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I am a raging alcoholic and a raging addict and I didn't want to see my kids do the same thing.

quote by Ozzy Osbourne
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Salut Au Monde

O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next!
Each answering all--each sharing the earth with all.

What widens within you, Walt Whitman?
What waves and soils exuding?
What climes? what persons and lands are here?
Who are the infants? some playing, some slumbering?
Who are the girls? who are the married women?
Who are the groups of old men going slowly with their arms about each
other's necks?
What rivers are these? what forests and fruits are these?
What are the mountains call'd that rise so high in the mists?
What myriads of dwellings are they, fill'd with dwellers?

Within me latitude widens, longitude lengthens;
Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east--America is provided for in the
west;
Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator,
Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends;
Within me is the longest day--the sun wheels in slanting rings--it
does not set for months;
Stretch'd in due time within me the midnight sun just rises above the
horizon, and sinks again;
Within me zones, seas, cataracts, plants, volcanoes, groups,
Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West Indian islands.

What do you hear, Walt Whitman?

I hear the workman singing, and the farmer's wife singing;
I hear in the distance the sounds of children, and of animals early
in the day;
I hear quick rifle-cracks from the riflemen of East Tennessee and
Kentucky, hunting on hills;
I hear emulous shouts of Australians, pursuing the wild horse;
I hear the Spanish dance, with castanets, in the chestnut shade, to
the rebeck and guitar;
I hear continual echoes from the Thames;
I hear fierce French liberty songs;
I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative of old
poems;
I hear the Virginia plantation-chorus of negroes, of a harvest night,
in the glare of pine-knots;
I hear the strong baritone of the 'long-shore-men of Mannahatta;
I hear the stevedores unlading the cargoes, and singing;
I hear the screams of the water-fowl of solitary north-west lakes;
I hear the rustling pattering of locusts, as they strike the grain
and grass with the showers of their terrible clouds;
I hear the Coptic refrain, toward sundown, pensively falling on the

[...] Read more

poem by Walt Whitman
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The Kids

Written by jay kay and toby smith
Now were getting nasty
Everybody is talking about the kids
The kids have funky soul and groove emotion
But if you dont give the kids the chance to use it
Theyre always more than likely to abuse it
Kids get down, stormy weather, fifteen years of royal pleasure.
Everybodys talking about the kids
And its taking time for you to realise
Now hunger turns to anger in your eyes
I say the revolution will be televised, yes it will gil...
Everybodys talking about the kids
Kids get down, stormy weather, fifteen years of royal pleasure.
Kids get down underground, evrybody dance to the funky sound.
Everybodys talking about the kids
The kids need space to get their heads in place
And every day this world we have to face
Well I just cant seem to find my proper place
Kids get down, celebrate, now were gonna kick the thing we hate
Everybodys talking about the kids
It wont be long before we get our own
And every kid can truly feel at home
I told ya you should give the dog a bone.
Kids get down, pressurized, to live the life that you devised
Kids get down, celebrate, life is to short to complicate
Everybodys talking about school
But I get more pleasure breaking all the rules
Cos lesson one begins with life is cruel
Well I guess Im just an educated fool
Everybodys talking about the kids
Mom and dad make efforts to excuse it
Government officials will confuse it
Members of the bench will try to prove it
Youre going down sucker!
Everybodys talking about the kids now
Everybodys talking about the kids now
The kids got funky soul
Everybodys talking about high
But kids get high to satisfy
For reaching out to touch the sky
Is all I can identify, and you know why...
Kids get down, stormy weather, fifteen years of royal pleasure
Kids get down celebrate, now were gonna kick the thing we hate.

song performed by Jamiroquai
Added by Lucian Velea
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Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

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poem by Talile Ali
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Wednesday's Child (Sheffield Wednesday Soccer Club)

It eats soccer. It breathes soccer. It lives soccer. It fades when it's team fades and it blooms when it's team blooms. It has the letters S.W. permanently etched upon it's brain and it probably even arranges it's Monopoly money in S.W. formations. What is it, you ask? It's a soccer fan. You knew that, didn't you? But it isn't just any soccer fan. It is specifically a Sheffield Wednesday soccer fan. Or addict, for want of a better word.

