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When a stepmother moves in, the father becomes a stepfather.

Serbian proverbs
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Baby Daddy

[Wyclef]
Right now if you raising some children that don't belong to you
But you know you're taking care of them
Please report on the dancefloor, let's go now
Do the stepfather dance (to the right)
Do the stepfather dance (to the left)
Do the stepfather dance
Baby mama don't hurt nobody, come on
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father
But I'm the closest thing to him
[Wyclef]
Girl I love you
And ain't a thing that I wouldn't do for you
You my boo and we be sticking just like glue
But your kid's got me losing my mind
Wanna know if I want you
And if I do then you just gotta come to
Now the family be fighting through hard times
But I'm gon' treat them like they're mine
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father
But I'm the closest thing to him
[Wyclef]
Fresh pair of Jordan's you had it
When you want a Playstation you had it (Vendetta)
First day of school you had it
Even when I didn't have it
Once upon a time, not long ago
Before the dreads, when I had the afro
When in school I used to pass the love notes
If you like me check yes if not check no
Flip the page now everything changed
The kid don't even have my last name
Sometime I feel like I'm paying child support
Someone please call people's court
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father

[...] Read more

song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
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Baby Daddy

[Wyclef]
Right now if you raising some children that don't belong to you
But you know you're taking care of them
Please report on the dancefloor, let's go now
Do the stepfather dance (to the right)
Do the stepfather dance (to the left)
Do the stepfather dance
Baby mama don't hurt nobody, come on
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father
But I'm the closest thing to him
[Wyclef]
Girl I love you
And ain't a thing that I wouldn't do for you
You my boo and we be sticking just like glue
But your kid's got me losing my mind
Wanna know if I want you
And if I do then you just gotta come to
Now the family be fighting through hard times
But I'm gon' treat them like they're mine
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father
But I'm the closest thing to him
[Wyclef]
Fresh pair of Jordan's you had it
When you want a Playstation you had it (Vendetta)
First day of school you had it
Even when I didn't have it
Once upon a time, not long ago
Before the dreads, when I had the afro
When in school I used to pass the love notes
If you like me check yes if not check no
Flip the page now everything changed
The kid don't even have my last name
Sometime I feel like I'm paying child support
Someone please call people's court
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father

[...] Read more

song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
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They were only doing their duty (Two ballades with a prologue)

I. Prologue: Four days of terror

The arrest was just before five o’clock
on a Thursday afternoon,
with one white and one black constable
waiting at his work
and when he returned from business
cuffing him and searching his body
and taking him into custody.

The employer notified his relatives,
seeing the incident
as a blot on the company’s name
and then his job was hanging in balance
and the charges was
based on a false affidavit
made by stepson
on persuasion of the mother in law

and where his car had been stolen,
criminals had broken into his rented house
and robbed him of the TV, DVD-player,
hifi and everything valuable
no arrest was ever made
and the police was only doing their job
and will tell you
that another unit
is responsible for robberies
and hijackings
passing the buck endlessly.

Three days elapsed before a bail hearing
as the black state attorney
was that Friday busy
with another case
in another town
while he was innocently locked up.

It is no joke being innocent and locked up
in a police cell with eighteen other people
with one toilet,
in the middle of the room,
no shower,
no bathing facilities, dirt everywhere
and lice jumping into your hair,

not being able to close your eyes
and knowing if you will be safe
from a attack from any of them

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poem by Gert Strydom
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The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.

The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.

ACT I

Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.

Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.

Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!

