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Every once in a while, take the scenic route.

quote by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian

Saddle Up

Saddle up.
This ride we're taking,
Wont be easy.
Saddle up.
We're taking the direct route,
Without a scenic tease.
Saddle up.
This ride we're taking,
Wont be easy.
Saddle up.
We're taking the direct route,
Without a scenic tease.

I've got to speed up that peace,
That waits for me.
All that mess about aggression!
And who's got a better weapon,
To teach a lesson.
Ain't getting one thing done!
But keeping people on the run!

Saddle up.
This ride we're taking,
Wont be easy.
Saddle up.
We're taking the direct route,
Without a scenic tease.
Saddle up.
This ride we're taking,
Wont be easy.
Saddle up.
We're taking the direct route,
Without a scenic tease.

I've got to speed up that peace,
That waits for me.
All that mess about aggression!
And who's got a better weapon,
To teach a lesson.
Ain't getting one thing done!
But keeping people on the run!
I'm not accustomed to the cunning!

Saddle up.
This ride we're taking,
Wont be easy.
Saddle up.
We're taking the direct route,
Without a scenic tease.
If you wont to share that chaos,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Surfin Safari

Surfin safari
Lets go surfin now
Everybodys learning how
Come on a safari with me
(come on a safari with...)
Early in the morning well be startin out
Some honeys will be coming along
Were loading up our woody with our boards inside
And headin out singing our song
Come on (surf route) baby wait and see (surfin safari)
Yes Im gonna (surfin route) take you surfin (surfin safari) with me
Come along (surfin route) baby wait and see (surfin safari)
Yes Im gonna (surfin route) take you surfin (surfin safari) with me
Lets go surfin now everybodys learning how
Come on a safari with me (come on a safari with...)
At huntington and malibu theyre shooting the pier
At rincon theyre walking the nose
Were going on safari to the islands this year
So if youre coming get ready to go
Come on (surfin) baby wait and see (surfin safari)
Yes Im gonna (surf route) take you surfin (surfin safari)with me
Come along (surf route) baby wait and see (surfin safari)
Yes Im gonna (surf route) take you surfin (surfin safari)with me
Lets go surfin now everybodys learning how
Come on a safari with me (come on a safari with...)
Theyre anglin in laguna in cerro azul
Theyre kicking out in dohini too
I tell you surfings mighty wild its getting bigger every day
From hawaii to the shores of peru
Come on (surf route) baby wait and see (surfin safari)
Yes Im gonna (surf route) take you surfin (surfin safari) with me
Come along (surf route) baby wait and see (surfin safari)
Yes Im gonna (surf route) take you surfin (surfin safari) with me
Lets go surfin now everybodys learning how
Come on a safari with me (come on a safari with...)
With me surfin safari.

song performed by Ramones
Added by Lucian Velea
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Route 66

If you ever plan to motor west
Take my way that's the highway that's the best,
Get your kicks on route 66.
Well, it winds from chicago to l.a.
More than 2000 miles of motorway,
Get your kicks on route 66.
Well, it winds from st. louis down to missouri
Oklahoma city looks mighty pretty.
You'll see amarillo, gallup, new mexico,
Flagstaff arizona, don't forget pamona,
South park garden and san bernardino.
Would you get hip to this kinda tip
Baby take that california trip,
Get your kicks on route 66, oh!
Well, it winds from st. louis down to missouri
Oklahoma city looks mighty pretty.
You'll see amarillo and gallup new mexico,
Flagstaff arizona, don't forget pamona,
South park garden and san bernardino.
Would you get hip to this kinda tip
Yeah baby take that california trip
Get your kicks on route 66
Get your kicks on route 66,
Get your kicks on route 66, yeah,
Get your kicks on route 66,
You wanna get your kicks on route 66, yeah, yeah.