Yes, of course, even I know about Liverpool, Everton, Arsenal and Man. United fans. They're the normal, run-of-the-mill type but Owls supporters are really Something Else!

I have had the somewhat dubious good fortune of becoming rather well acquainted with one of these strange 'animals' but until today, I'd managed to evade any one-to-one discourse on the merits or demerits of one man's passion for his team. On the face of it, you could say I asked for it. In a weak moment, I queried how his team had fared over the past week or so. It was like asking a hypochondriac the state of his health.

Well, there I was, supposedly having a cup of tea with his wife, my friend Sheila. But Sheila knew the signs and, together with two equally clued-up daughters, had opportunely beaten a hasty retreat into the garden. They had long since paid their dues. Now, it was my turn.

It was a reasonably tentative beginning. It is more than probable that Ken, the addict, suspected I would never stay the course but feeling somewhat emotionally trapped by the knowledge that he had no sons with whom to share his enthrallment of the game, what else could I do but don my interested-looking mask, take a deep breath and settle back to hear him out. By tacit consent, we both knew that I was a victim of sorts. Destiny rides again!

My heart sunk a little when I realised that he was starting from scratch. From the actual day when his team first started playing. His enthusiasm was boundless but somehow I found myself becoming absorbed in what he was saying. His eyes took on a bright, azure sparkle and his mouth was motoring at twice the speed of sound as it travelled back and forth in time. I stared in mute fascination. This was for real! This was the guy's life. Dear Lord, where was I when enthusiasm for anything was dished out? I raised my eyes Heavenwards and found myself looking straight into those of a grey, woolly owl who was peering down at me from a built-in show-case. The Sheffield Wednesday Football Club mascot. I knew I was a gonner when I found myself asking how the Club had come to be so named.

Sheffield Wednesday, as we know it today, Ken told me, came into being in 1867 as the football section of the Wednesday Cricket Club, which had been in existence since 1820. The cricket club had been the creation of a group of Sheffield craftsmen who gave it the name 'Wednesday' for the simple reason that that was the day when they took regular afternoons off to pursue their sporting enthusiasms.

Not surprisingly, perhaps, the meeting at which the football section was formed took place on a Wednesday and this, at a local sporting pub, The Adelphi. Members of the cricket club called the meeting because they wanted a way of keeping everybody together during the winter months but the step was probably partly inspired by the dramatic increase in football's popularity in the town over the previous ten years.

Ken's eyes misted over somewhat as he proudly told me that it had been Sheffield who had led the way in organised football even before the birth of the national FA in 1863. So Wednesday no doubt felt it appropriate to have their own football section. At the very least, it would mean that their players would not be tempted to drift off to other clubs at the end of the summer and forget to return in the following spring.

The founders could not have imagined that the infant football section would become the dominant partner. So strong, in fact, that within sixteen years it would break free and Wednesday Football Club would become one of the most famous names in English football - and a force in the professional game to boot (no pun intended!) Would they also have believed that the Cricket Club would survive only until 1924 and then die through lack of support, so that today, it is all but forgotten.

By now, there was no doubt that Ken knew he had my attention for I was leaning forward in my chair, hanging onto every word. Vortex-like, my concentration was being pulled and drawn into the centre of what could only be described as the secret world of the soccer-addict; a passionate and breathtaking intensity which would encompass anything related thereto, from a humble soccer boot to a moth-eaten ticket to some long-ago and memorable match played.

'Look! ' he said, paging through a well-thumbed book, 'here's a picture of Wednesday's first match at Olive Grove. This site was bought from the Duke of Norfolk. Did you know that? ' As if I would! But no reply was necessary as he pressed on regardless to tell me about how officials at the time were unable to persuade either Preston or Aston Villa to provide the opposition for a match but Blackburn Rovers did decide to accept the invitation to play. Things weren't going too well but I wanted to fall off my chair to show him how thrilled I was too when Wednesday recovered from a three-goal deficit to draw 4-4 but he wouldn't have noticed. He was in another world.

