moggytales

Remembrance Sunday

'Have you news of my boy Jack?'
Not this tide.
'When d'you think that he'll come back?
'Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

'Has any one else had word of him?
'Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

'Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?'
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind -
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

posted by Moggy @ 3:04 PM Comments: 0

Thanks to Conan Drumm

Alone, all alone, by the wave-washed strand
All alone in a crowded hall.
The hall it is gay and the waves they are grand
But my heart is not here at all.
It flies far away, by night and by day,
To the time and the joys that are gone.
And I never can forget the sweet maiden I met,
In the valley near Slievenamon.

posted by Moggy @ 6:28 AM Comments: 0

Lyrical

My shadow is the only one that walks beside me
My shadow's heart is the only thing that's beating

And who dares say that poetry is dead, when such expressions can be made, even if they have been expressed through the medium of music?

posted by Moggy @ 3:20 AM Comments: 1