We are all sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skins, for life.
quote by Tennessee Williams
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Killer
So you want
To be free
To live your life
The way you want to be
Will you give if we cry?
Will we live, yeah
Or will we die?
Oh
Jaded hearts (hearts)
Heal with time
Shoot that love
So we can
Stop the bleeding
Solitary brother (solitary brother)
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister (solitary sister)
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Solitary brother (solitary brother)
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister (solitary sister)
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
If we try
And live your lives
The way you wanna be
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Solitary brother (solitary brother)
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister (solitary sister)
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Solitary brother (solitary brother)
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister (solitary sister)
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Yeah, yeah
Racism in amongst the future kings can only lead to no good and
Besides, all our sons and daughters already know how that feels
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Love, love, love, yeah
song performed by Sugababes
Added by Lucian Velea
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]
POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR
POEMS
1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song
[...] Read more
poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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Solitary Man
Melinda was mine
til the time
That I found her
Holding jim
Loving him
Then sue came along
Loved me strong
Thats what I thought
Me and sue
But that died too
Dont know that I will
But until I can find me
A girl wholl stay
And wont play games behind me
Ill be what I am
A solitary man
Solitary man
Ive had it to here
Bein where
Loves a small world
Part-time thing
Paper ring
I know its been done
Having one
Girl who loves you
Right or wrong
Weak or strong
Dont know that I will
But until I can find me
The girl wholl stay
And wont play games behind me
Ill be what I am
A solitary man
Solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary
man
song performed by H.I.M.
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Solitary One
You know it gets too much and sometimes she cries like a baby
But shes almost certain itll pass when she becomes a lady
But while shes still a young girl love is avoiding her
And thank God for the radio and the color tv, oh, oh, oh, oh
Heroes are hard to find in the cold world but not in her mind
And shes talking to jesus during the radio station breaks
And shes on her knees, pourin on her knees
Asking how the world can be so cold to her
And she listens to the records, playing on the radio
And shes falling in love with a singer
Now shes feelin better and shes feelin good
But shes coming down by the time the song is over
And she starts feelin lonely
Feelin shes the only ordinary solitary one
All alone the solitary one
And hurrying home oh God its been one of those bad days
But with a flick of a switch and a twist of the dial
She gets love on the airwaves
And they send her favorite lovers to keep her satisfied
And shes talkin to jesus during the radio station breaks
And shes on her knees falling on her knees
Asking how the world can be so cold to her
And she listens to the records playing on the radio and shes fallin
In love with a singer
Now shes feelin better cause shes feelin good
But shes comin down by the time the song is over
And she starts feelin lonely
Feelin shes the only ordinary the solitary one all alone solitary one
And shes on her knees pouring on her knees
Asking how the world can be so cold to her
And she starts feelin lonely
Feelin shes the only ordinary solitary one
All alone the solitary one
All alone the solitary one
All alone the solitary one
All alone the solitary one
song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Involuntary Solitude
How is
Involuntary solitude, the abyss,
Different in temperament
From solitary confinement?
Involuntary solitude
Bothersome with certitude.
Solitary confinement
Painful with infinitude.
Involuntary solitude
Taken advantage of, by some.
Solitary confinement
Feared by all and one.
poem by Lonely People Champion
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Killer/papa Was A Rollin Stone
So you want to be free
To live your life the way you wanna be
Will you give if we cry
Will we live or will we die
Tainted hearts heal with time
Shoot bad love so we can
Stop the bleeding
Solitary brother,
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister,
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Solitary brother,
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister,
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
If we try to live our lives
The way we wanna be
Solitary brother,
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister,
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Solitary brother,
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister,
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Racism in future kins can only lead to no good
And besides, all our sons and daughters already
Know how that feels
(adam tinley/henry samuel)
Was the third of september
That day Ill always remember, yes I will
cause that was the day that my daddy died
Never had a chance to see him, no
Never heard nothing but bad things about him
Mama, Im depending on you to tell me the truth
Mama just hung her head and said
Chorus
Papa was a rollin stone
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died
All he left us was alone
(repeat)
Hey, mama, is it true what they say
That papa never worked aday in his life
Some bad talk going around sayin
Papa had three outside children
And another wife
That aint right
Heard some talk about papa and his storefront
Preachin
[...] Read more
song performed by George Michael
Added by Lucian Velea
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Killer
Brother
Sister
It's the loneliness thats the killer
So you want
To be free
To live your life
The way you want to be
Will you give
If we cry
Will we live
Or will we die
Jaded hearts
Heal with time
Shoot that love
So we can
Stop the bleeding
Solitary brother
Is there still a part of you that wants to live
Solitary sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
Solitary brother
Is there still a part of you that wants to live
Solitary sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
If we try
And live our lives
The way we wanna be
Yeah
Brother brother
Sister sister
Brother brother brother brother brother
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There is no other love no other love like ours
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There is no other love no other love like ours
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There is no love
Solitary brother
Is there still a part of you that wants to live
Solitary sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
Solitary brother
Solitary Sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
Racism in among future kings can only lead to no good
Besides all our sons and daughters already know how that feels
song performed by Seal from Debut
Added by Lucian Velea
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Oi To The World
Haji was a punk just like any other boy
And he never had no trouble till he started up his oi band
Safe in the garage or singing in the tub
Till haji went too far and he plugged in at the pub
twas a cold christmas eve when trevor and the skins
Popped in for a pint and to nick a back of crisps
Trevor liked the music but not the unity
He unwound hajis turban and he knocked him to his knees
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins-
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
Haji was a bloody mess, he ran out through the crowd
He said well meet again we are bloody but not unbowed
Trevor called his bluff and told him where to meet
Christmas day on the roof down at 20 oxford street
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
On the roof with the nun chucks trevor broke a lot of bones
But haji had a sword like that guy in indiana jones
Police sirens wailing, a bloody dying man
Haji was alone and abandoned by his band
Trevor was there fading and still so full of hate
When the skins left him there and went down the fire escape
Oi! oi!
