My aesthetic is that of the sniper on the roof.
quote by Jean-Luc Godard
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Bringin Da Noise
Bringin' da noise
Bring down the house
We came here to turn the party out
Say come on come on
Let's raise the roof
Forget the roof
Then we can get loose ya'll
Bringin' da noise
Bring down the house
We came here to turn the party out
Say come on come on
Let's raise the roof
Forget the roof
Then we can get loose ya'll
JC:
We need to get down
The scene is set so right
Everybodies in the house tonight
Lose your mind
Let your body take control
You've got to feel it in your soul
I've got that feeling baby
You know it drives me crazy
And all I wanna do is hit the floor
I wanna shout at ya'll
So make it louder ya'll
JC:
And turn it up some more
Bringin' da noise
Bring down the house
We came here to turn the party out
Say come on come on
Let's raise the roof
Forget the roof
Then we can get loose ya'll
Bringin' da noise
Bring down the house
We came here to turn the party out
Say come on come on
Let's raise the roof
Forget the roof
Then we can get loose ya'll
Bringin' da noise
Bringin' da noise
JC:
Just shake it girl
And enjoy the ride
Do what you feel inside
Cause it's your world
All you want and more
[...] Read more
song performed by N Sync
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bringin Da Noise
Bringin da noise
Bring down the house
We came here to turn the party out
Say come on, come on
Lets raise the roof
And give 'em proof
That we can get loose yall
Bringin da noise
Bring down the house
We came here to turn the party out
Say come on, come on
Lets raise the roof
And give 'em proof
That we can get loose yall
Jc:
We need to get down
The scene is set so right
Everybodys in the house tonight (tonight)
Lose your mind
Let your body take control (control)
Youve got to feel it in your soul (in your soul)
Ive got that feeling baby
You know it drives me crazy
And all I wanna do is hit the floor
I wanna shout it yall
So make it louder yall
Jc:
And turn it up some more
Bringin da noise
Bring down the house
We came here to turn the party out
Say come on, come on
Lets raise the roof
And give 'em proof
That we can get loose yall
Bringin da noise
Bring down the house
We came here to turn the party out
Say come on, come on
Lets raise the roof
And give 'em proof
That we can get loose yall
Bringin da noise
Bringin da noise
Jc:
Just shake it girl (shake it girl)
And enjoy the ride
Do what you feel inside
Cause its your world..
All you want and more
[...] Read more
song performed by N Sync
Added by Lucian Velea
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Halo 3 style parody of Kesha's Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Wake up in the morning feeling like Tsquared
Got my glasses. I’m going online
I’m gonna hit the power button!
Before I leave brush my teeth with a can of Dr. Pepper
Cause when I game you know I ain’t going out!
I’m talking BR-ing all my foes, foes
Trying on Recon armor, an striking a pose, pose
Boys dropping from my meele blows, blows
Cause I’ll be playing my favorite Cd
Pulling up to bungie with marty
Trying to get a little bit warmed-up
Don’t stop
Make it pop
Blow their heads up
Tonight Imma fight until I see the sunlight
Tick-tock on the clock
But the killing sprees won’t stop
Woah oh oh oh DOUBLE KILL
Woah oh oh oh TRIPLE KILL
Don’t stop
Make it pop
Going for the over with a sniper headshot
Blow their heads up
Tonight Imma fight until I see the black screen
Tick tock on the clock
But the frenzies won’t stop
Woah oh oh oh DOUBLE KILL
Woah oh oh oh TRIPLE KILL
Ain’t got a care in the world, but I got plenty of BR ammo
Ain’t got no rockets in the chamber but I’m already here… OVERKILL!
Now the dudes are lining up for autographs cause they hear we got swagger
But we’ll kick to the curb unless they look like MC with that reach dagger
I’m talking about everybody meeting their doom, dooms
Boys trying touch my boom booms
Gonna smack in the back if he getting too cocky, cocky
Now, now we goin till they 4 down, down
Until we capped and got the crown crown
Po po shut us down
Don’t stop
Make it pop
With a sniper headshot
Tonight Imma fight until I see the black screen
Tick tock on the clock
But riots don’t stop
Woah oh oh oh DOUBLE KILL
Woah oh oh oh TRIPLE KILL
[...] Read more
poem by David Knox
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The Defence of Lucknow
I
BANNER of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou
Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle-cry!
Never with mightier glory than when we had rear’d thee on high
Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow—
Shot thro’ the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew,
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.
