Nutcrackers crack cedar seeds, monks crack rosary beads.
Tywa proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Nutcrackers and the Sugar-Tongs
The Nutcrackers sate by a plate on the table,
The Sugar-tongs sate by a plate at his side;
And the Nutcrackers said, 'Don't you wish we were able
'Along the blue hills and green meadows to ride?
'Must we drag on this stupid existence for ever,
'So idle so weary, so full of remorse,--
'While every one else takes his pleasure, and never
'Seems happy unless he is riding a horse?
II
'Don't you think we could ride without being instructed?
'Without any saddle, or bridle, or spur?
'Our legs are so long, and so aptly constructed,
'I'm sure that an accident could not occur.
'Let us all of a sudden hop down from the table,
'And hustle downstairs, and each jump on a horse!
'Shall we try? Shall we go! Do you think we are able?'
The Sugar-tongs answered distinctly,'Of course!'
III
So down the long staircase they hopped in a minute,
The Sugar-tongs snapped, and the Crackers said 'crack!'
The stable was open, the horses were in it;
Each took out a pony, and jumped on his back.
The Cat in a fright scrambled out of the doorway,
The Mice tumbled out of a bundle of hay,
The brown and white Rats, and the black ones from Norway,
Screamed out, 'They are taking the horses away!'
IV
The whole of the household was filled with amazement,
The Cups and the Saucers danced madly about,
The Plates and the Dishes looked out of the casement,
The Saltcellar stood on his head with a shout,
The Spoons with a clatter looked out of the lattice,
The Mustard-pot climbed up the Gooseberry Pies,
The Soup-ladle peeped through a heap of Veal Patties,
And squeaked with a ladle-like scream of surprise.
V
The Frying-pan said, 'It's an awful delusion!'
The Tea-kettle hissed and grew black in the face;
And they all rushed downstairs in the wildest confusion,
[...] Read more
poem by Edward Lear
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Golden Legend: IV. The Road To Hirschau
PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE, _with their attendants, on
horseback._
_Elsie._ Onward and onward the highway runs
to the distant city, impatiently bearing
Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of
hate, of doing and daring!
_Prince Henry._ This life of ours is a wild aeolian
harp of many a joyous strain,
But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail,
as of souls in pain.
_Elsie._ Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart
that aches and bleeds with the stigma
Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can
comprehend its dark enigma.
_Prince Henry._ Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure
with little care of what may betide;
Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon
that rides by an angel's side?
_Elsie._ All the hedges are white with dust, and
the great dog under the creaking wain
Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the
horses toil and strain
_Prince Henry._ Now they stop at the wayside inn,
and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter,
While out of the dripping trough the horses distend
their leathern sides with water.
_Elsie._ All through life there are wayside inns,
where man may refresh his soul with love;
Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed
by springs from above.
_Prince Henry._ Yonder, where rises the cross of
stone, our journey along the highway ends,
And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the
broad green valley descends.
_Elsie._ I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten
road with its dust and heat;
The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer
under our horses' feet.
(_They turn down a green lane._)
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Book VI - Part 02 - Great Meteorological Phenomena, Etc
And so in first place, then
With thunder are shaken the blue deeps of heaven,
Because the ethereal clouds, scudding aloft,
Together clash, what time 'gainst one another
The winds are battling. For never a sound there come
From out the serene regions of the sky;
But wheresoever in a host more dense
The clouds foregather, thence more often comes
A crash with mighty rumbling. And, again,
Clouds cannot be of so condensed a frame
As stones and timbers, nor again so fine
As mists and flying smoke; for then perforce
They'd either fall, borne down by their brute weight,
Like stones, or, like the smoke, they'd powerless be
To keep their mass, or to retain within
Frore snows and storms of hail. And they give forth
O'er skiey levels of the spreading world
A sound on high, as linen-awning, stretched
O'er mighty theatres, gives forth at times
A cracking roar, when much 'tis beaten about
Betwixt the poles and cross-beams. Sometimes, too,
Asunder rent by wanton gusts, it raves
And imitates the tearing sound of sheets
Of paper- even this kind of noise thou mayst
In thunder hear- or sound as when winds whirl
With lashings and do buffet about in air
A hanging cloth and flying paper-sheets.