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poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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My Redemption Poem

When satan fell,
for one wrong mistake.
He was thrown in hell,
it was all he could take.
For there was still light in him,
but with it was now doubt.
Upon his face grew a grin,
all he did was rage and shout.
He yelled to God 'Why did it have to be me? ',
but he didnt answer,
and satan did see.
That hell was his to rule,
with unimaginable pain,
he would truly be cruel.
To all the lost souls,
he was their Dark King.
With their blood in his bowl,
in their pain,
for him they would sing.
Over the eons he became insane,
but there was still light in him.
Hidden in a deep part of his soul,
a place he forgot to know.
And one day their blood spilled out of the bowl,
he felt something stir.
A sadness so deep,
with a pain so true.
He could never sleep,
so the pain was all he could know.
As he sat there,
with tears in his eyes,
he thought noone was there,
noone to hear his cries.
He heard a voice,
and this is what it said 'Son why do you cry? '
He couldnt believe what he heard,
and was voiceless.
God said 'Son your here by your own choice'.
And with that he felt,
in numerous times,
all the pain he had delt.
And now he seen,
that little light,
he could find that little gleam.
He fell to his knees,
for all to see.
He prayed to God,
saying 'Father can i be saved? '.
'Am i doomed to live a life in this darkness? '.
And God said to satan 'My son all you had to do was accept your choice',

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poem by Nick Wingler
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First Book

OF writing many books there is no end;
And I who have written much in prose and verse
For others' uses, will write now for mine,–
Will write my story for my better self,
As when you paint your portrait for a friend,
Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it
Long after he has ceased to love you, just
To hold together what he was and is.

I, writing thus, am still what men call young;
I have not so far left the coasts of life
To travel inland, that I cannot hear
That murmur of the outer Infinite
Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep
When wondered at for smiling; not so far,
But still I catch my mother at her post
Beside the nursery-door, with finger up,
'Hush, hush–here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes
Leap forward, taking part against her word
In the child's riot. Still I sit and feel
My father's slow hand, when she had left us both,
Stroke out my childish curls across his knee;
And hear Assunta's daily jest (she knew
He liked it better than a better jest)
Inquire how many golden scudi went
To make such ringlets. O my father's hand,
Stroke the poor hair down, stroke it heavily,–
Draw, press the child's head closer to thy knee!
I'm still too young, too young to sit alone.

I write. My mother was a Florentine,
Whose rare blue eyes were shut from seeing me
When scarcely I was four years old; my life,
A poor spark snatched up from a failing lamp
Which went out therefore. She was weak and frail;
She could not bear the joy of giving life–
The mother's rapture slew her. If her kiss
Had left a longer weight upon my lips,
It might have steadied the uneasy breath,
And reconciled and fraternised my soul
With the new order. As it was, indeed,
I felt a mother-want about the world,
And still went seeking, like a bleating lamb
Left out at night, in shutting up the fold,–
As restless as a nest-deserted bird
Grown chill through something being away, though what
It knows not. I, Aurora Leigh, was born
To make my father sadder, and myself
Not overjoyous, truly. Women know
The way to rear up children, (to be just,)

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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The Iliad: Book 5

