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When the fox cannot reach the grapes he says they are not ripe.

Greek proverbs
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After The Fox

Who is the fox - I am the fox
Who are you - I am me
Who is me - Me is a thief
You'll bring your poor, poor mother grief
So after the fox, after the fox
Off to the hunt with chains and locks
So after the fox, after the fox
Someone is always chasing after the fox
Where is the gold - It's on the truck
Where's the truck - I won't tell
You must tell - Then I will lie
You'll make your poor, poor sister cry
So after the fox, after the fox
Off to the hunt with chains and locks
So after the fox, after the fox
Someone is always chasing after the fox
Why do you steal - So I'll be rich
Why not work - Work is hard
You'll be caught - I never fail
All little crooks wind up in jail - Not me not me
So after the fox, after the fox
Off to the hunt with chains and locks
So after the fox, after the fox
Someone is always chasing after the fox
After the fox
After the fox
After the fox

song performed by Hollies
Added by Lucian Velea
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Elite

When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
You like attention
It proof to you youre alive
Stop parading your angles
Confused? youll know when youre ripe
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
youre pregnant
With all this space
Thick with money
But I lost my taste
Youre into depression
Cause it matches your eyes
Stop! the faux to be famous
Confused? youll know when youre ripe
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
youre pregnant
With all this case
Thick with money
But I lost the taste
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
youre pregnant
With all this case
Thick with money
But I lost the taste
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe

[...] Read more

song performed by Deftones
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ballad Of The Black Fox Skin

I

There was Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike living the life of shame,
When unto them in the Long, Long Night came the man-who-had-no-name;
Bearing his prize of a black fox pelt, out of the Wild he came.

His cheeks were blanched as the flume-head foam when the brown spring freshets flow;
Deep in their dark, sin-calcined pits were his sombre eyes aglow;
They knew him far for the fitful man who spat forth blood on the snow.

"Did ever you see such a skin?" quoth he; "there's nought in the world so fine--
Such fullness of fur as black as the night, such lustre, such size, such shine;
It's life to a one-lunged man like me; it's London, it's women, it's wine.

"The Moose-hides called it the devil-fox, and swore that no man could kill;
That he who hunted it, soon or late, must surely suffer some ill;
But I laughed at them and their old squaw-tales. Ha! Ha! I'm laughing still.

"For look ye, the skin--it's as smooth as sin, and black as the core of the Pit.
By gun or by trap, whatever the hap, I swore I would capture it;
By star and by star afield and afar, I hunted and would not quit.

"For the devil-fox, it was swift and sly, and it seemed to fleer at me;
I would wake in fright by the camp-fire light, hearing its evil glee;
Into my dream its eyes would gleam, and its shadow would I see.

"It sniffed and ran from the ptarmigan I had poisoned to excess;
Unharmed it sped from my wrathful lead ('twas as if I shot by guess);
Yet it came by night in the stark moonlight to mock at my weariness.

"I tracked it up where the mountains hunch like the vertebrae of the world;
I tracked it down to the death-still pits where the avalanche is hurled;
From the glooms to the sacerdotal snows, where the carded clouds are curled.

"From the vastitudes where the world protrudes through clouds like seas up-shoaled,
I held its track till it led me back to the land I had left of old--
The land I had looted many moons. I was weary and sick and cold.

"I was sick, soul-sick, of the futile chase, and there and then I swore
The foul fiend fox might scathless go, for I would hunt no more;
Then I rubbed mine eyes in a vast surprise--it stood by my cabin door.

"A rifle raised in the wraith-like gloom, and a vengeful shot that sped;
A howl that would thrill a cream-faced corpse-- and the demon fox lay dead. . . .
Yet there was never a sign of wound, and never a drop he bled.

"So that was the end of the great black fox, and here is the prize I've won;
And now for a drink to cheer me up--I've mushed since the early sun;
We'll drink a toast to the sorry ghost of the fox whose race is run."

