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He who arrives too late finds the plate turned over.

Belgian proverbs
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Earthquakes And Tsunami

Some scientists had located a missing geological piece therefore,
They found a puzzle of plate tectonics in the Southwest Pacific Ocean.
East and West Antarctica had spread twenty six million years before.
The rift between them opened one hundred miles due to this motion.

The scientists had clearly described how the Pacific tectonic plate,
The North American plate and others have moved at different points in time.
As one plate moves, the adjoining one is affected and there were adequate
Theories about plate moves, earthquakes, tsunami and changing the clime.

One plate affects the other one because the mantle was planetary pieced
In a plate tectonics jigsaw puzzle, named the 'global plate circuit' mystery.
Zones around the Antarctic Ross Sea and the West rift were imbalanced,
Pushing other plates and this fact has been a mystery for a quarter century.

Knowing about the plate motion around Antarctica is an important key
To understand the motions between the Pacific and North American plate,
To understand better than before the East and West Antarctica geology
And to determine the plate motions in California, until it is not too late.

The West Antarctic rift system is still active as a result of a movement
Along the boundary between East and West therefore, the lack of information
About the seafloor spreading and the plate motions is an advertisement
Because we don’t know what can modify this strong puzzle motion.

The inclusion of this East-West Antarctic motion in the global circuit explains
The gap between Pacific and Australian plates, Adare region, which really
Is the missing plate boundary in the Southwest Pacific, causing the main
Motion and, with the Alpine Fault, modifying the plate motion history.

It affects the motion between spots in the Pacific and Indo-Atlantic Oceans.
It explains the formation of the Transantarctic Mountains and the puzzling gap
Between the Australian and Pacific plates and it explains some notions
About the deformation of this area, the Pacific Ocean being like a spinal tap.

The earthquake near Christchurch in New Zealand confirmed that a country,
Already riddled with fault lines, has gained another one, which ran below
New Zealand, causing many earthquakes each year and lieing on the boundary
Between Pacific and Australian plates, under the Australian Eastern plateau.

Pacific plate subducts below New Zealand's North Island and the Australian
Plate subducts below the South Island, while between these two subduction
Zones lies the Alpine fault, along the mountainous spine of the South Island.
The quake was a result of a fault activity, in a new tectonic combination.

That fault appeared on September, shaking Darfield, someone tried to relate.
Someone else said that a tsunami in the Atlantic Ocean is a rare event
At the subduction zones in the Atlantic basin, along the the Caribbean Plate

[...] Read more

poem by Marieta Maglas
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Its Too Late To Change The Time

[intro]
Too late
Too late
Too late
[verse 1]
In this automatic age
We shop through the yellow page
Gone is the corner store
There is a supermarket there for you
People give way to change
But feelings remain the same
[chorus]
And its too late, too late to change the time
Well its too late, too late to change the time
And its too late, too late to change the time
But its not too late (too late) to change your mind
[verse 2]
Its a new day, a new age
A photograph just taken, is ready one minute later
Cars are bigger and better
But the manufacturers sastified never
In a world full of crime
I cant let you think thats right
[chorus]
And its too late, too late to change the time
And its too late, too late to change the time
And its too late, too late to change the time
But its not too late (too late) to change your mind
No, no
[bridge 1]
So you wanna be a star (so you wanna be a star)
You are who you think you are (ah think you are)
You dont have to go further
Than my loving arms
[chorus half]
And its too late, too late to change the time
But its not too late (too late) to change your mind
[bridge 2]
Are you sure you wanna go to new york city (new york city)
Where girls make it big if theyre pretty (if they pretty)
Let say you get that penthouse view
But whos gonna love you the way I do (just the way I do)
[chorus]
Its too late, too late to change the time
And its too late, too late to change the time, no
Too late, too late to change the time
But its not too late (too late) to change your mind
Yeah, yeah, yeah
[chorus]
Its too late, too late to change the time

[...] Read more

song performed by Michael Jackson
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Station To Station

