need the boy now
As the horses are harnessed and ready.
Then he saw the smoke rise and to Toby's surprise;
'Twas the outhouse that hid his young Freddy.
"So the silly young bloke seems to fancy a smoke.
Well I've just the right cure then for him."
As he led the horse team Toby's eyes gave a gleam
And the lazy lad’s future looked dim.
He then hooked the team to the log skids on the loo,
While the slack was worked out of the chain.
With the reins in his hand he then gave the command
And both horses then took up the strain.
Poor young Fred he was perched on the seat when it lurched,
Though soon ended up down on the floor.
With Fred's pants 'round his knees Toby heard his wild pleas,
But he goaded his horses some more.
The lad's fag hit the pan and a fire soon began
With the paper and sawdust alight.
Then the skids hit a hollow and what was to follow
Was one hell of a horrible sight. That pan flew in the air and though Fred crouched in
All the angels they must have been out.
For the team in a trot had sent airborne the lot
And the contents were scattered about.
Toby's lungs out of air he then reined in the pair
And the curing had come to a close.
Fred emerged from the door looking terribly sore,
While the pong was quite strong on the nose.
When there's work now to do on the outer Paroo
Our young Fred McPhee's work is hectic.
For he saves all his dough, but it's not for smokes though,
As their place is now going septic.
Here's to all that put up a good fight. A tough battle of day, so we can all safely sleep tonight.
Our brother troops on a foreign ground, wide awake with evil all around.
Outcasts in a bleak lifeless place. Any free time, just trying to picture your face.
Day falls away, and out comes glimmering stars. Not much else to see here, but broken walls and burned up cars.
Within many U.S. troops, thrives a common hope. To defeat these psycho groups, is what we all mainly scope.
Day by day, days drag on. More time here and more friends gone.
Many wish on these stars in the sky. A common wish to finally say goodbye!
Some time from now and not too long, mission complete and soon to sing the song.
These years have come and past. We all have grown very strong, and the bond will always last.
Next up coming, will be our ride back home. Back with our family and freedom to roam.
This world is getting tougher to survive everyday.
The cost of living is more than my pay.
It's going to get worse that's what the old folks say.
The bad times are here and here to stay.
Just look at the shape of the U.S.A.
we're afraid to let our children go out and play.
Maybe we all need to get on uor knees and pray.
Jobs are getting harder and harder to find.
What I own ain't worth a dime.
Inflation is up and so is crime.
Alot of real good people are in a bind.
Can't even get care when your in your prime.
Most everyone you know have fallen on hard time.
I can't help them out when i'm worried about saving mine.
Career politicians keep sucking us dry.
They tax everything we own and anything we buy.
Most of us blue collars will work till the day we die.
While the rich skate through life and don't have to try.
We all have to stop living this goverment lie.
It's about time we let that eagle fly.
Remember who made this country, it was you and I.
We the people can bring her back, and put this nation back on track.
We made her strong and that's a fact, and
Noone will ever be able to take away that.
Tired to the bone,
For mere coins,
I work all alone,
Rough hewn hands,
Tarnished by labor,
While times slipping sands,
... Erode this old trader,
Get a little ahead,
Then quickly fall behind,
What more can be said,
Abound trudging this old grind,
I give all I can,
They take more away,
Until left in my hand,
Is less than yesterday,
How can this be,
How can I survive,
When all I can see,
Is barely staying alive,
There's no promise for me,
No hope of retiring,
There's no future I see,
Except one of perspiring,
Where is the hope,
When this road is endless,
How can I cope,
When I am left defenseless,
No dreams can I see,
No prayers answered today,
But I work endlessly,
To find a way one day,
To find answers,
Answers to my prayers,
Where hope finally swears,
To live up to my cares,
And hope blooms,
From the hopeless life,
Which fills this room,
Bringing me such strife,
And should this prayer,
Be answered by God,
I know that I'll swear,
To give him all I've got,
But I know this is just,
A passing dream of mine,
And I will do what I must,
To keep towing the line,
And I know the Lord,
Has others with greater needs,
So he can not afford,
The time to fool with me,
An old salty soul,
Who is truly lost and sad,
But this is my role,
And it really isn't all that bad...
by My Gull Wheels On
a.k.a. Michael Wilson
Life is an array of twists and turns
Nightmares to conquer and dreams to burn
Why must I wait
for the opening of the gate
The world outside is a forest and dark
and the people are it's bark
Cries for something more
and they drag you in because they must
What's the point?