[...] Read more

poem by Robert William Service
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Run With The Fox

Now the season, now the question
Time to breathe a moments grace
For the hunter and the hunted
Taking time to break the pace
Are you hopeful? are you haunted
By the ghost of christmas past?
Face the future undaunted
Step aside or take your chance
Run with the fox
Into the wind
Unto the dawn of tomorrow
Run with the fox
Into the wild
Into the wild in the fold
Beware of the rocks
And be prepared
Prepare for love comes and goes
Run with the fox
Every year the revolution
One more lost before begun
While we fight our mass confusion
Thus we walk before we run
Run with the fox
Into the wind
Onto the dawn of tomorrow
Run with the fox
Into the wild
Into the wild in the cold
Beware of the rocks
And be prepared
Prepare, for love finally grows
Ahh... ahh... ahhh....
Let us live to tell a story
Here on earth and out in space
Foreward on the road to glory
History records the chase
Have yourselves that certain christmas
Eat, be glad, and drink the wine
Leave your sadness by the river
Giving love and given time.
Ahh... ahhh...
Across the ice of frozen lakes
Run with the fox
Along the lanes a lover takes
Run with the fox
Beneath a moon, a christmas moon
Run with the fox
And sing a tune, a dreamers tune
Run with the fox
Across the bridge of many ways

[...] Read more

song performed by Yes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Run With The Fox

Now the season, now the question
Time to breathe a moments grace
For the hunter and the hunted
Taking time to break the pace
Are you hopeful? are you haunted
By the ghost of christmas past?
Face the future undaunted
Step aside or take your chance
Run with the fox
Into the wind
Unto the dawn of tomorrow
Run with the fox
Into the wild
Into the wild in the fold
Beware of the rocks
And be prepared
Prepare for love comes and goes
Run with the fox
Every year the revolution
One more lost before begun
While we fight our mass confusion
Thus we walk before we run
Run with the fox
Into the wind
Onto the dawn of tomorrow
Run with the fox
Into the wild
Into the wild in the cold
Beware of the rocks
And be prepared
Prepare, for love finally grows
Ahh... ahh... ahhh....
Let us live to tell a story
Here on earth and out in space
Foreward on the road to glory
History records the chase
Have yourselves that certain christmas
Eat, be glad, and drink the wine
Leave your sadness by the river
Giving love and given time.
Ahh... ahhh...
Across the ice of frozen lakes
Run with the fox
Along the lanes a lover takes
Run with the fox
Beneath a moon, a christmas moon
Run with the fox
And sing a tune, a dreamers tune
Run with the fox
Across the bridge of many ways

[...] Read more

song performed by Yes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cole And Glass

she was a beautiful girl
with light blond hair
although she had problems
she still wasnt scared
she had the heart of a worrior
and the motivation
of a lioness waiting to strike her pray
as she walked through the woods
and overcame the obsticals in her path
she was not alone
for a fox with brown fur fallowed
guiding her way and making sure she was ok
the fox defended the beautiful girl with all she could
but found out later on she had not done as good
although the fox tried hard to help
it wasnt enough
the girl had a heart of glass
and the fox a heart of cole
the girl had good things in her life
but the bad took it over
the fox left for just a while
and when she returned she found
the beautiful girl covered in blood
her wrists bleeding and her heart of glass
shattared to pieces mearly dropped
the fox looked at her friend with tears in her eyes
who would hurt this beautiful girl
what would make her want to take her life
the fox tried to think but found no thought
she had realized that she had done enough
and enough was everything she could to help the girl
the fox dug a whole deep in the ground and
covered her friend in beautiful leave that suit her well
she burried her were she knew the girl with the
now broken heart of glass would have been happy
in a beautiful sarounding in a quiet forest is where
she is burried
the fox said a prayer and howled at the moon
as she walked away carrying the pieces of her heart of glass
the fox swallowed each piece with thought and love
hope was upon her that it would be safe
so now in her chest right beside the foxes heart of cole
is a memorie the pieces of her friend glass heart
the beautiful girl with the heart of glass loved nights
an stars
she would always talk about them and now shes with them
watching over the fox
i swear i can still hear the beautiful girl talk to me
when the wind blows i hear her voice and when i look into the sky
on a bright stary night i can see her looking and watching for me

