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My Paint Heroes (home Demo)

All of Paris giggles with flags
Laughing lions leap up from the page
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
Barcelona, nuclear festive, wire women
Wriggle from life's cage
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks like it's all a party
Packed with my paint heroes
Like it's all a party
Packed with Rousseau
Miro, Miro, on my wall
I love you the most of all
In Port Lligat, liked his Gala
Waxed antenna, brushes up a storm
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
Catalonia's atom caveman
Cracks his whipline tipped in purest form
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks like it's all a party
Packed with my paint heroes
Like it's all a party
Packed with Dali
Miro, Miro, on my wall
I love you the most of all

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Barcelona

Words and music by freddie mercury and mike moran
Barcelona barcelona
Barcelona barcelona
Viva
I had this perfect dream
-un sueno me envolvio
This dream was me and you
-tal vez estas aqui
I want all the world to see
-un instinto me guiaba
A miracle sensation
My guide and inspiration
Now my dream is slowly coming true
The wind is a gentle breeze
-el me hablo de ti
The bells are ringing out
-el canto vuela
Theyre calling us together
Guiding us forever
Wish my dream would never go away
Barcelona - it was the first time that we met
Barcelona - how can I forget
The moment that you stepped into the room you took my breath away
Barcelona - la musica vibros
Barcelona - y ella nos unio
And if God willing we will meet again someday
Let the songs begin
-dejalo nacer
Let the music play
-ahhhhhhhh...
Make the voices sing
-nace un gran amor
Start the celebration
-van a mi
And cry
-grita
Come alive
-vive
And shake the foundations from the skies
Ah,ah,shaking all our lives
Barcelona - such a beautiful horizon
Barcelona - like a jewel in the sun
Por ti sere gaviota de tu bella mar
Barcelona - suenan las campamas
Barcelona - abre tus puertas al mundo
If God is willing
-if God is willing
If God is willing
Friends until the end
Viva - barcelona

song performed by Queen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Nuclear Is Safe? No They Lied To You

A list of non classified nuclear disasters
chalk one up for Chalk River Canada
rating 5 a “reactor shutoff rod failure,

combined with several operator errors,
led to a major power excursion of more
than double the reactor's rated output
at AECL's NRX reactor” then a big deal.1952

Entrant two Windscale Pile United Kingdom
rating 5 a “Release of radioactive material to
the environment following a fire in a reactor
core.” Toast a good year for nuclear disasters.1957

graphite core of a British nuclear “[weapons
programme] reactor at Windscale, Cumberland
(now Sellafield, Cumbria) caught fire, releasing
substantial amounts of radioactive contamination
into the surrounding area.” Radioactive fire.

A warm welcome to entrant three. Kyshtym
Russia rating 6 a “Significant release of
radioactive material to the environment
from explosion of a high activity waste tank.” 1957

Please all welcome contestant one back
Chalk River Canada (rating?) “Due to
inadequate cooling a damaged uranium
fuel rod caught fire and was torn in two.” 1958

Champagne pops cheer another good year
Vinč a Yugoslavia (rating?) “During
a subcritical counting experiment a power
buildup went undetected - six scientists
received high doses.” What detailed detail? 1958

Applause please for our first American entry
Santa Susana Field Laboratory US (rating?)
“Partial core meltdown.” Sounds serious.
Tick one deep operations public cover up.1959

Time to take a nice country waltz in a US county
Westinghouse Waltz Mill Westmoreland County
(rating?) a core melt accident in a test reactor? 1960

Looks like American is going for a hat trick
Charlestown US (rating?) “Error by a worker
at a United Nuclear Corporation fuel facility
led to an accidental criticality”. Human error? 1964