Then Pallas Minerva put valour into the heart of Diomed, son of
Tydeus, that he might excel all the other Argives, and cover himself
with glory. She made a stream of fire flare from his shield and helmet
like the star that shines most brilliantly in summer after its bath in
the waters of Oceanus- even such a fire did she kindle upon his head
and shoulders as she bade him speed into the thickest hurly-burly of
the fight.
Now there was a certain rich and honourable man among the Trojans,
priest of Vulcan, and his name was Dares. He had two sons, Phegeus and
Idaeus, both of them skilled in all the arts of war. These two came
forward from the main body of Trojans, and set upon Diomed, he being
on foot, while they fought from their chariot. When they were close up
to one another, Phegeus took aim first, but his spear went over
Diomed's left shoulder without hitting him. Diomed then threw, and his
spear sped not in vain, for it hit Phegeus on the breast near the
nipple, and he fell from his chariot. Idaeus did not dare to
bestride his brother's body, but sprang from the chariot and took to
flight, or he would have shared his brother's fate; whereon Vulcan
saved him by wrapping him in a cloud of darkness, that his old
father might not be utterly overwhelmed with grief; but the son of
Tydeus drove off with the horses, and bade his followers take them
to the ships. The Trojans were scared when they saw the two sons of
Dares, one of them in fright and the other lying dead by his
chariot. Minerva, therefore, took Mars by the hand and said, "Mars,
Mars, bane of men, bloodstained stormer of cities, may we not now
leave the Trojans and Achaeans to fight it out, and see to which of
the two Jove will vouchsafe the victory? Let us go away, and thus
avoid his anger."
So saying, she drew Mars out of the battle, and set him down upon
the steep banks of the Scamander. Upon this the Danaans drove the
Trojans back, and each one of their chieftains killed his man. First
King Agamemnon flung mighty Odius, captain of the Halizoni, from his
chariot. The spear of Agamemnon caught him on the broad of his back,
just as he was turning in flight; it struck him between the
shoulders and went right through his chest, and his armour rang
rattling round him as he fell heavily to the ground.
Then Idomeneus killed Phaesus, son of Borus the Meonian, who had
come from Varne. Mighty Idomeneus speared him on the right shoulder as
he was mounting his chariot, and the darkness of death enshrouded
him as he fell heavily from the car.
The squires of Idomeneus spoiled him of his armour, while
Menelaus, son of Atreus, killed Scamandrius the son of Strophius, a
mighty huntsman and keen lover of the chase. Diana herself had
taught him how to kill every kind of wild creature that is bred in
mountain forests, but neither she nor his famed skill in archery could
now save him, for the spear of Menelaus struck him in the back as he
was flying; it struck him between the shoulders and went right through
his chest, so that he fell headlong and his armour rang rattling round
him.
Meriones then killed Phereclus the son of Tecton, who was the son of

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poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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Lancelot And Elaine

Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where the morning's earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazoned on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,
Leaving her household and good father, climbed
That eastern tower, and entering barred her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot:
And ah God's mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.

How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.

For Arthur, long before they crowned him King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn.
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met
And fought together; but their names were lost;
And each had slain his brother at a blow;
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached,
And lichened into colour with the crags:
And he, that once was king, had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass,
All in a misty moonshine, unawares

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Odyssey: Book 2

Now when the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared,
Telemachus rose and dressed himself. He bound his sandals on to his
comely feet, girded his sword about his shoulder, and left his room
looking like an immortal god. He at once sent the criers round to call
the people in assembly, so they called them and the people gathered
thereon; then, when they were got together, he went to the place of
assembly spear in hand- not alone, for his two hounds went with him.
Minerva endowed him with a presence of such divine comeliness that all
marvelled at him as he went by, and when he took his place' in his
father's seat even the oldest councillors made way for him.
Aegyptius, a man bent double with age, and of infinite experience,
the first to speak His son Antiphus had gone with Ulysses to Ilius,
land of noble steeds, but the savage Cyclops had killed him when
they were all shut up in the cave, and had cooked his last dinner
for him, He had three sons left, of whom two still worked on their
father's land, while the third, Eurynomus, was one of the suitors;
nevertheless their father could not get over the loss of Antiphus, and
was still weeping for him when he began his speech.
"Men of Ithaca," he said, "hear my words. From the day Ulysses
left us there has been no meeting of our councillors until now; who
then can it be, whether old or young, that finds it so necessary to
convene us? Has he got wind of some host approaching, and does he wish
to warn us, or would he speak upon some other matter of public moment?
I am sure he is an excellent person, and I hope Jove will grant him
his heart's desire."
Telemachus took this speech as of good omen and rose at once, for he
was bursting with what he had to say. He stood in the middle of the
assembly and the good herald Pisenor brought him his staff. Then,
turning to Aegyptius, "Sir," said he, "it is I, as you will shortly
learn, who have convened you, for it is I who am the most aggrieved. I
have not got wind of any host approaching about which I would warn
you, nor is there any matter of public moment on which I would
speak. My grieveance is purely personal, and turns on two great
misfortunes which have fallen upon my house. The first of these is the
loss of my excellent father, who was chief among all you here present,
and was like a father to every one of you; the second is much more
serious, and ere long will be the utter ruin of my estate. The sons of
all the chief men among you are pestering my mother to marry them
against her will. They are afraid to go to her father Icarius,
asking him to choose the one he likes best, and to provide marriage
gifts for his daughter, but day by day they keep hanging about my
father's house, sacrificing our oxen, sheep, and fat goats for their
banquets, and never giving so much as a thought to the quantity of
wine they drink. No estate can stand such recklessness; we have now no
Ulysses to ward off harm from our doors, and I cannot hold my own
against them. I shall never all my days be as good a man as he was,
still I would indeed defend myself if I had power to do so, for I
cannot stand such treatment any longer; my house is being disgraced
and ruined. Have respect, therefore, to your own consciences and to
public opinion. Fear, too, the wrath of heaven, lest the gods should