II.
Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our lives—
Women and children among us, God help them, our children and wives!
Hold it we might—and for fifteen days or for twenty at most.
‘Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post!’
Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave:
Cold were his brows when we kiss’d him—we laid him that night in his grave.
‘Every man die at his post!’ and there hail’d on our houses and halls
Death from their rifle-bullets, and death from their cannon-balls,
Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade,
Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stoopt to the spade,
Death to the dying, and wounds to the wounded, for often there fell,
Striking the hospital wall, crashing thro’ it, their shot and their shell,
Death—for their spies were among us, their marksmen were told of our best,
So that the brute bullet broke thro’ the brain that could think for the rest;
Bullets would sing by our foreheads, and bullets would rain at our feet—
Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that girdled us round—
Death at the glimpse of a finger from over the breadth of a street,
Death from the heights of the mosque and the palace, and death in the ground!
Mine? yes, a mine! Countermine! down, down! and creep thro’ the hole!
Keep the revolver in hand! you can hear him—the murderous mole!
Quiet, ah! quiet—wait till the point of the pickaxe be thro’!
Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again than before—
Now let it speak, and you fire, and the dark pioneer is no more;
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew!
III.
Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a day
Soon as the blast of that underground thunderclap echo ‘d away,
Dark thro’ the smoke and the sulphur like so many fiends in their hell—
Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell upon yell—
Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemy fell.
What have they done? where is it? Out yonder. Guard the Redan!
Storm at the Water-gate! storm at the Bailey-gate! storm, and it ran
Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every side
Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily devour’d by the tide—
So many thousands that if they be bold enough, who shall escape?
Kill or be kill’d, live or die, they shall know we are soldiers and men
Ready! take aim at their leaders—their masses are gapp’d with our grape—
Backward they reel like the wave, like the wave flinging forward again,
Flying and foil’d at the last by the handful they could not subdue;
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Up On The Roof
When this old world starts a getting me down
And people are just too much for me to face
I climb way up to the top of the stairs
And all my cares just drift right into space
On the roof its peaceful as can be
And there the world below dont bother me
Oh no
So when I come home feeling tired and beat
I go up where the air is fresh and sweet
And get far away from the hustling crowd
And all that rat race noise down in the street
On the roof thats the only place I know
Where you just have to wish to make it so
Lets go up on the roof
At night the stars they put on a show for free
Yes they do
And darling you can share it all with me
Thats what I said I keep on telling you
That right smack dab in the middle of town
I found a paradise thats trouble free
And if this old world stars getting you down
Theres room enough for two up on the roof
At night the stars they put on a show for free yeah
And darling you can share it all with me
Thats what I said I keep on telling you
That right smack dab in the middle of town
I found a paradise thats trouble free
If this old world stars getting you down
Theres room enough for two up on the roof
Up on the roof oh yeah
Up on the roof
song performed by Indigo Girls
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rumination Haj
Caught in an expressive cul-de-sac,
all imagery goes down the tube
iconoclastically, with lack
of space that curves when artists cube,
on a rumination haj,
searching an interior Mecca
thoughts collected as collage,
minimally like a Necker.
David Hadjou reviews John Adams’s Hallelujah Junction (“Music Lessons: A memoir by the composer John Adams is a collage of memory criticism, theory and ruminations on creativity, ” NYT Book Review, October 26,2008) :
Commonly mistaken for a minimalist, Adams has employed the minimalist aesthetic primarily as a point of departure. He recognized fairly early that “minimalism as a governing aesthetic could and would rapidly exhaust itself, ” as he writes here. “Like Cubism in painting, it was a radically new idea, but its reductive worldview would soon leave its practitioners caught in an expressive cul-de-sac.” Adams’s importance as a composer is rooted not so much in his having done anything new, but, rather, in his having done very well the things he has done: operas (“Nixon in China” and “The Death of Klinghoffer, ” both staged by Peter Sellars) , symphonic choral works (“On the Transmigration of Souls, ” an elegy to the victims of the Sept.11 attacks, which won the Pulitzer Prize for music in 2003) , piano pieces and a dozen or so other major compositions of various kinds. His music is minimal in the sense that Adams employs as few materials as necessary, rather than as few as possible, though he strives for and tends to achieve a maximalism of effect. With “Hallelujah Junction, ” Adams has put in prose an argument against the ideology of aesthetic continuum, a case that his music has always articulated eloquently by example. “That particular continuum I found ridiculously exclusive, being founded on a kind of Darwinian view of stylistic evolution, ” he argues. If a composition “didn’t in some way advance the evolution of the language, yielding progress either by a technological innovation or in the increasing complexity of the discourse, it was not even worth discussing.” Who cares? John Adams. And, so, now do we.
