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When you're an actor, actually, you shouldn't come up with too many ideas.

quote by Jean-Louis Trintignant
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ideas For Walls

So many things in my head, Ive always had them before
No reason to be upset, theyre just ideas for walls
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing, demanding that the nightlife be called the right life
Like putting paint on my feet & walking sideways in rows
My walls could be so complete, complete with patterns of toes
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing the left side, right side, which is the right side
Now-ideas
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
A little m for the mirror, a double u for the wall
To make things perfectly clear, a great big h in the hall
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing, demanding that the nightlife be called the right life
Is everybody confused? (no) Im making no sense at all
You want a room with a view you need ideas for walls
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing inside, outside, outside, right side
Inside, outside, which is the right side
Now -- ideas
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas
Theyre just ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls

song performed by Men Without Hats
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Thoughts and ideas - (Talking through my hat)

Break and husk
thoughts and ideas that,
without reason,
I smashing them like nuts
into my head – mortar with pig iron pestle.

Lay and hatch
thoughts and ideas,
and younglings,
instead of fly,
I keep them under latch
in my head – cage of neurons,
dendrites and axons.

Knead and raise
thoughts and ideas
but let me tempted,
and without reason,
instead of bake them, I play
“of thieves and bobbies”
with bullets of dough
shot from my head – automatic gun.

Pull kernels out of
thoughts and ideas
but I put not them to spring
and hundredfold harvest to bring,
I chain them necklace
that my poor mind
who walks nomad
through my head – ballad
to put it neck
in a night with moon
and than to catch
in a fairies dance
and hungry of blue
to soar in the stars.

***

Thoughts and ideas
are shrieking through my mind
as lost migratory birds
in an autumn of rains.
Thoughts and ideas
- arrow-shaped cranes with wet wings -
fall all at once
in my head – moorland
of thistle and mud.

[...] Read more

poem by Viorel Petru Trifan
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A Map Of Culture

Culture

Contents

What is Culture?

The Importance of Culture

Culture Varies

Culture is Critical

The Sociobiology Debate

Values, Norms, and Social Control

Signs and Symbols

Language

Terms and Definitions

Approaches to the Study of Culture

Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?

What is Culture?

I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .

Back to Contents

[...] Read more

poem by Nyein Way
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Actor Of Love

Hold on
I have found something I longing for
To fill the hollowness of my heart
But why I'm feeling more of sorrow

Before
I am the one who said: 'Oh, I'll control'
But now I realize you are my world
And it's waiting to break apart

I'm an actor of love
I'm trying to perfect
But I'm just fooling around

I'm an actor of love
I want to be your hero
But I've made myself a clown

I'm an actor of love
I need you by my side
But now you leave me alone

I'm an actor of love
I beg your forgiveness
But you refuse me so cold

Sometimes
We wonder why we should be together
Do we really dream of love forever?
Or we afraid to be alone

I'm an actor of love
I want to protect you
But I always hurt you bad

I'm an actor of love
I want to be your shield
But may turn someone you hate

I'm an actor of love
We kiss in the morning
But in night we have a war

I'm an actor of love
We care for each other
But we only circle round

If this love only makes me crazy
Take the story and just let it be
Tragedy or comedy

[...] Read more

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Reverse Reality

when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision

poem by Nyein Way
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An Abc Of Inner Peace

inner peace: a to z (© Raj Arumugam, September 2008)

Inner peace is effortless, as it’s always there within.
One just has to see it.

And once one truly sees this inner peace – not with words or just
intellectually, but actually see this inner peace within – it is one’s, always;
no one takes away that…

Nothing and no evil and no violent force or even the most difficult
of circumstances in one’s life can remove that inner peace that one
sees within; but let one see this not as a word, or as a phrase
but as an actuality.

Feel that peace, see that inner peace and let it radiate always – for it is
the harmony within each and it is always one’s own.

A


Let amity be your constant companion….Be at peace with all beings, equally at peace with those near and those far, and thus walk hand in hand with amity as in a bounteous garden…





B


Be mindful of your blessings always…To be alive, to breathe in fresh air;
and to be with the family and the companionship of good fellow-human
beings; and the kindness of strangers; and the creatures of this world
and the flowers that bloom, and to have a place in this marvelous planet
of ours….all these too are blessings….

There is a life of the body in the domain of the physical, and
the legitimate needs of the body are just as important as
one’s inner needs…

[...] Read more

poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Problem of the Idea

The Philosopher:

'The Problem of the 21st century
is the problem of the Origins of the Idea.'

The Idea has driven much
of human history-
a major motivator
many taken together are
Articulators;
Ideas compose all Human Dreams.

But ask what is this Idea
and silence ensues;
ask where is it
in the human mind
and we'll get charts of its activity centers
but nothing about what it is
or where it comes from.

The Scientist:

Well, we don't have to know what a thing is
to utilize it.
We can identify behaviors and integrate
them-
harness them to purpose.