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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I-76

Katman
65 25 parkline drive
And like always Im kicking it live
Gotta call the fellas to see if they is with this
Gonna get down with the sounds of big breakfast
Start off the day with some bob marley
Back to the woods for the fresh parlay
Maybe even spark a little nicki j.
Then its off to center city in the fastest way
But if youve gotta get downtown real quick
The only way to go is i-76
Unless of course you wanna take the scenic view
Then east or west river drive is right for you
But if you aint got any time to lose
Put the pedal to the metal for that voyage cruise
So get on down to i-76
Because in 1996 there aint no
Tricks in the mix
G. love
Back in 1982
Man it was real cool
And in school
If we got good grades
Our parents would take us to a 76ers game
I got my game and there aint no shame
Big shots for mo cheeks
And moses malone
Julius erving called philly his home
Bobby jones, daryl dawkins
Andrew toney sinking threes
Rocky balboa comes from south philly
So if you want to make it
On time to the show
Theres only one route you have to know
Get to fishtown avoid all that jive
I suggest that you drive on i-95
Wanna get downtown but feeling in a fix
Get on the route they call 676
The most expensive expansive
Piece of interstate they ever made
The fellas aint famous but
They got good game
Get along 76ers
Charles barkley dissed larry bird
Get along 76ers
Charles barkley dissed larry bird
Smiles
Shh-hoops the middle man
Now disguised as the joy
Valentine smiles to the katman play

[...] Read more

song performed by G. Love & Special Sauce
Added by Lucian Velea
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Route 66

(word & lyrics by bobby troup)
This lyrics are like performed by natalie cole
If you ever plan to motor west,
Travel my way, take the highway that is best.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
It winds from chicago to la,
More than two thousand miles all the way.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
Now you go through saint looey
Joplin, missouri,
And oklahoma city is mighty pretty.
You see amarillo,
Gallup, new mexico,
Flagstaff, arizona.
Dont forget winona,
Kingman, barstow, san bernandino.
Wont you get hip to this timely tip:
When you make that california trip
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
Solo
Wont you get hip to this timely tip:
When you make that california trip
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.

song performed by Nat King Cole
Added by Lucian Velea
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(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66

If you ever plan to motor west
Travel my way, take the highway that's the best
A-get your kicks on Route sixty-six
It winds from Chicago to LA
More than two thousand miles all the way
Get your kicks on Route sixty-six
Now you go through Saint Looey
Joplin, Missouri
And Oklahoma City looks mi-ighty pretty
You'll see Amarillo
Gallup, New Mexico
Flagstaff, Arizona
Don't forget Winona
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernandino
Won't you get hip to this timely tip
When you make that California trip
A-get your kicks on Route sixty-six
Won't you get hip to this ti-imely tip
When you make a-that California trip
A-get your kicks on Route sixty-six
A-get your kicks on Route sixty-six
Get your kicks on Route sixty-six

song performed by Nat King Cole
Added by Lucian Velea
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Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Septimus

Incipit Liber Octavus

Que favet ad vicium vetus hec modo regula confert,
Nec novus e contra qui docet ordo placet.
Cecus amor dudum nondum sua lumina cepit,
Quo Venus impositum devia fallit iter.

------------------------------------ -----------------------------------------------
The myhti god, which unbegunne
Stant of himself and hath begunne
Alle othre thinges at his wille,
The hevene him liste to fulfille
Of alle joie, where as he
Sit inthronized in his See,
And hath hise Angles him to serve,
Suche as him liketh to preserve,
So that thei mowe noght forsueie:
Bot Lucifer he putte aweie,
With al the route apostazied
Of hem that ben to him allied,
Whiche out of hevene into the helle
From Angles into fendes felle;
Wher that ther is no joie of lyht,
Bot more derk than eny nyht
The peine schal ben endeles;
And yit of fyres natheles
Ther is plente, bot thei ben blake,
Wherof no syhte mai be take.
Thus whan the thinges ben befalle,
That Luciferes court was falle
Wher dedly Pride hem hath conveied,
Anon forthwith it was pourveied
Thurgh him which alle thinges may;
He made Adam the sexte day
In Paradis, and to his make
Him liketh Eve also to make,
And bad hem cresce and multiplie.
For of the mannes Progenie,
Which of the womman schal be bore,
The nombre of Angles which was lore,
Whan thei out fro the blisse felle,
He thoghte to restore, and felle
In hevene thilke holy place
Which stod tho voide upon his grace.
Bot as it is wel wiste and knowe,
Adam and Eve bot a throwe,
So as it scholde of hem betyde,
In Paradis at thilke tyde
Ne duelten, and the cause why,
Write in the bok of Genesi,

[...] Read more

poem by John Gower
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Sickened Sweet With Promises

They chose to take,
Another route.
In pursuit.
They would face,
A deadend to defend and embrace.