For sometimes, too, it chances that the clouds
Cannot together crash head-on, but rather
Move side-wise and with motions contrary
Graze each the other's body without speed,
From whence that dry sound grateth on our ears,
So long drawn-out, until the clouds have passed
From out their close positions.
And, again,
In following wise all things seem oft to quake
At shock of heavy thunder, and mightiest walls
Of the wide reaches of the upper world
There on the instant to have sprung apart,
Riven asunder, what time a gathered blast
Of the fierce hurricane hath all at once
Twisted its way into a mass of clouds,
And, there enclosed, ever more and more
Compelleth by its spinning whirl the cloud
To grow all hollow with a thickened crust
Surrounding; for thereafter, when the force
And the keen onset of the wind have weakened
That crust, lo, then the cloud, to-split in twain,
Gives forth a hideous crash with bang and boom.
No marvel this; since oft a bladder small,
[...] Read more
poem by Lucretius
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Golfre, Gothic Swiss Tale
I.
Where freezing wastes of dazzl'ing Snow
O'er LEMAN'S Lake rose, tow'ring;
The BARON GOLFRE'S Castle strong
Was seen, the silv'ry peaks among,
With ramparts, darkly low'ring!--
Tall Battlements of flint, uprose,
Long shadowing down the valley,
A grove of sombre Pine, antique,
Amid the white expanse would break,
In many a gloomy alley.
A strong portcullis entrance show'd,
With ivy brown hung over;
And stagnate the green moat was found,
Whene'er the Trav'ller wander'd round,
Or moon-enamour'd Lover.
Within the spacious Courts were seen
A thousand gothic fancies;
Of banners, trophies, armour bright,
Of shields, thick batter'd in the fight,
And interwoven lances.
The BARON GOLFRE long had been
To solitude devoted;
And oft, in pray'r would pass the night
'Till day's vermillion stream of light
Along the blue hill floated.
And yet, his pray'r was little mark'd
With pure and calm devotion;
For oft, upon the pavement bare,
He'd dash his limbs and rend his hair
With terrible emotion!
And sometimes he, at midnight hour
Would howl, like wolves, wide-prowling;
And pale, the lamps would glimmer round--
And deep, the self-mov'd bell would sound
A knell prophetic, tolling!
For, in the Hall, three lamps were seen,
That quiver'd dim;--and near them
A bell rope hung, that from the Tow'r
Three knells would toll, at midnight's hour,
Startl'ing the soul to hear them!
[...] Read more
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Crack Attack
You stand there, stutter, brains like butter,
You dissed your father, sister, your mother,
Times have tried too hard to your answer to give up instead of live up,
To the stance of a man, understand that Im a right hand,
Five out of five will die, from crack and on my left the birth the same and the same birth (? ),
The kid once did and now his death is echoed around the world for all to hear,
So lets have a merry new year
Yo grace, school em.
Theyre lost now, taken over, crack attack,
Theyre lost now, taken over, crack attack,
Theres a little boy who lives down the way,
I heard hes crazy from crack in his brain,
Hes lost now, hes taken over, crack attack,
Lost now, taken over, crack attack,
Dont do it,cheap high,say no! (echoes).
Though I wonder who is to blame,
All this epidemic is driving me insane, all of it,
I see the kids dying in the streets,
Whoever makes one, theyre going lose his way,
Lost know, taken over, crack attack,
Theyre lost now, taken over, crack attack.
Stuck in the middle, and dont know where to go,
Theyve got so now, theyre living for the blow,
They get it babe, doing it for the thrill,
Its so insane, such danger for a thrill,
Lost now, theyre taken over, crack attack,
Dont do it, cheap high, break the tie.
You can turn it over, you can take control,
You want your mind, your body and soul,
Dont you let crack put you in a hole,
Youve done without and you can do it now.
Said crack attack, crack attack, crack attack,
Dont do it, say no!, give it up,
Lost now, lost now...lost now, taken over crack attack, crack attack,
Taken over, crack attack, crack attack,
Lost now...give it up, give it up, taken over.
song performed by Grace Jones
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Marmion: Canto II. - The Convent
I.
The breeze, which swept away the smoke,
Round Norham Castle rolled,
When all the loud artillery spoke,
With lightning-flash, and thunder-stroke,
As Marmion left the hold.