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poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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The Odyssey: Book 1

Tell me, o muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide
after he had sacked the famous town of Troy. Many cities did he visit,
and many were the nations with whose manners and customs he was
acquainted; moreover he suffered much by sea while trying to save
his own life and bring his men safely home; but do what he might he
could not save his men, for they perished through their own sheer
folly in eating the cattle of the Sun-god Hyperion; so the god
prevented them from ever reaching home. Tell me, too, about all
these things, O daughter of Jove, from whatsoever source you may
know them.
So now all who escaped death in battle or by shipwreck had got
safely home except Ulysses, and he, though he was longing to return to
his wife and country, was detained by the goddess Calypso, who had got
him into a large cave and wanted to marry him. But as years went by,
there came a time when the gods settled that he should go back to
Ithaca; even then, however, when he was among his own people, his
troubles were not yet over; nevertheless all the gods had now begun to
pity him except Neptune, who still persecuted him without ceasing
and would not let him get home.
Now Neptune had gone off to the Ethiopians, who are at the world's
end, and lie in two halves, the one looking West and the other East.
He had gone there to accept a hecatomb of sheep and oxen, and was
enjoying himself at his festival; but the other gods met in the
house of Olympian Jove, and the sire of gods and men spoke first. At
that moment he was thinking of Aegisthus, who had been killed by
Agamemnon's son Orestes; so he said to the other gods:
"See now, how men lay blame upon us gods for what is after all
nothing but their own folly. Look at Aegisthus; he must needs make
love to Agamemnon's wife unrighteously and then kill Agamemnon, though
he knew it would be the death of him; for I sent Mercury to warn him
not to do either of these things, inasmuch as Orestes would be sure to
take his revenge when he grew up and wanted to return home. Mercury
told him this in all good will but he would not listen, and now he has
paid for everything in full."
Then Minerva said, "Father, son of Saturn, King of kings, it
served Aegisthus right, and so it would any one else who does as he
did; but Aegisthus is neither here nor there; it is for Ulysses that
my heart bleeds, when I think of his sufferings in that lonely
sea-girt island, far away, poor man, from all his friends. It is an
island covered with forest, in the very middle of the sea, and a
goddess lives there, daughter of the magician Atlas, who looks after
the bottom of the ocean, and carries the great columns that keep
heaven and earth asunder. This daughter of Atlas has got hold of
poor unhappy Ulysses, and keeps trying by every kind of blandishment
to make him forget his home, so that he is tired of life, and thinks
of nothing but how he may once more see the smoke of his own chimneys.
You, sir, take no heed of this, and yet when Ulysses was before Troy
did he not propitiate you with many a burnt sacrifice? Why then should
you keep on being so angry with him?"
And Jove said, "My child, what are you talking about? How can I

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poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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Father Of Night

Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.

song performed by Bob Dylan
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In Prayer to You

Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.

Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.

Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
For all that you've done for me.

