Authority without wisdom is like a heavy axe without an edge.
American proverbs
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Authority Song
They like to get you in a compromising position
They like to get you there and smille in your face
They think, theyre so cute when they got you in that condition
Well I think, its a total disgrace
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
So I call up my preacher
I say: gimme strenght for round 5
He said: you dont need no strength, you need to grow up, son
I said: growing up leads to growing old and then to dying,
And dying to me dont sound like all that much fun
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
Oh no
Oh no
I fight authority, authority always wins
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
song performed by John Mellencamp
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Edge Of A Broken Heart
And there I stood, just like a soldier
I was tough, until I saw her
I said hello, but she just turned away
Hey romeo, whatcha doin with my girl,
Who are you using now, well I turn and walk away (turn and walk away)
Im gonna please her, now you can believe it
Ill be there to catch her when she falls
Oooo, here I am (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im a man (on the edge of a broken heart)
Here we stand (on the edge of a broken heart)
So run if you can cause you know
Im a man on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the outside, looking inside
Youre with him, whos on the wrong side now
Do you still think of me
Ive tried to call, but no one answers
Two silhouettes, a private dancer
Lights go dim, as the music starts to fade, away (turn and walk away)
Im the one who needs you, now you can believe it
Ill be there to catch you when you fall
Ooo you better believe Im the man (on the edge of a broken heart)
Here I am (on the edge of a broken heart)
And we stand (on the edge of a broken heart)
So run if you can cause you know
Im a man on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Solo
Ooohh
And when I hold out my hands Ill be reaching for you
I give it all that Ive got, thats all I can do
When youre waiting for love
Ill be waiting for you (on the edge of a broken heart)
Only for you (on the edge of a broken heart)
Oh baby for you (on the edge of a broken heart)
So run if you can, you know
Im a man on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the edge (of a broken, broken, broken broken, broken, broken, broken)
song performed by Bon Jovi
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The Midnight Axe
I.
The red day sank as the Sergeant rode
Through the woods grown dim and brown,
One farewell flush on his carbine glowed,
And the veil of the dusk drew down.
No sound of life save the hoof-beats broke
The hush of the lonely place,
Or the short, sharp words that the Sergeant spoke
When his good horse slackened pace,
Or hungrily caught at the ti-tree shoots,
Or in tangled brushwood tripped
Faltered amid disrupted roots,
Or on porphyry outcrop slipped.
The woods closed in; through the vaulted dark
No ray of starlight shone,
But still o'er the crashing litter of bark
Trooper and steed tore on.
Night in the bush, and the bearings lost;
But the Sergeant took no heed,
For Fate that morn his will had crossed,
And his wrath was hot indeed.
The captured prey that his hands had gripped
Ere the dawn in his lone bush lair
The bonds from his pinioned wrists had slipped,
And was gone he knew not where.
Therefore the wrath of Sergeant Hume
Burned fiercely as on he fared,
And whither he rode through the perilous gloom
He neither knew nor cared,
But still, as the dense brush checked the pace,
Would drive the sharp spurs in,
Though the pendent parasites smote his face,
Or caught him beneath the chin.
The woodland dipped, or upward bent,
But he recked not of hollow or hill,
Till right on the brink of a sheer descent
His trembling horse stood still.
And when, in despite of word and oath,
He swerved from the darksome edge,
The unconscious man, dismounting loth,
Set foot on a yielding ledge.
[...] Read more
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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Standing On The Edge
In the middle of the night
I had a vision
It was bigger than life
Standing on the edge of my bed
She said come here, dont be afraid
Her tongue opened like a shot
Oh bang bang
Ten feet tall, laser eyes
Killer body, killer thighs
She drew me a fine line
Whats wrong whats right
I didnt know what to think
She seemed to know what to drink
I was stunned by her gun
Couldnt walk, couldnt run
Well she drew me a picture
And it seemed so true
Standing on the edge
And watching my life flash by
Standing on the edge
Shes lookin right through my eyes
Love is passin by
Right before my eyes
And Im wondering why
Whats the reason
That Im standing on the edge
Standing on the edge
Standing on the edge
Right here in my face
I had a vision
That was bigger than life
Oh connie likes nighttime, every night
Connie likes candy, every bite
All day sucker, connie might
Swallow that thing cause she does it right
Im weak in the knees
Im beggin you please
Just ask for more
She just wants affection
My soldiers at attention
No I dont know
Why youre doin this to me
Standing on the edge
And watching my life flash by
Standing on the edge
Shes lookin right through my eyes
Love is passin by
Right before my eyes
And Im wondering why
Whats the reason
[...] Read more
song performed by Cheap Trick
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Song Of The Broad-Axe
WEAPON, shapely, naked, wan!