And then he was down in the depths again as he showed me pictures of headlines proclaiming how Dooley had broken his leg at Deepdale way back in 1953. It was to be the end of the big centre-forward's career. Oh, shame, Ken, I said. And I really meant it.

1954-55 proved to be a disastrous season with Wednesday finishing bottom of the table, nine points below relegation companions Leicester City. The Owls won only 8 games, losing 24 and conceding 100 goals. However, Ken assured me, they won the Second Division Championship in 1955-56 with three points to spare and in the following season they finished mid-table. But, oh dear, by 1957-58 they were down again. The Addict's voice faded and I thought he had been called by the angels.

'And then....? ' I encouraged. Momentarily, he seemed to surface.

'Go on, get along with you, ' he said with a half-smile, 'you're not really interested.'

'Oh, I am, I am, ' I protested gamely, whereupon he went on to tell me all about the so-called bribes scandal or betting-coup revelations which broke in the Sunday newspapers of 1964. Not only did Wednesday suffer in terms of its reputation but it also lost two of its best players.

The situation sounded sufficiently grave for me to try my mournful-look but no, it wasn't necessary as The Addict changed course and went on to tell me the good news about how in 1971, that bloke Dooley, (who'd broken his leg 18 years or so earlier and subsequently had to have it amputated) had been made manager of the club. He was still an idol in the city and the folk-hero of Hillsborough. But his magic was limited and he proved that he was as human as anyone else in his lack of anticipated performance.

But Sheila was rattling crockery in the kitchen and the thought of a nice cup of tea was becoming more and more enticing. Escape was out of the question. We still had about twenty years more to work through! There's a limit to a body's endurance and a feminine mind's appreciation of a predominantly masculine interest.

So, a little less stoically now, I went 'up' with the Owls and 'down' with the Owls as we travelled through from one Division to another over a timespan of many years. But much of their pain was to dissolve in relief when in 1985, they reached their highest position for 25 years by coming fifth in the FA Cup semi-Final. Even if they did lose to Everton.

In that same year, Wednesday were to equalise in the dying seconds of the match with Chelsea. They were 3-O up at half-time and I can well imagine how Ken had nearly fallen off his chair when hearing on the BBC World Service later that evening that the game had ended at 4-4. He still hasn't got over the sheer horror of it all.

There was no stopping him now and I just had to give in and hear about how the next time round, Chelsea lost the toss with the Owls' Chairman tossing the coin and the replay going to Stamford Bridge. Wednesday lost 2-1 proving that the Chelsea bogey had struck again. 'We can't even beat a bunch of pensioners, ' the Addict grinned. I was impressed by his ability not to take himself and his beloved team too seriously.

'And last year, you actually visited the Club, didn't you? ' I asked, determined to hastily gobble up the few remaining years so that I could go and have my tea. I knew of course that the highlight of his addicthood had been when Wednesday were promoted to First Division by beating Man. United in the Rumbelows League Cup Final at Wembley and didn't want to go into all that lot again. Like I said, there's a limit........

'Ah yes, ' he replied dreamily. Even he was beginning to tire. But no, not yet. I had a feeling we were about to move into extra time. More like injury-time, one would say.

'Come, ' he said, leading me towards a cupboard filled with everything and anything that could have any association whatsoever with his team. I'd seen it all before and I would see it again, but there's an indisputable thrill of sharing both old-time and current mementoes and memorabilia of a soccer club, some six thousand miles away, right here in the living room of one of its most ardent supporters.

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poem by Margaret Kollmer
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The Libelle of Englyshe Polycye

Here beginneth the Prologe of the processe of the Libelle of Englyshe polycye, exhortynge alle Englande to kepe the see enviroun and namelye the narowe see, shewynge whate profete commeth thereof and also whate worshype and salvacione to Englande and to alle Englyshe menne.

The trewe processe of Englysh polycye
Of utterwarde to kepe thys regne in rest
Of oure England, that no man may denye
Ner say of soth but it is one the best,
Is thys, as who seith, south, north, est and west
Cheryshe marchandyse, kepe thamyralte,
That we bee maysteres of the narowe see.