In the early morning hours,
When I arise to greet the Sun...
I feel blessed and prepared,
With such gratefulness...
In prayer to You.
This I must do!

And when noon approaches...
No matter what I have done,
Before that time comes...
That may create a disturbance,
I did not invite nor did I make.
I find time to show it is You I appreciate.
In prayer to You.
This I must do!

Whether or not...
Thunder storms roar,
Or rain drops fall to pitter and pat.
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.

And at the oncoming of Sunset...
Not one moment do I forget,
The power of Your presence...
That showers the blessings,
From You I get!

Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sohrab and Rustum

And the first grey of morning fill'd the east,
And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream.
But all the Tartar camp along the stream
Was hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep;
Sohrab alone, he slept not; all night long
He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed;
But when the grey dawn stole into his tent,
He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword,
And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent,
And went abroad into the cold wet fog,
Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's tent.

Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, which stood
Clustering like bee-hives on the low flat strand
Of Oxus, where the summer-floods o'erflow
When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere
Through the black tents he pass'd, o'er that low strand,
And to a hillock came, a little back
From the stream's brink--the spot where first a boat,
Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land.
The men of former times had crown'd the top
With a clay fort; but that was fall'n, and now
The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent,
A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread.
And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stood
Upon the thick piled carpets in the tent,
And found the old man sleeping on his bed
Of rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms.
And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step
Was dull'd; for he slept light, an old man's sleep;
And he rose quickly on one arm, and said:--

"Who art thou? for it is not yet clear dawn.
Speak! is there news, or any night alarm?"

But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said:--
"Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa! it is I.
The sun is not yet risen, and the foe
Sleep; but I sleep not; all night long I lie
Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee.
For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek
Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son,
In Samarcand, before the army march'd;
And I will tell thee what my heart desires.
Thou know'st if, since from Ader-baijan first
I came among the Tartars and bore arms,
I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown,
At my boy's years, the courage of a man.
This too thou know'st, that while I still bear on
The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world,

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poem by Matthew Arnold (1853)
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Tiriel

1

And Aged Tiriel. stood before the Gates of his beautiful palace
With Myratana. once the Queen of all the western plains
But now his eyes were darkned. & his wife fading in death
They stood before their once delightful palace. & thus the Voice
Of aged Tiriel. arose. that his sons might hear in their gates
Accursed race of Tiriel. behold your father
Come forth & look on her that bore you. come you accursed sons.
In my weak arms. I here have borne your dying mother
Come forth sons of the Curse come forth. see the death of Myratana
His sons ran from their gates. & saw their aged parents stand
And thus the eldest son of Tiriel raisd his mighty voice
Old man unworthy to be calld. the father of Tiriels race
For evry one of those thy wrinkles. each of those grey hairs
Are cruel as death. & as obdurate as the devouring pit
Why should thy sons care for thy curses thou accursed man
Were we not slaves till we rebeld. Who cares for Tiriels curse
His blessing was a cruel curse. His curse may be a blessing
He ceast the aged man raisd up his right hand to the heavens
His left supported Myratana shrinking in pangs of death
The orbs of his large eyes he opend. & thus his voice went forth
Serpents not sons. wreathing around the bones of Tiriel
Ye worms of death feasting upon your aged parents flesh
Listen & hear your mothers groans. No more accursed Sons
She bears. she groans not at the birth of Heuxos or Yuva
These are the groans of death ye serpents These are the groans of death
Nourishd with milk ye serpents. nourishd with mothers tears & cares
Look at my eyes blind as the orbless scull among the stones
Look at my bald head. Hark listen ye serpents listen
What Myratana. What my wife. O Soul O Spirit O fire
What Myratana. art thou dead. Look here ye serpents look
The serpents sprung from her own bowels have draind her dry as this[.]
Curse on your ruthless heads. for I will bury her even here
So saying he began to dig a grave with his aged hands
But Heuxos calld a son of Zazel. to dig their mother a grave
Old cruelty desist & let us dig a grave for thee
Thou hast refusd our charity thou hast refusd our food
Thou hast refusd our clothes our beds our houses for thy dwelling
Chusing to wander like a Son of Zazel in the rocks
Why dost thou curse. is not the curse now come upon your head
Was it not you enslavd the sons of Zazel. & they have cursd
And now you feel it. Dig a grave & let us bury our mother
There take the body. cursed sons. & may the heavens rain wrath
As thick as northern fogs. around your gates. to choke you up
That you may lie as now your mother lies. like dogs. cast out
The stink. of your dead carcases. annoying man & beast
Till your white bones are bleachd with age for a memorial.
No your remembrance shall perish. for when your carcases
Lie stinking on the earth. the buriers shall arise from the east

