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Half a nose is quickly blown.

Danish proverbs
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Prince Dorus

In days of yore, as Ancient Stories tell,
A King in love with a great Princess fell.
Long at her feet submiss the Monarch sigh'd,
While she with stern repulse his suit denied.
Yet was he form'd by birth to please the fair,
Dress'd, danc'd, and courted, with a Monarch's air;
But Magic Spells her frozen breast had steel'd
With stubborn pride, that knew not how to yield.

This to the King a courteous Fairy told,
And bade the Monarch in his suit be bold;
For he that would the charming Princess wed,
Had only on her cat's black tail to tread,
When straight the Spell would vanish into air,
And he enjoy for life the yielding fair.

He thank'd the Fairy for her kind advice.-
Thought he, 'If this be all, I'll not be nice;
Rather than in my courtship I will fail,
I will to mince-meat tread Minon's black tail.'

To the Princess's court repairing strait,
He sought the cat that must decide his fate;
But when he found her, how the creature stared!
How her back bristled, and her great eyes glared!
That tail, which he so fondly hop'd his prize,
Was swell'd by wrath to twice its usual size;
And all her cattish gestures plainly spoke,
She thought the affair he came upon, no joke.

With wary step the cautious King draws near,
And slyly means to attack her in her rear;
But when he thinks upon her tail to pounce,
Whisk-off she skips-three yards upon a bounce-
Again he tries, again his efforts fail-
Minon's a witch-the deuce is in her tail.-

The anxious chase for weeks the Monarch tried,
Till courage fail'd, and hope within him died.
A desperate suit 'twas useless to prefer,
Or hope to catch a tail of quicksilver.-
When on a day, beyond his hopes, he found
Minon, his foe, asleep upon the ground;
Her ample tail hehind her lay outspread,
Full to the eye, and tempting to the tread.

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Lamb
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Finding Oneself......... [EXTREMELY LONG; Growing Up; Relationships; Humor

Part One

When Bri was 13 and in grade 8,
he noticed classmates beginning to date.
At school (other) boys got their way with the girls with a kiss.
But Bri didn't have the urge; he thought 'what's this? '
He decided he should give it a try,
but each time he tried, the girl would cry.
Not only would she cry; she would run away and hide.
Bri felt between himself and the other boys a great divide.

Back home after school he'd seclude himself in his room and cry.
Through his mind was repeated the question 'why? ' 'Why DO they cry? Why? '

Bri was a straight A+ student with no flubs.
He played football but (except for 'Cooking') he joined not clubs.

After a few months Bri gave up (on girls) . He had NO close friends to set him right;
his parents should have known the problem, but they weren't bright.

In high school he took AP courses, and took 3 courses at a nearby college.
He ignored girls and sports and concentrated on gaining knowledge.

He got a full scholarship to Harvard, but his advisor looked at him funny.
By age 26 he had his PhD in psychology and started making money.
But he still asked 'why? '
It still bothered him and at times he'd cry.

Then waking up one day from a dream, Bri suddenly asked himself 'were they shy?
And if so, why with ME and not the other boys? Why DID they cry? '
The answer could be that his brain and looks were superior.
Were those girls only uncomfortable with boys that were inferior (to him) ?
If that really was the answer, he could now save face,
and could pursue women with HIS high level of brains, looks, and grace.
(But WAS it the answer? He was still not SURE why they did cry.)
For now he would work hard, avoid girls, and try to keep his eyes dry.
In two more years would be a second high school reunion. Thoughts of attending gave Bri a fright. (He'd skipped the first,5 year, reunion.)
But by going this time he might find out if his answer to his 'why? ' was right.

PART TWO

For two more years he waited anxiously for invitation he was dreading.
At times he'd awaken at night from a 'reunion dream', profusely sweating.
Finally it arrived in mail; it would be in June, before it got TOO warm.
He kept his calendar free for the whole month, doubting, at work, he could perform.
He got out the yearbooks his Mom had bought, and he studied each girl's name.
Would he have the nerve to ask them 'why? ' ….OR would he be too scared and lame?

He lived on sedatives for a week. He picked his favorite tie, and a light grey business suit.
Would he find out if the girls had just been shy, or would they give him 'the boot'?