Philosopher:

Sure like the Atomic Bomb. It was built because
we could integrate various disciplines
and make things go bang
without thinking of Consequence.
technical Ideas-too have consequences.

Scientist:

So you would hold up all human progress
until the over-arching Idea comes along
before we act?

Philosopher:
Ah, but note that progress that destroys
the planet is not
progress at all
but only a blind mistake;
one I might add,
that did not have
an Idea or Clue

[...] Read more

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Soccer Under 20

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soccer teams in arizona
soccer teams in argentina and chile
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soccer teams in concord mass
soccer teams in dundee il

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Stalk Of Wheat

I went for a walk on a stalk, on a stalk of wheat
And it felt like a trillion feet
I was looking for a friend at the end, at the end of the line
And it took me till the end of time
I was all out of luck like a duck, like a duck that died
I was all out of juice like a moose, like a moose denied
I was all out of money like a bunny that's broke
I was all out of work like a jerk who's a joke
And I was out of ideas, like I is, like I is,
Like I is, like I is, I was out of ideas...of ideas
I once had a dream of a gleam, of a gleam in my eye
And I'll have it till the day I die
I had a thought bubble of trouble, of trouble and strife
And I'll have it for the rest of my life
I was all out of luck like a duck, like a duck that died
I was all out of juice like a moose, like a moose denied
I was all out of money like a bunny that's broke
I was all out of work like a jerk who's a joke
And I was out of ideas like I is, like I is,
Like I is, like I is, I was out of ideas...of ideas...of ideas...of ideas

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Behind the Scenes

The actor struts his little hour,
Between the limelight and the band;
The public feel the actor's power,
Yet nothing do they understand
Of all the touches here and there
That make or mar the actor's part,
They never see, beneath the glare,
The artist striving after art.
To them it seems a labour slight
Where nought of study intervenes;
You see it in another light
When once you've been behind the scenes.

For though the actor at his best
Is, like a poet, born not made,
He still must study with a zest
And practise hard to learn his trade.
So, whether on the actor's form
The stately robes of Hamlet sit,
Or as Macbeth he rave and storm,
Or plays burlesque to please the pit,

'Tis each and all a work of art,
That constant care and practice means --
The actor who creates a part
Has done his work behind the scenes.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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You Might Actually Care

So many times my heart leans over
Psst David, look, she's pretty, she's nice, she could be your lover
So many times Heart tells me how great she is
Heart prods me: 'Hey what if that your first kiss '
Heart says: 'You've only seen this side of her but she's actually like this'
Heart says: 'This isn't your idea of her this is her' what hypnosis
Heart says: 'She thinks you're worth it '
Heart says: 'She's wants romance, she wants you, you're a perfect fit'
Heart prods me: 'Wouldn't it be wonderful if...'
Heart says: 'Hey she actually cares, don't wait take the risk '
Heart says: 'Hey come this is your chance, she's like your serif'
Heart says: 'You want her, no you need her, like dawn needs dusk.'
Heart says: 'Don't suppress your feelings you were made for it'

Deceit... could this be deceit... Heart are you my friend?

Because of this, no hopefully in spite of this I think you care
I think that maybe I could say this love, maybe it's love... do I dare?
I think you might actually truly value me
Maybe you don't know to say 'you're worth it' but I hope you think that
I sincerely hope if I love you it's for you, not the you I see
I want to love you for who you really are, I want to love you at
Every single, breathing moment of my life, if I say I love you
It means I want to spend my entire life with you, I really do
So now you see why I can't just walk up and say how I feel
I'm not sure if my heart will ever heal
It's destroyed by lust, deceived by Heart... I don't want to offer you that
No you deserve better, but what if you actually care... I dunno if I was at
Even though I want you to have someone better I can't help it
I love you or so I think, I wish I could take a hit
For you and just not pursue so that someone worthy might find you
I'm sorry for my selfishness too

But maybe you don't care... maybe you'd only accept another
I don't want to fall in love with an idea of you
But maybe you could actually love me
Maybe you return my feelings and because maybe you're the first one
Who actually cares. Or maybe Heart has won
Again... do you actually care? Can I say that I love you?
Or could I let you go?

poem by David Knox
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The Power of Ideas

The power of ideas are immeasurable
They are the hidden treasures which lies
Deep within each and everyone of us
When we take the time to mind them we will find
That they are more precious than diamonds

Ideas which may seem insignificant
Has tremendous power within them
They are the genesis the initiation the foundation
Of all invention and everything which
Is created by humankind

The power of ideas are immeasurable
They have got the power to move mountains
To overcome any obstacle and to make
The seemingly impossible possible

Ideas are the levers which moves and the axis
On which the world revolves
The power of ideas are immeasurable
The power of ideas...

poem by Anthony Shurland Phillander
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Thick At that! ...And Glossy!

How much admitted,
Actually exists?
If you talk about someone
In a negative light,
What makes that which is expressed,
Alright to dance on gossip licked lips?
Thick
At that...
And glossy!

