No one asked me to be an actor, so no one owed me. There was no entitlement.
quote by James Earl Jones
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The Passion
If they only owned love, shown love, grown love, like this before
If they only knew love, true love, to love, like this before
If they only gave love, saved love, brave love, like this before
If they only called love, love love, called love, like this before
If theyd only showed love, they owed love, owed love, like this before
If they only showed love, they owed love, owed love, like this before
If they only knew love, true love, to love, like this before
If they only gave love, saved love, brave love, like this before
If they only showed love, they owed love, they owed love, like this before
La la la la la, la la la la, la la la la la, La la la la la...
Like this before
If they ever showed love, they owed love, they owed love, they owed love
If they ever showed love, they owed love, they owed love, like this before
Oh, oh, oh, oh, yeah
La la la la la, la la la la, la la la la la, la la la la...
If they only claimed love, claimed love, claimed love
They maintened love
Instead they drained love, stained love
They didnt control love, my soul loves a whole love, like this before
Received the same love
If they didnt regret love, forget love, say they never met love
If they will love, dont kill love, just be still love (x4)
song performed by Lauryn Hill
Added by Lucian Velea
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No One That Is Living Has A Quality Owed
No one that is living,
Has a quality owed.
No one that is giving,
Has a quality owed.
No one who is wishing,
Has a quality owed...
With nothing less,
Than solid gold.
With expectations,
Another holds...
Delivered and quick to give.
No one is living,
To demand and get.
No one is living,
Just to benefit.
No one is living...
Just to sit!
And to get.
No one that is living,
Has a quality owed.
No one that is giving,
Has a quality owed.
No one who is wishing,
Has a quality owed...
With nothing less,
Than solid gold.
With expectations,
Another holds...
Delivered and quick to give.
No one is living,
To demand and to get.
No one is living,
Just to benefit.
No one is living,
Just to sit and sit.
No matter what it is...
To receive without a risk.
And if they don't,
They throw a fit.
No one is living,
To demand and to get.
No one is living,
Just to benefit.
No one is living,
Just to sit and sit.
No matter what it is...
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Narcissism Is A Sickness
Narcissistic are those sick,
Who seek a power that they get.
To then believe they are above all others,
Doing as they wish.
Narcissistic are those sick,
With self interests they see fit.
And no matter who they use,
They don't see themselves as being fools.
Narcissistic are those sick,
But they think they have a gift.
Until exposed it shows them weak,
With temptations pleased in kept secret.
Narcissism is a sickness.
But those with egos don't see it.
They see themselves as gifts.
With a doing as is wished.
Narcissism is a sickness.
But those with egos don't see it.
They see themselves as someone's gift.
To get and please whatever is wished.
Sex and entitlement.
To get and please whatever is wished.
Sex and entitlement.
Narcissism is a sickness,
With a doing as is wished.
Sex and entitlement.
To get and please whatever is wished.
Sex and entitlement.
Narcissism is a sickness,
With a doing as is wished.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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How Many Times Have You Asked Yourself
Finally...
You reach home.
Believing you are sheltered.
And will get deserving rest!
Then suddenly the phone rings.
To leave you wondering,
If the caller is someone you should address.
And with unanswered questions,
You unleash from your mind...
What should be done next!
You want to know...
How many times,
Have you...
Asked yourself,
How many times...
You've asked yourself,
How could you find...
Yourself in the middle of somebody else's mess!
How many times,
Have you...
Asked yourself,
How many times...
You've asked yourself,
How could you find...
Yourself in the middle of somebody else's mess!
When you have issues you have not yet to address.
How many times,
Have you...
Asked yourself,
How many times...
You've asked yourself,
How could you find...
Yourself in the middle of somebody else's mess!
Relax?
You can't!
A tension is enhanced.
The phone keeps ringing to erase the chance.
And...
How many times,
Have you...
Asked yourself,
How many times...
You've asked yourself,
How could you find...