It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze,
For, far upon Northumbrian seas,
It freshly blew, and strong,
Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile,
Bound to St. Cuthbert's holy isle,
It bore a barque along.
Upon the gale she stooped her side,
And bounded o'er the swelling tide,
As she were dancing home;
The merry seamen laughed to see
Their gallant ship so lustily
Furrow the green sea-foam.
Much joyed they in their honoured freight;
For, on the deck, in chair of state,
The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed,
With five fair nuns, the galley graced.
II.
'Twas sweet to see these holy maids,
Like birds escaped to greenwood shades,
Their first flight from the cage,
How timid, and how curious too,
For all to them was strange and new,
And all the common sights they view,
Their wonderment engage.
One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail,
With many a benedicite;
One at the rippling surge grew pale,
And would for terror pray;
Then shrieked, because the sea-dog, nigh,
His round black head, and sparkling eye,
Reared o'er the foaming spray;
And one would still adjust her veil,
Disordered by the summer gale,
Perchance lest some more worldly eye
Her dedicated charms might spy;
Perchance, because such action graced
Her fair-turned arm and slender waist.
Light was each simple bosom there,
Save two, who ill might pleasure share -
The Abbess and the novice Clare.
[...] Read more
poem by Sir Walter Scott
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Monks Of Catalonia
TO you, my friends, allow me to detail,
The feats of monks in Catalonia's vale,
Where oft the holy fathers pow'rs displayed,
And showed such charity to wife and maid,
That o'er their minds sweet fascination reigned,
And made them think, they Paradise had gained.
SUCH characters oft preciously advise,
And youthful easy female minds surprise,
The beauteous FAIR encircle with their net,
And, of the feeling heart, possession get:
Work in the holy vineyard, you may guess,
And, as our tale will show, with full success.
IN times of old, when learning 'mong the FAIR,
Enough to read the testament, was rare,
(Times howsoe'er thought difficult to quote,)
A swarm of monks of gormandizing note,
Arrived and fixed themselves within a town,
For young and beauteous belles of great renown,
While, of gallants, there seemed but very few,
Though num'rous aged husbands you might view.
A NOBLE chapel soon the fathers raised,
To which the females ran and highly praised,
Surveyed it o'er and confidently thought,
'Twas there, of course, salvation should be sought.
And when their faith had thoroughly been proved,
To gain their point the monks the veil removed.--
Good father Andrew scorned to use finesse,
And in discourse the sex would thus address.
IF any thing prevent your sov'reign bliss,
And Paradise incautiously you miss,
Most certainly the evil will arise,
From keeping for your husbands large supplies,
Of what a surplus you have clearly got,
And more than requisite to them allot,
Without bestowing on your trusty friends,
The saving that to no one blessings lends.
PERHAPS you'll tell me, marriage boons we shun;
'Tis true, and Heav'n be praised enough is done,
Without those duties to require our share
You know from direful sin we guard the FAIR.
Ingratitude 's declared the height of crimes,
And God pronounced it such in early times;
For this eternally was Satan curst;
Howe'er you err, be careful of the worst.
Return to Heav'n your thanks for bounteous care,
[...] Read more
poem by La Fontaine
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Legend Of St. Sophia Of Kioff
I.
[The Poet describes the city and spelling of Kiow, Kioff, or Kiova.]
A thousand years ago, or more,
A city filled with burghers stout,
And girt with ramparts round about,
Stood on the rocky Dnieper shore.
In armor bright, by day and night,
The sentries they paced to and fro.
Well guarded and walled was this town, and called
By different names, I'd have you to know;
For if you looks in the g'ography books,
In those dictionaries the name it varies,
And they write it off Kieff or Kioff, Kiova or Kiow.
II.
[Its buildings, public works, and ordinances, religious and civil.]
Thus guarded without by wall and redoubt,
Kiova within was a place of renown,
With more advantages than in those dark ages
Were commonly known to belong to a town.
There were places and squares, and each year four fairs,
And regular aldermen and regular lord-mayors;
And streets, and alleys, and a bishop's palace;
And a church with clocks for the orthodox—
With clocks and with spires, as religion desires;
And beadles to whip the bad little boys
Over their poor little corduroys,
In service-time, when they DIDN'T make a noise;
And a chapter and dean, and a cathedral-green
With ancient trees, underneath whose shades
Wandered nice young nursery-maids.
