DayPoems: A Seven-Century Poetry Slam
93,142 lines of verse * www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
I heard Old Ocean raise her voice and cry,
In that still hour between the night and day;
I saw the answering tides, green robed and gray,
Turn to her with a low contented sigh;
Marching with silent feet they passed me by,
For the white moon had taught them to obey,
And scarce a wavelet broke in fretful spray,
As they went forth to kiss the stooping sky.
So, to my heart, when the last sunray sleeps,
And the wan night, impatient for the moon,
Throws her gray mantle over land and sea,
There comes a call from out Life's nether deeps,
And tides, like some old ocean in a swoon,
Flow out, in soundless majesty, to thee.
sometime love is front of us and we still miss it
I saw you turn away
As my eyes
Held your eyes
For a moment
We saw love
For what love
Was meant to be
Without words
Our soul
Plead for us
Come to an understanding
Trusting the message
From deep inside
Of our inner self
Not knowing our heart
Has allow real
Love
To be miss
Copyright 2002 by George Jerone Jefferson. All rights reserved.
'WHY does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
Edward, Edward?
Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
And why sae sad gang ye, O?'
'O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude,
Mither, mither;
O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude,
And I had nae mair but he, O.'
'Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
Edward, Edward;
Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
My dear son, I tell thee, O.'
'O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed,
Mither, mither;
O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed,
That erst was sae fair and free, O.'
'Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair,
Edward, Edward;
Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair;
Some other dule ye dree, O.'
'O I hae kill'd my father dear,
Mither, mither;
O I hae kill'd my father dear,
Alas, and wae is me, O!'
'And whatten penance will ye dree for that,
Edward, Edward?
Whatten penance will ye dree for that?
My dear son, now tell me, O.'
'I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
Mither, mither;
I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
And I'll fare over the sea, O.'
'And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha',
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha',
That were sae fair to see, O?'
'I'll let them stand till they doun fa',
Mither, mither;
I'll let them stand till they doun fa',
For here never mair maun I be, O.'
'And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
When ye gang owre the sea, O?'
'The warld's room: let them beg through life,
Mither, mither;
The warld's room: let them beg through life;
For them never mair will I see, O.'
'And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
My dear son, now tell me, O?'
'The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear,
Mither, mither;
The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear:
Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!'
Grey rocks, and greyer sea,
And surf along the shore --
And in my heart a name
My lips shall speak no more.
The high and lonely hills
Endure the darkening year --
And in my heart endure
A memory and a tear.
Across the tide a sail
That tosses, and is gone --
And in my heart the kiss
That longing dreams upon.
Grey rocks, and greyer sea,
And surf along the shore --
And in my heart the face
That I shall see no more.
Good-bye to tree and tower,
To meadow, stream, and hill,
Beneath the white clouds marshalled close
At the wind's will.
Good-bye to the gay garden,
With prim geraniums pied,
And spreading yew trees, old, unchanging
Tho' men have died.
Good-bye to the New Castle,
With granite walls and grey,
And rooms where faded greatness still
Lingers to-day.
To every friend in Mallow,
When I am gone afar,
These words of ancient Celtic hope,
"Peace after war."
I would return to Erin
When all these wars are by,
Live long among her hills before
My last good-bye.
COME not in terrors clad, to claim
An unresisting prey:
Come like an evening shadow, Death!
So stealthily, so silently!
And shut mine eyes, and steal my breath;
Then willingly, O willingly,
With thee I'll go away!
What need to clutch with iron grasp
What gentlest touch may take?
What need with aspect dark to scare,
So awfully, so terribly,
The weary soul would hardly care,
Call'd quietly, call'd tenderly,
From thy dread power to break?
'Tis not as when thou markest out
The young, the blest, the gay,
The loved, the loving--they who dream
So happily, so hopefully;
Then harsh thy kindest call may seem,
And shrinkingly, reluctantly,
The summon'd may obey.
But I have drunk enough of life--
The cup assign'd to me
Dash'd with a little sweet at best,
So scantily, so scantily--
To know full well that all the rest
More bitterly, more bitterly,
Drugg'd to the last will be.
And I may live to pain some heart
That kindly cares for me:
To pain, but not to bless. O Death!
Come quietly--come lovingly--
And shut mine eyes, and steal my breath;
Then willingly, O willingly,
I'll go away with thee!
How often in the summer-tide,
His graver business set aside,
Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed,
As to the pipe of Pan,
Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride
Across the fields to Anne.