Head from the mother's bowels drawn!
Wooded flesh and metal bone! limb only one, and lip only one!
Gray-blue leaf by red-heat grown! helve produced from a little seed
sown!
Resting the grass amid and upon,
To be lean'd, and to lean on.
Strong shapes, and attributes of strong shapes--masculine trades,
sights and sounds;
Long varied train of an emblem, dabs of music;
Fingers of the organist skipping staccato over the keys of the great
organ.
Welcome are all earth's lands, each for its kind; 10
Welcome are lands of pine and oak;
Welcome are lands of the lemon and fig;
Welcome are lands of gold;
Welcome are lands of wheat and maize--welcome those of the grape;
Welcome are lands of sugar and rice;
Welcome the cotton-lands--welcome those of the white potato and sweet
potato;
Welcome are mountains, flats, sands, forests, prairies;
Welcome the rich borders of rivers, table-lands, openings;
Welcome the measureless grazing-lands--welcome the teeming soil of
orchards, flax, honey, hemp;
Welcome just as much the other more hard-faced lands; 20
Lands rich as lands of gold, or wheat and fruit lands;
Lands of mines, lands of the manly and rugged ores;
Lands of coal, copper, lead, tin, zinc;
LANDS OF IRON! lands of the make of the axe!
The log at the wood-pile, the axe supported by it;
The sylvan hut, the vine over the doorway, the space clear'd for a
garden,
The irregular tapping of rain down on the leaves, after the storm is
lull'd,
The wailing and moaning at intervals, the thought of the sea,
The thought of ships struck in the storm, and put on their beam ends,
and the cutting away of masts;
The sentiment of the huge timbers of old-fashion'd houses and
barns; 30
The remember'd print or narrative, the voyage at a venture of men,
families, goods,
The disembarkation, the founding of a new city,
The voyage of those who sought a New England and found it--the outset
anywhere,
The settlements of the Arkansas, Colorado, Ottawa, Willamette,
[...] Read more
poem by Walt Whitman
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The Razors Edge
(razors edge)
(razors)
Theres fighting on the left
And marching on the right
Dont look up in the sky
Youre gonna die of fright
Here comes the razors edge
Youre living on the edge
Dont know wrong from right
Theyre breathing down your neck
Youre running out of lives
And here comes the razors edge
Here comes the razors edge
The razors edge
Razors edge, to raise the dead
Razors edge, to cut to shreds
To raise the dead
Here comes the razors edge
Here comes the razors edge
Well here it comes to cut to shreds
The razors edge
The razors edge [its the razors edge]
Gotta razors edge [well, the razors edge]
Youll be cut to shreds [that youll be cut to shreds]
By the razors edge [gotta razors edge]
Gotta razors edge [by the razors edge]
song performed by AC-DC
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[intro]
Yo, my name is Taquell A.K.A Baby Poppa
Told ya I know ali
Yall thought I was playin
I told yall I know the Lunatics
Leezy, Nelly, Spud, Murph AND Kyjuan man
I know all of em since '99
Before Country Grammar before the Free City album
And now, Big Lee got that Heavy Starch out in the streets
It's over fo' real
Now next time Baby Poppa tell you somethin
You better listen
So keep your ears open cuz it's Ali
Heavy Starch let's go
Yo, Ali, Heavy Starch
Heavy Starch
Heavy Starch
Say it again
Heavy Starch
Do it like we do Heavy Starch Big Lee
Big Leezy fo sheezie with Heavy Starcheezy
What's up Ali
Hey Ali Heavy Starch
Peace to Ali comin from Son keepin it real, luv
Yo what's up Ali
Shouts out to Big Lee yea
Ali
Heavy Starch
What's up Ali
Heavy Starch
Big Leezy with the Heavy Starch
What's crack-a-lackin Heavy Starch
Heavy Starch
What's up Ali
Heavy Starch
Hi Ali Heavy Starch
Heavy Starch Big Lee
Big Lee Heavy Starch, Heavy Heavy Heavy Starch hahaha one luv
Right on Ali Right on Heavy Starch
Ali Heavy Starch, whatever you do dirty, keep it St. Louis
song performed by Eels
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The Axe-Helve
I've known ere now an interfering branch
Of alder catch my lifted axe behind me.