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Une Nuit A Paris

Part one: one night in paris
Bonjour monsieur
Paris really welcomes you
Its the best room in the house
Its forty francs a night, alright.
Its crazy, it isnt worth a centime
Ill take it!
Merci monsieur
Rouged lips in the gaslight
A great view of the hall
Thats the way the croissant crumbles after all
Paris is only one step away
Les girls are out on bail
Tres bien theres love for sale
Oh my cheri, wish you were mine
And Ill show you a wonderful time
For the price of a cheap champagne
Ill show it you once again
One night in paris
Is like a year in any other place
One night in paris
Will wipe the smile off your pretty face
One girl in paris
Is like loving every woman
One night in paris
One night in paris
One night in paris
May be your last!!!
Part two: the same night in paris
Is he gonna buy?
You wanna little culture?
Is he gonna pay?
Maybe monsieur is into photographs, non?
Or is he gonna fall in love
The all american way?
I got a watch wiz a beautiful swiss movement
Is he gonna buy?
Forget the watch, Ill show you a good time!'
Is he gonna pay?
Le connoisseur, want something different?
Or is he gonna fall in love
The all american way?
Oh you know you aint no casanova
You cant even do the bossa nova
Or the tango or the samba!
Though you are so very charming
No you aint no casanova
Is he gonna buy?
Is he gonna pay?
Or is he gonna fall in love

[...] Read more

song performed by 10 Cc
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Paint Heroes

All of paris giggles with flags
Laughing lions leap up from the page
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
Barcelona, nuclear festive, wire women
Wriggle from lifes cage
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks like its all a party
Packed with my paint heroes
Like its all a party
Packed with rousseau
Miro, miro, on my wall
I love you the most of all
In port lligat, liked his gala
Waxed antenna, brushes up a storm
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
Catalonias atom caveman
Cracks his whipline tipped in purest form
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks like its all a party
Packed with my paint heroes
Like its all a party
Packed with dali
Miro, miro, on my wall
I love you the most of all

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Gioconda And Si-Ya-U

to the memory of my friend SI-YA-U,
whose head was cut off in Shanghai

A CLAIM

Renowned Leonardo's
world-famous
"La Gioconda"
has disappeared.
And in the space
vacated by the fugitive
a copy has been placed.

The poet inscribing
the present treatise
knows more than a little
about the fate
of the real Gioconda.
She fell in love
with a seductive
graceful youth:
a honey-tongued
almond-eyed Chinese
named SI-YA-U.
Gioconda ran off
after her lover;
Gioconda was burned
in a Chinese city.

I, Nazim Hikmet,
authority
on this matter,
thumbing my nose at friend and foe
five times a day,
undaunted,
claim
I can prove it;
if I can't,
I'll be ruined and banished
forever from the realm of poesy.

1928

Part One
Excerpts from Gioconda's Diary

15 March 1924: Paris, Louvre Museum

At last I am bored with the Louvre Museum.

[...] Read more

poem by Nazim Hikmet
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... & Through The Wire

And through the wire I hear your voice
And through the wire I touch the power
And through the wire I see your face
Its through the wire
Friday night, youre staying at home I want you
Im tickling and clicking a metronome I want you
Prowling the waterhole-i wait for the kill I want you
Pressures building-overspill I want you
And through the wire you are secure
And through the wire we can talk
And through the wire we can walk
Its through the wire
Watchmaker steadies his delicate hand I want you
For barbeque parties on blood red sands I want you
Caught in the struggle tight on the rod I want you
Bring out the devil to bring out the God I want you
And through the wire I hear your voice
And through the wire I touch the power
And through the wire I see your face
Its through the wire
Driving round the city rings
Staring at the shape of things
I talk in pictures not in words
Overloaded with everything we said
Be careful where you tread
Watch the wire
And through the wire you are secure
And through the wire we can talk
And through the wire we can walk
And through the wire were clinging like leeches
And through the wire we push out tailormade speeches
And through the wire we get so strange across the border
We get so strange across the border

song performed by Peter Gabriel
Added by Lucian Velea
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And Through The Wire

And through the wire I hear your voice
And through the wire I touch the power
And through the wire I see your face
Its through the wire
Friday night, youre staying at home I want you
Im tickling and clicking a metronome I want you
Prowling the waterhole-i wait for the kill I want you
Pressures building-overspill I want you
And through the wire you are secure
And through the wire we can talk
And through the wire we can walk
Its through the wire
Watchmaker steadies his delicate hand I want you
For barbeque parties on blood red sands I want you
Caught in the strugle tight on the rod I want you
Bring out the devil to bring out the God I want you
And through the wire I hear your voice
And through the wire I touch the power
And through the wire I see your face
Its through the wire
Driving round the city rings
Staring at the shape of things
I talk in pictures not in words
Overloaded with everything we said
Be careful where you tread
Watch the wire
And through the wire you are secure
And through the wire we can talk
And through the wire we can walk
And through the wire were clinging like leeches
And through the wire we push out tailormade speeches
And through the wire we get so strange across the border
We get so strange across the border

song performed by Peter Gabriel
Added by Lucian Velea
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Start

