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Although my early equipment was very modest, later I made my own and they were more powerful.

quote by Clyde Tombaugh
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Modest Life....[LONG; Personal; Humor]

i grew up in a modest home. the nearby country i did roam.
modest were my mom and dad. four modest siblings i also had.
geneva was a modest town. at graduation i wore a modest cap and gown.
(ok….my cap had a gold tassel. about that, please don't give me a hassle.)

then i modestly went to cornell; that i'd quit three years later who could tell?
i modestly quit my church beliefs. that there's no hell, for me i'm betting.
i became a conscientious objector and worked two years in hospital setting.
i roomed in a modest home. by foot, bike, and bus i did roam.

then i shared an apartment with brother don. i did modest jobs for modest wages.
my general appearance i think was plain. i was modest, ….not vain.
except for occasional, mild 'depression', it seemed i had not a care.
then (past twenty-five years old) i sought a partner from the sex pool more fair.

first wife (pam) was not so modest…..if by modest one means plain.
she gave birth to our modest daughter (shannon) ....... after a short labor but lots of pain.
pam and i shared five modest homes, and we had a modest dog.
we had a modest divorce....though nine years together we did log.

then i had modest apartments and two modest girlfriends, and kept my modest postal job.
then i married and divorced wife two (debbie) , .....she was at times irrational and a slob.
my very modest yugo i replaced with a honda, the last of my modest cars.
the end of marriage to third wife (donna) i blame (in part) on her emotional lifetime scars.

in 2004 i retired 'early'…. as post office chose to downsize.
at the time i lived in modest comfort.... in a senior citizen highrise.
i modestly pursued volunteer work as i'd done on and off since '86.
with no ties binding me i moved to hometown geneva; some would call it 'move to the sticks'.

i spent a modest few months in cousin's apartment. eye to eye we did not see, .......
so i got my own modest place near college fieldhouse, and walked indoor track for a modest fee.
i found a modest café, 'flour petal', and many modest hours there i enjoyed.
i wrote poems, and........with thoughts of a new partner i no longer toyed.

i met a modest new friend angel. he, it turned out, had some 'issues'.
i made a modest bed of banana boxes, and blew my nose on toilet tissues.
i developed mild hypertension. it seems in control now without pills.
i walked roads and sidewalks in modest shoes, wore modest clothes with no frills.

then a former postal customer, and old guy, henry, 'said': ‘find a geneva woman on the internet'.
he jarred me into action, and that's how my present wife i 'met'.

[...] Read more

poem by Bri Edwards
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Early In The Morning

Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Early Morning

Early morning
Great
I was a little late last night
got a little messy
I can't be like that anymore (early morning)
uh - no
CHORUS
I was shakin my ass in the street til mornin
Just walked in an it's early mornin - uh!
Bump bump to the break of dawn
And it don't stop til the early mornin
Passed out on the couch I'm yawnin
Just walked in an it's early mornin - let's start again
Bump bump to the break of dawn
And it don't stop til the early mornin
Met a dark dude, kinda dark hair
When he walked up
Tony grabbed him
But I liked him
I told him "come here
Kinda cool
Baby, we can make plans
Where you live?
Do ya mamma live there?
We can hook up at the hotel"
He was down so I told him "let's go"
what happened - guess what, you don't wanna know
CHORUS
I was shakin my ass in the street til mornin
Just walked in n it's early mornin
Bump bump to the break of dawn
And it don't stop til the early mornin
Passed out on the couch i'm yawnin
Just walked in n it's early mornin - let's start again
Bump bump to the break of dawn
And it don't stop til the early mornin
I went out with girl Jen
And we called up gabe and his friends
He was talkin bout hittin up Show
So I said "what the hell? - let's go!"
Got up n got on the dance floor
Hooked up with a guy named Joe
When the music was fast danced slow
what happened next -guess what? you don't wanna know
CHORUS
I was shakin my ass in the street til mornin
Just walked in n it's early mornin
bump bump to the break of dawn
And it don't stop til the early mornin
Passed out on the couch i'm yawnin

[...] Read more

song performed by Britney Spears
Added by Lucian Velea
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Modest Mouse

To the modest mouse,
Whose home, remotely shrouded
With the clutters of the cat's fallen eyesight,
Filled with such vitriol that none could grasp with coarse palms

And the cat, in her abode
Flourishing with jewels that glint like her devotion
To the pleasurable amenities of beauty and splendor
Why, have the heavens lost such bountiful ardor?