The return of the thin white duke
Throwing darts in lovers eyes
Here are we, one magical moment, such is the stuff
From where dreams are woven
Bending sound, dredging the ocean, lost in my circle
Here am i, flashing no colour
Tall in this room overlooking the ocean
Here are we, one magical movement from kether to malkuth
There are you, drive like a demon from station to station
The return of the thin white duke, throwing darts in lovers eyes
The return of the thin white duke, throwing darts in lovers eyes
The return of the thin white duke, making sure white stays
Once there were mountains on mountains
And once there were sunbirds to soar with
And once I could never be down
Got to keep searching and searching
Oh, what will I be believing and who will connect me with love?
Wonderful, wonderful, wonder when
Have you sought fortune, evasive and shy?
Drink to the men who protect you and i
Drink, drink, drain your glass, raise your glass high
Its not the side-effects of the cocaine
Im thinking that it must be love
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here
I must be only one in a million
I wont let the day pass without her
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here
Should I believe that Ive been stricken?
Does my face show some kind of glow?
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here, yes its here
Its too late
Its too late, its too late, its too late, its too late
The european cannon is here
Its not the side-effects of the cocaine
Im thinking that it must be love
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here
I must be only one in a million
I wont let the day pass without her

[...] Read more

song performed by David Bowie
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Too Late

See the stop-light turn-in red,
Dont you listen to what its said.
All the things you try to hide,
They keep you runnin hard inside.
Oh, you got to leave this town before its...
Too late, too late, too late, too late, too late,
Too late to make the change.
Oo, yes, my friend, youre fadin fast, if you stay here you wont last.
Before your time has run astray, youve got to try to get away.
Oh, you got to leave this place before its...
Too late, too late, too late, too late, too late,
Too late to make the change.
Too late, too late to make the change
Too late to make the change
Yes, its time to make the change, yes, its time to rearrange,
So, my friend, I join the fight for the things you know are right.
Oh, you got to leave this town before its...
Too late, too late, too late, too late, too late,
Too late to make the change.
Too late, too late to make the change
Too late, too late, to make the change
Too late to make the change
Too late, before its too late.

song performed by Journey
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The Powerful Japan Earthquake

Because one Tectonic plate was sliding under the other plate
The powerful Japan earthquake shifted the earth's axis position
Deforming it and that temblor already had caused Earth to rotate
Faster than before when Hawaii reached these waves transmission.

This temblor may have affected the length of the Earth's days
So, each day may be quite two microseconds shorter than before.
Some parts of this country were moved twelve feet as scientists say,
The tremors sent a monster tsunami which slammed into the shore.

The aftershocks were rapidly continuing without decreasing in frequency
While a rupture near the boundary between those tectonic plates occured.
Usually, the Pacific plate slowly moves to westwards at a very low velocity.
This quake was caused by Pacific and American plates boundary rupture.

The dissipation of the heat from the mantle was a real source of energy
For Pacific plate thrusting underneath the Japan and Eurasia plate.
This drive of plate tectonics was possible because of the excess density,
'Cause lithosphere became dense by cooling until having a solid state.

The boundary between the Australian and Pacific tectonic plates
Are part of the 'Ring of Fire' and runs from south of Fiordland
Along the line of the Southern Alps, beneath wonderful Cook Strait,
Capital of Wellington, and out to sea through the eastern North Island.

A section of the prehistoric supercontinent Gondwana broke away
Eighty million years ago comprising a few slithers of land left to drift
Coalescing into a new continent, Zealandia, under the Southern sun's ray.
When magma heated continental crust above to crack open to form a rift.

Due to seismic activity, sea levels temporary fluctuated looking so glum
Zealandia sank beneath sea level letting New Zealand to be a remnant.
The pressure of opposing tectonic plates caused the Alpine Fault to come.
The Southern Alps rose above the water looking like the moon's crescent.

Earth's surface is recycled through the volcanic emission and subduction.
The quake can be caused by a rupture near the boundary between plates.
The causes are high the level of carbone dioxide and sometimes erosion,
But when the rupture is big, it can become a real monstruous Hell's gate.

The Pacific plate had thrusted underneath Japan and in a late,
It dipped beneath Eurasia plate and the earthquake occurred along
The subduction zone at the interface between those two tectonic plates.
Two thousands people died because the earthquake was very strong.