For Sigesmonde the grete Emperoure,
Whyche yet regneth, whan he was in this londe
Wyth kynge Herry the vte, prince of honoure,
Here moche glorye, as hym thought, he founde,
A myghty londe, whyche hadde take on honde
To werre in Fraunce and make mortalite,
And ever well kept rounde aboute the see.

And to the kynge thus he seyde, 'My brothere',
Whan he perceyved too townes, Calys and Dovere,
'Of alle youre townes to chese of one and other
To kepe the see and sone for to come overe,
To werre oughtwardes and youre regne to recovere,
Kepe these too townes sure to youre mageste
As youre tweyne eyne to kepe the narowe see'.

For if this see be kepte in tyme of werre,
Who cane here passe withought daunger and woo?
Who may eschape, who may myschef dyfferre?
What marchaundy may forby be agoo?
For nedes hem muste take truse every foo,
Flaundres and Spayne and othere, trust to me,
Or ellis hyndered alle for thys narowe see.

Therfore I caste me by a lytell wrytinge
To shewe att eye thys conclusione,
For concyens and for myne acquytynge
Ayenst God, and ageyne abusyon
And cowardyse and to oure enmyes confusione;
For iiij. thynges oure noble sheueth to me,
Kyng, shype and swerde and pouer of the see.

Where bene oure shippes, where bene oure swerdes become?
Owre enmyes bid for the shippe sette a shepe.
Allas, oure reule halteth, hit is benome.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Kids Are Alright

I dont mind other guys dancing with my girl
I dont mind other guys dancing with my girl
Thats fine, I know them all pretty well
Thats fine, I know them all pretty well
But I know sometimes I must get out in the light
But I know sometimes I must get out in the light
Better leave her behind with the kids, theyre alright
Better leave her behind with the kids, theyre alright
The kids are alright
The kids are alright
Sometimes, I feel I gotta get away
Sometimes, I feel I gotta get away
Bells chime, I know I gotta get away
Bells chime, I know I gotta get away
And I know if I dont, Ill go out of my mind
And I know if I dont, Ill go out of my mind
Better leave her behind with the kids, theyre alright
Better leave her behind with the kids, theyre alright
The kids are alright
The kids are alright
I know if I go things would be a lot better for her
I know if I go things would be a lot better for her
I had things planned, but her folks wouldnt let her
I had things planned, but her folks wouldnt let her
I dont mind other guys dancing with my girl
I dont mind other guys dancing with my girl
Thats fine, I know them all pretty well
Thats fine, I know them all pretty well
But I know sometimes I must get out in the light
But I know sometimes I must get out in the light
Better leave her behind with the kids, theyre alright
Better leave her behind with the kids, theyre alright
The kids are alright
The kids are alright
Sometimes, I feel I gotta get away
Sometimes, I feel I gotta get away
Bells chime, I know I gotta get away
Bells chime, I know I gotta get away
And I know if I dont, Ill go out of my mind
And I know if I dont, Ill go out of my mind
Better leave her behind with the kids, theyre alright
Better leave her behind with the kids, theyre alright
The kids are alright
The kids are alright

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Breathe

Breathe with me.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psychosomatic addict, insane.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psycho,-somatic addict, insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, youre the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psychosomatic addict, insane.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psycho,-somatic addict, insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, youre the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale.
Breathe with me.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psychosomatic addict, insane.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psycho,-somatic addict, insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, youre the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale

song performed by Prodigy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Breath

Breathe with me.
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psychosomatic addict insane.
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psycho somatic addict insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale inhale you're the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale exhale exhale.
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psychosomatic addict insane.
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psycho,-somatic addict, insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, you're the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale.
Breathe with me.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psychosomatic addict, insane.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psycho,-somatic addict, insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, you're the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale

song performed by Prodigy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Kids