The lynx, the beau of indifference, forsaken with lips of crimson red,
Embedded with jewelry in a variation of halycon, sapphire, zircon
Inquisitive mouse, 'You glint so much, you fade in the light.'
Cat quips, irate with claws razor sharp, 'I beg your pardon? '

Oh, such absence of complications
As he prances across the wood, with reflux of blood in his tail,
Only exhibiting a weary face, of tombstone pale;
The cat walks eloquently, only embellishing what pride she has

Walking on thin, rusting wires with such prowess,
The modest mouse, puzzled, bewildered by such striding,
Resembling a hurricane, whose tempestuous whirling hurls edges that lacerate,
'There is no need to act like this! ' the mouse, judgment in surfeit

With such strife, arrogant like a lion,
The cat moves in sync with celestial aeons
With her whiskers, beaming towards the horizon,
None of this, the modest mouse could ever fathom

The modest mouse's confusion, 'Why pounce in such exuberant poise? '
Untoward feline's retalitation, 'Insecurity is a blight.' with such metallic alloy
The modest mouse, was not precarious, his eyes were too good for decoys
The cat's carnal eyes luster with so much flamboyance.

The modest mouse, in pure content, seeing his pale color of gray,
'You are charcoal gray, you should revel.' He told himself humbly.
And subtly, with silent distinctions, the cat stood behind the modest mouse,
With a condescending smirk in her face, for she is adorned in a multitude of colors.

'You seem to shine, like the rainbow! ' Oh, such humility this mouse beholds
The humility that withstands the fiery Summer, and the winter cold.
'I am, more than the rainbow.' Of this you see, the feral audacity?
With such depth, does she serenade herself incessantly.

'Your tail is horrendous! ' Said the cat, waving her emerald tail
Comparatively seeing, careening over her distinctions, the arrogance is ubiquitous.
Thus, the modest mouse cannot be stopped, he stood presumptuously,
Assuming a stance on all fours, with a face as meek as a lily.

[...] Read more

poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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Powerful Thing

(written by al anderson and sharon vaughn)
Ive never seen two people in my life
More determined to ignore the obvious
We better stop thinking
Let our hearts start doing the talking
Youd have to be stone deaf dumb and blind
Not to see whats going on with us
So lets jump in
And get over our fear of fallin
cause what we got here
Is a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
Our love, baby, is a powerful thing
We started out strangers on a two-way street
Neither one of us lookin to fall in love
But we dont need us a map
To know were headed in that direction
Well, its out of our hands
And over our heads
Its something thats bigger than both of us
Turnin back nows completely out of the question
cause what we got here
Is a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
Our love, baby, is a powerful thing
Stronger than the force of a driving wind
Hotter than a forest fire
There never has been and there never will be
Nothing like the power of you and me, yeah
Its a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
Our love, baby, is a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing

[...] Read more

song performed by Trisha Yearwood
Added by Lucian Velea
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Freedom is a Powerful Word

freedom is a powerful word
filled with glori and brightened eyes
freedom is a powerful word
where no black child is left behind
the despair of no hesitation
the depair of no education
freedom is a powerful word

freedom is a powerful word
where everyone gets a chance to be one
freedom is a powerful word
where a black man can raise his son
we got freedom
but we dont respect it

black boys droppin out of school
black girls gettin pregnant at early ages
these people fought for our rights
but all we do is abuse it

like i said freedom is a powerful word
are you sure we are free
why are we killing our own race
we are gettin involved in the wrong stuff
like gangs and selling drugs
smokin weed and makin d's
it aint right
freedom is a powerful word
if it is so powerful
dont abuse it

poem by Tatianna Biggs
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Early Mornin'