[...] Read more

poem by Bri Edwards
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Party Of God

[ billy bragg and natalie merchant ]
In a busy street
A man sits down
Oblivious to the traffic sounds
No chaos
No frenzied shrieking crowd
Thank God their silence
Walking heads bent down
Come when they saw us
Called it lethargy
The treadmill turns
There down below their feet
Should I pray for an end to come
Quickly (quickly), quickly (quickly)
Or cross the waves of an angry sea
Risking (risking)
And braving (braving)
The shipwreck and the mutiny assailing
Assailing
In a haunted doorway
And from the light of day
See another life fall to ruin in pain
False smiles from even children it seems
Landlocked ground for empty and lost dreams
A league against me
I hear him say
Its not worth half the effort
Or the price you pay
Should I pray for an end to come
Quickly (quickly), quickly (quickly)
Or should I raise my face to the heavens above
And tell God (dear God)
Stop jeering (and jeering)
As our human frailties and all
Our failings
Are we failing?
Pound pound on an endless street
Again and again the nightmare scene
All strained against the tightened rope
Not one with a lasting lingering hope
Theres evidence everywhere you see
Put a quarter down at the newsstand
So that you can read
Should I pray for an end to come
Quickly (quickly), quickly (quickly)
Or should I raise my face to the clouds above
Entreating (entreating)
Their mercy (some mercy)
But as clouds will do
Theyll rain down

[...] Read more

song performed by 10000 Maniacs
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Nose

No one cares for the nose

To go nose straight is the tao

If there were no eyes

You could see better with your nose

If there were no nose

you wouldnot distinguish the sweet from the bitter

And there would be no value judgements in the world

And it is the nose that keeps you hot in the cold

And that keeps you cold in Jakodabad

The nose is the vigilant customs officer

That does not allow any drug to your lungs

And the nose cannot be bribed

Oh Nose! the customs officer of the body

And the pivot of value judgement in the world

If that name thou love

Remain with us and teach the noseless world

That it must have a nose in this wartorn world

He who knows the greatness of nose

Surely goes to the realm of rose

In the life to come

Hurrah Let us compose hymns to nose

poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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England, My England

WHAT have I done for you,
   England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
   England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
   As the Song on your bugles blown,
   England--
   Round the world on your bugles blown!

Where shall the watchful sun,
   England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
   England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
   To the Song on your bugles blown,
   England--
   Down the years on your bugles blown?

Ever the faith endures,
   England, my England:--
'Take and break us: we are yours,
   England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
   To the Song on your bugles blown,
   England--
   To the stars on your bugles blown!'

They call you proud and hard,
   England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
   England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
   Were the Song on your bugles blown,
   England,
   Round the Pit on your bugles blown!

Mother of Ships whose might,
   England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
   England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,

[...] Read more

poem by William Ernest Henley
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Pro Rege Nostro

WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!

Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?

Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'

They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!

Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!

poem by William Ernest Henley
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What Have I Done For You

What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!

Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?

Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!

They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!

Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,

[...] Read more

poem by William Ernest Henley
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Forgive Me Quickly

If I showed you what you don't know,
Would I suffer...
If I listened to your life of misfortune?

If I showed you what you don't know,
Would you show me what I thought I knew?

If I showed you what you don't know,
Would I suffer...
If I listened to your life of misfortune?

Would I stop myself and realize...
Your life aint easy breezy.
Would you find it in your mind you'd be assessing me?
Or would you find it in your mind the need to forgive me,
Quickly!

Would I stop myself and realize...
Your life aint easy breezy.
Would you find it in your mind you'd be assessing me?
Or would you find it in your mind the need to forgive me,
Quickly!

Forgive me quickly!
Would you find it in your mind the need to forgive me,
Quickly!
Forgive me quickly!
Would you find it in your mind,
The need...
To forgive me,
Quickly!

Would you find it in your mind you'd be assessing me?
Or would you find it in your mind the need to forgive me,
Quickly!

