Mudcat Campfire - 2

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 07:17 PM

little chill in the air tonight....take a seat by the fire and have a cup of hot cider.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 09:07 PM

Thanks, LEJ. I'm heading up to a REAL music campfire tomorrow. We'll have chili and lots of other good eats. I'm making pumpkin pies to add to the feast.

It's been a tough year for fires in the woods.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Rich(bodhránai gan ciall)
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 02:13 AM

Brrr...The woods have grown chilly. Up ahead I the glow of a fire. Anybody who has ever heard a ghost story would be a little edgy approaching a strange campfire in the woods, but anyone who's ever been to a festival has made at least one friend in this very manner. Well the ghost dtories are on another thread right now, so it should be ok and the chill of the night spurs me on to yonder fire. Aaahh, that's nice! No one around at the moment but if I hang out some one should be around sooner or later.
Rich

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 02:31 AM

Here Rich,we'll share some warmth and some cider.It's said that this fire ring is old,and that it was used by folks who passed through here on their way west.They would water their horses and oxen at the stream just below,and would gather around this same rock ring to talk about their hopes,tell stories,and sing Oh Shenandoah,or Betsy from Pike.I have found old bits of harness strap,rusted barrel hoops,and even the head of an old porcelain doll in the woods around this clearing.Before the pioneers,the Indians passed this way in their hunts,and they too told their stories and sang their songs.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 10:40 AM

I'd like to hear some more poems, like the ones I started with at the beginning of this thread last years. Anyone have some ghost poems?

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 10:41 AM

I'd like to hear some more poems, like the ones I started with at the beginning of this thread last year. Anyone have some ghost poems?

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Mbo
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 10:54 AM

Midnight in Montgomery
Silver Eagle, lonely road
I was on my way to Mobile for a big New Year's Eve show
I stopped for just a minute to see a friend outside of town
Put my collar up, I found his name, and felt the wind die down
And a drunk man in a cowboy hat took me by surprise
Wearing shiny boots, a Nudi suit and haunting haunted eyes
He said "Friend it's good to see you, it's nice to know you care"
Then the wind picked up, and he was gone
Or was he ever really there?

It's midnight in Montgomery
Just hear that whippoorwill
See the stars light up the purple sky
Feel that lonesome chill
When the wind is right, you'll hear his songs
Smell whiskey in the air
Midnight in Montgomery
He's always singing there

I climbed back on my Eagle
Took one last look around
Through red taillights
The shadow moved slow across the ground
And off somewhere a midnight train is slowly passing by
I could hear that whistle moaning
I'm so lonesome I could cry

It's midnight in Montgomery
Just hear that whippoorwill See the stars light up the purple sky
Feel that lonesome chill
'Cause when the wind it's right, you'll hear his songs
Smell whiskey in the air
Midnight in Montgomery
He's always singing there

Yes, Hank's always singing there...

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: MAG (inactive)
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 01:45 PM

I hope you don't insist on originals, Alice.

from Frost's "Ghost House:

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me --
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,--
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
as sweet companions as might be had.

from: "Silent Hill," by Z K Snyder

My grandma says that back before her day,
There was a fine house there upon the crest,
Where now a blackened chimney leans to rest
Against the sky. And now and then nearby,
Like a leaf of ash, a dark bird drifts without a cry.
Nothing else goes there. No boys climb up to play.
Even the wild deer seem to keep away.
But Anne is not afraid. And sometimes we go near
To listen to the soft hush, deep as fear,
Heavy as smoke, that seems to hang there still,
Where only dreams walk now -- on Silent Hill.

from Yeats' "Stolen Child:"

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

I'll stop; this is one of my favorite subjects.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 08:19 PM

ooooooh. More, more...

We went over to Austin gulch near Helena yesterday, played reels and jigs to some dancers in a cabin, sang some songs, slept in a sleeping bag, and returned home today. No campfire - it rained the entire time, but such a relief to have rain! This was the first time I had driven north since the fires this summer. Entire mountain sides were blackened where they used to be covered in green pine forests. We needed the rain.

THE MAN WATCHING

I can tell by the way the trees beat , after
so many dull days , on my worried
windowpanes
that a storm is coming ,
and I hear the far-off fields say things
I can't bear with out a friend
I can't love without a sister .

The storm , the shifter of shapes , drives on
across the woods and across time ,
and the world looks as if it had no age:
the landscape , like a line in the psalm book ,
is seriousness and weight and eternity .

What we chose to fight is so tiny!
What fights with us is so great!
If only we would allow our selves to be
dominated
as things do by some immense storm ,
we would become strong too and not need
names .