The Pacific plate moves usually westwards at a very slow velocity.
The boundary between the Pacific and Australian Plate runs broadly
Along New Zealand, where another quake occured with a strong ferocity,
While planet is on a one-way warming trend triggered by human activity.

poem by Marieta Maglas
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Guinevere

Queen Guinevere had fled the court, and sat
There in the holy house at Almesbury
Weeping, none with her save a little maid,
A novice: one low light betwixt them burned
Blurred by the creeping mist, for all abroad,
Beneath a moon unseen albeit at full,
The white mist, like a face-cloth to the face,
Clung to the dead earth, and the land was still.

For hither had she fled, her cause of flight
Sir Modred; he that like a subtle beast
Lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne,
Ready to spring, waiting a chance: for this
He chilled the popular praises of the King
With silent smiles of slow disparagement;
And tampered with the Lords of the White Horse,
Heathen, the brood by Hengist left; and sought
To make disruption in the Table Round
Of Arthur, and to splinter it into feuds
Serving his traitorous end; and all his aims
Were sharpened by strong hate for Lancelot.

For thus it chanced one morn when all the court,
Green-suited, but with plumes that mocked the may,
Had been, their wont, a-maying and returned,
That Modred still in green, all ear and eye,
Climbed to the high top of the garden-wall
To spy some secret scandal if he might,
And saw the Queen who sat betwixt her best
Enid, and lissome Vivien, of her court
The wiliest and the worst; and more than this
He saw not, for Sir Lancelot passing by
Spied where he couched, and as the gardener's hand
Picks from the colewort a green caterpillar,
So from the high wall and the flowering grove
Of grasses Lancelot plucked him by the heel,
And cast him as a worm upon the way;
But when he knew the Prince though marred with dust,
He, reverencing king's blood in a bad man,
Made such excuses as he might, and these
Full knightly without scorn; for in those days
No knight of Arthur's noblest dealt in scorn;
But, if a man were halt or hunched, in him
By those whom God had made full-limbed and tall,
Scorn was allowed as part of his defect,
And he was answered softly by the King
And all his Table. So Sir Lancelot holp
To raise the Prince, who rising twice or thrice
Full sharply smote his knees, and smiled, and went:
But, ever after, the small violence done

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Gone Is the Whoopie Goosed From You

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down,
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down,
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'

Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Tingled were sensations,
A few dollars had amused.
Now you're quite upset.
Regrets are now your pets.

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'

Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Ooo...
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!

Morning and noon too,
You feel you've been screwed.
And nobody's there...
To give a damn or care!

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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,

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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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.

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poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Orlando Furioso Canto 18

ARGUMENT
Gryphon is venged. Sir Mandricardo goes
In search of Argier's king. Charles wins the fight.
Marphisa Norandino's men o'erthrows.
Due pains Martano's cowardice requite.
A favouring wind Marphisa's gallery blows,
For France with Gryphon bound and many a knight.
The field Medoro and Cloridano tread,
And find their monarch Dardinello dead.

I
High minded lord! your actions evermore
I have with reason lauded, and still laud;
Though I with style inapt, and rustic lore,
You of large portion of your praise defraud:
But, of your many virtues, one before
All others I with heart and tongue applaud,
- That, if each man a gracious audience finds,
No easy faith your equal judgment blinds.

II
Often, to shield the absent one from blame,
I hear you this, or other, thing adduce;
Or him you let, at least, an audience claim,
Where still one ear is open to excuse:
And before dooming men to scaith and shame,
To see and hear them ever is your use;
And ere you judge another, many a day,
And month, and year, your sentence to delay.

III
Had Norandine been with your care endued,
What he by Gryphon did, he had not done.
Profit and fame have from your rule accrued:
A stain more black than pitch he cast upon
His name: through him, his people were pursued
And put to death by Olivero's son;
Who at ten cuts or thrusts, in fury made,
Some thirty dead about the waggon laid.

IV
Whither fear drives, in rout, the others all,
Some scattered here, some there, on every side,
Fill road and field; to gain the city-wall
Some strive, and smothered in the mighty tide,
One on another, in the gateway fall.
Gryphon, all thought of pity laid aside,
Threats not nor speaks, but whirls his sword about,
Well venging on the crowd their every flout.