And through the wire I hear your voice
And through the wire I touch the power
And through the wire I see your face
It's through the wire
Friday night, you're staying at home I want you
I'm tickling and clicking a metronome I want you
Prowling the waterhole-I wait for the kill I want you
Pressure's building-overspill I want you
And through the wire You are secure
And through the wire We can talk
And through the wire We can walk
It's through the wire
Watchmaker steadies his delicate hand I want you
For barbecue parties on blood red sands I want you
Caught in the struggle tight on the rod I want you
Bring out the devil to bring out the god I want you
And through the wire I hear your voice
And through the wire I touch the power
And through the wire I see your face
It's through the wire
Driving 'round the city rings
Staring at the shape of things
I talk in pictures not in words
Overloaded with everything we said
be careful where you tread
Watch the wire
And through the wire You are secure
And through the wire We can talk
And through the wire We can walk
And through the wire We're clinging like leeches
And through the wire We push out tailor-made speeches
And through the wire We get so strange across the border
We get so strange across the border

song performed by Peter Gabriel
Added by Lucian Velea
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Seventh Book

'THE woman's motive? shall we daub ourselves
With finding roots for nettles? 'tis soft clay
And easily explored. She had the means,
The moneys, by the lady's liberal grace,
In trust for that Australian scheme and me,
Which so, that she might clutch with both her hands,
And chink to her naughty uses undisturbed,
She served me (after all it was not strange,;
'Twas only what my mother would have done)
A motherly, unmerciful, good turn.

'Well, after. There are nettles everywhere,
But smooth green grasses are more common still;
The blue of heaven is larger than the cloud;
A miller's wife at Clichy took me in
And spent her pity on me,–made me calm
And merely very reasonably sad.
She found me a servant's place in Paris where
I tried to take the cast-off life again,
And stood as quiet as a beaten ass
Who, having fallen through overloads, stands up
To let them charge him with another pack.

'A few months, so. My mistress, young and light,
Was easy with me, less for kindness than
Because she led, herself, an easy time
Betwixt her lover and her looking-glass,
Scarce knowing which way she was praised the most.
She felt so pretty and so pleased all day
She could not take the trouble to be cross,
But sometimes, as I stooped to tie her shoe,
Would tap me softly with her slender foot
Still restless with the last night's dancing in't,
And say 'Fie, pale-face! are you English girls
'All grave and silent? mass-book still, and Lent?
'And first-communion colours on your cheeks,
'Worn past the time for't? little fool, be gay!'
At which she vanished, like a fairy, through
A gap of silver laughter.
'Came an hour
When all went otherwise. She did not speak,
But clenched her brows, and clipped me with her eyes
As if a viper with a pair of tongs,
Too far for any touch, yet near enough
To view the writhing creature,–then at last,
'Stand still there, in the holy Virgin's name,
'Thou Marian; thou'rt no reputable girl,
'Although sufficient dull for twenty saints!
'I think thou mock'st me and my house,' she said;
'Confess thou'lt be a mother in a month,

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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First Book

OF writing many books there is no end;
And I who have written much in prose and verse
For others' uses, will write now for mine,–
Will write my story for my better self,
As when you paint your portrait for a friend,
Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it
Long after he has ceased to love you, just
To hold together what he was and is.

I, writing thus, am still what men call young;
I have not so far left the coasts of life
To travel inland, that I cannot hear
That murmur of the outer Infinite
Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep
When wondered at for smiling; not so far,
But still I catch my mother at her post
Beside the nursery-door, with finger up,
'Hush, hush–here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes
Leap forward, taking part against her word
In the child's riot. Still I sit and feel
My father's slow hand, when she had left us both,
Stroke out my childish curls across his knee;
And hear Assunta's daily jest (she knew
He liked it better than a better jest)
Inquire how many golden scudi went
To make such ringlets. O my father's hand,
Stroke the poor hair down, stroke it heavily,–
Draw, press the child's head closer to thy knee!
I'm still too young, too young to sit alone.