When we win it's with small things ,
and the triumph itself makes things small .
what is extraordinary and eternal
does not want to be bent by us .
I mean the Angel who appeared

to the wrestlers of the Old Testament : when the wrestlers' sinews
grew long like metal strings ,
he felt them under his fingers
like the chords of deep music .

Whoever was beaten by this Angel
(who often simply declined the fight)
went away proud and strengthened
and great from that harsh hand ,
that kneaded him as if to change his shape .
Winning does not tempt that man .
This is how he grows : by being defeated ,
decisively ,
by constantly greater beings .

RAINER MARIA RILKE
translated by Robert Bly

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: MAG (inactive)
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 08:51 PM

sure.

Yeats' "Song of the Wandering Aengus" has been getting quite a workout over on "Storytell." All y'all are probably sick of hearing gush over how George Armstrong used to recite it on his WFMT show, "The Wandering Folksong."

and from "Seeing things at Night:"

... but when I go to bed at night,
A-way upstairs,
Mother tells me "Happy Dreams!"
And takes away the light
And leaves me lyin' all alone
And seein' things at night.

Sometimes they're in the corner,
sometimes they're by the door
Sometimes they're all a-standin
In the middle of the floor
and sometimes they're as black as ink,
and sometimes ghostly white -
But color makes no difference when
You're seein' things at night.

... And before night fall a corpse was all
That was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death
as I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get red,
Because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:
"You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised, true, now it's up to you to
Creamate those last remains.

It gets better, as you know.

Sleep Well!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 22 Oct 00 - 03:44 PM

Almost a year since the "Frost Is On the Punkin" post, and time to get that firewood split and stacked, storm windows and weatherstripping checked, and winter clothes brought out again. It snowed here last night, melted off, but definitely almost winter here.

Alice in Montana

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: wysiwyg
Date: 22 Oct 00 - 03:53 PM

Don't nobody be shooting any geese flying over, now--it could be WonderGoose or DandyGander or any other of that ilk coming in to honk a few tunes witcha. Lil campfire sounds good about now.

~S~

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: bet
Date: 22 Oct 00 - 07:55 PM

In the same book as Little Orphan Annie, we had The Raggedy Man. Boy do all thses poems bring back the memories. Alice, I too use Little Orphan Annie with my kids at school. What great poems you've all posted!!! bet

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 22 Oct 00 - 08:17 PM

Here is another by James Whitcomb Riley

GRANNY

Granny's come to our house,
And ho! my lawzy-daisy!
All the childern round the place
Is ist a-runnin' crazy!
Fetched a cake fer little Jake,
And fetched a pie fer Nanny,
And fetched a pear fer all the pack
That runs to kiss their Granny!

Lucy Ellen's in her lap,
And Wade and Silas Walker
Both's a-ridin' on her foot,
And 'Pollos on the rocker;
And Marthy's twins, from Aunt Marinn's,
And little Orphant Annie,
All's a-eatin' gingerbread
And giggle-un at Granny!

Tells us all the fairy tales
Ever thought er wundered --
And 'bundance o' other stories --
Bet she knows a hunderd! --
Bob's the one fer "Whittington,"
And "Golden Locks" fer Fanny!
Hear 'em laugh and clap their hands,
Listenin' at Granny!

"Jack the Giant-Killer" 's good;
And "Bean-Stalk" 's another! --
So's the one of "Cinderell'"
And her old godmother; --
That-un's best of all the rest --
Bestest one of any, --
Where the mices scampers home
Like we runs to Granny!

Granny's come to our house,
Ho! my lawzy-daisy!
All the childern round the place
Is ist a-runnin' crazy!
Fetched a cake fer little Jake,
And fetched a pie fer Nanny,
And fetched a pear fer all the pack
That runs to kiss their Granny!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 22 Oct 00 - 08:32 PM

Here is a the U. Toronto library poetry site, where I found the poems by John Whitcomb Riley.click here

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 22 Oct 00 - 08:40 PM

sorry, that's "James", not "John"

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: GUEST
Date: 17 Sep 03 - 09:31 PM

Did you ever get the lyrics to The Wobblin Goblin With The Broken Broom? I know some of them.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 17 Sep 03 - 09:52 PM

Guest, I can't remember all of the lyrics, but some of The Wobblin' Goblin... maybe between the two of us we can put it all together.

Alice

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 17 Sep 03 - 10:00 PM

What I can remember...

The Wobblin' Goblin with the broken broom
Could never fly too high
For right at the take off, another piece would break off,
And soon he would be danglin' in the sky.