Early mornin'
All right, I was out real late last night
Got a little messy
Early morning
Can't be like that anymore, oh
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Wanna talk to
When he walked up someone grabbed him
But I liked him to come here
Kinda cool
Baby, we can make plans
Where ya live
Does your mama live there
We can hook up at the hotel
Hands down so
I told him, let's go
But waht happened next, guess?
But you don't wanna know
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Oh, in love
So I approached him
We gotta give him his friends
There's something bout him that show
So I said, what the hell
Let's go
Got up, got on the dance floor
Hooked up with a guy named Joe
When the music was fast and slow
But waht happened next, guess?
But you don't wanna know
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning

[...] Read more

song performed by Britney Spears
Added by Lucian Velea
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It Is Still Too Early To Cry

Life's bleak
There's no other way to flee
from the broken glass fragments
scattered across the floor.
Watching pieces of my face
staring back at me
as my head hung low
looking at those flawed reflections.

Blood dripping on the brick
the now silent culprit
who blew that precious mirror
right in front of my face.
Happened in a flash
nothing I could save
just be glad that my eyes
are spared from the graze.

The blizzards are blowing
the wind won't stop howling,
but it is still too early to fall...
It is still too early to cry.
The old me would feel like quitting
but I have a reason to keep on standing,
because I can see with my very eyes
that the season is still too early...
It is still too early to cry.

Wishing the dark to be eternal
as flesh curled up in a corner
locked in a fetal position
not wanting to wake up again.
But Time waits for no one
and dawn disturbs my slumber
as if my rest has never happened,
the cycle goes on and on.

The blizzards are blowing
the wind won't stop howling,
but it is still too early to fall...
It is still too early to cry.
The old me would feel like quitting
but I have a reason to keep on standing,
because I can see with my very eyes
that the season is still too early...
It is still too early to cry.

(Nature's song rings so eternal:
Life slips into death,
death rises into life.

[...] Read more

poem by Wilson Khor Woo Han
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Soccer Rollback

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soccer referee uniform
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soccer referee supplies
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soccer referee training san diego ca

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Annals of Assur-Nasir-Pal column I

To Ninip most powerful hero, great, chief of the gods, warrior, powerful Lord, whose onset in battle has not been opposed, eldest son,

crusher of opponents, first-born son of Nukimmut, supporter of the seven, noble ruler, King of the gods the producers, governor, he who rolls along the mass

of heaven and earth, opener of canals, treader of the wide earth, the god who in his divinity nourishes heaven and earth, the beneficent,

the exalted, the powerful, who has not lessened the glory of his face, head of nations, bestower of sceptres, glorious, over all cities a ruler,

valiant, the renown of whose sceptre is not approached, chief of widespread influence, great among the gods, shading from the southern sun, Lord of Lords, whose hand the vault of heaven

(and) earth has controlled, a King in battle mighty who has vanquished opposition, victorious, powerful, Lord of water-courses and seas,

strong, not yielding, whose onset brings down the green corn, smiting the land of the enemy, like the cutting of reeds, the deity who changes not his purposes,

the light of heaven and earth, a bold leader on the waters, destroyer of them that hate (him), a spoiler (and) Lord of the disobedient, dividing enemies, whose name in the speech of the gods

no god has ever disregarded, the gatherer of life, the god(?) whose prayers are good, whose abode is in the city of Calah, a great Lord, my Lord - (who am) Assur-nasir-pal, the mighty King,