But then haji saw the north star shining more then ever
So he made a tourniquet from his turban saving trevor
They repelled down the roof with the rest of the turban
And went back to the pub where they bought each other bourbon
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins-
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins-
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
Oi! oi!
song performed by No Doubt
Added by Lucian Velea
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Killer
So you want to be free
To live your life the way you wanna be
Will you give if we cry
Will we live or will we die
Tainted hearts heal with time
Shoot bad love so we can
Stop the bleeding
Solitary brother, is there still a part of you that
Wants to live?
Solitary sister, is there still a part of you that
Wants to give?
Solitary brother,is there still a part of you that
Wants to live?
Solitary sister, is there still a part of you that
Wants to give?
If we try to live our lives
The way we wanna be
Solitary brother, is there still a part of you that
Wants to live?
Solitary sister,is there still a part of you that
Wants to give?
Solitary brother, is there still a part of you that
Wants to live?
Salitary sister, is there still a part of you that
Wants to give?
Racism in future kings can only lead to no good
And besides, all our sons and daughters already
Know how that feels
song performed by George Michael
Added by Lucian Velea
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Peter Bell, A Tale
PROLOGUE
There's something in a flying horse,
There's something in a huge balloon;
But through the clouds I'll never float
Until I have a little Boat,
Shaped like the crescent-moon.
And now I 'have' a little Boat,
In shape a very crescent-moon
Fast through the clouds my boat can sail;
But if perchance your faith should fail,
Look up--and you shall see me soon!
The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring,
Rocking and roaring like a sea;
The noise of danger's in your ears,
And ye have all a thousand fears
Both for my little Boat and me!
Meanwhile untroubled I admire
The pointed horns of my canoe;
And, did not pity touch my breast,
To see how ye are all distrest,
Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you!
Away we go, my Boat and I--
Frail man ne'er sate in such another;
Whether among the winds we strive,
Or deep into the clouds we dive,
Each is contented with the other.
Away we go--and what care we
For treasons, tumults, and for wars?
We are as calm in our delight
As is the crescent-moon so bright
Among the scattered stars.
Up goes my Boat among the stars
Through many a breathless field of light,
Through many a long blue field of ether,
Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her:
Up goes my little Boat so bright!
The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bull--
We pry among them all; have shot
High o'er the red-haired race of Mars,
Covered from top to toe with scars;
Such company I like it not!
[...] Read more
poem by William Wordsworth
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The Idols
An Ode
Luce intellettual, piena d' amore
Prelude
Lo, the spirit of a pulsing star within a stone
Born of earth, sprung from night!
Prisoned with the profound fires of the light
That lives like all the tongues of eloquence
Locked in a speech unknown!
The crystal, cold and hard as innocence,
Immures the flame; and yet as if it knew
Raptures or pangs it could not but betray,
As if the light could feel changes of blood and breath
And all--but--human quiverings of the sense,
Throbs of a sudden rose, a frosty blue,
Shoot thrilling in its ray,
Like the far longings of the intellect
Restless in clouding clay.
Who has confined the Light? Who has held it a slave,
Sold and bought, bought and sold?
Who has made of it a mystery to be doled,
Or trophy, to awe with legendary fire,
Where regal banners wave?
And still into the dark it sends Desire.
In the heart's darkness it sows cruelties.
The bright jewel becomes a beacon to the vile,
A lodestar to corruption, envy's own:
Soiled with blood, fought for, clutched at; this world's prize,
Captive Authority. Oh, the star is stone
To all that outward sight,
Yet still, like truth that none has ever used,
Lives lost in its own light.