They chose to take,
Another route.
To then declare.
They,
Were not aware.

Sickened sweet with promises.
Yet
None of them existed.
Fixed with addictions.
And no one cared.

And those who followed say,
The choices made weren't theirs.
And those who followed say,
They were not prepared.
And those who followed say,
The air that laid sweet with promises to keep.
Would amongst them be shared.
Whether or not.
Promises kept may not be there.

They chose to take,
Another route.
In pursuit
They would face,
A deadend to defend and embrace.

They chose to take,
Another route.
To then declare.
They,
Were not aware.
But a choosing of deceit they did.
And none amongst them dared.

Sickened sweet with promises.
Yet.
None of them existed.
Fixed with addictions.
And no one cared.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Take That Sack Off Your Back

Take that sack off your back.
And start tracking...
Your own path!
No need to set a trap.
That keeps you handicapped.

Take that sack off your back.
And start tracking...
Your own path!
No need to set a trap.
That keeps you handicapped.

You can,
Decide what to do.
You can,
Choose a route that suits.
You can,
Buckle up...
To a life you want so much.

You can,
Decide what to do.
You can,
Choose a route that suits.
You can,
Buckle up...
To a life you want so much.

Take that sack off your back.
And start tracking...
Your own path!
No need to set a trap.
That keeps you handicapped.

Oh you can,
Decide what to do.
You can,
Choose a route that suits.
Oh you can,
Buckle up...
To a life you want so much.

Just know that you can,
Buckle up...
To a life you want so much.

Take that sack off your back.
And start tracking...
Your own path!
No need to set a trap.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Saltbush Bill's Second Flight

The news came down on the Castlereagh, and went to the world at large,
That twenty thousand travelling sheep, with Saltbush Bill in charge,
Were drifting down from a dried-out run to ravage the Castlereagh;
And the squatters swore when they heard the news, and wished they were well away:
For the name and the fame of Saltbush Bill were over the country-side
For the wonderful way that he fed his sheep, and the dodges and tricks he tried.
He would lose his way on a Main Stock Route, and stray to the squatters' grass;
He would come to a run with the boss away, and swear he had leave to pass;
And back of all and behind it all, as well the squatters knew,
If he had to fight, he would fight all day, so long as his sheep got through:
But this is the story of Stingy Smith, the owner of Hard Times Hill,
And the way that he chanced on a fighting man to reckon with Saltbush Bill.

'Twas Stingy Smith on his stockyard sat, and prayed for an early Spring,
When he started at sight of a clean-shaved tramp, who walked with a jaunty swing;
For a clean-shaved tramp with a jaunty walk a-swinging along the track
Is as rare a thing as a feathered frog on the desolate roads out back.
So the tramp he made for the travellers' hut, to ask could he camp the night;
But Stingy Smith had a bright idea, and called to him, "Can you fight?"
"Why, what's the game?" said the clean-shaved tramp, as he looked at him up and down;
"If you want a battle, get off that fence, and I'll kill you for half-a-crown!
But, Boss, you'd better not fight with me -- it wouldn't be fair nor right;
I'm Stiffener Joe, from the Rocks Brigade, and I killed a man in a fight:
I served two years for it, fair and square, and now I'm trampin' back,
To look for a peaceful quiet life away on the outside track."

"Oh, it's not myself, but a drover chap," said Stingy Smith with glee,
"A bullying fellow called Saltbush Bill, and you are the man for me.
He's on the road with his hungry sheep, and he's certain to raise a row,
For he's bullied the whole of the Castlereagh till he's got them under cow --
Just pick a quarrel and raise a fight, and leather him good and hard,
And I'll take good care that his wretched sheep don't wander a half a yard.
It's a five-pound job if you belt him well -- do anything short of kill,
For there isn't a beak on the Castlereagh will fine you for Saltbush Bill."