King of multitudes, a Prince unequalled, Lord of all the four countries, powerful over hosts of men, the possession of Bel and Ninip the exalted and Anu

and of Dakan, a servant of the great gods in the lofty shrine for great (O Ninip) is thy heart; a worshipper of Bel whose might upon

thy great deity is founded, and thou makest righteous his life, valiant, warrior, who in the service of Assur his Lord hath proceeded, and among the Kings

of the four regions who has not his fellow, a Prince for admiration, not sparing opponents, mighty leader, who an equal

has not, a Prince reducing to order his disobedient ones, who has subdued whole multitudes of men, a strong worker, treading down

the heads of his enemies, trampling on all foes, crushing assemblages of rebels, who in the service of the great gods his Lords

marched vigorously and the lands of all of them his hand captured, caused the forests of all of them to fall, and received their tribute, taking

securities, establishing laws over all lands, when Assur the Lord who proclaims my name and augments my Royalty

laid hold upon his invincible power for the forces of my Lordship, for Assur-nasir-pal, glorious Prince, worshipper of the great gods

the generous, the great, the powerful, acquirer of cities and forests and the territory of all of them, King of Lords, destroying the wicked, strengthening

the peaceful, not sparing opponents, a Prince of firm will(?) one who combats oppression, Lord of all Kings,

Lord of Lords, the acknowledged, King of Kings, seated gloriously, the renown of Ninip the warrior, worshipper of the great gods, prolonging the benefits (conferred by) his fathers:

a Prince who in the service of Assur and the Sun-god, the gods in whom he trusted, royally marched to turbulent lands, and Kings who had rebelled against him

[he cut off like grass, all their lands to his feet he subjected, restorer of the worship of the goddesses and that of the great gods,

Chief unwavering, who for the guidance of the heads (and) elders of his land is a steadfast guardian, the work of whose hands and

the gift of whose finger the great gods of heaven and earth have exalted, and his steps over rulers have they established forever;

[...] Read more

poem by King Assur-Bani-Pal
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Too Early For The Sun

I have never known a love like this,
Before in my life,
Tears can turn into bliss,
With only a kiss, only a kiss.
And I have never held a girl,
Like you so close in my arms,
You appeared in my world,
And offered me hope for one more time.
Ive never been so afraid,
That love is just a dream,
Darling Ill awake and youll be gone,
Never believe that Ill love somebody,
Ill love somebody, someone like you,
Ill love somebody, I could love somebody.
Youre too early for the sun,
Too early for the moon,
Too early for the rain,
Coming down on me,
You make me feel so close to home,
So far away, like nowhere else Ive never been.
Youre too early for the stars,
Too early for the wind,
Too early for my heart,
To open up again,
But when I see you I just laugh,
And I believe, Im right where Im supposed to be.
I have never known a life like this,
Except in my dreams,
One kiss and I was renewed,
Now Im alive, I have survived.
I have never loved a girl,
Like you, except in my dreams,
All my songs are for you,
I finally see my dreams come true.
Ive never been so afraid,
That love is just a dream,
Darling Ill awake and youll be gone,
Never believe that Ill love somebody,
Ill love somebody, someone like you,
Ill love somebody, I could love somebody.
Youre too early for the sun,
Too early for the moon,
Too early for the rain,
Coming down on you,
You make me feel so close to home,
So far away, like nowhere else Ive never been.
Youre just too early for the stars,
Too early for the wind,
Too early for my heart,
To open up again.

[...] Read more

song performed by Kenny Loggins
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the Fifteenth

I
Ah! -- What should follow slips from my reflection;
Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be
As à-propos of hope or retrospection,
As though the lurking thought had follow'd free.
All present life is but an interjection,
An "Oh!" or "Ah!" of joy or misery,
Or a "Ha! ha!" or "Bah!" -- a yawn, or "Pooh!"
Of which perhaps the latter is most true.

II
But, more or less, the whole's a syncopé
Or a singultus -- emblems of emotion,
The grand antithesis to great ennui,
Wherewith we break our bubbles on the ocean, --
That watery outline of eternity,
Or miniature at least, as is my notion,
Which ministers unto the soul's delight,
In seeing matters which are out of sight.

III
But all are better than the sigh supprest,
Corroding in the cavern of the heart,
Making the countenance a masque of rest,
And turning human nature to an art.
Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best;
Dissimulation always sets apart
A corner for herself; and therefore fiction
Is that which passes with least contradiction.

IV
Ah! who can tell? Or rather, who can not
Remember, without telling, passion's errors?
The drainer of oblivion, even the sot,
Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors:
What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float,
He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors;
The ruby glass that shakes within his hand
Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand.