Each evening just as he would leave the ground,
His radio would say,
Control tower to goblin, your broomstick is a-wobblin',
You'd better make a landing right away.

... what came next?

Alice

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Nathan in Texas
Date: 17 Sep 03 - 10:25 PM

Correction to the Alice's posting above. "Little Brown Baby" was written by Paul Lawrence Dunbar, not James Weldon Johnson. You can find out more about Dunbar "the first African-American to gain national eminence as a poet" and hear some of his poems here While you're there, also check out "When Malindy Sings."

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Amos
Date: 17 Sep 03 - 10:31 PM

Come now, a roundel and a fairy song,
Then for the third part of a minute hence:
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;
Some war with rear-mice for their leathern wings,
To make my small elves coats.

...Elves,
Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries.
The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,
And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs,
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes;
To have my love to bed, and to arise
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes.


Oberon--


We the globe can compass soon,
Swifter than the wandering moon.

...But we are spirits of another sort;
I with the morning's love have oft made sport,
And like a forester the groves may tread,
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red,
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,
Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.

---

Yet no trace of the Goblin and his Broken Broom!


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Alice
Date: 17 Sep 03 - 11:39 PM

Nathan, thank you for that info! The site I found it on was so different than the version my mother recited... the author's name not the only error.

Alice

Subject: LYR ADD: Little Brown Baby - Paul Lawrence Dunbar
From: Alice
Date: 18 Sep 03 - 08:27 PM

Here is the poem as I remember my mother reciting it. Thanks to Nathan for finding the source - check out his link to Paul Lawrence Dunbar Homepage.

Little Brown Baby
by Paul Lawrence Dunbar

                LITTLE brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes,
                   Come to yo' pappy an' set on his knee.
         What you been doin', suh -- makin' san' pies?
                   Look at dat bib -- you's ez du'ty ez me.
         Look at dat mouf -- dat's merlasses, I bet;
                   Come hyeah, Maria, an' wipe off his han's.
         Bees gwine to ketch you an' eat you up yit,
                   Bein' so sticky an sweet -- goodness lan's!

         Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes,
                   Who's pappy's darlin' an' who's pappy's chile?
         Who is it all de day nevah once tries
                   Fu' to be cross, er once loses dat smile?
         Whah did you git dem teef? My, you's a scamp!
                   Whah did dat dimple come f'om in yo' chin?
         Pappy do' know you -- I b'lieves you's a tramp;
                   Mammy, dis hyeah's some ol' straggler got in!

         Let's th'ow him outen de do' in de san',
                   We do' want stragglers a-layin' 'roun' hyeah;
         Let's gin him 'way to de big buggah-man;
                   I know he's hidin' erroun' hyeah right neah.
         Buggah-man, buggah-man, come in de do',
                   Hyeah's a bad boy you kin have fu' to eat.
         Mammy an' pappy do' want him no mo',
                   Swaller him down f'om his haid to his feet!

         Dah, now, I t'ought dat you'd hug me up close.
                   Go back, ol' buggah, you sha'n't have dis boy.
         He ain't no tramp, ner no straggler, of co'se;
                   He's pappy's pa'dner an' playmate an' joy.
         Come to you' pallet now -- go to yo' res';
                   Wisht you could allus know ease an' cleah skies;
         Wisht you could stay jes' a chile on my breas' --
                   Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: Amos
Date: 18 Sep 03 - 10:40 PM

BOY, talk about lawn-ornament music!! My, yes!! I swan!!

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: katlaughing
Date: 19 Sep 03 - 12:07 AM

Alice, I have an original of Paul Lawrence Dunbar's book, Howdy, Honey, Howdy, complete with photographs, which belonged to my grandmother. If there are any other of his poems you'd like that are not avaiable on the website please let me know.

I also grew up on James Whitcomb Riley. Lil' Orphant Annie was a favourite, esp. when my other grandma read it to us.

kat

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: katlaughing
Date: 19 Sep 03 - 07:20 PM

Well, that is really strange. I was asleep when Mudcat says I posted the last message. In fact, I know I posted it the night before!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: reggie miles
Date: 19 Sep 03 - 09:07 PM

If I remember correctly, when I posted this to the songbook, someone (Aine'?) made the comment that this little ditty could possibly make good campfire fare. It certainly has definite creep out capabilities. Grossosity! Enjoy!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire - 2
From: SINSULL
Date: 23 Jun 10 - 06:08 PM

????????????????

[It was spam again- spam, spam, spam -- clone]