How much admitted,
Actually exists?
We know of no one's true feelings,
But our own.
No conflicts inflicted will be felt,
With a depthness known,
No one knows...
Who's in bed with who,
And who is left alone.

But there is no stopping,
Having a fling or two
With someone new.
Who knows what to do,
With a stiffened bone!
How much admitted,
Actually exists?
How much has been changed
To arrange point of views,
By those who discreetly
Do what they do!

How much admitted,
Actually exists...?
Has driven misfits
To even more exposure.
And Rod Sterling has passed...
To worlds beyond Twilight Zones.
And he was very comfortable,
With discussing 'possibilities'!

If it is worthy to admit
Situations believed to be unfit...
One must sit and evaluate,
Being in someone's business not theirs...
How much actually exists?
And whoever committed an admission...
Please admit it!
So we can move 'that hell',
Away from here and us.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Essay on Psychiatrists

I. Invocation

It‘s crazy to think one could describe them—
Calling on reason, fantasy, memory, eves and ears—
As though they were all alike any more

Than sweeps, opticians, poets or masseurs.
Moreover, they are for more than one reason
Difficult to speak of seriously and freely,

And I have never (even this is difficult to say
Plainly, without foolishness or irony)
Consulted one for professional help, though it happens

Many or most of my friends have—and that,
Perhaps, is why it seems urgent to try to speak
Sensibly about them, about the psychiatrists.

II. Some Terms

“Shrink” is a misnomer. The religious
Analogy is all wrong, too, and the old,
Half-forgotten jokes about Viennese accents

And beards hardly apply to the good-looking woman
In boots and a knit dress, or the man
Seen buying the Sunday Times in mutton-chop

Whiskers and expensive running shoes.
In a way I suspect that even the terms “doctor”
And “therapist” are misnomers; the patient

Is not necessarily “sick.” And one assumes
That no small part of the psychiatrist’s
Role is just that: to point out misnomers.

III. Proposition

These are the first citizens of contingency.
Far from the doctrinaire past of the old ones,
They think in their prudent meditations

Not about ecstasy (the soul leaving the body)
Nor enthusiasm (the god entering one’s person)
Nor even about sanity (which means

Health, an impossible perfection)
But ponder instead relative truth and the warm

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Pinsky
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These are ideas. I could say that they just came to me, but it would be more accurate to say that I went to them. Ideas - and new connections between ideas - lead you away from commonly held perceptions of reality. Ideas lead you out here. Ideas lead you into the darkness.

quote by Dave Sim
Added by Lucian Velea
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Being A Poet

I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.

Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.

At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.

If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.

There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.

I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.

Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.

In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.

With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.

Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!

poem by Angela Wybrow
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400th Mark

Completion of 400th poem was not great feat or mark
Many new ideas flashed in mind and worked as spark
Raising voice at roof top doesn’t make it worth while
No one will share ideas or walk with you for a mile

Over year and half ago I was virtually nothing
Only vague ideas of verses to translate as something
There was hidden fear that readers may reject
Still presentation of new ideas was only object

Nature was appealing when I went round
Something new was in offing and always found
Bird’s sweet voice and cool breeze were appealing
Mind was set up on it with earnest effort for revealing

It was so difficult to go in for poetic words
Sought the strength and blessings from the lord
World at large seemed so big and enterprising
Nothing could stop me from little writing

“Go to hell” or “never dare to call again”
Funny comments with abusive words main
I detested the weapon with its sharp edge
My be I lacked enough skill or knowledge

Many offered me with their kind comments
Advised to stand fast and not to lament
How can I be ungrateful to their advices?
I had to offer gratitude and only promises

Some one commented I was killing poems
Had no teeth, wisdom and lacked rhythms
I sincerely thanked them to improve upon
To write simple poems and simply carry on

New people, thoughts with old or new readers
They were by no means less than leaders
I was novice and had to act as learners
To gain and part with is the reality for beginners

I have followed simple theme and plot
It may not be up to mark or falling short
I may try to uphold values and ideas defend
Will not stoop so below to alienate or offend

How poetry does impresses up on mind?
What type of lessons or new things we find?
Poetry, I thought is the holiest approach among all
I enjoy its fruit when sit back and recall

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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How Many Ideas Have You Stole

How many have you stole,
From an idol you say that you like.
How many have you stole,
Chosen ideas to re-write!
And...
How many have you stole,
And how many of them have you sold.
With a knowing to be never told.

Just how many ideas have you stole.
From an idol you say that you like.
How many have you stole,
Chosen ideas to re-write!
And...
How many have you stole,
And how many of them have you sold.
With a knowing to be never told.

'Who knows. Who knows? '
Just how many ideas have you stole.
'Who knows. Who knows? '
Just how many ideas have you stole.
'Who knows. Who knows? '
And how many of them have you sold.
With a knowing to be never told.
Does your idol know about those?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Social Netowrking Of Robots

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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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