Kids - kids, Christmas i-is for kids
Look around and you will see
Kids from one to ninety-three
Laughin', lovin' life and bein' kids
Kids - ki-i-i-ids, Christmas i-is for kids
Kids like you and little brother
Aunts and uncles, dads and mothers
Grandma, grandpa an' all the other kids
Daddy runs the 'lectric train
While all the children wait in vain
To take their turn
At playin' engineer
Grandpa catches grandma's cheek
And all the family sneaks a peak
And suddenly
Their wrinkles disappear
Take a look at Betty Joe
Underneath the mistletoe
Pretending that
She doesn't know it's there
And in the front yard Uncle Mike
Just fell off brother's brand new bike
There's Christmas cheer
And laughter everywhere
Kids (kids) - ki-i-i-ids (kids)
Christmas i-is for kids
Christmas time is here again
And now it's when the fun begins
This time of year we all turn into kids...

song performed by Kenny Rogers
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Done And Over

You never knew what you meant to me.
But you found out.
But you found out.

I really loved you,
But you didn't believe me.
Now you found out.
To leave no doubt.

But I've moved on and you should too!
Whatever has been done let's call us through.
To be done and over,
Like an alcoholic sobered.

You never knew what you meant to me.
But you found out.
But you found out.

I really loved you,
But you didn't believe me.
Now you found out.
To leave no doubt.

But I've moved on and you should too!
Whatever has been done,
Let's call us through.
To be done and over,
Like an alcoholic sobered.
Done and over.
Done and over.

I really loved you,
But we're done and over.
There's no need for us to suffer,
'Cause we're done and over.
Done and over.
Done and over...
Like an alcoholic sobered.

I've moved on and you should too!
Whatever has been done,
Let's call us through.
To be done and over,
Like an alcoholic sobered.
Done and over.
Done and over.

You never knew what you meant to me.
But you found out.
But you found out.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Unlock That Box!

Everybody knows.
You're behind closed doors.
Wishing to live a life you hide.
But afraid to step outside.

So...
Unlock that box!
You like to peep but get on out.
Too many people keep their wishes swept away.
To have their walls upon them fall...
As they dry to rot and fade.

Unlock that box!
Get out and walk the block.
And stop playing the game with life,
Of love or love me not.

Everybody knows.
You're behind closed doors.
Wishing to live a life you hide.
But afraid to step outside.

So...
Unlock that box!
Or...
Get somebody who will prove,
That you can move and do it!

Don't be neurotic you can do something about it.

Unlock that box.
Why you choose to be neurotic.
Unlock that box.
You can do something about it.
Unlock that box.
You're like an addict on narcotics.

And everybody knows you're there behind closed doors.

Unlock that box.
Why you choose to be neurotic.
Unlock that box.
You can do something about it.
Unlock that box.
You're like an addict on narcotics.
Unlock that box.
Why you choose to be neurotic.
Unlock that box.
You're like an addict on narcotics.
Unlock that box!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lets See Action

Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see freedom, lets see who cares,
Lets see freedom, lets see who cares,
Take me with you when you leave me
Take me with you when you leave me
And my shell behind us there.
And my shell behind us there.
I have learned it, known who burned me,
I have learned it, known who burned me,
Avatar has warmed my feet,
Avatar has warmed my feet,
Take me with you, let me see you,
Take me with you, let me see you,
Time and life can meet.
Time and life can meet.
Nothing is everything, everything is, nothing is,
Nothing is everything, everything is, nothing is,
Please the people, audiences,
Please the people, audiences,
Break the fences,
Break the fences,
Nothing is.
Nothing is.
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see freedom up in the air,
Lets see freedom up in the air,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets be free, lets see who cares.
Lets be free, lets see who cares.
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see freedom up in the air,
Lets see freedom up in the air,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets be free, lets see who cares.
Lets be free, lets see who cares.
Give me a drink boy, wash my feet,
Give me a drink boy, wash my feet,
Im so tired of running from my own heat,
Im so tired of running from my own heat,
Take this package and heres what you do,
Take this package and heres what you do,
Gonna get this information through.
Gonna get this information through.
I dont know where Im going,
I dont know where Im going,

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
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Radio Station: Chico, Irish History Teacher Go Wild

(me)
hello!

(she) hi!

(me)
why you hi me for?

what are you doing?