V
And as for love -- O love! -- We will proceed.
The Lady Adeline Amundeville,
A pretty name as one would wish to read,
Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill.
There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Candidate

Ye idler things, that soothed my hours of care,
Where would ye wander, triflers, tell me where?
As maids neglected, do ye fondly dote,
On the tair type, or the embroider'd coat;
Detest my modest shelf, and long to fly
Where princely Popes and mighty Miltons lie?
Taught but to sing, and that in simple style,
Of Lycia's lip, and Musidora's smile; -
Go then! and taste a yet unfelt distress,
The fear that guards the captivating press;
Whose maddening region should ye once explore,
No refuge yields my tongueless mansion more.
But thus ye'll grieve, Ambition's plumage stript,
'Ah, would to Heaven, we'd died in manuscript!'
Your unsoil'd page each yawning wit shall flee,
- For few will read, and none admire like me. -
Its place, where spiders silent bards enrobe,
Squeezed betwixt Cibber's Odes and Blackmore's Job;
Where froth and mud, that varnish and deform,
Feed the lean critic and the fattening worm;
Then sent disgraced--the unpaid printer's bane -
To mad Moorfields, or sober Chancery Lane,
On dirty stalls I see your hopes expire,
Vex'd by the grin of your unheeded sire,
Who half reluctant has his care resign'd,
Like a teased parent, and is rashly kind.
Yet rush not all, but let some scout go forth,
View the strange land, and tell us of its worth;
And should he there barbarian usage meet,
The patriot scrap shall warn us to retreat.
And thou, the first of thy eccentric race,
A forward imp, go, search the dangerous place,
Where Fame's eternal blossoms tempt each bard,
Though dragon-wits there keep eternal guard;
Hope not unhurt the golden spoil to seize,
The Muses yield, as the Hesperides;
Who bribes the guardian, all his labour's done,
For every maid is willing to be won.
Before the lords of verse a suppliant stand,
And beg our passage through the fairy land:
Beg more--to search for sweets each blooming field,
And crop the blossoms woods and valleys yield,
To snatch the tints that beam on Fancy's bow;
And feel the fires on Genius' wings that glow;
Praise without meanness, without flattery stoop,
Soothe without fear, and without trembling, hope.

TO THE AUTHORS OF THE MONTHLY REVIEW.

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Don Juan: Canto The Fifteenth

Ah!--What should follow slips from my reflection;
Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be
As à-propos of hope or retrospection,
As though the lurking thought had follow'd free.
All present life is but an interjection,
An 'Oh!' or 'Ah!' of joy or misery,
Or a 'Ha! ha!' or 'Bah!'-- a yawn, or 'Pooh!'
Of which perhaps the latter is most true.

But, more or less, the whole's a syncope
Or a singultus - emblems of emotion,
The grand antithesis to great ennui,
Wherewith we break our bubbles on the ocean,--
That watery outline of eternity,
Or miniature at least, as is my notion,
Which ministers unto the soul's delight,
In seeing matters which are out of sight.

But all are better than the sigh supprest,
Corroding in the cavern of the heart,
Making the countenance a masque of rest,
And turning human nature to an art.
Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best;
Dissimulation always sets apart
A corner for herself; and therefore fiction
Is that which passes with least contradiction.

Ah! who can tell? Or rather, who can not
Remember, without telling, passion's errors?
The drainer of oblivion, even the sot,
Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors:
What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float,
He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors;
The ruby glass that shakes within his hand
Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand.

And as for love--O love!--We will proceed.
The Lady Adeline Amundeville,
A pretty name as one would wish to read,
Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill.
There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.