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lonely Road
Too much time thinking about all of my mistakes
My heart, my mind, my soul, my body ache
A hunger for, the loving arms of your embrace
I walk along the lonely road
I walk along the lonely road
My back is strong, girl
I carry the load
All the grinding time I pay the debt that's owed
I walk along the lonely road
Too much time thinking about everything that went wrong
I cry my eyes out every time I hear your song
I hope this path brings me back where I belong
I walk along the lonely road
I walk along the lonely road
My back is strong, girl
I carry the load
All the grinding time I pay the debt that's owed
I walk along the lonely road
Too much pride, for me to up and take the blame
Weep inside girl it's killing me with pain
Every night, I sleep I call your name
I walk along the lonely road
I walk along the lonely road
My back is strong girl
I carry the load
All the grinding time I pay the debt that's owed
I walk along the lonely road
I walk along the lonely road
My back is strong girl
I carry the load
All the grinding time I pay the debt that's owed
I walk along the lonely road
I walk along the lonely road
I walk along the lonely road
song performed by Everlast
Added by Lucian Velea
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Change
The other day I walked accross the street
i couldnt believe what I appeared to see...
as I looked at a poor boy who came to me
I asked him his name and he didnt know
he just asked me for change.
I asked where is your mum?
he just asked me for change
I asked where is your dad?
he just asked me for change
I asked will someone come?
he just asked me for change
I asked why are you sad?
with no response to my question there was a pause...
but then once again he asked me for change
see, as i watched him dissapear with his pain
I realised that he actualy asked me...
for a change.
poem by Daniel McCann
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Gareth And Lynette
The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent,
And tallest, Gareth, in a showerful spring
Stared at the spate. A slender-shafted Pine
Lost footing, fell, and so was whirled away.
'How he went down,' said Gareth, 'as a false knight
Or evil king before my lance if lance
Were mine to use--O senseless cataract,
Bearing all down in thy precipitancy--
And yet thou art but swollen with cold snows
And mine is living blood: thou dost His will,
The Maker's, and not knowest, and I that know,
Have strength and wit, in my good mother's hall
Linger with vacillating obedience,
Prisoned, and kept and coaxed and whistled to--
Since the good mother holds me still a child!
Good mother is bad mother unto me!
A worse were better; yet no worse would I.
Heaven yield her for it, but in me put force
To weary her ears with one continuous prayer,
Until she let me fly discaged to sweep
In ever-highering eagle-circles up
To the great Sun of Glory, and thence swoop
Down upon all things base, and dash them dead,
A knight of Arthur, working out his will,
To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, when he came
With Modred hither in the summertime,
Asked me to tilt with him, the proven knight.
Modred for want of worthier was the judge.
Then I so shook him in the saddle, he said,
"Thou hast half prevailed against me," said so--he--
Though Modred biting his thin lips was mute,
For he is alway sullen: what care I?'
And Gareth went, and hovering round her chair
Asked, 'Mother, though ye count me still the child,
Sweet mother, do ye love the child?' She laughed,
'Thou art but a wild-goose to question it.'
'Then, mother, an ye love the child,' he said,
'Being a goose and rather tame than wild,
Hear the child's story.' 'Yea, my well-beloved,
An 'twere but of the goose and golden eggs.'
And Gareth answered her with kindling eyes,
'Nay, nay, good mother, but this egg of mine
Was finer gold than any goose can lay;
For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid
Almost beyond eye-reach, on such a palm
As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours.
And there was ever haunting round the palm
A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Experience Is God
I asked, ‘What comes with birth? '
Born and see, God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is said to be education? '
Study and see God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is knowledge? '
Know and see God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is kindness? '
Be kind and shower, God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is love? '
Share with others, God ordered!
I asked, ‘What pleasure do you get from wife? '
Marry and experience, God ordered!
I asked, ‘Who is child to you? '
Get a child for you, God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is old age? '
Become old and observe God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is poverty? '
Toil and see God ordered!
I asked, ‘What happens after death? '
Die and see God ordered!
If anyone wants to know what is life,
And he has to experience and know,
Then why are you, GOD?
GOD said, ‘O' poor man,
The experience itself is ME!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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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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Pickthorn Manor
I
How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day!
A steely silver, underlined with blue,
And flashing where the round clouds, blown away,
Let drop the yellow sunshine to gleam through
And tip the edges of the waves with shifts
And spots of whitest fire, hard like gems
Cut from the midnight moon they were, and sharp
As wind through leafless stems.
The Lady Eunice walked between the drifts
Of blooming cherry-trees, and watched the rifts
Of clouds drawn through the river's azure warp.
II
Her little feet tapped softly down the path.
Her soul was listless; even the morning breeze
Fluttering the trees and strewing a light swath
Of fallen petals on the grass, could please
Her not at all. She brushed a hair aside
With a swift move, and a half-angry frown.