10/26/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
Added by Poetry Lover
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Up On The Roof
(gerry goffin / carole king)
When this old world starts getting me down
And people are much too much for me face
I climb way up to the top of the stairs
And all my cares just fade right into space
On the roof
Its peaceful as can be
And there the world below
Cant bother me
Keep a-telling you
Right slap, dab in the middle of town
Ive found a paradise thats trouble-free
Yes, I have now
When this world starts getting you down
Theres room enough for two
Up on the roof
Up on the roof
Everything is all right
Up on the roof
Oh, come on baby
Up on the roof
Oh, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Up on the roof
song performed by Dusty Springfield
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
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Malmaison
I
How the slates of the roof sparkle in the sun, over there, over there,
beyond the high wall! How quietly the Seine runs in loops and windings,
over there, over there, sliding through the green countryside! Like ships
of the line, stately with canvas, the tall clouds pass along the sky,
over the glittering roof, over the trees, over the looped and curving river.
A breeze quivers through the linden-trees. Roses bloom at Malmaison.
Roses! Roses! But the road is dusty. Already the Citoyenne Beauharnais
wearies of her walk. Her skin is chalked and powdered with dust,
she smells dust, and behind the wall are roses! Roses with
smooth open petals, poised above rippling leaves . . . Roses . . .
They have told her so. The Citoyenne Beauharnais shrugs her shoulders
and makes a little face. She must mend her pace if she would be back
in time for dinner. Roses indeed! The guillotine more likely.
The tiered clouds float over Malmaison, and the slate roof sparkles
in the sun.
II
Gallop! Gallop! The General brooks no delay. Make way, good people,
and scatter out of his path, you, and your hens, and your dogs,
and your children. The General is returned from Egypt, and is come
in a `caleche' and four to visit his new property. Throw open the gates,
you, Porter of Malmaison. Pull off your cap, my man, this is your master,
the husband of Madame. Faster! Faster! A jerk and a jingle
and they are arrived, he and she. Madame has red eyes. Fie! It is for joy
at her husband's return. Learn your place, Porter. A gentleman here
for two months? Fie! Fie, then! Since when have you taken to gossiping.
Madame may have a brother, I suppose. That -- all green, and red,
and glitter, with flesh as dark as ebony -- that is a slave; a bloodthirsty,
stabbing, slashing heathen, come from the hot countries to cure your tongue
of idle whispering.
A fine afternoon it is, with tall bright clouds sailing over the trees.
'Bonaparte, mon ami, the trees are golden like my star, the star I pinned
to your destiny when I married you. The gypsy, you remember her prophecy!
My dear friend, not here, the servants are watching; send them away,
and that flashing splendour, Roustan. Superb -- Imperial, but . . .
My dear, your arm is trembling; I faint to feel it touching me! No, no,
Bonaparte, not that -- spare me that -- did we not bury that last night!
You hurt me, my friend, you are so hot and strong. Not long, Dear,
no, thank God, not long.'
[...] Read more
poem by Amy Lowell
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Beowulf
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled….
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Goody Santa Claus on a Sleigh Ride
Santa, must I tease in vain, Deer? Let me go and hold the reindeer,
While you clamber down the chimneys. Don't look savage as a Turk!
Why should you have all the glory of the joyous Christmas story,
And poor little Goody Santa Claus have nothing but the work?
It would be so very cozy, you and I, all round and rosy,
Looking like two loving snowballs in our fuzzy Arctic furs,
Tucked in warm and snug together, whisking through the winter weather
Where the tinkle of the sleigh-bells is the only sound that stirs.
You just sit here and grow chubby off the goodies in my cubby
From December to December, till your white beard sweeps your knees;
For you must allow, my Goodman, that you're but a lazy woodman
And rely on me to foster all our fruitful Christmas trees.
While your Saintship waxes holy, year by year, and roly-poly,
Blessed by all the lads and lassies in the limits of the land,
While your toes at home you're toasting, then poor Goody must go posting
Out to plant and prune and garner, where our fir-tree forests stand.