I write. My mother was a Florentine,
Whose rare blue eyes were shut from seeing me
When scarcely I was four years old; my life,
A poor spark snatched up from a failing lamp
Which went out therefore. She was weak and frail;
She could not bear the joy of giving life–
The mother's rapture slew her. If her kiss
Had left a longer weight upon my lips,
It might have steadied the uneasy breath,
And reconciled and fraternised my soul
With the new order. As it was, indeed,
I felt a mother-want about the world,
And still went seeking, like a bleating lamb
Left out at night, in shutting up the fold,–
As restless as a nest-deserted bird
Grown chill through something being away, though what
It knows not. I, Aurora Leigh, was born
To make my father sadder, and myself
Not overjoyous, truly. Women know
The way to rear up children, (to be just,)

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Giggles, Laughter and Stabbing Stares

Giggles, laughter and stabbing stares,
It would kill them to be nice,
It would hurt them to be kind,

Giggles, laughter and stabbing stares,
The notes are being passed around,
They don’t see, no one cares,

Giggles, laughter and stabbing stares,
Tearing at all I’ve built up,
But it won’t work anymore,

Giggles, laughter and stabbing stares,
What they don’t know is,
I just don’t care,

Giggles, laughter and stabbing stares,
Every one is doing it,
But I just sit and laugh,

Giggles, laughter and stabbing stares,
It’s so funny they think I care,
They are stupid to think I do,

Giggles, laughter and stabbing stares,
I laugh and laugh
Because they don’t see that no one cares,

Giggles, laughter and stabbing stares…
Giggles, laughter and stabbing stares…
Giggles, laughter and stabbing stares…

poem by Bloodlover16 Loveblood
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Sixth Book

THE English have a scornful insular way
Of calling the French light. The levity
Is in the judgment only, which yet stands;
For say a foolish thing but oft enough,
(And here's the secret of a hundred creeds,–
Men get opinions as boys learn to spell,
By re-iteration chiefly) the same thing
Shall pass at least for absolutely wise,
And not with fools exclusively. And so,
We say the French are light, as if we said
The cat mews, or the milch-cow gives us milk:
Say rather, cats are milked, and milch cows mew,
For what is lightness but inconsequence,
Vague fluctuation 'twixt effect and cause,
Compelled by neither? Is a bullet light,
That dashes from the gun-mouth, while the eye
Winks, and the heart beats one, to flatten itself
To a wafer on the white speck on a wall
A hundred paces off? Even so direct,
So sternly undivertible of aim,
Is this French people.
All idealists
Too absolute and earnest, with them all
The idea of a knife cuts real flesh;
And still, devouring the safe interval
Which Nature placed between the thought and act,
They threaten conflagration to the world
And rush with most unscrupulous logic on
Impossible practice. Set your orators
To blow upon them with loud windy mouths
Through watchword phrases, jest or sentiment,
Which drive our burley brutal English mobs
Like so much chaff, whichever way they blow,–
This light French people will not thus be driven.
They turn indeed; but then they turn upon
Some central pivot of their thought and choice,
And veer out by the force of holding fast.
–That's hard to understand, for Englishmen
Unused to abstract questions, and untrained
To trace the involutions, valve by valve,
In each orbed bulb-root of a general truth,
And mark what subtly fine integument
Divides opposed compartments. Freedom's self
Comes concrete to us, to be understood,
Fixed in a feudal form incarnately
To suit our ways of thought and reverence,
The special form, with us, being still the thing.
With us, I say, though I'm of Italy
My mother's birth and grave, by father's grave
And memory; let it be,–a poet's heart

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Three Women

My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.

Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.

Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.

Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.

Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.

1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.

Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,

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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Well, It's Nuclear...

well, it's nuclear rain,
voices without names,
faces etched in pain,
lives given in vain,
it's nuclear rain.
well, it's nuclear night.
cant tell wrong from right,
hope is out of sight,
men stand alone and fight.
it's nuclear night.
well, it's nuclear stillness.
past the point of forgiveness..
the dying cry out to witness.
the ego driven illness.
it's nuclear stillness.
well, it's nuclear devastation.
the home divided by the nation.
the individual sold to exploitation.
to bondage and incarceration.
it's nuclear devastation.
well, it's nuclear hell.
the spirit put on sale.
the body just a shell.
the truth it cannot tell.
it's nuclear hell.
well, it's nuclear death,
fear steals the very breath.
everything taken nothing left.
child of Cain, child of Seth,
it's nuclear death.
well, it's the nuclear dawn,
all that ever was is gone.
the weak devoured by the strong,
god left to walk alone...
it's nuclear dawn!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Women

Women behind bars, women in fast cars, women in distress, women with no dress
Women in airplanes, women who play games
Women in uniform, see that woman with her clothes gone
Women who satisfy, women you cant buy
Like women in magazines, and women in a limousine
Women who sip champagne, women who feel no pain
Women in a disco, and women who dont wanna know, no no
Oh, women wanting sympathy, women feeling extacy
Women who live in fantasies, bringing man to his knees
Women who boil to love, women who need a shove
Women who cant be beat, get that woman in the back seat, yeah yeah
Women in the usa, those women steal your heart away
Women into rock n roll, women who steal the show, go go go
Women that you write songs about, women that turn around and kick you out
Women you dream about all your life
Women that stab you in the back with a switchblade knife
Oh women, oohoo, talking bout women, all round the world
Yeah women, all the naughty girls, talking bout women, come on baby

song performed by Foreigner
Added by Lucian Velea
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Caesar

Pop/schermerhorn
People of america
I bring you a great army
To preserve peace
In our empire
Throw them to the lions
Darling, let us go to the banouet hall...
There will be a great feast tonight!
Who are these christians?
What is this strange religion?
I ve heard it said they turn the other cheek
Ha ha ha ha
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Thumbs down
10 pieces of gold for every man
Hail caesar hail caesar
Grapes from sicily
Silks from asia minor
All the tea in china
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Who are these christians?
Turn the other cheek...
Ha ha ha ha ha
Two thumbs down
The christians are restless
Why not let them worship their god?
No one believes in the old gods
How tiresome...attending the rituals
Paying lip service to the portents
Burning incense at their shrine
No one believes in the old gods
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Hahahahahaha
The roman empire the glory of rome
Hail all hail
Caesar...caesar...beware beware the ides of march
Who is this man?
Caesar...he is but a soothsayer...he is old
And his brain is addled... pay him no mind!
Throw him to the lions! ha ha ha ha ha ha
Hail caesar! emperor of rome hail caesar!
Caesar...caesar...beware the ides of march
Eh? ! who is this man?
Caesar...he is but an old soothsayer...addled in his brain

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song performed by Iggy Pop
Added by Lucian Velea
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Women IV. a prise poem for women

Life without life it's not life
Almost every one will remember
Day and night is cycle of life
Life on its own is not matured
I reiterate well spoken words
Hence its admiral, the day i recognize the significant role of women

Some women can bless the day indeed
with their smiles
with their Assimilate of culture admiral
with high concentration of moral fiber

These are the women of integrity
I talk nothing else but
Women like Nthabiseng Mthethwa
Women like Mapaseka Dlamini
Women like Sebolelo Mokoena
Women like Elsie Moganedi
Look around they are there
To reconstitute norms and Values.

I call them women of integrity

As Harley barley, there are honorable women
Full of high concentration of moral fiber
They adhere to walk the walks
And talk the talks; they are extraordinary in every aspect
Women like Delsile Hlophe
Women like Nonhlanhla Ndlovu
Women like Ellah Ngomane
Women like Whitey Mahlangu
Chronically they remain transparent

I call them honorable women of integrity

Fair remain fair as long as it's fair
There are extraordinary women
They are living in their time
And they are in time with their integrity
They deserve honor as they live it
Perfectionism is not enough
They remain constant and consistent
Women like Mapule Tshabalala
Women like Sara Mahlangu
Women like Selina Madihlaba
They are extraordinary women they deserve their Honor
I fore one applaud them for inherent of their heredity

There are women who are making difference
Printing their footprints

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poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
Added by Poetry Lover
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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