You work to meet them
then work harder to defeat their memory
To undo their damage
and disconnect the joint
One man that knew no better
Didn't mean to make me any upsetter
When he said it was better this way
But I'd love to forget it any day
For years I've seen it
So many tears I've tasted for it
Betrayal never gets old
ask me sometime and the story will be told
All the things I disgust
and leave the taste
that leaves me to a further distrust
So many I can name
So many I can blame
So many I can claim at one point
and deny me what I want
But if you don't know, you don't know me
To be in a lobby is oh such a shame,
Lonely and troubled it’s all such a game,
Suits and stubble typing like pawns,
Fed to the lions before going cold.
Success in their minds with a stench of despair,
As they desperately struggle to sustain a soul.
Battered and worn with the internet scorned,
Corporate specials are oh such a bore.
Stiffly dressed, there’s nowhere to hide,
A pint at the bar is a stretched slide.
Universal wallpaper from the hotel land
surrounds every painting that’s oh so bland.
Laptop in hand they now must run,
Pretending to be busy is all part of the fun.
The starch duvet awaits and morning will come,
Lies must be told and dirty deals done.
The significant shudder of newspaper pages echo the sterile breakfast tables,
Days of ignominy will consistently need snippets of stories to spin the reels.
of the American
celebrate on Labor day
of the past
to build a
for those descendants to
This Labor Day
reflect on the
we've gone through
over the last
couple of hundred years
The late Studs Terkel
knew this well
He is gone
but left a legacy for us
Whatever you do for a living
you should be honored on
and take a minute or two
to think about
those how have
so that the rest of us
can have a better life
HAPPY LABOR DAY
ME AND THIS OLD TRUCK, IS HAULING OUR LAST LOAD.
DOWN THIS LONG HARD BUMPY ROAD.
IT TOSSES ME AROUND, AS IT SWAYS FROM SIDE TO SIDE.
NOW ME AND THIS OLD TRUCK IS ON OUR LAST RIDE
I CAN MEMBER WHEN THIS OLD TRUCK WAS BRAND NEW.
I WAS SO FULL OF PRIDE.
I WASH IT AND WAXS IT UNTIL YOU COULD SEE YOUR REFLECTION ON IT.
NOW ME AND THIS OLD TRUCK IS ON OUR LAST RIDE.
I CAN REMEMBER MY DAD AND I.
WE WORK IN THE FIELDS ,FROM EARLY DAWN TO SETTING SUN.
WE WORK AND WORK UNTIL ALL THE WORK WAS DONE.
MY DAD ON HIS OLD RED TRACTOR,
MOWING GRASS,PLOWING FIELDS,CUTTING HAY.
ME AND THIS OLD TRUCK WOULD HAUL IT ALL AWAY.
THIS OLD TRUCK RUN LIKE A DEER.
HER MOTOR PURR LIKE A KITTEN.
WE WERE ALWAYS SEEN TOGETHER,THROUGH ALL KINDS OF WEATHER.
NEVER ONCE DID SHE EVER GET US STUCK.
LORD HOW I LOVE AND WILL MISS THIS OLD TRUCK.
WELL WE FINALLY COME TO OUR JOURNEY END.
THE ONLY THING LEFT TO SAY IS,
GOODBYE MY OLD FRIEND.
The Old Ways Worked
Oh 50 years passed by with the flick of an eye
and our people got so soft don't you see
Back in the fifties people worked oh so hard
just to bring home the bacon for ye
Well the machines oh they came and the work it all went
till there was nothing to do don't you see
it was better back then when the kids had respect
for their elders who sired them with glee
Oh the people grow fat for there's nothing to do
no crowbar or shovel for ye
No sweat of the brow of a days work well done
and a cold beer at sunset for me….
Minority groups have stuffed up the world
full of great ideas so they think
So now the kids are out of control
anarchy comes to the bar for a drink…
Oh I got the cane at school yes too right..
teachers got some respect just from me..
I didn't steal cars & didn't do time
and I’m drugs and alcohol free?