Oh! but when the toil is sorest how I love our fir-tree forest,
Heart of light and heart of beauty in the Northland cold and dim,
All with gifts and candles laden to delight a boy or maiden,
And its dark-green branches ever murmuring the Christmas hymn!
Yet ask young Jack Frost, our neighbor, who but Goody has the labor,
Feeding roots with milk and honey that the bonbons may be sweet!
Who but Goody knows the reason why the playthings bloom in season
And the ripened toys and trinkets rattle gaily to her feet!
From the time the dollies budded, wiry-boned and saw-dust blooded,
With their waxen eyelids winking when the wind the tree-tops plied,
Have I rested for a minute, until now your pack has in it
All the bright, abundant harvest of the merry Christmastide?
Santa, wouldn't it be pleasant to surprise me with a present?
And this ride behind the reindeer is the boon your Goody begs;
Think how hard my extra work is, tending the Thanksgiving turkeys
And our flocks of rainbow chickens — those that lay the Easter eggs.
Home to womankind is suited? Nonsense, Goodman! Let our fruited
Orchards answer for the value of a woman out-of-doors.
Why then bid me chase the thunder, while the roof you're safely under,
All to fashion fire-crackers with the lighting in their cores?
See! I've fetched my snow-flake bonnet, with the sunrise ribbons on it;
I've not worn it since we fled from Fairyland our wedding day;
How we sped through iceberg porches with the Northern Lights for torches!
You were young and slender, Santa, and we had this very sleigh.
[...] Read more
poem by Katharine Lee Bates (1889)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On The Roof Again (Callout Hook 1)
In the throws of young love Leroy
Didn't think to think and in the blink of an eye
Tied the knot not knowing how to not know
He was the prodigal son this girl had brought him home
He moved out of his step dad's apartment
He moved in with this cute Guatemalan
Things were copasetic 'til she caught him
Things were cool and collected 'til she found him erected with another
Shit went bad he's on the roof again
She flipped, he flipped the bird
And then he went to the roof where his threats ring loud and clear
Gonna jump gonna jump gonna die this year
Got screwed by the horse that he rode in on
Riding high on his whims had only gotten him down
He moved back to his step dad's apartment
Where he put himself back together 'til
She came back he's on the roof again
She flipped, he flipped the bird
And then he went to the roof where his threats ring loud and clear
Gonna jump gonna jump gonna die this year
Your heinous highness broke her hymen hey man try to quit your crying
I know she broke your heart but try to come try to come down
Shit went bad he's on the roof again
She flipped, he flipped the bird
And then he went to the roof where his threats ring loud and clear
Gonna jump gonna jump gonna die this year
song performed by Eve 6
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Motown Song
(larry john mcnally)
Bring over some of your old motown records
Well put the speakers in the window and well go
On the roof and listen to the miracles
Echo to the alley down below
Lets dance together just for the night
Lets dont worry about the future or nothin else
cause just like the musics sayin you gotta take chances
Go ahead just do it and trust yourself
Theres a soul in the city
Watching over us tonight
Theres a soul in the city
Saying everythings gonna be all right
So bring over some of your old motown records
Well put the speakers in the window and well go
On the roof and listen to the miracles
Echo to the alley down below
They wish us luck
But they think were just dreaming
Lets prove them wrong baby
cause you know what luck is
Luck is believing youre lucky
Thats all and showing just a little bit of faith
Theres a soul in the city
Watching over us I swear
Theres a soul in the city
Theres a whole world waiting out there
Listen
I got plans for us
Playing like a skip on a record
Through my head all night long
But when we walk that darkened stairway
And step out on the roof
I know what were feeling cant be wrong
Bring over some of your old motown records
Well put the speakers in the window and well go
On the roof and listen to the miracles
Echo to the alley down below
Bring over some of your old motown records
Well put the speakers in the window and well go
On the roof and listen to the miracles
Echo to the alley down below
let the temptations sing it one time
Bring over some of you old motown records
Well put the speakers in the window and well go
On the roof and listen to the miracles
Echo to the alley down below
song performed by Rod Stewart
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Basket
I
The inkstand is full of ink, and the paper lies white and unspotted,
in the round of light thrown by a candle. Puffs of darkness sweep into
the corners, and keep rolling through the room behind his chair. The air
is silver and pearl, for the night is liquid with moonlight.
See how the roof glitters, like ice!
Over there, a slice of yellow cuts into the silver-blue, and beside it stand
two geraniums, purple because the light is silver-blue, to-night.
See! She is coming, the young woman with the bright hair.