Troubled I fly. O let me wander again at will
(Far from cries, far from these
Hard blindnesses and frozen certainties!)
Where life proceeds in vastness unaware
And stirs profound and still:
Where leafing thoughts at shy touch of the air
Tremble, and gleams come seeking to be mine,
Or dart, like suddenly remembered youth,
Like the ache of love, a light, lost, found, and lost again.
Surely in the dusk some messenger was there!
But, haunted in the heart, I thirst, I pine.--
Oh, how can truth be truth
Except I taste it close and sweet and sharp
As an apple to the tooth?
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Laurence Binyon
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Bad Side Of The Moon
(bernie taupin/elton john)
Published by songs of polygram international - bmi
Seems as though Ive lived my life on the bad side of the moon
To stir your dregs, and sittin still, without a rustic spoon
Now come on people, live with me, where the light has never shone
And the harlots flock like hummingbirds, speakin in a foreign tongue
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
It seems as though Ive lived my life on the bad side of the moon
To stir your dregs, and sittin still, without a rustic spoon
Now come on people, live with me, where the light has never shone
And the harlots flock like hummingbirds, speakin in a foreign tongue
Im a light world away, from the people who make me stay
Sittin on the bad side of the moon
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
There aint no need for watchdogs here, to justify our ways
We lived our lives in manacles, the main cause of our stay
And exiled here from other worlds, my sentence comes to soon
Why should I be made to pay on the bad side of the moon
Im a light world away, from the people who make me stay
Sittin on the bad side of the moon
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
song performed by April Wine
Added by Lucian Velea
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Metamorphoses: Book The Seventh
THE Argonauts now stemm'd the foaming tide,
And to Arcadia's shore their course apply'd;
Where sightless Phineus spent his age in grief,
But Boreas' sons engage in his relief;
And those unwelcome guests, the odious race
Of Harpyes, from the monarch's table chase.
With Jason then they greater toils sustain,
And Phasis' slimy banks at last they gain,
Here boldly they demand the golden prize
Of Scythia's king, who sternly thus replies:
That mighty labours they must first o'ercome,
Or sail their Argo thence unfreighted home.
The Story of Meanwhile Medea, seiz'd with fierce desire,
Medea and By reason strives to quench the raging fire;
Jason But strives in vain!- Some God (she said)
withstands,
And reason's baffl'd council countermands.
What unseen Pow'r does this disorder move?
'Tis love,- at least 'tis like, what men call love.
Else wherefore shou'd the king's commands appear
To me too hard?- But so indeed they are.
Why shou'd I for a stranger fear, lest he
Shou'd perish, whom I did but lately see?
His death, or safety, what are they to me?
Wretch, from thy virgin-breast this flame expel,
And soon- Oh cou'd I, all wou'd then be well!
But love, resistless love, my soul invades;
Discretion this, affection that perswades.
I see the right, and I approve it too,
Condemn the wrong- and yet the wrong pursue.
Why, royal maid, shou'dst thou desire to wed
A wanderer, and court a foreign bed?
Thy native land, tho' barb'rous, can present
A bridegroom worth a royal bride's content:
And whether this advent'rer lives, or dies,
In Fate, and Fortune's fickle pleasure lies.
Yet may be live! for to the Pow'rs above,
A virgin, led by no impulse of love,
So just a suit may, for the guiltless, move.
Whom wou'd not Jason's valour, youth and blood
Invite? or cou'd these merits be withstood,
At least his charming person must encline
The hardest heart- I'm sure 'tis so with mine!
Yet, if I help him not, the flaming breath
Of bulls, and earth-born foes, must be his death.
Or, should he through these dangers force his way,
At last he must be made the dragon's prey.
If no remorse for such distress I feel,
I am a tigress, and my breast is steel.
Why do I scruple then to see him slain,
[...] Read more
The Four Seasons : Winter
See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought,
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms,
Congenial horrors, hail! with frequent foot,
Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nursed by careless Solitude I lived,
And sung of Nature with unceasing joy,
Pleased have I wander'd through your rough domain;
Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure;
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst;
Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd,
In the grim evening sky. Thus pass'd the time,
Till through the lucid chambers of the south
Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smiled.
To thee, the patron of her first essay,
The Muse, O Wilmington! renews her song.
Since has she rounded the revolving year:
Skimm'd the gay Spring; on eagle-pinions borne,
Attempted through the Summer-blaze to rise;
Then swept o'er Autumn with the shadowy gale;
And now among the wintry clouds again,
Roll'd in the doubling storm, she tries to soar;
To swell her note with all the rushing winds;
To suit her sounding cadence to the floods;
As is her theme, her numbers wildly great:
Thrice happy could she fill thy judging ear
With bold description, and with manly thought.