[The poet shows how a certain priest dwelt at Kioff, a godly
clergyman, and one that preached rare good sermons.]
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-ding-a-ring-ding,
The bells they made a merry merry ring,
From the tall tall steeple; and all the people
(Except the Jews) came and filled the pews—
Poles, Russians and Germans,
To hear the sermons
Which HYACINTH preached godly to those Germans and Poles,
For the safety of their souls.
[...] Read more
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Crack At Your Love
Ive been keepin my eyes on you
I finally found the nerve to talk to you
Theres something that you ought to know
Dont you know that I love you so
Our life together could be eternal bliss
If we could just get close enough to kiss
And ya know Id like to get a crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
You make me feel so warm inside
A sense of humor you cant hide
Who taught you darlin how to move that way?
And when you smile I know the worlds okay
And when I see the twinkle in your eye
It sends my heart all the way to the sky
And ya know Id like to get a crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Lonely nights, lonely days
Lonely nights, lonely days
Im reachin out for you
In my mind, in my mind
Im goin crazy
Would ya be my baby
Im gonna need a little help from above
Would ya say no if I asked for your love?
I cant afford to get hurt again
Like the time I remember when
But I know Id like to get a crack at your
And ya know Id like to get a crack at your
Dont ya know Id like to get a crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Washington McNeely
Rich, honored by my fellow citizens,
The father of many children, born of a noble mother,
All raised there
In the great mansion-house, at the edge of town.
Note the cedar tree on the lawn!
I sent all the boys to Ann Arbor, all the girls to Rockford,
The while my life went on, getting more riches and honors—
Resting under my cedar tree at evening.
The years went on.
I sent the girls to Europe;
I dowered them when married.
I gave the boys money to start in business.
They were strong children, promising as apples
Before the bitten places show.
But John fled the country in disgrace.
Jenny died in child-birth—
I sat under my cedar tree.
Harry killed himself after a debauch,
Susan was divorced—
I sat under my cedar tree.
Paul was invalided from over study,
Mary became a recluse at home for love of a man—
I sat under my cedar tree.
All were gone, or broken-winged or devoured by life—
I sat under my cedar tree.
My mate, the mother of them, was taken—
I sat under my cedar tree,
Till ninety years were tolled.
O maternal Earth, which rocks the fallen leaf to sleep!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters from Spoon River Anthology
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
In 1969
Some called it the Summer of Love, & although the clustered,
Motionless leaves that overhung the streets looked the same
As ever, the same as they did every summer, in 1967,
Anybody with three dollars could have a vision.
And who wouldn’t want to know what it felt like to be
A cedar waxwing landing with a flutter of gray wings
In a spruce tree, & then disappearing into it,
For only three dollars? And now I know; its flight is ecstasy.
No matter how I look at it, I also now know that
The short life of a cedar waxwing is more pure pleasure
Than anyone alive can still be sane, & bear.
And remember, a cedar waxwing doesn’t mean a thing,
Qua cedar or qua waxwing, nor could it have earned
That kind of pleasure by working to become a better
Cedar waxwing. They’re all the same.
Show me a bad cedar waxwing, for example, & I mean
A really morally corrupted cedar waxwing, & you’ll commend
The cage they have reserved for you, resembling heaven.
Some people spent their lives then, having visions.
But in my case, the morning after I dropped mescaline
I had to spray Johnson grass in a vineyard of Thompson Seedless
My father owned—& so, still feeling the holiness of all things
Living, holding the spray gun in one hand & driving with the other,
The tractor pulling the spray rig & its sputtering motor—
Row after row, I sprayed each weed I found
That looked enough like Johnson grass, a thing alive that’s good
For nothing at all, with a mixture of malathion & diesel fuel,
And said to each tall weed, as I coated it with a lethal mist,
Dominus vobiscum, &, sometimes, mea culpa, until
It seemed boring to apologize to weeds, & insincere as well.