But that was in the woods, to hold my hand
From striking at another alder's roots,
And that was, as I say, an alder branch.
This was a man, Baptiste, who stole one day
Behind me on the snow in my own yard
Where I was working at the chopping block,
And cutting nothing not cut down already.
He caught my axe expertly on the rise,
When all my strength put forth was in his favor,
Held it a moment where it was, to calm me,
Then took it from me - and I let him take it.
I didn't know him well enough to know
What it was all about. There might be something
He had in mind to say to a bad neighbour
He might prefer to say to him disarmed.
But all he had to tell me in French-English
Was what he thought of- not me, but my axe;
Me only as I took my axe to heart.
It was the bad axe-helve some one had sold me -
'Made on machine,' he said, ploughing the grain
With a thick thumbnail to show how it ran
Across the handle's long, drawn serpentine,
Like the two strokes across a dollar sign.
'You give her 'one good crack, she's snap raght off.
Den where's your hax-ead flying t'rough de hair?'
Admitted; and yet, what was that to him?
'Come on my house and I put you one in
What's las' awhile - good hick'ry what's grow crooked,
De second growt' I cut myself-tough, tough!'
Something to sell? That wasn't how it sounded.
'Den when you say you come? It's cost you nothing.
To-naght?'
As well to-night as any night.
Beyond an over-warmth of kitchen stove
My welcome differed from no other welcome.
Baptiste knew best why I was where I was.
So long as he would leave enough unsaid,
I shouldn't mind his being overjoyed
(If overjoyed he was) at having got me
Where I must judge if what he knew about an axe
That not everybody else knew was to count
For nothing in the measure of a neighbour.
Hard if, though cast away for life with Yankees,
A Frenchman couldn't get his human rating.
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Frost
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The Poet Sajid Khan's Background.
Our Background
We have figured out what is wisdom and how it can be created on a mass scale.
Wisdom is the wealth of intelligence and just like wealth, wisdom is
nothing on its own! Just like wealth has to be in something else like
gold, real estate, stocks, bank balance etc. Again wisdom is like a
house. A house is the sum of its parts. A house is nothing without its
building blocks. Similarly wisdom is nothing without/but its building
blocks. The building block of wisdom is selflessness. By creating
selflessness we create wisdom.
We have quantified the mind and now emotions can be measured. We are
founders of Wisdom Day, Pure Happiness Seminars, 'Who am I' seminars,
'Third Eye' seminars. We have developed the idea of 'WisdomLand',
'Brain Power Clubs', 'Shy Power Club' and The Wisdom Express. We even
have wisdom toys.
The world is at a loss of how to solve the economic mess. We have the
answers. The human self runs on two wheels. One is intelligence and
the other is emotional-intelligence/wisdom. For intelligence we have
hundreds of subjects and for emotional-intelligence/wisdom we have
zero subjects. As a result we educate only half our brains. Naturally
the wheel of emotional intelligence is punctured. And every time we
try to fix this education mess we go back to improving intelligence
education. Leaving emotional intelligence as punctured as ever;
resulting in developing imperfect minds and imperfect brains for over
80% of the population.
Michael Gazzaniga the foremost expert on the brain and mind concludes
in his latest best seller, for a call to arms. “Understanding how to
develop a vocabulary for these layered interactions (between the left
and right brain and between brain and mind) , for me, ” he writes,
“constitutes the scientific problem of the century.” This is exactly
the problem we recognized 40 years ago and we have now solved.
We have figured out the difference between brain and mind. The
education mess is due to the fact man has cutting edge education to
educate the mind and has no idea how to educate the brain. In simple
terms one can say that we keep our homes clean; we keep our cars and
our offices spic and span and when it comes to our own brains and
minds we keep them dirty; full of defective memories/knowledge. We
have developed education for cleaning up the brain.
We have invented this whole new wisdom industry that will generate
wisdom education, creation of text books, with exercises and lessons,
training for teachers and parents, and 'pure happiness' counselors
etc., wisdom coaching for adults, groups and countries, toys that
teach wisdom, wisdom computer games, comic books, children stories,
sitcoms, TV talk shows, movies etc.; and Wisdom Theme Parks, Wisdom
[...] Read more
poem by Sajid Khan
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Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story - Part IV.