Nor art thou skill'd in awful schemes alone,
And how to make a mighty people thrive;
But equal goodness, sound integrity,
A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted soul,
Amid a sliding age, and burning strong,
Not vainly blazing for thy country's weal,
A steady spirit regularly free;
These, each exalting each, the statesman light
Into the patriot; these, the public hope
And eye to thee converting, bid the Muse
Record what envy dares not flattery call.
Now when the cheerless empire of the sky
To Capricorn the Centaur Archer yields,
And fierce Aquarius stains the inverted year;
Hung o'er the farthest verge of Heaven, the sun
Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day.
Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot
His struggling rays, in horizontal lines,
Through the thick air; as clothed in cloudy storm,
Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky;
And, soon-descending, to the long dark night,
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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The Child Of The Islands - Summer
I.
FOR Summer followeth with its store of joy;
That, too, can bring thee only new delight;
Its sultry hours can work thee no annoy,
Veiled from thy head shall be its glowing might.
Sweet fruits shall tempt thy thirsty appetite;
Thy languid limbs on cushioned down shall sink;
Or rest on fern-grown tufts, by streamlets bright,
Where the large-throated deer come down to drink,
And cluster gently round the cool refreshing brink.
II.
There, as the flakèd light, with changeful ray
(From where the unseen glory hotly glows)
Through the green branches maketh pleasant way,
And on the turf a chequered radiance throws,
Thou'lt lean, and watch those kingly-antlered brows--
The lustrous beauty of their glances shy,
As following still the pace their leader goes,
(Who seems afraid to halt--ashamed to fly,)
Rapid, yet stately too, the lovely herd troop by.
III.
This is the time of shadow and of flowers,
When roads gleam white for many a winding mile;
When gentle breezes fan the lazy hours,
And balmy rest o'erpays the time of toil;
When purple hues and shifting beams beguile
The tedious sameness of the heath-grown moor;
When the old grandsire sees with placid smile
The sunburnt children frolic round his door,
And trellised roses deck the cottage of the poor.
IV.
The time of pleasant evenings! when the moon
Riseth companioned by a single star,
And rivals e'en the brilliant summer noon
In the clear radiance which she pours afar;
No stormy winds her hour of peace to mar,
Or stir the fleecy clouds which melt away
Beneath the wheels of her illumined car;
While many a river trembles in her ray,
And silver gleam the sands round many an ocean bay!
V.
Oh, then the heart lies hushed, afraid to beat,
In the deep absence of all other sound;
And home is sought with loth and lingering feet,
As though that shining tract of fairy ground,
[...] Read more
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Hang My Head (Revised)
A slightly disorientated alien on a strange
every-morning planet, convinced I am in the
wrong place, so busy with wholly irrelevant
activities - feeling unwelcome
My office role confused - kept in solitary
confinement on meaningless research, key
is "meaningless" - this is another's life, it
cannot be mine, no imagination required
Add one fanciful notion and an ethical principle
of faithfulness to original text is compromised,
looking up financial terms, checking every verb,
uselessly comparing alternatives -
I hang my head and cry…
[ORIGINAL: ]
Slightly disorientated every morning like
an alien on a strange planet, convinced
I am in the wrong place, busy with totally
irrelevant activities - feeling unwelcome
Confused about my role in the office - in
solitary confinement to do meaningless
research, the key word - meaningless -
this must be another's life, it cannot be
mine, no imagination required - in fact
Add one fanciful notion and the ethical
principle of faithfulness to the original
boring text is compromised, looking up
financial terms, checking every verb,
comparing alternatives
I hang my head and cry…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Piccalilli (Revised)
Piccalilli - the pickle that zings with zest
and foretells my royal downfall, a roll
prepared with onion, cheese, egg n'
tomato, spiced liberally with piccalilli
One bite cost my common sense -
knowing full well white rolls make me
ill I ate with relish still; it tastes soooo
wonderful when one like me
Lives in a bland dish desert of safe
condiments in black pepper and coarse
salt - if I felt bad after Prego steaks, I
now adore a crazy piccalilli tang
An extravaganza returns to haunt me in
solitary confinement of official texts, head
throbbing, oh piccalilli, chopped veggies,
cheese and spice, enchanting, piquant
For the unrequited palate…
[ORIGINAL: ]
Piccalilli - the word just sings with zest
and zing - spells my downfall, when you
prepared a roll with golden onion, tomato
egg and cheese all spiced up with piccalilli
I took one bite and lost all common sense
knowing full well that white rolls make me
ill I went ahead and ate with relish, it tastes
wonderful to one like me who lives life
In a desert of bland dishes with black pepper
and coarse salt the only safe condiments - I
love Prego steaks, feel bad afterwards, now
adore the tangy taste of piccalilli
An extravaganza coming back to haunt me in
solitary confinement with official texts, head
throbbing; oh piccalilli, chopped vegetables
and spices enchanting and piquant
For the underprivileged palate…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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III. The Other Half-Rome
Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!
There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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