[...] Read more

poem by Sandy Vanity
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Green Grapes

I have some green grapes at their best
And I am waiting for you to pass by
For these grapes are of such great taste
It is the truth so I swear and so I sigh

They were raised upon mountains high
where the wind softly murmur and blow
And a herd of wild horses feeds nigh
On tall grass blades rooted grow

So this is why my grapes are so sweet
The mountain spring by them lead
Tall reeds guard the fenced gates
To keep out the ugly crow’s gait

Quietly my green grapes wait
For the clock sounds the hour late
What makes you hesitate?
What makes you not keep your date?

Therefore my green grapes with me are so sad
And I am waiting not have gone yet to bed
If you only give your saint like smile in a glance
My face will be covered with happy countenance

But here I hear approaching steps from the south
My green grapes are full of hopes for your mouth
But still I am so lonely and sad
Since to bring flowers you forbade

May be next year you change your mind
And to my request you be more kind
And I will bring you flowers from the bowers
Wet with rain of rainbow showers

A flimsy fancy flattered my mind
Yet again it seemed overbold
If you can just love me for a while short
I always consider you gentle and kind

But sometimes you are remote and cold
May be my approaches are too bold
And most hurtful are your scorns
Sharp and fierce worse than a thousand thorns

Alas, I hear no more sound where I stand

[...] Read more

poem by Isaac Ziv
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I Cant Reach You

Im a million ages past you
Im a million ages past you
A million years behind you too
A million years behind you too
A thousand miles up in the air
A thousand miles up in the air
A trillion times Ive seen you there
A trillion times Ive seen you there
Your hair is golden, mine is grey
Your hair is golden, mine is grey
You walk on grass, it turns to hay
You walk on grass, it turns to hay
You blood is blue and mine is red
You blood is blue and mine is red
My body strains, but the nerves are dead
My body strains, but the nerves are dead
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
Ive strained my eyes
Ive strained my eyes
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
Ive split my sides
Ive split my sides
I cant reach
I cant reach
Tryin to get on you
Tryin to get on you
See, feel or hear from you
See, feel or hear from you
The distances grow greater now
The distances grow greater now
You drink champagne and past me plow
You drink champagne and past me plow
You fly your plane right over my head
You fly your plane right over my head
Youre still alive and Im nearly dead
Youre still alive and Im nearly dead
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
With arms outstretched
With arms outstretched
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
I crane my neck
I crane my neck
I cant reach
I cant reach
Tryin to get on you
Tryin to get on you

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Am Writing A Poem That You Can Understand So Easily

this is not to insult your intelligence
or your sensibility
your capacity for managing angst,
to see the wholeness
of the matter
in the eye of the needle
where the camel enters where you claim you have seen it,

this, this is it, the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the river the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the river

do you not find wisdom in it, it is filled with questions to be answered:

why is the fox quick
why is it brown? why does it jump on a lazy dog? and is the dog really lazy? is this not offensive to the dogs in the royalty? and why should the river be near? and this bank of the river? is this where the dog lives? or the fox or the dog, do they relate to the word quick and lazy?

i tell you, there is wisdom in every word, no matter where you place it.
every verb serves its purpose in giving us action,
every question calls for an answer
and every period serves the purpose it is intended to be.

rest.

the purpose of an easy poem is to understand it, and so the poem is written in the most familiar language that you know and speak,

period.

i don't want to understand things really, there is no point there.

period.

some poems are not meant to be understood, they are only meant to be read.

period.

some poems are not meant to be digested, they are meant to make
us full, even only for a while.

period.

some poems are written by Someone Else, and this writer does not
even understand it.

period.
rest.......