Waking up in a cold sweat.
Heart racing in my chest.
What will the day bring?
Can it be worse than the night?
Working all day in the summer heat.
Throat parched, needing water.
What will tomorrow be?
Could it be worse than today?
Wolfs welcome the moon.
The air becomes crisp.
Not a sound to be heard, nor a sight to be seen.
Now I lay my broken body to rest.
Dream, Dream, Dream.
I dream of sweet things, that will never be.
Dream, Dream, Dream.
I would dream my life away if I could.
For it is better, and more peaceful, than any I know of now.
Waking up in a cold sweat.
Realizing that my dream is over and its time to rise.
Through the virgin timber country this saw miller’s eye is set.
I tap for the good and prime hardwood for the timber I must get.
Echo reacts from my swinging axe, around old ‘Gentle Annie’.
I sing to the bush, and the bush sings back to me.
There’s the anger of my swing saw building sawdust in the scrub,
A currawong palls a mournful song, in my unwatched mill town hub,
The rowdy fight, from the beer at night, an owl hoots mournfully.
I sing to the bush, and the bush sings back to me.
Oh the magpie and the jackass, in a messmate side by side,
Warble out and laugh aloud, when I’m unoccupied,
They wait for me so patiently, as I drink my cup of tea,
‘Til back I go to the shingle pile. The bush sings back to me.
I sing to the bush, and the bush sings back to me,
Gang-gang growl, a wild dog howl, over chains upon the gantry,
Sap stained hands tie the bands, for the trip to Fraser’s siding.
The bush sings back to me, with the yellow robin riding.
Loaded are the bullocks, the tramlines creak and groan,
King parrots feed on wild oat seed. Their screeching is well known.
This bullocky’s voice gives a beast no choice. Whip’s crack off every tree.
The whipbird brings confusion, when the bush sings back to me
The picket fence and the paling walls are swaying on my dray.
The axles squeak over Sardine Creek. Bellbirds tinkle away.
I pass the calls ‘til the big ash falls, from the well-timed broadaxe swings,
A lyrebird waits ‘til the timbers sawn, to recall this when he sings.
The lowland wait is a wanting wait, a feel for the need to go
Back to the sway of the eucalypt, and the feel of the highland snow,
Where a bushman’s mind is a varied mind, as long as I can be,
In my home on the mountain loam, where the bush sings back to me.
I can leave the saw of the timber mill, but you know I never leave,
For in my heart there’s a bushman’s soul, where no other can conceive,
Boronia scent is heaven sent, near the flow where I try to win,
A bountiful prize in the Ryson’s Creek. A pound or two of tin.
Now the sawdust turns to rusty brown. They’re the heaps of long ago.
Fire has burned mountain ash to ash, but the re-growth does re-grow,
Tramlines are naught but barely scars. Mill towns not there to see,
Yet in my blood I am haunted still, the bush keeps calling me.
4am sunday morning they broke into song
unable to contain their smiles
they cast aside the spent wine
and took their ribald song to the streets
with a fanfare of sound and light
like jesters of old
they painted smiles on the frowning old men
and placed rainbows over the bridges between
the carpets of the mighty and the halls of fable
by 5am they had made it all
the way in to the center of town
where a roadblock of uniforms thought to make sense
out of tealeaves and mint cookies
as the jesters just dance around their confusions
between their orders and
what the truth of the heart tells em is the song
and then we see the ugly show a pretty eye to the cause
as it marches in through the double dawn
one dawn for the sun
the other for the hearts of the lonely
and a secret one for me and her
in our lounge chairs by the top of the spike hill
kissing our sweet hearts to eachother
by 10am all but the most die-hard had fallen to dreaming sweetly
neath the juniper trees
while thouse few who clung to awakened hearts
sang softly and sweetly
of summer nights and fresh loves
unearthed from the ashes of the desperate pasts
all things made anew from all the things made old
by sunday evening
we had all danced all the dances
and kissed all the kisses till even the heat of passion couldn't fade
held eachothers hands
and smiled sweetly like memory's saying fare thee well till morrow
i would be crazy if it weren't for your hand in mine
here in the tropical sundown
sunday night so deep
and the only one left dancing is old harold
he's doing the charleston with the moon's echo on the waves of the sea
don't think he's ever been so happy
and as i drift off to sleep
with her in my arms
i know that i don't need to explain to anyone
that we are all jesters looking for a
song to dance to at 4am in the tropics
EXCERPT (Approximately 30% of Poem)
From Summertimes and Monday Mournings
Hopscotch in Harlem
Children play ten square
Jump Jump all stare
Bahhh Bahhh Black sheep
Have you any cares?