Forgive me quickly!
Would you find it in your mind the need to forgive me,
Quickly!
Forgive me quickly!
Would you find it in your mind,
The need...
To forgive me,
Quickly!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Yoga Is As Yoga Does

(words & music by nelson - burch)
Well I can see that you and yoga will never do
Yoga is as yoga does theres no in-between
Your either with it on the ball or youve blown the scene
I can see lookin at you, you just cant get settled
How can I even move, twistin like a pretzel
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
Come on come on, untwist my legs
Pull my arms a lot
How did I get so tied up
In this yoga knot
You tell me just how I can take this yoga serious
When all it ever gives to me is a pain in my posteriors
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
Stand upside down on your head, feet against the wall
A simple yoga exercise done by one and all
Now cross your eyes and hold your breath, look just like a clown
Yogas sure to catch you if you come falling down
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)

song performed by Elvis Presley
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!

It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!

Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Report Of An Adjudged Case

Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
To which the said spectacles ought to belong.

So the Tongue was the Lawyer and argued the cause
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning,
While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.

In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear,
And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find,
That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,
Which amounts to possession time out of mind.

Then holding the spectacles up to the court, -
Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle,
As wide as the ridge of the Nose is, in short,
Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.

Again, would your lordship a moment suppose
('Tis a case that has happened and may be again),
That the visage or countenance had not a Nose,
Pray who would or who could wear spectacles then?

On the whole it appears, and my argument shows
With a reasoning the court will never condemn,
That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.

Then shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how,
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes,
But what were his arguments few people know,
For the court did not think they were equally wise.

So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone,
Decisive and clear, without on if or but, -
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
By daylight or candlelight - Eyes should be shut.

poem by William Cowper
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Venus and Adonis

Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis tried him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses;
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses:
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety;
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens;--O! how quick is love:--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;

[...] Read more

poem by William Shakespeare (1593)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Venus and Adonis

'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'

To the right honorable Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
Right honorable.

I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your honour's in all duty.

Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:

[...] Read more

poem by William Shakespeare
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love Comes Quickly

Sooner or later, this happens to everyone
To everyone
You can live your life lonely
Heavy as stone
Live your life learning
And working alone
Say this is all you want
But I dont believe that its true
cause when you least expect it
Waiting round the corner for you
Love comes quickly, whatever you do
You cant stop falling (ooh ooh)
Love comes quickly, whatever you do
You cant stop falling (ooh ooh)
You can live a life of luxury
If thats what you want
Taste forbidden pleasures
Whatever you want
You can fly away to the end of the world
But where does it get you to?
cause just when you least expect it
Just what you least expect
Love comes quickly, whatever you do
You cant stop falling (ooh ooh)
Love comes quickly, whatever you do
You cant stop falling (ooh ooh)
I know it sounds ridiculous, but speaking from experience
It may seem romantic, and thats no defense
Love will always get to you
Sooner or later, sooner or later, this happens to everyone
To everyone
You can fly away to the end of the world
But where does it get you?
Love comes quickly, whatever you do
You cant stop falling (ooh ooh)
Love comes quickly, whatever you do
You cant stop falling (ooh ooh)
Love comes quickly, whatever you do
You cant stop falling (ooh ooh)
(oooh)
Love comes quickly, whatever you do
You cant stop falling (ooh ooh)
Love comes quickly, whatever you do
You cant stop falling (ooh ooh)

song performed by Pet Shop Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cold Summers Day

(a. bell / v. clarke)
(woah, woah)
Dont know what youve got til its gone.
A hint of the scents, then its gone.
Look at the state of you,
Youre all fingers & thumbs. (youre all fingers & thumbs)
So whos your latest flame?
Driving em wild in the fast lane.
Wont say I told you so,
But the boy has no shame. (shame, no shame)
And Im putting the brave face on.
Makes me look totally kind,
The higher the head, the closer you are to heaven.
Gone and blown it all.
How can you say: it doesnt matter much to me.?
A dumb mistake, to much to pay.
A shattered heart in loves debris.
Gone and blown it all.
How can you say: it doesnt matter much to me.?
A dumb mistake, to much to pay.
A shattered heart in loves debris.
Dont know what youve got til its gone.
The thrill of the chase, then its gone.
Only the hurt to prove that it ever went on.
And life is wonderful thing,
When youre humming the words to a love song.
Do what you wanna do, live without the within. (without)
When Im in your arms Im strong.
And were travelling at light speed,
We shine for liberty, life,
And the pursuit of pleasure.
Gone and blown it all.
How can you say: it doesnt matter much to me.?
A dumb mistake, to much to pay.
A shattered heart in loves debris.
Gone and blown it all.
How can you say: it doesnt matter much to me.?
A dumb mistake, to much to pay.
A shattered heart in loves debris.
(woah, woah, ooh...)
(woah, woah, ooh...)
Here I do walk,
Fast from angst of loss.
On a cold summers day. (summers day...woah)
On a cold summers day. (summers day...ooh)
Fast from angst of loss.
On a cold summers day. (woah, woah, ooh...)
I never said thanks...(woah)
I never said thanks...(woah)
It wouldnt work out...(woah)