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Mother Exultant

Joy! Joy! Joy!
The hills are glad,
The valleys re-echo with merriment,
In my heart is the sound of laughter,
And my feet dance to the time of it;
Oh, little son, carried light on my shoulder,
Let us go laughing and dancing through the live days,
For this is the hour of the vintage,
When man gathereth for himself the fruits of the vineyard.

Look, little son, look:
The grapes are translucent and ripe,
They are heavy and fragrant with juice
They wait for the hands of the vintagers;

For a long time the grapes were not,

And were in the womb of the earth,

Then out of the heavens came the rain,

The sun sent down his warmth from the sky,

At the touch of life, life stirred,

And the earth brought forth her fruits in due season.

I was a maid and alone,

When, behold, there came to me a vision;

My heart cried out within me,

And the voice was the voice of God.

Yea, a virgin I dreamed of love,

And was troubled and sore afraid,

I wept and was glad,

For the word of my heart named me blesse'd,

My soul exhalted the might of creation.

I was a maid and alone,

When, behold, my lover came to me,

[...] Read more

poem by Adelaide Crapsey
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Twentieth Century Fox

Well, shes fashionably lean, and shes fashionably late
Shell never wreck a scene, shell never break a date
But shes no drag, just watch the way she walks
Shes a twentieth century fox, shes a twentieth century fox
No tears, no fears, no ruined years, no clocks
Shes a twentieth century fox, oh yeah
Shes the queen of cool, and shes the lady who waits
Sent to manless school, it never hesitates
She wont waste time, on elementary talk
cause shes a twentieth century fox, shes a twentieth century fox
Got the world locked up, inside a plastic box
Shes a twentieth century fox, oh yeah
Twentieth century fox, oh yeah
Twentieth century fox
Shes a twentieth century fox

song performed by Doors
Added by Lucian Velea
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Twentieth Century Fox

Written by The Doors
Well, she's fashionably lean
Hey and she's fashionably late
She'll never gonna wreck a scene
She'll never break a date
But now she's no drag
Just watch the way that she walks
She's a twentieth century fox
She's a twentieth century fox
She's got world, she's got the world
All locked up inside a plastic box
She's a twentieth century fox, oh yeah
She's the queen of cool
And she's the lady who waits
Sent to manless school
She never gonna hesitate
Well know she don't waste her time
On all this elementary talk
She's a twentieth century fox
She's a twentieth century fox
She got the world, babe,
Now she got this world
She got it all locked up
Inside some kind of plastic plastic box
She's a Twentieth century fox, oh yeah
She's a Twentieth century fox, oh yeah
She's a Twentieth century fox, oh yeah
She's a Twentieth century fox

song performed by John Mellencamp
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The White Foxglove

Reynard, the fox, was asked to a party.
"Come", they said, in your Sunday best,
For we like good form, tho' the fun be hearty;
So all who dance must be formally dressed:
Black tail-coat and a shirt-front gleaming.
Brushed and burnished each dancing shoe,
Pantaloons with a silk braid seaming,
Clean white gloves of the snowiest hue.
This most especially -
Very especially -
Snow-white gloves of a spotless hue.

Reynard, the fox, as he dressed (says the fable)
Dreamed of the dance and his lady love,
Then he searched and he hunted in dresser and table,
But all he discovered was - one old glove!
A horrible glove, with a broad black stitching
Sorriest match for his stiff white shirt.
Could lover go wooing a maid so bewitching,
Wearing but one glove, grubby with dirt?
Oh, most disgustedly -
Very disgustedly -
Creased and crumpled and yellow with dirt.

Said Reynard, the fox, to the King of the Fairies,
"King, I come to you craving a dower.
Gloves! All as white as the lamb that was Mary's.
Pray you, fashion a pair from a magic flower.
>From a summer cloud, from the web of a spider.
Skin of a toadstool, a snowberry rind,
Down from the breast of a fledgling eider."
And the King said "Sure", for the King was kind.
Ever so graciously -
Gaily and graciously -
"Oke", said the Monarch, for he was kind.