It must have been a merry mile,
This summer stroll by hedge and stile,
With sweet foreknowledge all the while
How sure the pathway ran
To dear delights of kiss and smile,
Across the fields to Anne.
The silly sheep that graze to-day,
I wot, they let him go his way,
Nor once looked up, as who should say:
"It is a seemly man."
For many lads went wooing aye
Across the fields to Anne.
The oaks, they have a wiser look;
Mayhap they whispered to the brook:
"The world by him shall yet be shook,
It is in nature's plan;
Though now he fleets like any rook
Across the fields to Anne."
And I am sure, that on some hour
Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower,
He stooped and broke a daisy-flower
With heart of tiny span,
And bore it as a lover's dower
Across the fields to Anne.
While from her cottage garden-bed
She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede,
To scent his jerkin's brown instead;
Now since that love began,
What luckier swain than he who sped
Across the fields to Anne?
The winding path whereon I pace,
The hedgerow's green, the summer's grace,
Are still before me face to face;
Methinks I almost can
Turn poet and join the singing race
Across the fields to Anne!
Song is so old,
Love is so new --
Let me be still
And kneel to you.
Let me be still
And breathe no word,
Save what my warm blood
Sings unheard.
Let my warm blood
Sing low of you --
Song is so fair,
Love is so new!
The grass is green upon her grave,
The west wind whispers low;
"The corn is changed, come forth, come forth,
Ere all the blossoms go!"
In vain. Her laughing eyes are sealed,
And cold her sunny brow;
Last year she smiled upon the flowers --
They smile above her now!
I have built one, so have you;
Paved with marble, domed with blue,
Battlement and ladies' bower,
Donjon keep and watchman's tower.
I have climbed, as you have done,
To the tower at set of sun --
Crying from its parlous height,
"Watchman, tell us of the night."
I have stolen at midnight bell,
Like you, to the secret cell,
Shuddering at its charnel breath --
Left lockfast the spectre, Death.
I have used your lure to call
Choice guests to my golden hall:
Rarely welcome, rarely free
To my hospitality.
In a glow of rosy light
Hours, like minutes, take their flight --
As from you they fled away,
When, like you, I bade them stay.
Ah! the pretty flow of wit,
And the good hearts under it;
While the wheels of life go round
With a most melodious sound.
Not a vestige anywhere
Of our grim familiar, Care --
Roses! from the trees of yore
Blooming by the rivers four.
Not a jar, and not a fret;
Ecstasy and longing met.
But why should I thus define --
Is not your chateau like mine?
Scarcely were it strange to meet
In that magic realm so sweet,
So! I'll take this dreamland train
Bound for my chateau in Spain.
I SAW fair Chloris walk alone,
When feather'd rain came softly down,
As Jove descending from his Tower
To court her in a silver shower:
The wanton snow flew to her breast,
Like pretty birds into their nest,
But, overcome with whiteness there,
For grief it thaw'd into a tear:
Thence falling on her garments' hem,
To deck her, froze into a gem.
Too Many Things to Remember About You
You never said I was dumb
Always said I was kinda smart
So much to remember, my head feels numb
I'm not really sure where I should start
I remember you differently
Yet, you're really the same
Even keeled, keeping consistency
You the man with Dad as your name
You taught me how to ride a bike
As well as hunt and fish
Sailed in a boat we launched from a dike
I believe you said I could be anything I wish
Too many things to remember, too many things to tell
You kept it all going strong, always on the run
Always the pillar in times of living hell
A wry humor for the lighter side when things were really not much fun
Grinch-like, chasing Santa and his reindeer
In the wee hours of the morn, faster than you can shake a stick
As you put away your 20-gauge, "I'll get you fat man, maybe next year"
"We could use the venison," you'd say with a grin. "Better be careful, Ol'
St Nick."
Too many things to remember, no time to ponder
All the lessons you had for me
At times your lack of knowledge made me wonder
As I got older, you got smarter, that was easy to see
On the phone often we talk
Whenever we can, minutes here and there
When we visit each other we go for walks
Sometimes with few words but know what each other would share
Retired, a word you say with such muse
No fairways, greens or bad lies in the ruff
Taking it easy - hah! that's just a ruse
For you its building a deck, tending the garden and other busy stuff
Getting a little slower as time goes by
"Nearly down to average," you always say
Don't worry, I'll always know how high you can fly
Thanks, Pops. I love you and oh yeah, Happy Father's Day