The Lady Adeline, right honourable;
And honour'd, ran a risk of growing less so;
For few of the soft sex are very stable
In their resolves--alas! that I should say so!
They differ as wine differs from its label,

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Tirocinium; or, a Review of Schools

It is not from his form, in which we trace
Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace,
That man, the master of this globe, derives
His right of empire over all that lives.
That form, indeed, the associate of a mind
Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind,
That form, the labour of Almighty skill,
Framed for the service of a freeborn will,
Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control,
But borrows all its grandeur from the soul.
Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne,
An intellectual kingdom, all her own.
For her the memory fills her ample page
With truths pour’d down from every distant age;
For her amasses an unbounded store,
The wisdom of great nations, now no more;
Though laden, not encumber’d with her spoil;
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil;
When copiously supplied, then most enlarged;
Still to be fed, and not to be surcharged.
For her the Fancy, roving unconfined,
The present muse of every pensive mind,
Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue
To Nature’s scenes than Nature ever knew.
At her command winds rise and waters roar,
Again she lays them slumbering on the shore;
With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies,
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise.
For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife
That Grace and Nature have to wage through life,
Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill,
Appointed sage preceptor to the Will,
Condemns, approves, and, with a faithful voice,
Guides the decision of a doubtful choice.
Why did the fiat of a God give birth
To yon fair Sun and his attendant Earth?
And, when descending he resigns the skies,
Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise,
Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves,
And owns her power on every shore he laves?
Why do the seasons still enrich the year,
Fruitful and young as in their first career?
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock’d in the cradle of the western breeze:
Summer in haste the thriving charge receives
Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves,
Till Autumn’s fiercer heats and plenteous dews
Dye them at last in all their glowing hues.—
‘Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste,
Power misemploy’d, munificence misplaced,

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Childish Recollections

'I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me.'

WHEN slow Disease, with all her host of pains,
Chills the warm, tide which flows along the veins
When Health,affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,
And flies with every changing gale of spring;
Not to the aching frame alone confined,
Unyielding pangs avail the drooping mind:
What grisly forms, the spectre-train of woe,
Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow
With Resignaion wage relentless strife,
While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life!
Yet less the pang when, through the tedious hour,
Remembrance sheds around her genial power,
Calls back the vanish'd days to rapture given,
When love was bliss, and Beauty form'd our heaven;
Or, dear to youth, portrays each childish scene,
Those farry bowers, where all in turn have been.
As when through clouds that pour the sumrner storm
The orb of day unveils his distant form,
Gilds with faiht beams the crystal dews of rain,
And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain;
Thus, while the future dark and cheerless gleams
The sun of memory, glowing through my drearns
Though sunk' the radiance of his former blaze,
To scenes far distant points his paler rays;
Still rules my senses with unbounded sway,
The past confounding with the present day.

Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought,
Which still recurs, uniook'd for and Unsought
My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields,
And roams romantic o'er her airy fields.
Scenes of my youth, developed, crowd to view,
To which I long have bade a last adieu!
Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes;
Friends lost to me for aye, except in dreams;
Some who in marble prematurely sleep.
Whose forms I now remember but to weep;
Some who yet urge the same scholastic course
Of early science, future fame the source;
Who, still contending in the studious race,
In quick rotation fill the senior place.
These with a thousand visions now unite,
To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight
Ida blest spot, where science holds her reign,
How joyous once I join'd thv youthful train!
Bright in idea gleams thy lofty spire,
Again I mingle with thy playful quire;

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poem by Byron
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Motivation

Neither the motivation should be confined to word nor to book. Many things might have been written in book but so long as it is not put into practice or use, it can’t deliver the result. You might have experienced number of times that actual result can be had only after putting self before everything. The sales men may increase the sales by many folds but that may just not be the reality. It is performed under forced situation. It is doesn’t speak of any motivation, but only a consideration,

Think of commandant in battle field, surrounded by powerful enemy, and he is leading battery of disgruntled and demoralized personnel under his command? His final words or vision only may save them from disastrous situation or near annihilation. His powerful motivation or enthusiasm only may take them to a safety without loss of lives.

Here there is no compulsion on the commander. It is strategy and dedication, which in recent times, may not be found in any services. It is determined effort which may result into death for honour and sacrifice. It changes whole scenario and his powerful drive and enthusiasm may inject very powerful waves to fight back with determination for the frontal attack with safe passage and victory may be in sight.