Then Reynard, the fox, beheld a wonder:
A wave of his wand by the Fairy King -
And there, with the green leaves spreading under,
Sprang forth a sceptre, a magic thing
With garlands of gloves in a gleaming cluster,
White as the fleeces of new-shorn flocks
That fairy shepherds in Arcady muster.
And a pair they presented to Reynard, the fox.
They fitted him perfectly.
Said the King, "perfectly"
"Your Majesty.' Thank you!" said Reynard, the fox.

Reynard, the fox, made haste to the revel;
Beau of the ball, as they had to confess.

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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City Fox, Country Fox

The city fox envies his soft, rural kin:
They don’t have to watch out for lorries and cars.
The sleek village vixen just lazes away
In wide-open fields, underneath sparkling stars.

The city fox has to go out in the light
When rustical Reynard sleeps safe in his bed.
He only pops out in the midst of the night
To pilfer some poultry from his chickenshed.

The city fox struggles to keep himself fed;
A diet of leftovers doesn’t go far.
Whilst eking a living is all he can do,
Arcadian diets are like caviare.

The city fox scratches in bins for his food
But, out in the country, his cousin lives well
On rabbit and pheasant and other fine game
Whilst rough, tatty townie recoils from the smell.

The city fox wears his dull coat sparse and thin;
His privileged relative sports rich and red.
He sleeps in a cosy, warm, luxury earth
And not in a dingy, cramped, waterlogged bed.

The city fox hangs his tail limply and sad;
He carries an unbristled stub of a brush,
Whilst proudly his brother wags, bouffant and brash,
His tail, fully furnished with fur long and lush.

The city fox seeks for our sympathy, but
He thinks he is safer by living in town
For out in the country, they shoot and they hunt
And life can be dangerous, if you are brown.

The city fox chooses to live where he does
Away from the huntsmen so pretty in pink
As, shouting and chasing, they gallop along
With hounds in the vanguard who jostle and jink.

The city fox laughs at his lazy, fat aunts
Who, chased by the beagles, soon run out of breath
And give up the ghost and surrender at last
In terror, awaiting a violent death,

But city MPs have abolished his fun
By banishing hunting to history’s book
And so his soft sisters are safe as can be
While his life is hard; they have all the luck.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Echoes