"I'll take the job," said the fighting man; "and, hot as this cove appears,
He'll stand no chance with a bloke like me, what's lived on the game for years;
For he's maybe learnt in a boxing school, and sparred for a round or so,
But I've fought all hands in a ten-foot ring each night in a travelling show;
They earned a pound if they stayed three rounds, and they tried for it every night.
In a ten-foot ring! Oh, that's the game that teaches a bloke to fight,
For they'd rush and clinch -- it was Dublin Rules, and we drew no colour line;
And they all tried hard for to earn the pound, but they got no pound of mine.
If I saw no chance in the opening round I'd slog at their wind, and wait
Till an opening came -- and it always came -- and I settled 'em, sure as fate;
Left on the ribs and right on the jaw -- and, when the chance comes, make sure!
And it's there a professional bloke like me gets home on an amateur:
For it's my experience every day, and I make no doubt it's yours,
That a third-class pro is an over-match for the best of the amateurs --"
"Oh, take your swag to the travellers' hut," said Smith, "for you waste your breath;

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Who saved Me?

I had a strong presentiment
I would meet with an accident.
If I drove home my usual way
and that my life would end this day.

A flash of foresight granted me?
or merely serendipity.
I do not know but I was sure
I had to take the long detour.

I saw the scene so vividly
A car crushed beneath a fallen tree.
I am not superstitious
but this warning was obvious.

I pulled into the first lay by.
I did not stop to wonder why
I was convinced that it was right
to take a different route that night.

I drove along the way I’d come
and took the scenic route back home.
My wife was in a worried state
when I arrived home safe but late.

She’s heard the news on the T.V.,
a car crushed by a fallen tree
About the time I should have been
driving near that fatal scene.

I had been granted a reprieve
by kindly fate we both believe.
That flash of foresight saved my life
and brought me safe home to my wife.

I can’t explain it, do not try
although sometimes I wonder why
I did not die beneath that tree
as I was meant to: Who saved me.

20-Dec-07

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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So scenic than the moon

Journey! journey! ! Journey! ! ! In my dream of infinity... Journey in the sky... Yes i saw the shivering moon. So scenic and adoring. So glamorous... And warmth it shined on me. But oh! It transmogriffied and moon i see no more but a queen. So scenic than the moon. Oh! Now i know your creator... That's why your beauty shines awesomely brighter than the moon.

poem by Jude Thadeus
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The Ship Trapped In The Ice

Hurry and see, hurry and see
The ship trapped in the ice
Hurry and see, hurry and see
The frost on the rigging superficially nice
The captain sold his marbles and the crew lost theirs at dice
Hurry and see, hurry and see
The ship trapped in the ice
How can we free, how can we free
The ship trapped in the ice
How can we free, how can we free
They sailed in the shallows now theyve paid the price
The captain drank the champagne but it tasted like old spice
How can we free, how can we free
The ship trapped in the ice
And I can only see this wreck with the aid of a drink and a mirror
She may look scenic from the shore but you dont wanna come any nearer
The captains box of butterflies have all hatched out as lice
Hurry and see, hurry and see
The ship trapped in the ice
And I can only see this wreck with the aid of a drink and a mirror
She may look scenic from the shore but you dont wanna come any nearer
How can this be, how can this be
The ship trapped in the ice
How can this be, how can this be
The frozen contract has a grip like a vice
The captain dreams of flying but hes also scared of heights
Oh how can this be, cause boy its me!
The ship trapped in the ice

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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I. The Ring and the Book

Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.

Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.

[...] Read more

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

THE curtain rose; in thunders long and loud
The galleries rung; the veteran actor bowed.
In flaming line the telltales of the stage
Showed on his brow the autograph of age;
Pale, hueless waves amid his clustered hair,
And umbered shadows, prints of toil and care;
Round the wide circle glanced his vacant eye,--
He strove to speak,--his voice was but a sigh.