She stopped to pull a daffodil or two,
And held them to her gown
To test the colours; put them at her side,
Then at her breast, then loosened them and tried
Some new arrangement, but it would not do.
III
A lady in a Manor-house, alone,
Whose husband is in Flanders with the Duke
Of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, she's grown
Too apathetic even to rebuke
Her idleness. What is she on this Earth?
No woman surely, since she neither can
Be wed nor single, must not let her mind
Build thoughts upon a man
Except for hers. Indeed that were no dearth
Were her Lord here, for well she knew his worth,
And when she thought of him her eyes were kind.
IV
Too lately wed to have forgot the wooing.
Too unaccustomed as a bride to feel
Other than strange delight at her wife's doing.
Even at the thought a gentle blush would steal
Over her face, and then her lips would frame
Some little word of loving, and her eyes
[...] Read more
poem by Amy Lowell
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Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter V
Griselda's madness lasted forty days,
Forty eternities! Men went their ways,
And suns arose and set, and women smiled,
And tongues wagged lightly in impeachment wild
Of Lady L.'s adventure. She was gone,
None knew by whom escorted or alone,
Or why or whither, only that one morning,
Without pretext, or subterfuge, or warning,
She had disappeared in silence from L. House,
Leaving her lord in multitudinous
And agonised conjecture of her fate:
So the tale went. And truly less sedate
Than his wont was in intricate affairs,
Such as his Garter or his lack of heirs,
Lord L. was seen in this new tribulation.
Griselda long had been his life's equation,
The pivot of his dealings with the world,
The mainstay of his comfort, all now hurled
To unforeseen confusion by her flight:
There was need of action swift and definite.
Where was she? Who could tell him? Divers visions
Passed through his fancy--thieves, and street collisions,
And all the hundred accidents of towns,
From broken axle trees to broken crowns.
In vain he questioned; no response was made
More than the fact that, as already said,
My lady, unattended and on foot,
(A sad imprudence here Lord L. took note),
Had gone out dressed in a black morning gown
And dark tweed waterproof, 'twixt twelve and one,
Leaving no orders to her maid, or plan
About her carriage to or groom or man.
Such was in sum the downstairs' evidence.
The hall porter, a man of ponderous sense,
Averred her ladyship had eastward turned
From the front door, and some small credit earned
For the suggestion that her steps were bent
To Whitechapel on merciful intent,
A visit of compassion to the poor,
A clue which led to a commissioner
Being sent for in hot haste from Scotland Yard.
And so the news was bruited abroad.
It reached my ears among the earliest,
And from Lord L. himself, whose long suppressed
Emotion found its vent one afternoon
On me, the only listener left in town.
His thoughts now ran on ``a religious craze
Of his poor wife's,'' he said, ``in these last days
Indulged beyond all reason.'' The police
[...] Read more
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. John (Chapter 6)
When Jesus went across the Sea
Of Galilee, a crowd followed;
They saw His miracles on sick;
He ascended the mountain-slope
And sat down with His disciples;
The Feast of Passover was near.
Then Jesus saw a large crowd come;
He asked Philip, ‘Where to buy food? ’
He asked this just to test Philip.
He knew what He’as going to do.
Then Philip replied, ‘Two hundred
Days’ wages worth food wouldn’t suffice.’
Andrew told Jesus, ‘There’s a boy
With barley loaves five and fish two.
It wouldn’t do well for such a crowd.’
Then Jesus told the crowd to rest.
Five thousand people sat on grass.
Then Jesus took the loaves, gave thanks
And had it shared along with fish.
When all had eaten indeed well,
Jesus told, ‘Gather all fragments.’
It was twelve wicker basketsful.
When people saw the miracle,
They accepted Jesus, Prophet-
The one who had come to the world!
They wanted to make Him the king.
So, Jesus withdrew to mountain.
When evening came, they went by boat,
Across the sea to Capernaum.
While traveling, it turned quite dark;
The sea was rough with fierce a wind.
When they had gone three miles off-shore,
They saw Jesus come walk on sea
Towards the boat, and grew afraid.
But Jesus said, ‘It’s I, Don’t fear! ’
They thought Jesus would come aboard;
But suddenly, the boat reached shore!
They realized the next day that
The disciples had come by boat
But Jesus did not come by same!
From Tiberias, other boats came.