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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Too Late

Well, its too late for walking in the middle,
Too late to try.
Yes, its too late for sitting in the balance,
No more middle line.
Oh, its too late for walking on fences,
Time to choose your side.
Yes, its too late for flirtin with the darkness,
Make up your mind.
Oh, the time has come for making a decision,
And you say youve found the light.
But the talk is cheap when I see the way youre living,
Walking in the night.
Well, its too late for walking in the middle,
Too late to try.
Yes, its too late for sitting in the balance,
No more middle line.
Oh, its too late for thinking you can walk the middle line...
Better get wise.
You may think that you can live by your feelings,
Different every night.
But an emotional religion will crumble at our feet,
If were made to stand and fight.
Well, its too late for walking on fences,
Time to choose you side.
Yes, its too late for flirtin with the darkness,
Make up your mind.
Well, its too late for thinking you can walk the middle line...
Better get wise.
Well, its too late for walking in the middle,
Too late to try.
Yes, its too late for sitting in the balance,
No more middle line.
Oh, its too late for walking on fences,
Time to choose your side.
Yes, its too late for flirtin with the darkness,
Please make up your mind.
Well, its too late for walking in the middle,
Too late to try.
Yes, its too late for sitting in the balance,
No more middle line.
Oh, its too late for walking on fences,
Time to choose your side.
Yes, its too late for flirtin with the darkness,
Please make up your mind.

song performed by Amy Grant
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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
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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

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Its Not Too Late

(david jones)
Immortal music (bmi)
Lead vocal: davy jones
If I had a penny for every time I thought about you
I would be a millionaire
I would send you flowers each day
And I would show you in every way
Just how much I really care
The summer sun and the winter snow,
The autumn leaves let the spring rains know
Just how much I need your love
And if I knew that my time was near,
And you were there,
I would have no fear
Your name would be my dying prayer
Its not too late
To turn this ship around
To sail into the wind my love
Before we run aground
Its not too late
To say that I love you
And its not too late for you, my love
To say you love me too
(its not too late)
If I was a rich mans son
I would work till the day was done
Just to prove my love was true
I would take you for my wife
And I would love you all my life
And I would never leave or be untrue
Its not too late
To turn this ship around
To sail into the wind my love
Before we run aground
Its not too late
To say that I love you
And its not too late for you, my love
To say you love me too
(its not too late)
You know our future and your feelings
And the love that I have for you
Theyre always in my heart and on my mind
A never ending love affair
Well go together everywhere
Our love will last till the end of time
You know our future and your feelings
And the love that I have for you
Theyre always in my heart, theyre on my mind
A never ending love affair
Well go together everywhere

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song performed by Monkees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Its Never Too Late

(d. hartman)
Get the message
Oh, its never too late
Get the message
Oh, its never too late
Its never too late
To try and reach for your desires
Even when your luck is down
You still got chances of turning around
Get the message
Oh, its never too late
Get the message
Oh, its never too late
Get the message
Oh, its never too late
Its never too late
To hold the power in your hands (power in your hands)
You will find a good, good feeling
Makin new plans and starting again
Its never too late
No, its never too late
No, its never too late no, no, no, no
No, its never too late
No, its never too late
No, its never too late
Its never too late
Time keeps changin everything
Sometimes tearin down
The treasures that it brings
Ever strong
Youll make it through
The secret lies in knowing
That its up to you
Say it with me now
Get the message
Oh, its never too late
Get the message
Oh, its never too late
We got the time
Theres no doubt in my mind
That its never too late
Get the message
Oh, its never too late
Get the message
Oh, its never too late
Get the message
Oh, its never too late

song performed by Diana Ross
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sestina: A bird in the bamboo

The potter carried home a broken plate
and passing through a grove of tall bamboo,
some thing within disturbed the verdant sheen.
Intrigued, he stopped awhile to rest and wait.
A bird shot skyward, straight as arrow true,
turned somersaults and plunged back into green.

The bird had left the safety of the green,
to see from high the land as coloured plate.
An overview, to give perspective true.
Imprint in mind a map of home's bamboo
and then to hide and rest in patient wait,
before an insect hunt by thin moon's sheen.

The potter's wife delighted in the sheen,
of jagged shards of crackle-glazed jade green.
With supper not quite ready, while he wait,
he set about to mend the shattered plate.
When laid beside their wares of plain bamboo,
it's beauty shone and both declared this true.