Year after year had seen its short-lived race
Flit past the scenes and others take their place;
Yet the old prompter watched his accents still,
His name still flaunted on the evening's bill.
Heroes, the monarchs of the scenic floor,
Had died in earnest and were heard no more;
Beauties, whose cheeks such roseate bloom o'er-spread
They faced the footlights in unborrowed red,
Had faded slowly through successive shades
To gray duennas, foils of younger maids;
Sweet voices lost the melting tones that start
With Southern throbs the sturdy Saxon heart,
While fresh sopranos shook the painted sky
With their long, breathless, quivering locust-cry.
Yet there he stood,--the man of other days,
In the clear present's full, unsparing blaze,
As on the oak a faded leaf that clings
While a new April spreads its burnished wings.

How bright yon rows that soared in triple tier,
Their central sun the flashing chandelier!
How dim the eye that sought with doubtful aim
Some friendly smile it still might dare to claim
How fresh these hearts! his own how worn and cold!
Such the sad thoughts that long-drawn sigh had told.
No word yet faltered on his trembling tongue;
Again, again, the crashing galleries rung.
As the old guardsman at the bugle's blast
Hears in its strain the echoes of the past,
So, as the plaudits rolled and thundered round,
A life of memories startled at the sound.
He lived again,--the page of earliest days,--
Days of small fee and parsimonious praise;
Then lithe young Romeo--hark that silvered tone,
From those smooth lips--alas! they were his own.
Then the bronzed Moor, with all his love and woe,
Told his strange tale of midnight melting snow;
And dark--plumed Hamlet, with his cloak and blade,
Looked on the royal ghost, himself a shade.
All in one flash, his youthful memories came,
Traced in bright hues of evanescent flame,

[...] Read more

poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly

Part the First

Mery it was in the grene forest
Amonge the leves grene,
Wheras men hunt east and west,
Wyth bowes and arrowes kene,

To ryse the dere out of theyr denne,
Suche sightes hath ofte bene sene,
As by thre yemen of the north countrey,
By them it is I meane.

The one of them hight Adam Bel,
The other Clym of the Clough,
The thyrd was William of Cloudesly,
An archer good ynough.

They were outlawed for venyson,
These yemen everychone;
They swore them brethren upon a day,
To Englyshe-wood for to gone.

Now lith and lysten, gentylmen,
That of myrthes loveth to here:
Two of them were single men,
The third had a wedded fere.

Wyllyam was the wedded man,
Muche more then was hys care:
He sayde to hys brethren upon a day,
To Carleile he would fare,

For to speke with fayre Alyce his wife,
And with hys chyldren thre.
'By my trouth,' sayde Adam Bel,
'Not by the counsell of me.

'For if ye go to Carleile, brother,
And from thys wylde wode wende,
If the justice may you take,
Your lyfe were at an ende.'

'If that I come not to-morrowe, brother,
By pryme to you agayne,
Truste you then that I am 'taken,'
Or else that I am slayne.'

He toke hys leave of hys brethren two,
And to Carleile he is gon;

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Les cordiers

Dans son village, au pied des digues,
Qui l'entourent de leurs fatigues
De lignes et de courbes vers la mer,
Le blanc cordier visionnaire
A reculons, sur le chemin,
Combine, avec prudence, entre ses mains,
Le jeu tournant de fils lointains
Venant vers lui de l'infini.

Là-bas, En ces heures de soir ardent et las,
Un ronflement de roue encor s'écoute.
Quelqu'un la meut qu'on ne voit pas ;
Mais parallèlement, sur des râteaux,
Qui jalonnent, à points égaux,
De l'un à l'autre bout la route,
Les chanvres clairs tendent leurs chaînes
Continuement, durant des jours et des semaines.

Avec ses pauvres doigts qui sont prestes encor,
Ayant crainte parfois de casser le peu d'or
Que mêle à son travail la glissante lumière,
Au long des clos et des maisons,
Le blanc cordier visionnaire,
Du fond du soir tourbillonnaire,
Attire à lui les horizons.

Les horizons ? ils sont là-bas :
Regrets, fureurs, haines, combats,
Pleurs de terreurs, sanglots de voix,
Les horizons des autrefois,
Sereins ou convulsés :
Tels les gestes dans le passé.

Jadis - c'était la vie errante et somnambule,
A travers les matins et les soirs fabuleux,
Quand la droite de Dieu, vers les Chanaans bleus,
Traçait la route en or, au fond des crépuscules.