From his far wigwam sprang the strong North Wind
And rush'd with war-cry down the steep ravines,
And wrestl'd with the giants of the woods;
And with his ice-club beat the swelling crests.
Of the deep watercourses into death,
And with his chill foot froze the whirling leaves
Of dun and gold and fire in icy banks;
And smote the tall reeds to the harden'd earth;
And sent his whistling arrows o'er the plains,
Scatt'ring the ling'ring herds--and sudden paus'd
When he had frozen all the running streams,
And hunted with his war-cry all the things
That breath'd about the woods, or roam'd the bleak
Bare prairies swelling to the mournful sky.
'White squaw,' he shouted, troubl'd in his soul,
'I slew the dead, wrestl'd with naked chiefs
'Unplum'd before, scalped of their leafy plumes;
'I bound sick rivers in cold thongs of death,
'And shot my arrows over swooning plains,
'Bright with the Paint of death--and lean and bare.
'And all the braves of my loud tribe will mock
'And point at me--when our great chief, the Sun,
'Relights his Council fire in the moon
'Of Budding Leaves.' 'Ugh, ugh! he is a brave!
'He fights with squaws and takes the scalps of babes!
'And the least wind will blow his calumet--
'Fill'd with the breath of smallest flow'rs--across
'The warpaint on my face, and pointing with
'His small, bright pipe, that never moved a spear
'Of bearded rice, cry, 'Ugh! he slays the dead!'
'O, my white squaw, come from thy wigwam grey,
'Spread thy white blanket on the twice-slain dead;
'And hide them, ere the waking of the Sun!'
* * * * *
High grew the snow beneath the low-hung sky,
And all was silent in the Wilderness;
In trance of stillness Nature heard her God
Rebuilding her spent fires, and veil'd her face
While the Great Worker brooded o'er His work.
* * * * *
'Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree,
What doth thy bold voice promise me?'
* * * * *
'I promise thee all joyous things,
[...] Read more
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks
1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,
That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass
Under the old trees with rosy fruit.
In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a
basket,
The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.
Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.
Fayne snatched for it and missed;
Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small
Finely cut features in a dance of delight;
Fayne with one sweep flung at his face
All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Where Is The Beginning Of Wisdom?
Fear of God
is the beginning
of Wisdom.
Where is truth
where is wisdom?
Who has
knows hears
can discern
true wisdom?
The truth
true Wisdom
is crying out
aloud in the very
street in public squares
true Wisdom keeps
giving forth its voice.
Who has wisdom
who receives wisdom
who treasures wisdom?
Who indeed
is a seeker
of the moral
benefits
of Wisdom
in contemporary
scientific
unprecedented age?
From what source
does true wisdom come?
Who gives teaches
precious wisdom freely?
Adonai the LORD
himself gives wisdom
from out of God’s
mouth come
knowledge understanding
discernment.
Who did God
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Logic and Spotted Dog
'Unless you 'ide that axe,' she sez, ''E'll 'urt 'imself reel bad.
An' after all - Now, Bill, don't cry! - that trouble that I've 'ad,
Wiv 'im thro' croop an' whoopin' corf, 'e goes an' cuts 'imself!
Why don't you 'ang it on the wall, or 'ide it on a shelf?
But there it wus, jist thrown about. You ort to take more care!
You left it there!
'You left it there,' she sez, 'an' now . . .' I sez, ''Old on a jiff.
Let's git the fac's all sorted out before we 'as a tiff
I'm mighty careful wiv that axe, an' never leaves it out.
An' I'd be mad if that young imp got knockin' it about.'
'Ole axe!' she sez. Look at 'is thumb! A precious lot you care!
You left it there!'
I am marri'd to a woman; which is nacheral an' right.
I sez that over to meself, fer safety, day an' night.
Most times I sez it fond an' proud wiv gladness in me mind;
But sometimes philosophic-like an' wot yeh'd call resigned.
'An axe as sharp as that,' she sez. 'It reely isn't fair!
You left it there!
'The way you pet that axe,' she sez - 'the way it's ground an' filed,
The way you fairly fondle it, you'd think it wus a child!
An' when I pick the ole thing up to cut a bit uv stri
Yeh rave an' shout ...' 'Wait on,' I sez. 'But ir'n's a different thing.
An' you wus choppin' fencin' wire!' She sez, 'Well, I don't care.