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake (1789)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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No Father?

At times I feel so hurt because i got wounded so deeply.
I know You are there for me, Father my peace and comfort.
I turn towards you murmuring the word 'Father' and slowly.
I look towards you and pour out my pain and the much hurt

Even though I do not have a loving father to this day
I have You who is my true caring Father who loves me fully
When I am hurting, seeing other children happy today
due to the fact they have a loving father who loves them wholly.

I am so hurt, looking at my friends who have such a great live.
I am not enving them, all I want is to be happy and to be loved.
but then I see You turning towards me, You show me so much love
Lord You comfort me like a true father would, I feel so loved

Like a ray of sunshine I sense Your gentle kind fatherly comfort
I pray to you Father when I am in misery, pain or when happy
I realise I have You my true Father so I am free no more hurt.
I pray to you Lord, day and night so that I am no more weary.

When I am sad I slowly cry out to You in a desperate voice of mine
I call onto to You saying these words, 'Father, Father, Father'
I do like calling You father because I get the joy, oh so divine.
I love You so deeply My true compationate Heavenly Father.

When I pray I say, 'Father My provider, Father My God'
My whole prayer are full of the words 'Father'.......father, father
I am thankful that You gave me Your truly fatherly love Lord.
I love you so much even though I have no loving father.

I do not know why I refer to my God as 'Father' not Lord or God
but I find this peace and satifaction when I do call You father
I love my Heavenly Father so much, oh how you give joy, oh God
I somehow find comfort when call on You, You are my only loving father

Oh how Jesus loves me...............How I love Him

poem by Trulyyours Cross
Added by Poetry Lover
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Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

No matter what life you lead
the virgin is a lovely number:
cheeks as fragile as cigarette paper,
arms and legs made of Limoges,
lips like Vin Du Rhône,
rolling her china-blue doll eyes
open and shut.
Open to say,
Good Day Mama,
and shut for the thrust
of the unicorn.
She is unsoiled.
She is as white as a bonefish.

Once there was a lovely virgin
called Snow White.
Say she was thirteen.
Her stepmother,
a beauty in her own right,
though eaten, of course, by age,
would hear of no beauty surpassing her own.
Beauty is a simple passion,
but, oh my friends, in the end
you will dance the fire dance in iron shoes.
The stepmother had a mirror to which she referred-
something like the weather forecast-
a mirror that proclaimed
the one beauty of the land.
She would ask,
Looking glass upon the wall,
who is fairest of us all?
And the mirror would reply,
You are the fairest of us all.
Pride pumped in her like poison.

Suddenly one day the mirror replied,
Queen, you are full fair, 'tis true,
but Snow White is fairer than you.
Until that moment Snow White
had been no more important
than a dust mouse under the bed.
But now the queen saw brown spots on her hand
and four whiskers over her lip
so she condemned Snow White
to be hacked to death.
Bring me her heart, she said to the hunter,
and I will salt it and eat it.
The hunter, however, let his prisoner go
and brought a boar's heart back to the castle.
The queen chewed it up like a cube steak.