(she)
i am a history teacher
professor
PH.D of that kind
my university

is a fancy catholic community
at the lake shore.

if you plan to put your kids
our kids
into plan
this the right place.

(me)
hoo! hoo!
irish teacher
are you advertizin on my show?
or are you E.R Vad zin zining trying to
make my show chineeze zin zen type of show?

or you are planning to have
kids
and lead them to your university
with my kids mixed them up
in the same class
of your damn history?
are you killing me?
or are you trying to irish me
with your gloried oiled Professional skills?

sorry woman,
i will give you a 'Z' as a grade
in your own class of latino irish.

because
first your kids
or future kids
wont go to class with my kids

[...] Read more

poem by Atef Ayadi
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Pop Juice

You went there until you crash here
Then woken up to wonder where the night went
Keep breathing it'll come back again
Tonight will be different
We will all be saved
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
So we crashed down in BB's
Keep quiet because the question is elaborate
You need a lawyer, a doctor, a drink
To keep surviving
Keep me firing
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
I don't feel like going out
I don't feel like going out
Feel like going out
I don't feel like going out
I don't feel like going out
Feel like going out
Feel like going out
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?

song performed by Gomez
Added by Lucian Velea
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Marley Purt Drive

Sunday morning, woke up yawning; filled the pool for a swim.
Pulled down the head and looked in the glass just to see if I was in.
Went up the stairs and kissed my women to make her come alive.
'Cause with fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
Fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids ,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
That's how they are, so I grabbed out the car;convertible fifty-nine.
Headed for the freeway; tried to find the Pasadena sign.
Ten miles and three quarters more I wasn't feeling any more alive.
'Cause with fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
Fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
I used to be a minstrel free with a whole lot of bread in my bag.
I used to feel that my life was real, but the good Lord threw me a snag.
Now I'm gonna be the same as me ,no matter how I try.
'Cause with fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
Fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
Turned 'round the car and headed for home; I guess I realized my fate.
Ten miles and three quarters more I pulled up outside the gate.
Twenty more kids were stood inside and that made thirty-five.
'Cause with an orphanage full of thirty-five kids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
An orphanage full of thirty-five kids ,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
Sunday morning woke up yawning; filled the pool for a swim.
Pulled down the glass and looked in the mirror just to see if I was in .
Went up the stairs and kissed my women to make her come alive.
'Cause with an orphanage full of thirty-five kids ,
I got to go for a Sunday

song performed by Bee Gees
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Power Of Prayer

The addict trembled, terrified,
Death stared him in the face
And that poor soul was mesmerised,
Transfixed in that one place,
No will to move, not left or right,
With nowhere inbetween,
A dreadful Twilight Zone in sight,
The like he'd never seen...

The addict gulped, held back his tears,
As Death displayed its form,
As Death's wings stretched behind his ears
And he felt cold not warm...
And then Death laughed with utmost glee,
One victim on its mind,
One victim from this life set free
To leave this world behind...

The addict prayed in Jesus name,
For mercy, peace, joy, love
And Death stood back, not quite the same,
As God began to shove...
The man still prayed, his eyes still closed,
Regardless, unaware
That God defended and opposed
In answer to his prayer...

The addict sensed God intervened,
Somehow new life began,
With Death no more the awesome fiend
Because God had a plan...
Thus Jesus saved the man from Death,
From judgment and from Hell...
God's Son... Jesus of Nazareth!
What stories He could tell...

poem by Denis Martindale
Added by Poetry Lover
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Kids!