You left it there!'
I 'elps meself to spotted dog, an' chews, an' thinks a while.
'I'm reely sorry,' I begins. Then, as I seen 'er smile
I plays 'er fer the fun uv it, an' sez, 'But, all the same,
If he gits foolin' wiv that axe 'e's got 'imself to blame.'
'Er eyes spark up. 'A child like that! Now, Bill, it isn't fair!
You left it there!'
I cuts another slice an' sez, 'This spotted dog's a treat.
Uv course, 'ooever left it there,' I sez, 'wus - indiscreet.
'Careless!' she sez. 'You know you are! 'E might 'a' cut 'is face!
An axe as sharp as that,' she sez, 'should be kep' in its place.'
'Quite right,' I sez. 'An' not,' she sez, 'jist thrown round anywhere.
You left it there!'
An' then I lets 'er 'ave it, an' I sez, 'Now, think a bit.
I put that axe away last night when all the wood wus split.'
'Well, that's enough about it now,' she sez. I seen 'er wince,
An' sez, 'I put that axe away, an' 'aven't used it since;
But someone else wus usin' it this mornin', I kin swear,
An' left it there.'
'Well, never mind . . . Poor Bill!' she sez. 'Was 'is poor thumb all 'urt?'
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin
BOOK I
S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.
Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.
Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,
But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.
S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.
Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'
'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain
[...] Read more
poem by William Butler Yeats
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Over The Edge
Everybody is a victim of society
Comedy, tragedy, vaudeville and variety
Pantomime players in the grand tradition
Winners and losers till the intermission
Girl, I know the world's a stage
That's what the poet said
But I think our weird relationship
Is way above my head
I'll be your Casanova whipping by
If that's what you desire
But once I start performing
I can't easily retire
I'll swing on a trapeze
I'll jump through hoops
And I'll eat fire
Be a human cannon ball
And walk on the high wire
Put on make-up, wear a wig
I'll be your tragic clown
But once you've got me up there
I can't easily come down
Don't drive me over the edge of it
Can't you see I've got mixed-up emotions
Joined the crowd just to be part of it
That was the start of it
Oh, now I'm over the edge
(Don't drive me over the edge of it)
Oh, over the edge
The world is turning upside-down
Civilization's dead, over the edge
Economic turmoil, now the world is in the red
Democracy's a shadow of its former glory
Law and orders broken-down
End of story
My next door neighbour's totally snapped
He's gone over the edge
He's putting up barbed wire barricades
Around the garden hedge
And planting land mines on the lawn
He's gone barmy
According to his wife, he's formed a secret army
Ever since he got laid off
Something inside snapped
His wife says he's gone 'round the twist
Now there's no turning back
All night he waits in the garden shed
For the enemy to attack
A suburban vigilante
Dressed up in a union jack
He's over the edge, oh, over the edge
[...] Read more
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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Seasonable Retour-Knell
SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
Author notes
A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000
In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.
For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.
Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.
One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.
Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllll
For previous version see below
_______________________________________
SPRING SUMMER
Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.
Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.
AUTUMN WINTER
Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.
Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Anger Behind The Swing Of This Axe
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting..
I did everything right and it still went so wrong.
Perfection in the moment and now its gone.
If I only knew what I know now.
I would have ran for the hills.
Never looked back.
Like a ghost completely disappeared.
Across the hemisphere.
Above the highest atmosphere.
Mind you they are limitation I grant you.
But still I don't think it's that far of an exaggeration.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
[...] Read more
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Push Me
Album: No Excuses
Ever since the world's been turning
It turned away from me
I've been pushed across the planet
To find my destiny
I've been running away from something
Thats deep inside myself
I've been running till that someday
When I reached the border's edge
Refrain:
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like that
Push me living on the edge
The weak play the strong out of fear of what's wrong yeah
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like that
Push me living on the edge
Im sick to death and learned the lesson
I'm still running yet I don't got
Ground beneath my feet - something is tracking me something is wrecking me
I'm still running and I don't have
Time to fall into deep
Refrain:
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like this
Push me living on the edge
Im sick to death and learned the lesson
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like that
Push me living on the edge
Im sick to death and learned the lesson
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like this
Push me living on the edge
The weak play the strong out of fear of what's wrong yeah
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like that
Push me living on the edge
Im sick to death and learned the lesson
song performed by H-BlockX
Added by Lucian Velea
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