Jadis - c'était la vie énorme, exaspérée,
Sauvagement pendue aux crins des étalons,
Soudaine, avec de grands éclairs à ses talons
Et vers l'espace immense, immensément cabrée.

Jadis - c'était la vie ardente, évocatoire ;
La Croix blanche de ciel, la Croix rouge d'enfer
Marchaient, à la clarté des armures de fer,
Chacune à travers sang, vers son ciel de victoire.

Jadis - c'était la vie écumante et livide,
Vécue et morte, à coups de crime et de tocsin,

[...] Read more

poem by Emile Verhaeren
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Book Of The Duchesse

THE PROEM

I have gret wonder, be this lighte,
How that I live, for day ne nighte
I may nat slepe wel nigh noght,
I have so many an ydel thoght
Purely for defaute of slepe
That, by my trouthe, I take no kepe
Of no-thing, how hit cometh or goth,
Ne me nis no-thing leef nor loth.
Al is y-liche good to me --
Ioye or sorowe, wherso hyt be --
For I have feling in no-thinge,
But, as it were, a mased thing,
Alway in point to falle a-doun;
For sorwful imaginacioun
Is alway hoolly in my minde.
And wel ye wite, agaynes kynde
Hit were to liven in this wyse;
For nature wolde nat suffyse
To noon erthely creature
Not longe tyme to endure
Withoute slepe, and been in sorwe;
And I ne may, ne night ne morwe,
Slepe; and thus melancolye
And dreed I have for to dye,
Defaute of slepe and hevinesse
Hath sleyn my spirit of quiknesse,
That I have lost al lustihede.
Suche fantasies ben in myn hede
So I not what is best to do.
But men myght axe me, why soo
I may not slepe, and what me is?
But natheles, who aske this
Leseth his asking trewely.
My-selven can not telle why
The sooth; but trewely, as I gesse,
I holde hit be a siknesse
That I have suffred this eight yere,
And yet my bote is never the nere;
For ther is phisicien but oon,
That may me hele; but that is doon.
Passe we over until eft;
That wil not be, moot nede be left;
Our first matere is good to kepe.
So whan I saw I might not slepe,
Til now late, this other night,
Upon my bedde I sat upright
And bad oon reche me a book,
A romaunce, and he hit me took

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poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Quarta Maria

Quarta Maria bears up round,
favored route before Gregale,
helm a-weather to surround,
concaving head and main sail.

Bearing west, for four days,
a-steady course at two-thirty,
she goes large on mile chase,
foremast curves full and sturdy.

Sails apt away closing to wind,
for not striking an opposing sea,
with square sail, routes winged,
Quarta Maria, Gregale nestle.

Ghost steersman upon rudder
a drunk crew upon dead water,
hoarse voices in dark shudder,
bearded fools in ocean, totter.

A ghostly route, for four days,
sails in solitude away forever,
comradely lost crew in craze,
able is the pilot in bad weather.

Gregale blows in gale frantic,
for four years, route to void,
adytum vastness this Atlantic,
drunk ghosts, on links to avoid.

For four centuries on link arcane,
aright working masts and ropes,
beholden to the Queen of Spain,
Quarta Maria's nautilus hope.
________________________

Gregale = North East wind
two thirty = at 230 degrees -
sailing west and slightly south
________________________

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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In Dreams En Route To Stars

In Dreams En Route To Stars
=======================

Let Your Dreams Fuel The Stars
To Light The Night To Peace.
The Peace That Comes With Heart
Of Mind En Route To Dreams.
When Dreamt Thereof A Night
To Comfort A Mind To Rest
When Rest Thereof A Life
In Peace Of Mind To Heart
As Hearts Coalesce As One
When Two Of Hearts To Love
A Peace Sought To Love
An Innocence Felt In Heart
In Heart Of My Virtue.
Of Virtue Divined Of Love
In Peace As Two Unite When One
Fore There To Be A Peace
To Rest The Mind For Love
In Dreams En Route To Stars
When Heart Of Virtue Dreams Of Girl
Seen As Whole Image Of You

poem by Ricardo Antunes
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