For in a day or so, no more than that, the weeds would turn
Disgusting hues of yellowish orange & wither away. I still felt
The bird’s flight in my body when I thought about it, the wing ache,
Lifting heaven, locating itself somewhere just above my slumped
Shoulders, & part of me taking wind. I’d feel it at odd moments
After that on those long days I spent shoveling vines, driving trucks
And tractors, helping swamp fruit out of one orchard
Or another, but as the summer went on, I felt it less and less.
As the summer went on, some were drafted, some enlisted
In a generation that would not stop falling, a generation
Of leaves sticking to body bags, & when they turned them
Over, they floated back to us on television, even then,
In the Summer of Love, in 1967,
When riot police waited beyond the doors of perception,
And the best thing one could do was get arrested.
poem by Larry Levis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Whenever I Pray the Holy Rosary:
Whenev’r I pray the Holy Rosary:
My woes all vanish into air;
My foes disappear and don’t dare.
Whenev’r I pray the Holy Rosary:
Miracles happen more with ease;
God answers my prayers and pleas.
Whenev’r I pray the Holy Rosary:
My world becomes rosy again;
My life becomes a boon, not bane.
Whenev’r I pray the Holy Rosary:
God helps me well in life to cope;
God consoles me and gives new hope.
Whenev’r I pray the Holy Rosary:
My sinful habits vanish fast;
My soul gets filled with grace at last.
Whenev’r I pray the Holy Rosary:
My trials vanish, one by one;
My works God-bless’d are fully done.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-5-2008
poem by John Celes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Saint Edmond's Eve
Oh! did you observe the Black Canon pass,
And did you observe his frown?
He goeth to say the midnight mass,
In holy St. Edmond's town.
He goeth to sing the burial chaunt,
And to lay the wandering sprite,
Whose shadowy, restless form doth haunt,
The Abbey's drear aisle this night.
It saith it will not its wailing cease,
'Till that holy man come near,
'Till he pour o’er its grave the prayer of peace,
And sprinkle the hallowed tear.
The Canon's horse is stout and strong
The road is plain and fair,
But the Canon slowly wends along,
And his brow is gloomed with care.
Who is it thus late at the Abbey-gate?
Sullen echoes the portal bell,
It sounds like the whispering voice of fate,
It sounds like a funeral knell.
The Canon his faltering knee thrice bowed,
And his frame was convulsed with fear,
When a voice was heard distinct and loud,
'Prepare! for thy hour is near.'
He crosses his breast, he mutters a prayer,
To Heaven he lifts his eye,
He heeds not the Abbot's gazing stare,
Nor the dark Monks who murmured by.
Bare-headed he worships the sculptured saints
That frown on the sacred walls,
His face it grows pale,--he trembles, he faints,
At the Abbot’s feet he falls.
And straight the father’s robe he kissed,
Who cried, 'Grace dwells with thee,
The spirit will fade like the morning mist,
At your benedicite.
'Now haste within! the board is spread,
Keen blows the air, and cold,
The spectre sleeps in its earthy bed,
'Till St. Edmond’s bell hath tolled,--
[...] Read more
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Book II - Part 04 - Absence Of Secondary Qualities
Now come, this wisdom by my sweet toil sought
Look thou perceive, lest haply thou shouldst guess
That the white objects shining to thine eyes
Are gendered of white atoms, or the black
Of a black seed; or yet believe that aught
That's steeped in any hue should take its dye
From bits of matter tinct with hue the same.
For matter's bodies own no hue the least-
Or like to objects or, again, unlike.
But, if percase it seem to thee that mind
Itself can dart no influence of its own
Into these bodies, wide thou wand'rest off.
For since the blind-born, who have ne'er surveyed
The light of sun, yet recognise by touch
Things that from birth had ne'er a hue for them,
'Tis thine to know that bodies can be brought
No less unto the ken of our minds too,
Though yet those bodies with no dye be smeared.
Again, ourselves whatever in the dark
We touch, the same we do not find to be
Tinctured with any colour.
Now that here
I win the argument, I next will teach
Now, every colour changes, none except,
And every...
Which the primordials ought nowise to do.
Since an immutable somewhat must remain,
Lest all things utterly be brought to naught.
For change of anything from out its bounds
Means instant death of that which was before.
Wherefore be mindful not to stain with colour
The seeds of things, lest things return for thee
All utterly to naught.