Think of company or organization where you are heading it. The men working under your wing may not be the driving force until you inject some powerful views with your active participation. The people may follow you the moment they see that there is person who means the business.

What moot point in insisting here is that motivation comes from within. It is strength inherent and that can’t be learnt from any school. One is only driving force for his survival and future built up for his own carrier. There may be many reasons behind this theory but powerful one is inspiration which is taking place after realization of desired goal. No writers, leaders or fine books can make a men guiding force but can only inspire to a limited extent. It may strengthen some of views and find correct path to follow but rest comes from within.

One is master of one’s own destiny. In shaping the destiny, the dedication, motivation, sincerity and above all self involvement can pave the way to become powerful motivator. There are no excuses or reasons which can save you from defamation but determined effort on your part may definitely lessen the impact of damage. .

I subscribe to the sparkling views.

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Beachy Head

ON thy stupendous summit, rock sublime !
That o'er the channel rear'd, half way at sea
The mariner at early morning hails,
I would recline; while Fancy should go forth,
And represent the strange and awful hour
Of vast concussion; when the Omnipotent
Stretch'd forth his arm, and rent the solid hills,
Bidding the impetuous main flood rush between

The rifted shores, and from the continent
Eternally divided this green isle.
Imperial lord of the high southern coast !
From thy projecting head-land I would mark
Far in the east the shades of night disperse,
Melting and thinned, as from the dark blue wave
Emerging, brilliant rays of arrowy light
Dart from the horizon; when the glorious sun
Just lifts above it his resplendent orb.
Advances now, with feathery silver touched,
The rippling tide of flood; glisten the sands,
While, inmates of the chalky clefts that scar
Thy sides precipitous, with shrill harsh cry,
Their white wings glancing in the level beam,
The terns, and gulls, and tarrocks, seek their food,
And thy rough hollows echo to the voice

Of the gray choughs, and ever restless daws,
With clamour, not unlike the chiding hounds,
While the lone shepherd, and his baying dog,
Drive to thy turfy crest his bleating flock.
The high meridian of the day is past,
And Ocean now, reflecting the calm Heaven,
Is of cerulean hue; and murmurs low
The tide of ebb, upon the level sands.
The sloop, her angular canvas shifting still,
Catches the light and variable airs
That but a little crisp the summer sea.
Dimpling its tranquil surface.
Afar off,
And just emerging from the arch immense

Where seem to part the elements, a fleet
Of fishing vessels stretch their lesser sails;
While more remote, and like a dubious spot
Just hanging in the horizon, laden deep,
The ship of commerce richly freighted, makes
Her slower progress, on her distant voyage,
Bound to the orient climates, where the sun
Matures the spice within its odorous shell,
And, rivalling the gray worm's filmy toil,

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poem by Charlotte Smith
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An Essay on Criticism

Part I

INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.

'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,

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poem by Alexander Pope
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Early Morning Cold Taxi

3:36, its cold, I know Im growing old,
With lifes best side on the downward slope,
Its in my own hands, I know Ill cope,
My girls with me and all my friends can see.
Here I am again,
Early morning cold taxi.
Early morning cold taxi.
Done it before, do it again,
Know from experience its not in vain,
Shes the best Ive had, I cannot see, what someone else can do to me.
Its a long way home but loves so warm, youll see.
Here I am again,
Early morning cold taxi.
Early morning cold taxi.
Early morning cold taxi,
Each time I do it, I feel so down and out,
Early morning cold taxi,
though my mind thinks strange Ill keep on, no doubt.
3:36, its cold, I know Im growing old,
One day well be wed,
This I know for its what she said,
Then no more will my mind be uneasy.
Early morning cold taxi,
Each time I do it, I feel so down and out,
Early morning cold taxi,
though my mind thinks strange Ill keep on, no doubt.
3:36, its cold, I know Im growing old,
One day well be wed,
This I know for its what she said,
Then no more will my mind be uneasy.
Here I am again,
Early morning cold taxi.
Early morning cold taxi.

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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