The potter was perfectionist, it's true,
who long had strived to replicate the sheen,
of leafy shades of celadon bamboo.
One day, the kiln revealed translucent green.
The pottery's proud owner chose a plate,
as gift to Empress, hopeful then to wait.

Official staff with retinue in wait,
by Emperor's decree paid tribute true.
A portered chair arrived of fine gold-plate,
to honour maker of such lovely sheen.
Asway, the potter turned a sickly green
and gripped the shouldered poles of stout bamboo.

In city, thoughts returned to tall bamboo
and how it seemed the bird could hardly wait,
to fly back home within the dappled green.
The potter's mind was strong, his heart was true.
He learned of commerce, trade and coin's sheen,
but dreamt of home and wife and mended plate.

Back home, at last, amongst the green bamboo,
rich plate collectors, clothed in silken sheen,
confirmed that true rewards are worth the wait.

poem by Diane Hine
Added by Poetry Lover
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Its Not Too Late

Gently rolling father time
Is calling to him now,
And though he hears him
He looks out to sea.
Somewhere out there lie his dreams
A story with no ending
And till he finds his answers
He wont be going nowhere
For him, its not too late
Its not too late
For some its never too late
Quietly knocking on her door.
He patiently stands waiting,
And though she hears him
She sits steadfast in her chair.
Somewhere out there never seen
Her hopes and dreams lie waiting,
And till she finds an answer
She wont be going nowhere
For her, its not too late
Its not too late
For some its never too late
For everything we know thats certain
There is much we cannot see,
So we choose to close the curtain,
Never knowing what could have been
Its not too late, its not too late, never too late
Slowly rocking the babys bed
He strokes its head and whispers
And though it hears him,
It keeps smiling and kicks its feet
Somewhere out there is a life,
A lifetime made for living
So it holds on fast, it aint going nowhere
For some its not too late,
Its not too late
For some its never too late
For some its not too late
Its not too late
For some its never too late

song performed by Phil Collins
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Plate Of Gold

One day there fell in great Benares' temple-court
A wondrous plate of gold, whereon these words were writ;
'To him who loveth best, a gift from Heaven.'
Thereat.
The priests made proclamation: 'At the midday hour,
Each day, let those assemble who for virtue deem
their right to Heaven's gift the best; and we will hear
the deeds of mercy done, and so adjudge.'
The news
ran swift as light, and soon from every quarter came
nobles and munshis, hermits, scholars, holy men,
and all renowned for gracious or for splendid deeds,
meanwhile the priests in solemn council sat and heard
what each had done to merit best the gift of Heaven.
So for a year the claimants came and went.
At last,
after a patient weighing of the worth of all,
the priests bestowed the plate of gold on one who seemed,
the largest lover of the race - whose whole estate,
within the year had been parted among the poor.
This man, all trembling with his joy, advanced to take
the golden plate-when lo! at his finger's first touch
it changed to basest lead! All stood aghast; but when
the hapless claimant dropt it clanging on the floor,
Heaven's guerdon was again transformed to shining gold.
So for another twelve month sat he priests and judged.
Thrice they awarded-thrice did Heaven refuse the gift.
Meanwhile a host of poor, maimed beggars in the street
lay all about the temple gate, in hope to move
that love whereby each claimant hoped to win the gift
and well for them it was (if gold be charity),
for every pilgrim to the temple gate praised God.
that love might thus approve itself before the test,
and so coins rained freely in the outstretched hands;
but none of those who gave, so much as turned to look
into the poor sad eyes of them that begged.
And now
The second year had almost passed, but still the plate
of gold, by whomsoever touched was turned to lead.
At length there came a simple peasant-not aware
of that strange contest for the gift of God-to pay
a vow within the temple. As he passed along
the line of shrivelled beggars, all his soul was moved
within him to sweet pity, and the tears well up
and trembled in his eyes.
Now by the temple gate
there lay a poor, sore creature, blind, and shunned by all;
but when the peasant came, and saw the sightless face
and trembling, maimed hands he could not pass, but knelt,
and took both palms in his, and softly said: 'O thou,

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poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
Added by Poetry Lover
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