She swings a basket as she walks, which she places on the sill,
between the geranium stalks. He laughs, and crumples his paper
as he leans forward to look. 'The Basket Filled with Moonlight',
what a title for a book!
The bellying clouds swing over the housetops.
He has forgotten the woman in the room with the geraniums. He is beating
his brain, and in his eardrums hammers his heavy pulse. She sits
on the window-sill, with the basket in her lap. And tap! She cracks a nut.
And tap! Another. Tap! Tap! Tap! The shells ricochet upon the roof,
and get into the gutters, and bounce over the edge and disappear.
'It is very queer,' thinks Peter, 'the basket was empty, I'm sure.
How could nuts appear from the atmosphere?'
The silver-blue moonlight makes the geraniums purple, and the roof glitters
like ice.
II
Five o'clock. The geraniums are very gay in their crimson array.
The bellying clouds swing over the housetops, and over the roofs goes Peter
to pay his morning's work with a holiday.
'Annette, it is I. Have you finished? Can I come?'
Peter jumps through the window.
'Dear, are you alone?'
'Look, Peter, the dome of the tabernacle is done. This gold thread
is so very high, I am glad it is morning, a starry sky would have
seen me bankrupt. Sit down, now tell me, is your story going well?'
[...] Read more
poem by Amy Lowell
Added by Poetry Lover
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Apocalypse
Intro:
Yeah, I was looking out my window
When I heard this sound
Look up into the sky
Saw the moon turned to blood
Looked at my little brother
Said, you high as hell maaan
Chorus:
Apocalypse..
1,2 the headlines youths just rolled through
Apocalypse..
3,4 solder, 100 horsemen at your door
Apocalypse..
5,6 you wanted dead or alive, hit or miss
We we yall, yeah, we we yall
Verse one:
Arrival of the carnival
New beats, I never recycle
While your looking for samples
You might get trampled
Surprise, hey
Im back with lightning and thunder
I heard you over saying that I was a one year wonder
You dumb or some, I went to refugees
Silly felony, when Im done
Collect royalty from record companys
Clouds getting darker
Suns getting nearer
Ill turn a atheist into a God fearing believer
The back of a building
Your bodys found by children
Playin hide go seek
All we found was his skeleton
In the back of a car
You spawned with the wrong guard
You know my empire strikes back hard
Listen hard, war
This is the day after action
Projects, cannons
Being launched at the palace
Vision, revelation
Sky know apocalypse
Enemy pilots kamikaze into the abyss
Chorus:
Apocalypse..
1,2 the headlines youths just rolled through
Apocalypse..
3,4 solder, 100 horsemen at your door
Apocalypse..
5,6 you wanted dead or alive, hit or miss
[...] Read more
song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
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Apocalypse
Intro:
Yeah, I was looking out my window
When I heard this sound
Look up into the sky
Saw the moon turned to blood
Looked at my little brother
Said, you high as hell maaan
Chorus:
Apocalypse..
1,2 the headlines youths just rolled through
Apocalypse..
3,4 solder, 100 horsemen at your door
Apocalypse..
5,6 you wanted dead or alive, hit or miss
We we yall, yeah, we we yall
Verse one:
Arrival of the carnival
New beats, I never recycle
While your looking for samples
You might get trampled
Surprise, hey
Im back with lightning and thunder
I heard you over saying that I was a one year wonder
You dumb or some, I went to refugees
Silly felony, when Im done
Collect royalty from record companys
Clouds getting darker
Suns getting nearer
Ill turn a atheist into a God fearing believer
The back of a building
Your bodys found by children
Playin hide go seek
All we found was his skeleton
In the back of a car
You spawned with the wrong guard
You know my empire strikes back hard
Listen hard, war
This is the day after action
Projects, cannons
Being launched at the palace
Vision, revelation
Sky know apocalypse
Enemy pilots kamikaze into the abyss
Chorus:
Apocalypse..
1,2 the headlines youths just rolled through
Apocalypse..
3,4 solder, 100 horsemen at your door
Apocalypse..
5,6 you wanted dead or alive, hit or miss
[...] Read more
song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Cat and Bat's Revenge
The day the cat
and the bat
ate the rat
'Now peace b'coz we don't need to fight
for the rat'
said the cat.