But now, if seeds
Receive no property of colour, and yet
Be still endowed with variable forms
From which all kinds of colours they beget
And vary (by reason that ever it matters much
With, what seeds, and in what positions joined,
And what the motions that they give and get),
Forthwith most easily thou mayst devise
Why what was black of hue an hour ago
Can of a sudden like the marble gleam,-
As ocean, when the high winds have upheaved
Its level plains, is changed to hoary waves
Of marble whiteness: for, thou mayst declare,
That, when the thing we often see as black
Is in its matter then commixed anew,
Some atoms rearranged, and some withdrawn,
[...] Read more
poem by Lucretius
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Full Moon Day Third Lunar Month
One candle is a light unto itself.
One hundred candles
illuminate a room.
In a room,
one candle is
a light unto itself.
Uposatha day at Wat Katum,
seven old ladies and one old man
taking eight precepts
for a day
to keep the Niraya fires at bay.
'I undertake
to observe the precept
to refrain from
killing living beings.
'I undertake
to observe the precept
to refrain from
taking things not given.
'I undertake………'
An old monk gives a sermon:
'A silent sandoth arahant is blamed.
Articulate Sariputta is blamed.
Economical speech of Ananda is blamed.
Even silent Buddhas cannot escape censure.
Criticising others
burns the mind,
wards off wholesome
states of mind.'
A new and lofty concrete sala hall
is being built to house a replica
of a famous Buddha image.
In this, they say, Luang Po Sothorn
floated, in a miracle,
along the river Bang Pakhong
to Chachoengsao
after the sacking of Ayudhaya
a city of a million souls.
Eleven o'clock,
a bell sounds.
Seven monks follow their abbot
to walk a hot and dusty concrete road
past a rabble of dogs with mange,
to Jai Hieng's house.
Sabbe sankhara dukkha
On the anniversary
[...] Read more
poem by Brian Taylor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Rosary
Ring a Ring no Rosary
Standing in a row
Waiting for the hand to fall
God's children take a bow.
Ring a Ring no rosary
Shadow at the door
Sweat around his puffed up neck
Pain upon the floor.
Ring a Ring no Rosary
A whispered word to God
Judies, where's your mercy
From the stripping and the rod.
Ring a Ring no Rosary
Wipe away the tear.
Stained and dirty fingers
Garbing at my years.
Ring a Ring no Rosary
Now the pain is done
Christ upon his alter
Disciples in my Tomb.
poem by Alan Halford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Crack Me Up
Hello, feelin? happy, got peace of mind?
Hello, kimosabe, wont you be so kind
Tell all the fake facts jack, dirt n all
How longd it take you mac, tget the skirt to fall?
Hello mr. backstreet president, hello, hows it hangin? still shakin? her tent? dont it hurt, what shes sayin?
bout you to your back, dont it bother you at all?
You know you crack me up, really, really crack me up
Well hello, (hello) its a real bad line, just want the
Love of a good, good woman sometime
Sold to the man who has everything
Gold-caged madonna, sing mama, sing
Come on, get close, I forget how near
Move along now, theres nothin? to see round here
Can? you care about me, like I care about me?
Dont it bother you at all?
You know you crack me up, really, really crack me up
You crack me up, crack me up
Happy, feelin? happy, got peace of mind?
Hello kimosabe, wont you be so kind?
Tell all the fake facts jack, dirt n all
How longd it take you mac, tget the skirt to fall?
Come on, get close, I forget how near
Move along now, theres nothin? to see round here
Cant you care about me, like I care about me
Dont it bother you at all?
You know you crack me up, really, really crack me up
You crack me up, really, really, really, really, really, really
Crack me up
You know you crack me up, you crack me up.
(rankin.......polygram songs)
Published by nazareth (dunfermline) ltd.
Copyright 1994 polydor gmbh , hamburg
song performed by Nazareth
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Singing Of The Magnificat
A LEGEND
IN midst of wide green pasture-lands, cut through
By lines of alders bordering deep-banked streams,
Where bulrushes and yellow iris grew,
And rest and peace, and all the flowers of dreams,
The Abbey stood--so still, it seemed a part
Of the marsh-country's almost pulseless heart.