Yes Sir Yes sir
More than my share
I’ve added all my Blues up
And I have some to spare.
Hopscotch in Harlem
Feels like a HOLIDAY
Don’t touch the Hi-Fi
Cause BESSIE wants to play.
A BIRD in the band
Is worth two in the bush
Heaven’s big enough for everybody
But still folks just push
Hopscotch in Harlem
The war is almost over
Daddy lost his leg
At least he has a head on his shoulder
The Bomber won in the last round
With a swift uppercut jab
Harlem’s too far from heaven
So it’s best you take a CAB
And if you want to be on time
I guess that TRANE will work out fine
I guess that TRANE will work out fine.
“Mama why we got to live like this?
I’m sick of eatin’ beans an’ hominy grits.
Mama I’m sick of this sh-----“
“Shhhh watch yo’ mouth boy
You aint ol’ enough to fuss
I’m the only one in this house
Got a right to fuss.”
“Aint the Good Lo’d give you eyes boy
To see that yo Mama is busy?
Stop spinnin’ yo brother around
You gonna make him DIZZIE
Harlems last gleaming
And dim stars
Tears constantly streaming
The long hours of despair
Dreams dissolving in air
Gave proof through the night
That our Blues were still there
After all that dying
Those Blues were still there.
HOPSCOTCH IN HARLEM
Yo’ Daddy loves you
Mama loves you more
How’d you get in this fix
Even the Good Lord
Can’t clean up yo sh*%$
And when you’re behind
Is a good time to quit
Square number seven
Just getting started
Yo Mama went to heaven
Sad and broken hearted
Cussin’ an fussin’
Glad that she departed
Advance to number eight
Yo Daddy knockin’ on heaven’s gates
They wont let him in
Because he got there late
"I tol you they do ‘scriminate."
Yo’ Mama died from drinkin’ whiskey and wine
Go back two squares cause you stepped on the line
If you make it to square number nine
Than you’re really doing good
God bless those who make it to ten
So lucky are them
This is how THEY play
Hopscotch in Harlem
M Ellis Pulitzer Eyes
It's all the same, only sasons change
Every May, the rain washes the crops away
In the Winter time the fields are so cold
I work my muscles to the bone
I'm a Plowboy, on a John Deer I ride
I do all I can to keep my crops alive
I'm a Plowboy
Keepin' my crops alive
Sometimes it seeds, sometimes it's the sun and its damaging rays
No more wheat, it's corn for ethonal
Sometimes it costs you, so you pay
By the harvest you complete
Haven't showered for days, now I really stink
I fertilize these crops with a loaded tank on my back
I work with little sleep, not much room for slack
The drought may be over, hopefully enough rain will fall
I've had a million crops, I've planted them all
I'm a Plowboy, on a John Deer I ride
I do all I can to keep my crops alive
I'm a Plowboy, time is not on my side
Just keepin' my crops alive
Poison Ivy gave me the hives, keepin' my crops alive
Keepin' the crops alive (4x repeated)
What is a poem?
A poem can be alot of things.
In a poem you can express your deepest,
A poem does not have to rhyme. A poem is a work of art straight from the heart and mind.
A poem can be fact or fiction.
Either way a poem is a true work of art!
Aye 'ee is fierce and hale.
Four mile to work,across the vale;
No slommakin' slattern 'ee,
Okkard as an itching flea.
Eee'd fetch hosses to boss's yard,
Garmed with mud,as thick as lard,
Cla'holt of 'em wiv a rope,
On is own,allus could cope.
Niver sees 'im vexed,or aggled,
Even if drenched and bedraggled;
In lightning 'e wore niver frit,
Though the whole sky wore fork-lit.
Grew peas that kidded well,
Allus 'ad a tale to tell.