Kids!
Hundreds of 'em for the farmer! Kids of an imported brand;
Thousands of 'em for the country! Lo, the man upon the land
Bids
Loud for England's surplus youngster - five whole bob a week, 'tis said;
And their value to the nation stands at many pounds a head.
But the nation never riz 'em.
That 'would tend to Socialism';
So we have to fetch 'em over from the country where they're bred.
Kids!
Send us kids from good old Britain - sons of men who won't be slaves
From the land where countless paupers seek dishonorable graves
Quids!
We're prepared to offer for them. Ship them out across the deep,
From that dear old Freetrade country where the cost of labor's cheap.
While, of our unmarried workers
(Married men are costly shirkers)
We will take a meagre hundred at a pound a week and keep.
Kids?
We can't raise 'em in Australia, where employers by the score
For the bloke without a missus in the labor depôts roar
Bids.
Ship 'em out! The noble farmer yearns to mould their bright young lives.
Ship 'em young that for a dozen years they may not seek for wives.
When they think of getting married
Maybe they'll regret they tarried
Where the kid-encumbered worker vainly for a billet strives.
Kids?
We don't want 'em when they're babies, for their raisin' costs a heap.
We don't want 'em when they're married, with their own young broods to keep.
Skids
And brakes upon the wheels of progress are such futile folk. Just look
At the bob advertisement. You'll see their chance of work is 'crook.'
Ship 'em out in handy sizes
For the cove that advertises
For the unencumbered couple
' Man to milk and wife to cook.'
Kids?
Spare our days! Why should we raise 'em? We can get 'em ready-made
From a land where there's a surplus, thanks to good old BULL's Freetrade.
Quids
It will save the careful farmer. He can give his man the sack
Costly man who owns a missus and a child or two to whack.
Ship 'em out, he's yearnin' for 'em;
While they're young he'll just adore 'em
Then, when they grow up and marry, someone else can ship 'em back.
Ships
Pass in with cheap boy labor - 'badly needed farming hand';
Shps pass out with young Australians seeking work in other lands.
Hips

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
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Bad Education

Rewrite of Bon Jovi's Bad Medicine

No, there they ain't got a fever
Got what seems to be a permanent disease
It'll take more then the school nurse or PTA committee
To prescribe a remedy

They got loads of money
But it isn't what our kids need
Seems all they ever do anymore is get our little ones
Either shot or knocked up by some overeager teacher
Try to cover this song up
But no way am I going away or letting you silence me

I know
Today's kids got all the symptons
Count 'em 1,4,3

Deny it
But we all know
Today it's all about your greed
Not some desperate kid's need
Hiring sexy young thangs
Got our kids falling in love
Cos they're too darn young to know any better
You got the wrong ones in charge and you know it

When it comes to their learning
You only give 'em a little
Never ever enough
Leave them brainless and on their knees
Begging for a chance at a better life
But never finding none
Cause while you were busy looking the other way
Dealer's got 'em hooked on the drugs

Your teachin' ain't nothin' but bad education
Bad education ain't what today's kids need
All shook up and confused
Led astray by your bad education
Tell me
Why don't you even bother
To try and cure this disease

Nowadays our kids are forced to depend on guitar heroes and druggie needles
Just to be gettin' some attention
Just to be gettin' some thrills
They give in to the pills
Cause of your lazy butt work force
They all got a dirty low down addiction

[...] Read more

poem by Ramona Thompson
Added by Poetry Lover
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Slum Kids

Were just slum kids, and we know it,
And we never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
So how dare you criticize,
When you dont know what its like
To be dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
Why do rich kids get all the breaks,
While the poor slum kids have to work, sweat, struggle and slave?
Why, lord, theres so much injustice in this world?
Slum kids never stand a chance.
Look at all the slum kids all around you,
Oh, they never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
Why do rich kids get all the breaks,
While the poor slum kids have to work, sweat, struggle and slave?
Why, lord, theres so much injustice in this world?
Slum kids never stand a chance.
Look at all the slum kids all around you,
Oh, they never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
So how dare you criticize,
When you dont know what its like
To be dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Slum Kids (take 1)

Were just slum kids, and we know it,
And we never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
So how dare you criticize,
When you dont know what its like
To be dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
Why do rich kids get all the breaks,
While the poor slum kids have to work, sweat, struggle and slave?
Why, lord, theres so much injustice in this world?
Slum kids never stand a chance.
Look at all the slum kids all around you,
Oh, they never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
Why do rich kids get all the breaks,
While the poor slum kids have to work, sweat, struggle and slave?
Why, lord, theres so much injustice in this world?
Slum kids never stand a chance.
Look at all the slum kids all around you,
Oh, they never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
So how dare you criticize,
When you dont know what its like
To be dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!