Brothers!....
(That is to say, those of you that are.
For, even in the most altruistic mood, there are some I bar.)
Brothers!
Workers, shirkers, writers, skiters, philosophers and others,
Attend. I address myself only to those
Of the class that habitually looketh even beyond its nose.
To him I speak who shrewdly seeketh for the milk in the cocoanut, while his fellows are repeating the bald assertion that 'The fruit is not yet ripe!'
Him I address who knoweth the sheep from the goats, the chaff from the oats,
the half-quid from the gilded sixpence, and the common sense from common tripe.
To the 'Man in the Street' I speak not, nor to the 'Right-thinking Person,'
nor 'Constant Subscriber,' nor 'Vox Populi,' nor 'The Bloke on the Train,'
nor any of their band.
For of the things I write they wot not, neither may they hope to understand.
But ye whom I, even I, presume to address as brother:-
Journalists, politicians, burglars, company promoters, miners, millers,
navvies, shearers, confidence-men, piano-tuners, paling-splitters,
bookmakers, process-workers, judges, brass-fitters, policemen and others.
Attend. Him who looketh for the hall-mark on every link, and taketh not the say-so of the label, nor the sworn affidavit of the pill advertisement
him who hath it in him to discern the fair thing from that which is over the odds, and shaketh the new-laid egg that he may know what is within it
Him I address. For lo, my brothers, maybe there is one of us born once a week or thereabouts, but we know it is written that one of the others is born every minute.
Wherefore, attend,
And lend
An ear; for I have planned for you a pleasing diversion.
Come with me, my brothers, and let us make a little excursion
Out over the land, through the cities and the country places, even to the farthest limit of Back-o'-beyond. Hearken brothers! What are these sounds we hear?
Say, what is all this babbling and gabbling, this howling and growling, this muttering and spluttering, that smites the ear?
Listen again. Do you hear them, brothers? Lo, they are the Echoes calling.
They are the multitudinous echoes that sound up and down the land; crying and sighing, squalling and bawling.
In all places they sound; in the city and in the country; upon the high mountains and along the plains, wherever man hideth; and at all times, for the night is loud with the sound of them even as is the day.
Listen again, brothers! What is it that they say?
Lo, this one shouteth. 'The Time is Not Yet Ripe!' And another bawleth.
'Capital is fleeing the Land!' And yet another howleth, 'It is
Inimical to Private Enterprise and Thrift!' And yet another screameth.
'It will Bust up the Home and ruin the Marriage Tie!'
Why do they howl these things, my brothers? I ask ye, why?
For lo, even as they shout, still other Echoes take up the cry till it is increased and multiplied even unto 70,000 times seven;
And a howl, as of 1400 she-elephants simultaneously robbed of their young, assaileth Heaven.
What say ye, brothers? What is the inner significance of these Echoes, and why do they make these divers sounds? What say ye, brothers; is it because they think?
Aha! I apprehend ye! I say ye - nay, verily, I heard ye wink.
For the noise of the falling - of the flapping of your collective eyelid was even as the banging of the bar door what time the clock telleth of eleven thirty p.m., and the voice of Hebe murmureth through the night 'Good-bye, ducky.'....But I digress.
Which is a characteristic failing I must confess!
But, nevertheless,
It hath its compensations, as is plain to any noodle,
When matter is paid for at space rates, for it pileth up the boodle....
However, to resume. Let us isolate a case, my brothers. Let us sample an
Echo. Take Brown.
We all are well acquainted with Brown. Mayhap his name is Smith or Timmins, but no matter. He is the Man in the Street. He hath a domicile in the suburbs and an occupation in town.
This Brown riseth in the morning and donneth the garments of civilisation. In hot socks he garbeth his feet, and upon his back he putteth a coat which hath
a little split in the tail for no sane or accountable reason.

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Love On The Vine

I came home yesterday
To the love that I left behind
It seems Ive been far away, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
I guess I just ran away (I just ran away)
Tried to see what I could not find (what I could not find)
Its been a one act play, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
And I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Ive been wasting time (wasting time)
With this old heart of mine (this old heart of mine)
Working it overtime, ah, ah, ah, ah
Just another blue day
Like the ones that I left behind
I know its easy to say, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Oh and I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Love you on the vine, oh on the vine
Love you on the vine, oh on the vine
I love you on the vine, oh on the vine, ah
On the vine, oh on the vine ...

song performed by America
Added by Lucian Velea
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Thespis: Act II

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

GODS

Jupiter, Aged Diety
Apollo, Aged Diety
Mars, Aged Diety
Diana, Aged Diety
Mercury

THESPIANS

Thespis
Sillimon
TimidonTipseion
Preposteros
Stupidas
Sparkeio n
Nicemis
Pretteia
Daphne
Cymon

ACT II - The same Scene, with the Ruins Restored

SCENE-the same scene as in Act I with the exception that in place
of the ruins that filled the foreground of the stage, the
interior of a magnificent temple is seen showing the background
of the scene of Act I, through the columns of the portico at the
back. High throne. L.U.E. Low seats below it. All the substitute
gods and goddesses [that is to say, Thespians] are discovered
grouped in picturesque attitudes about the stage, eating and
drinking, and smoking and singing the following verses.

CHO. Of all symposia
The best by half
Upon Olympus, here await us.
We eat ambrosia.
And nectar quaff,
It cheers but don't inebriate us.
We know the fallacies,
Of human food
So please to pass Olympian rosy,
We built up palaces,
Where ruins stood,
And find them much more snug and cosy.