Dialect from around Aylesbury Vale ,England in 1940's
Listen to me read this in this dialect on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
The icly coldest of the Hornet Queen and her spirits and freinds
is going to use my theme and name Hor Horn to steal my
work, because she predetermine who gets what and
of course I to give my crumbs to her, well some say this
and that about the daughter that ran away from her and
walk the streets because of her control issues and
of course she lies and steals to get more and more
power, I have work for twenty years on some work and
storys and of course that is hers so if you see it they
320 has a great bunch working there
They show a lot pride they really care
I personally don't consider any of this work, to me it's all fun
Sweat already pouring from the Warehouse heat and the morning sun
Daine and Nathaniel welcome to a great team
We cover one another on tasks in Warehouse 317
We have the mother of all mothers coming our way soon
Enough fun coming to make you wanna bark at the moon
I am looking forward to the thirty thousand guests
So let's wipe the sweat from our brows and make it look effortless
Monique is going to miss out on this great adventure, Zena is now the one caught in between
Local Purchase stop pulling your hair out, what a great place called Warehouse 317
There is Hezakiah handling the turn ins
He has to be careful and watch the NSN's
Glen handles the Turretts and parts to the shops
Without Wonda and Michael, the production stops
Gabrielle is the Goddess of the Hazmat
Shipping is now on cruise control with Doug there, but we all wear so many different hats
Jerry is the main director of this sometimes circus scene
Under our wonderful big top at Warehouse 317
A manager is only as good as her or his people allow them to be
I am thankful for all who I work with and my extended family
I love where I work and I am so happy to come there every day
All this fun and very good pay
DRMO is handled by Elsa and Fred
This is where all the useless parts are sent
The Carpenter Shop has Jason
That is where they do the packaging and craten'
Tom runs the show at Container Ops
David is in charge of the Turrett Shop
The mechanics have the vehicles coming in and going out at a tremendous rate
The Shop Clerks keep the ordering and parts requirements up to date
Vehicles to be shipped, Motor Pool is on the scene
But it all starts at my favorite place, Warehouse 317
I am sorry if I missed anyone such as Tammy at Safety, or Miss Lilly at PBO
Overall the operations are under the direction of Rick and Joe
The Front Office Personnel answer the phone
Without them, there would be nobody home
The shipboard stuff handled by Wholesale
Shop's parts handled by Retail
I personally want to thank everyone for all they do
This place could not do what it does without me or you
So I am not trying to be rude or mean
But I must end the saga now, come visit us at Warehouse 317
A watch from the berrtes eye
secret silinet he cryies
through the work of a jugten deed
a world he sit where no one takes heed
the new wind blows ash in dust
a look from wishiling window
showing no aprayven norical forshiven
As the shadow towers over me
I sing a hearts praise to all lost children
awaken and dawriness intent begavaning my eventdence
i shower the the places of my past
in this overchure of suprise I cradle my last emphise
I work hard to make thing new
I began with this next of kin
A tiped nouse blinking it's fastin
The dull axes couteraction
I wangraond uptichure of my atimasity
Apraganding these two heartbroken lovers
Sore under oath to persert them both
I walk alone to actord my salvage
The presure of this unburn thratise bragging in my face
I object in theses halls of forgatton backlashing
This four hored watch this ucrane
As the mamed game backran her i am avenged
THw wac swocks the tuk bock lock
While i cindle my brushin brides backstab
A man's man, He'd been in the war,
saw many places not seen before.
Liked to work with His hands,
smoked a pipe and came from France.
Raced His horse on Sunday,
and used it to plow on Monday.
Liked to wear suits and hats,
but didn't like the neighbors cats.
He had built the first bus,
so school wouldn't be missed.
Made Me a toy barn when I was 3,
came to all My birthdays, just for Me !
Taught Me to work very hard,
didn't like people who turned to lard.
Stuck up for Me when I was a kid,
cared a lot when nobody did !
Had worked for the railroad,
up in Ashland where it's very cold.
Showed Me how to work with wood
and told Me how to dance with girls good.
Kept his car shiny and bright,
at 20 years old, it was a beautiful site.
He showed Me respect...
and told my studies not to neglect.
Loved Grace his wife,
and was with Her for life.
Helped to make Me a man,
and to be all that I can !
By Perri R. Voge for My GrandPa Voge, I miss him.