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Sexton
Added by Poetry Lover
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST

I

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
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Baby Daddy (feat. Redman)

(feat. Redman)
[Wyclef]
Right now if you raising some children that don't belong to you
But you know you're taking care of them
Please report on the dancefloor, let's go now
Do the stepfather dance (to the right)
Do the stepfather dance (to the left)
Do the stepfather dance
Baby mama don't hurt nobody, come on
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father
But I'm the closest thing to him
[Wyclef]
Girl I love you
And ain't a thing that I wouldn't do for you
You my boo and we be sticking just like glue
But your kid's got me losing my mind
Wanna know if I want you
And if I do then you just gotta come to
Now the family be fighting through hard times
But I'm gon' treat them like they're mine
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father
But I'm the closest thing to him
[Wyclef]
Fresh pair of Jordan's you had it
When you want a Playstation you had it (Vendetta)
First day of school you had it
Even when I didn't have it
Once upon a time, not long ago
Before the dreads, when I had the afro
When in school I used to pass the love notes
If you like me check yes if not check no
Flip the page now everything changed
The kid don't even have my last n

song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
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Father Sun

Strange imaginations, children hide your secrets well
Is it not temptation, makes you kiss and makes you tell?
Theres a traveler on the airwaves, and hes pleading for my heart
Light up all the candles, Im still in the dark
Hurry operator, get redemption on the line
Pull back the curtains, I think I recognize those eyes
If love is so criminal, then my penance due
cause Im still holding onto letters written straight to you
Oh, wont you save me, father sun, father sun
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that youre the only one
Oh, please forgive me, father sun, father sun
I swore I needed you in the back of my mind
Laid the beads upon the table, right beside the wine
It seems that we say forever, but forevers just a word
And I will be coming back for you is all I heard
Oh, wont you save me, father sun, father sun
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that youre the only one
Oh, please forgive me, father sun, father sun
Please dont forget me, father sun, father sun
I think I hear him whispering
Put your hand in my hand and you wont feel a thing
Oh, wont you save me, father sun, father sun
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that youre the only one
Oh, please forgive me, father sun, father sun
Oh wont you save me, father sun, father sun
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that youre the only one
Oh wont you save me, father sun, father sun
Oh wont you save me, father sun, father sun
Oh wont you save me, save me, save me, save me, save me, father sun

song performed by Sheryl Crow
Added by Lucian Velea
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Grains

What's the relationship
between a grain of rice
and its stalk or the stem of the
rice plants? The corelation between
the two is in other words
the source and the results
that will reap what the source
had told it to produce
in the beginning when
the source let the stem out
in a sprout form
the weed that many farmers had to toil
in hot sunny days to replant
in another rice field with some water
underneath. Water! Yes.
It's the source for life along with
the source that is planted under the ground
where the water was filled in with.
'I am going to see if the rice pad is safe
from this night storm.' In my bed side
I heard father say these words before
he put on his rain coat and boots
at 2 or 3 in the morning the good farmer
the good father the good pharmacist father
my father, he was so worried to think about
the rice fields with so much water ruin them.
It's in the midnight or after that and he...
with no other assistants was willing to
walk through the pouring rain on one
day in July that summer when he asked
me to stay in bed cozy while leaving for the
fields by himself. I slid down the blanket
though it was the summer time, was a bit
chilly for the storm the pouring rain
made the temperature quite low and
I felt cold after father had gone a far from
the house. I was so lone that moment
thinking about my father wondering where
he might be on which road he might be
treading upon what kind of gravels or
maybe some frogs dead flat or some
wet insects like the Yochee or Maettugee.
The rain usually wet those small insects
only to make them jump high and tremble
with cold and shake off the water from
their bodies. But it's the water that gives
them the life the food the fresh air, the feeling
of aliveness the inspiration God had granted
to all His creations. Yes, those small creatures
might have to escape from my father's boots

[...] Read more

poem by Sangnam Nam
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