Where grey-green willows fringed the stream and pool,
The lazy meek-faced cattle strayed to graze,
Sheep in the meadows cropped the grasses cool,
And silver fish shone through the watery ways,
And many a load of fruit and load of corn
Into the Abbey storehouses was borne.
Yet though so much they had of life's good things,
The monks but held them as a sacred trust,
Lent from the storehouse of the King of kings
Till they, His stewards, should crumble back to dust.
'Not as our own,' they said, 'but as the Lord's,
All that the stream yields, or the land affords.'
And all the villages and hamlets near
Knew the monks' wealth, and how their wealth was spent.
In tribulation, sickness, want, or fear,
First to the Abbey all the peasants went,
Certain to find a welcome, and to be
Helped in the hour of their extremity.
When plague or sickness smote the people sore,
The Brothers prayed beside the dying bed,
And nursed the sick back into health once more,
And through the horror and the danger said:
'How good is God, Who has such love for us,
He lets us tend His suffering children thus!'
They in their simple ways and works were glad:
Yet all men must have sorrows of their own.
And so a bitter grief the Brothers had,
Nor mourned for others' heaviness alone.
This was the secret of their sorrowing,
That not a monk in all the house could sing!
[...] Read more
poem by Edith Nesbit
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Twelve
III
Our sons have gone
to serve the Reds
to serve the Reds
to risk their heads!
O bitter,bitter pain,
Sweet living!
A torn overcoat
an Austrian gun!
-To get the bourgeosie
We'll start a fire
a worldwide fire, and drench it
in blood-
The good Lord bless us!
-O you bitter bitterness,
boring boredom,
deadly boredom.
This is how I will
spend my time.
This is how I will
scratch my head,
munch on seeds,
some sunflower seeds,
play with my knife
play with my knife.
You bourgeosie, fly as a sparrow!
I'll drink your blood,
your warm blood, for love,
for dark-eyed love.
God, let this soul, your servant,
rest in peace.
Such boredom!
XII
... On they march with sovereign tread...
‘Who else goes there? Come out! I said
come out!’ It is the wind and the red
[...] Read more
poem by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Ruined Abbey, or, The Affects of Superstition
At length fair Peace, with olive crown'd, regains
Her lawful throne, and to the sacred haunts
Of wood or fount the frighted Muse returns.
Happy the bard who, from his native hills,
Soft musing on a summer's eve, surveys
His azure stream, with pensile woods enclosed;
Or o'er the glassy surface with his friend,
Or faithful fair, through bordering willows green,
Wafts his small frigate. Fearless he of shouts,
Or taunts, the rhetoric of the watery crew
That ape confusion from the realms they rule;
Fearless of these; who shares the gentler voice
Of peace and music; birds of sweetest song
Attune from native boughs their various lay,
And cheer the forest; birds of brighter plume
With busy pinion skim the glittering wave,
And tempt the sun; ambitious to display
Their several merit, while the vocal flute
Or number'd verse, by female voice endear'd,
Crowns his delight, and mollifies the scene.
If solitude his wandering steps invite
To some more deep recess (for hours there are
When gay, when social minds to Friendship's voice,
Or Beauty's charm, her wild abodes prefer),
How pleased he treads her venerable shades,
Her solemn courts! the centre of the grove!
The root-built cave, by far extended rocks
Around embosom'd, how it soothes the soul!
If scoop'd at first by superstitious hands,
The rugged cell received alone the shoals
Of bigot minds, Religion dwells not here,
Yet Virtue, pleased at intervals retires:
Yet here may Wisdom, as she walks the maze,
Some serious truths collect, the rules of life,
And serious truths of mightier weight than gold!
I ask not wealth; but let me hoard with care,
With frugal cunning, with a niggard's art,
A few fix'd principles, in early life,
Ere indolence impede the search, explored;
Then, like old Latimer, when age impairs
My judgment's eye, when quibbling schools attack
My grounded hope, or subtler wits deride,
Will I not blush to shun the vain debate,
And this mine answer: 'Thus, 'twas thus I thought,
My mind yet vigorous, and my soul entire;
Thus will I think, averse to listen more
To intricate discussion, prone to stray.
Perhaps my reason may but ill defend
My settled faith; my mind, with age impair'd,
Too sure its own infirmities declare.
[...] Read more
poem by William Shenstone
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!