[...] Read more

song performed by Erasure
Added by Lucian Velea
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O! What a nose!

People talk about a running nose
I'm talking about a long facial cargo
She’s got a nose longer than my longest toes
With a mission of being nosy as time goes

Please don’t get close
When she discloses
Her loud snoring doze
Don’t be like the heroes

Goodness gracious
O! What a nose!
Goodness gracious
What a precious nose pose!

Painted as red as a romantic rose
Standing long like my garden pipe hose
And as she sniffs, sneezes and exposes
I cannot help thinking of Pinocchio’s nose

Goodness gracious
O! What a nose!
Goodness gracious
Red and long when it snows

And this nose is nosy
She can smell a rat, cat or a bat
When you are getting cozy
In your one bedroom flat

O! What a nose!
In and out juice flows
And when she smells the air
They all cannot help but stare

Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
Added by Poetry Lover
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Dawgs of War

Comes the British bulldog first—solid as a log—
He’s so ugly in repose that he’s a handsome dog;
Full of mild benevolence as his years increase;
Silent as a china dog on the mantelpiece.
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
To the thick of Britain’s foes—
Enemies behind him close—
(
Silence for a while
).

Comes a very different dog—tell him at a glance.
Clipped and trimmed and frilled all round. Dandy dog of France.
(Always was a dandy dog, no matter what his age)
Now his every hair and frill is stiff as wire with rage.
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
While behind him France’s foes
Reel and surge and pack and close.
(
Silence for a while
.)

Next comes Belgium’s market dog—hard to realise.
Go-cart dog and barrow dog—he’s a great surprise.
Dog that never hurt a cat, did no person harm;
Friendly, kindly, round and fat as a “Johnny Darm.”
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
At the flank of Belgium’s foes
Who could not behind him close—
(
Silence for a while
).

Next comes Servia’s mongrel pup—mongrel dawgs can fight;
Up or down, or down or up, whether wrong or right.
He was mad the other day—he is mad today,
Hustling round and raising dust in his backyard way.
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
’Twixt the legs of Servia’s foes,
Biting tails and rearmost toes—
(
Silence for a while
.)

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
Added by Poetry Lover
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Like A Hurricane

Once I thought I saw you in a crowded hazy bar,
Dancing on the light from star to star.
Far across the moonbeam I know thats who you are,
I saw your brown eyes turning once to fire.
You are like a hurricane
Theres calm in your eye.
And Im gettin blown away
Somewhere safer where the feeling stays.
I want to love you but I get so blown away.
I am just a dreamer, and you are just a dream,
You could have been anyone to me.
Before that moment you touched my lips
That moment when time just slips away,
Between us on our foggy trip.
You are like a hurricane
Theres calm in your eye.
And Im gettin blown away
To somewhere safer where the feeling stays.
I want to love you but I get so blown away.
Yeah yeah, hi hi, yeah, blown away
Yeah yeah, hi hi, yeah.
I am just a dreamer, and you are just a dream,
You could have been anyone to me.
Before that moment you touched my lips
That moment when time just slips away,
Between us on our foggy trip.
You are like a hurricane
Theres calm in your eye.
And Im gettin blown away
To somewhere safer where the feeling stays.
I want to love you but I get so blown away.

song performed by Heather Nova
Added by Lucian Velea
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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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