As Jesus had not arrived still,
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Matthew (Chapter 26)
Then Jesus told His disciples,
‘’Twill be Pass-ov’r in two days’ time;
The Son of Man will handed be
Over to them who crucify! ’
So, chief priests and all elders there
Assembled in Caiaphas’ palace.
They consulted with the high priest
On how to arrest Jesus by
Treachery and put Him to death.
They decided not to do so,
During the festival-time as
A riot, people could then cause.
In Bethany, while Jesus was
Within Simon, the leper’s house,
There came a woman with a jar
Of costly, perfumed oil and poured
It on his head while he reclined.
His disciples grew indignant
And asked, ‘Why waste such costly oil?
The money could have been given
Better to poor as charity! ’
As Jesus knew this, He told them,
‘Don’t you trouble the woman as,
A good thing for me, done, she has! ’
‘The poor can always have you but
You’ll not have me with you always.
By pouring oil on my body,
She prepared it for burial! ’
‘Amen, amen, I say to you,
Wherever this gospel is proclaimed
On earth, her act will be retold,
And lauded in her memory.’
Then one amongst the Twelve, Judas
Iscariot went to the chief priests
And asked, ‘What will you give to me,
If I hand him over to you? ’
They paid him thirty silver coins.
From that time onwards, he looked for
A chance to hand Jesus over.
When on the first day of the Feast
Of Unleavened Bread, disciples
Asked, ‘Where do you want us to prepare
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
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Look, of course people are scared of entitlement reform because every time you put entitlement reform out there, the other party uses it as a political weapon against you.
quote by Paul Ryan
Added by Lucian Velea
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We as Republicans understand that we have got to protect these... entitlement programs - these entitlement programs for our seniors today. And we have to sit down and have a discussion. We need more ideas on the table.
quote by Eric Cantor
Added by Lucian Velea
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Entitlement
Insidious injurious
Expensive Entitlement
Burden on citizen.
Also entitlement
Exaggerate
Unnecessary gap.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Setting Stages
There is only one explanation,
That reveals the setting stages of today's insanity.
Vanity, greed and the feeding fed of feelings,
To achieve superiority.
And a right to defend what one pleases,
To describe as an entitlement.
There is no escaping from minds intensed,
With an intent to be seen better than others.
No matter who suffers unjust and undeserving atrocities.
And deluded with beliefs humanity is dispensable,
To anyone capable of possessing 'bling'.
As if obsessed to play the role of God.
There is only one explanation,
That reveals the setting stages of today's insanity.
Vanity, greed and the feeding fed of feelings,
To achieve superiority.
And a right to defend what one pleases,
To describe as an entitlement.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sixth Book
THE English have a scornful insular way
Of calling the French light. The levity
Is in the judgment only, which yet stands;
For say a foolish thing but oft enough,
(And here's the secret of a hundred creeds,–
Men get opinions as boys learn to spell,
By re-iteration chiefly) the same thing
Shall pass at least for absolutely wise,
And not with fools exclusively. And so,
We say the French are light, as if we said
The cat mews, or the milch-cow gives us milk:
Say rather, cats are milked, and milch cows mew,
For what is lightness but inconsequence,
Vague fluctuation 'twixt effect and cause,
Compelled by neither? Is a bullet light,
That dashes from the gun-mouth, while the eye
Winks, and the heart beats one, to flatten itself
To a wafer on the white speck on a wall
A hundred paces off? Even so direct,
So sternly undivertible of aim,
Is this French people.
All idealists
Too absolute and earnest, with them all
The idea of a knife cuts real flesh;
And still, devouring the safe interval
Which Nature placed between the thought and act,
They threaten conflagration to the world
And rush with most unscrupulous logic on
Impossible practice. Set your orators
To blow upon them with loud windy mouths
Through watchword phrases, jest or sentiment,
Which drive our burley brutal English mobs
Like so much chaff, whichever way they blow,–
This light French people will not thus be driven.
They turn indeed; but then they turn upon
Some central pivot of their thought and choice,
And veer out by the force of holding fast.
–That's hard to understand, for Englishmen
Unused to abstract questions, and untrained
To trace the involutions, valve by valve,
In each orbed bulb-root of a general truth,
And mark what subtly fine integument
Divides opposed compartments. Freedom's self
Comes concrete to us, to be understood,
Fixed in a feudal form incarnately
To suit our ways of thought and reverence,
The special form, with us, being still the thing.
With us, I say, though I'm of Italy
My mother's birth and grave, by father's grave
And memory; let it be,–a poet's heart
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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