'OK.' said the bat who hanging upside down on the wall
his shadow looking grand and tall
but the rats of the other world were scared
b'coz one of them read
the agreement
now the fastest mouse made a plan
to cut the wires of the fan
so it fell on the cat,
but the bat
took the rat and ate all his fat
the rats were frightened
so they sent another robotic rat
to outwit the bat and cat
now the plan was ready
and it was also fine
but unluckily came the bad pine
of the tree
which always helped the cat and the bat flee
from the rats net
which would always fail b'coz of the bat's friend the pine tree
who would help them see
the wicked plans of the rats
and tell them to all the bats
oh poor rats
getting all eaten up by cats(and bats)
then came the wisest rat sniper the 'sniper'
he went and cut the tree
and didn’t let the cat
and the bat flee
he threw a pan
on the fan
which hit the cat
and the bat
on thier heads
so now they are saved
from the cat
and bat
but now what?
here comes a rat
who's on the side of the cat
and the bat
the wisest mouse got him in the team again and put him to deep
sleep
so the cat and the bat
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Battle
1.
Noon
It is midday; the deep trench glares….
A buzz and blaze of flies….
The hot wind puffs the giddy airs….
The great sun rakes the skies.
No sound in all the stagnant trench
Where forty standing men
Endure the sweat and grit and stench,
Like cattle in a pen.
Sometimes a sniper's bullet whirs
Or twangs the whining wire,
Sometimes a soldier sighs and stirs
As in hell's frying fire.
From out a high, cool cloud descends
An aeroplane's far moan,
The sun strikes down, the thin cloud rends….
The black speck travels on.
And sweating, dazed, isolate
In the hot trench beneath,
We bide the next shrewd move of fate
Be it of life or death.
2.
Night Bombardment
Softly in the silence the evening rain descends….
The soft wind lifts the rain-mist, flurries it, and spends
Itself in mournful sighs, drifting from field to field,
Soaking the draggled sprays which the low hedges wield
As they labour in the wet and the load of the wind.
The last light is dimming. Night comes on behind.
I hear no sound but the wind and the rain,
And trample of horses, loud and lost again
Where the wagons in the mist rumble dimly on
Bringing more shell.
The last gleam is gone.
It is not day or night; only the mists unroll
And blind with their sorrow the sight of my soul.
I hear the wind weeping in the hollow overhead:
She goes searching for the forgotten dead
Hidden in the hedges or trodden into muck
Under the trenches or maybe limply stuck
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poem by Robert Nichols
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Courtship of Miles Standish
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Bridal of Pennacook
We had been wandering for many days
Through the rough northern country. We had seen
The sunset, with its bars of purple cloud,
Like a new heaven, shine upward from the lake
Of Winnepiseogee; and had felt
The sunrise breezes, midst the leafy isles
Which stoop their summer beauty to the lips
Of the bright waters. We had checked our steeds,
Silent with wonder, where the mountain wall
Is piled to heaven; and, through the narrow rift
Of the vast rocks, against whose rugged feet
Beats the mad torrent with perpetual roar,
Where noonday is as twilight, and the wind
Comes burdened with the everlasting moan
Of forests and of far-off waterfalls,
We had looked upward where the summer sky,
Tasselled with clouds light-woven by the sun,
Sprung its blue arch above the abutting crags
O'er-roofing the vast portal of the land
Beyond the wall of mountains. We had passed
The high source of the Saco; and bewildered
In the dwarf spruce-belts of the Crystal Hills,
Had heard above us, like a voice in the cloud,
The horn of Fabyan sounding; and atop
Of old Agioochook had seen the mountains'
Piled to the northward, shagged with wood, and thick
As meadow mole-hills,—the far sea of Casco,
A white gleam on the horizon of the east;
Fair lakes, embosomed in the woods and hills;
Moosehillock's mountain range, and Kearsarge
Lifting his granite forehead to the sun!
And we had rested underneath the oaks
Shadowing the bank, whose grassy spires are shaken
By the perpetual beating of the falls
Of the wild Ammonoosuc. We had tracked
The winding Pemigewasset, overhung
By beechen shadows, whitening down its rocks,
Or lazily gliding through its intervals,
From waving rye-fields sending up the gleam
Of sunlit waters. We had seen the moon
Rising behind Umbagog's eastern pines,
Like a great Indian camp-fire; and its beams
At midnight spanning with a bridge of silver
The Merrimac by Uncanoonuc's falls.
There were five souls of us whom travel's chance
Had thrown together in these wild north hills
A city lawyer, for a month escaping
From his dull office, where the weary eye
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Added by Poetry Lover
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