SILL. To work and think, my dear,
Up here would be,

[...] Read more

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Twentieth Century Fox

She claims we travel in a rollin' jet
But in fact she arrived on a blue Corvette
She almost dares to plush your tail
Loves her daddy's cash 'cause it spends so well
Just watch the way she walks, she's got a double [wild] figure
Watch her body talk
Chorus:
She's a twentieth century fox, oh watch her walk
She's a twentieth century fox, talk that talk
She got designer jeans, so tight 'n blue
Regardin' the sweat when she looks at you
She loves lights, cameras and action
To the boys on the set, she's the star attraction
Just watch the way she walks, she's got it all up front
Just watch her body talk
(chorus)
(Solo)
(Talk that talk, ooh)
She got designer jeans, so tight 'n blue
Regardin' the sweat when she looks at you
She loves lights, cameras and action
To the boys on the set, she's the star attraction
Just watch the way she walks, she's got a double [wild] figure
Just watch her body talk
(chorus)
She's a twentieth century fox, oh watch her walk, watch her walk
She's a twentieth century fox, talk that talk
(Walk that walk, talk that talk)
Twentieth century fox, she's a twentieth century fox
Twentieth century fox, twentieth century fox... (to fade

song performed by 38 Special
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Brus Book 19

[The conspiracy against King Robert; its discovery]

Than wes the land a quhile in pes,
Bot covatys, that can nocht ces
To set men apon felony
To ger thaim cum to senyoury,
5 Gert lordis off full gret renoune
Mak a fell conjuracioun
Agayn Robert the douchty king,
Thai thocht till bring him till ending
And to bruk eftre his dede
10 The kynrik and to ryng in hys steid.
The lord the Soullis, Schyr Wilyam,
Off that purches had mast defame,
For principale tharoff was he
Off assent of that cruelte.
15 He had gottyn with him sindry,
Gilbert Maleherbe, Jhone of Logy
Thir war knychtis that I tell her
And Richard Broun als a squyer,
And gud Schyr Davy off Breichyn
20 Wes off this deid arettyt syne
As I sall tell you forthermar.
Bot thai ilkane discoveryt war
Throu a lady as I hard say
Or till thar purpos cum mycht thai,
25 For scho tauld all to the king
Thar purpose and thar ordanyng,
And how that he suld haf bene ded
And Soullis ryng intill his steid,
And tauld him werray taknyng
30 This purches wes suthfast thing.
And quhen the king wist it wes sua
Sa sutell purches gan he ma
That he gert tak thaim everilkan,
And quhar the lord Soullis was tane
35 Thre hunder and sexty had he
Off squyeris cled in his lyvere
At that tyme in his cumpany
Outane knychtis that war joly.
Into Berwik takyn wes he
40 That mycht all his mengne se
Sary and wa, bot suth to say
The king lete thaim all pas thar way
And held thaim at he takyn had.

[The trial in parliament; the fate of the conspirators]

The lord Soullis sone eftre maid
45 Plane granting of all that purchas.

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poem by John Barbour
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Fox Hunting Is Banned In Britain

A so called sport of the upper class that inspired the bards to rhyme
Fox hunting is banned in Britain everything has it's time
For nothing last forever it had passed it's use by date
And in chasing down and killing a frightened creature what is to celebrate?

John Masefield's long poem 'Reynard the Fox' I readily can recall
One of the best on fox hunting if not the best of all
But that aside fox hunting was cruel or to me 'twould seem that way
For to be hunted down and mauled to death by dogs not what you'd call fair play.

I read in the Newspapers how those for fox hunting protested long and loud
But there was nothing in this so called sport of which they could feel proud
For to watch a creature torn to shreds could hardly be much fun
It seems a far more painful way to die than the quicker death by gun.

The day is near when all blood sports will be things of the past
For all things have their use by date and nothing seems to last
Some may see the fox as vermin but the fox warrants a fair go
And empathy for wild born creatures not too much to ask to show.

Fox hunting is banned in Britain such good news is good to hear
News well worth celebrating to that I'll drink a beer
To be torn to shreds by a pack of hounds seems an awful way to die
And to this very cruel blood sport good riddance and goodbye.

poem by Francis Duggan
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