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You rarely pay the rent by doing Shakespeare or Ibsen.

quote by Mandy Patinkin
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Rent

(again... again... again... ooooh
(again... again... again... again... ...)
You dress me up, Im your puppet
You buy me things, I love it
You bring me food, I need it
You give me love, I feed it
And look at the two of us in sympathy
With everything we see
I never want anything, its easy
You buy whatever I need
But look at my hopes, look at my dreams
The currency weve spent
(ooooh) I love you, oh, you pay my rent
(ooooh) I love you, oh, you pay my rent
You phone me in the evening on hearsay
And bought me caviar
You took me to a restaurant off broadway
To tell me who you are
We never-ever argue, we never calculate
The currency weve spent
(ooooh) I love you, oh, you pay my rent
(ooooh) I love you, you pay my rent
(ooooh) I love you, oh, you pay my rent
Im your puppet
I love it
And look at the two of us in sympathy
And sometimes ecstasy
Words mean so little, and money less
When youre lying next to me
But look at my hopes, look at my dreams
The currency weve spent
(ooooh) I love you, oh, you pay my rent
(ooooh) I love you, you pay my rent
(ooooh) ooh, I love you, you pay my rent
Look at my hopes, look at my dreams
The currency weve spent
(ooooh) I love you, oh, you pay my rent
(ooooh) I love you, you pay my rent
Look at my hopes, look at my dreams
The currency weve spent
(ooooh) I love you, oh, you pay my rent
(ooooh) I love you, you pay my rent
(ooooh) I love you, you pay my rent (its easy, its so easy)
(ooooh) you pay my rent (its easy, its so easy)
(ooooh) you pay my rent (its easy, its so easy)
(ooooh) I love you (its easy, its so easy)
(its easy, its so easy)
(its easy, its so easy)
(its easy, its so easy)
(its easy, its so easy)

[...] Read more

song performed by Pet Shop Boys
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Sonnet Cycle to M C after W S Sonnets CXXXI - CXXXIX

Sonnet Cycle to M C after William Shakespeare Sonnets CXXXI - CLIV

[c] Jonathan Robin

CARE IS OUR DREAM

Sonnet Cycle after William Shakespeare: Part II
Sonnets CXXXI - CLIV

Shakespeare Sonnet CXXXI

Thou art so tyrannous, so as thou art,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold,
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan;
To say they err I dare not be so bold,
Although I swear it to myself alone.
And to be sure that is not false, I swear,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,
One on another's neck, do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgement's place.
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

Sonnet CXXXI
Swift in succession fleet speed thoughts when I
Allow time to rhyme contemplating smile.
Nefertiti resignèdly would cry
Grieving 'Quits' obliged to reconcile
To defeat, a feat none else dare try.
Outer skin and inner heart worthwhile
Most naturally ally I testify,
Adopt love’s truth to heart, scorn art and style.
Millions shudder – to your rank unworthy -
Aware all their priorities weigh zilch,
Understatements glib by small minds scurvy,
Deprived of value still your fame they’d filch.
Enshadowed, dark, stark dead their teeming dreams
Compelled to spell fell shutters, failing themes.

Shakespeare Sonnet CXXXII

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,
Have put on black and ivory mourner she,
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Aruba Is for Many Out Of Reach

Life once had us running to the bank.
Banking on the prospect,
That investments in a future...
Would produce security.
Security fantasized,
To feed those whims and needs...
Afforded to please.

We believed that banking,
Was then a safe direction...
For a quality of life,
Respected to protect..
In quality ease!

If this was yesterday...
It would be okay,
To think about Aruba...
And snoozing on the beach.

If 'this' was yesterday...
We'd put our dimes away.
But unlike those yesterdays...
Today pinching dimes,
Gets rent timely paid!

If this was yesterday,
It would be okay...
To think about Aruba!
Just to snooze on the beach.
And...
Oiling heated skin,
Rubbing sand off our feet.

If 'this' was yesterday...
We'd put our dimes away.
But unlike those yesterdays...
A rent that's needed to be paid,
Is just a pinch away.

And today Aruba,
Is for many out of reach.

Because today Aruba,
Is a dream hard to keep!

If this was yesterday,
It would be okay...
To think about Aruba!
Just to snooze on the beach.
And...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lazy In Aruba

Life once had us running to the bank.
Banking on the prospect,
That investments in a future...
Would produce security.
Security fantasized,
To feed those whims and needs...
Afforded to please.

We believed that banking,
Was then a safe direction...
For a quality of life,
Respected to protect..
In quality ease!

If this was yesterday...
It would be okay,
To think about Aruba...
And snoozing on the beach.

If 'this' was yesterday...
We'd put our dimes away.
But unlike those yesterdays...
Today pinching dimes,
Gets rent timely paid!

If this was yesterday,
It would be okay...
To think about Aruba!
Just to snooze on the beach.
And...
Oiling heated skin,
Rubbing sand off our feet.

If 'this' was yesterday...
We'd put our dimes away.
But unlike those yesterdays...
A rent that's needed to be paid,
Is just a pinch away.

And today Aruba,
Is for many out of reach.

Because today Aruba,
Is a dream hard to keep!

If this was yesterday,
It would be okay...
To think about Aruba!
Just to snooze on the beach.
And...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ladies Pay

All the sailors theyre all home from leave
And everybodys waiting for them to try to deceive
The storekeepers have drawn their lace curtains bare
And all the women and the wee young girls all waiting there
Oh, but how the ladies pay
Oh, if they only knew how the ladies pay
Yeah now, how the ladies pay
Oh, when the men theyve gone away
Nobody is standing on upon the door
And nobody is feeding any of the poor
The poor sick soldier lies in bed beside his girl
Thinking of another place on the other side of the world
Ah
How the ladies pay
Oh-oh, oh, how the ladies pay
When the men theyve gone away
Oh, I wish I knew how the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night
Night and day
Day and night
Day and night, night and day, ladies pay now
Night and day, day and night
How the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night now
Night and day and now
How the pay now
Oh, how the pay now
Ladies pay, ladies pay
Ah, ladies pay the way now
Ladies pay, ah, ladies pay
Ah, ladies pay
Night and day, night and day, night and day
Oh, how the ladies pay
Oh, night and day, night and day, night and day
Oh, how the ladies pay

song performed by Lou Reed
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Sonnet LX - Variations In Imitation - after William Shakespeare

See below W S Sonnet LX for English and French variations

Sonnet LX

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked eclipses ‘gainst his glory fight
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow
Feeds on the rareities of Nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow;
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth despite his cruel hand.

William SHAKESPEARE shak1_0008_shak1_0000 PST_DZX
________________________

So nnet LX Imitation - Par Vagues

Par vagues, s’approchant à la rive pierreuse,
Nos instants précieux écument leur destin,
Chacun son précédent remplaçant en chemin,
Le tout se bousculant - avancée périlleuse.
Le Temps notre jeunesse avale et l’âme heureuse,
Avance, et, mûrissant, se voit sacrée: sa main
Dispute nos chansons, gloires d’antan, - déclin
Que le faucheur étale, éclipse malheureuse.
Le Temps reprend ses dons, de profonds sillons creuse,
Des affronts forts profonds au front jadis si saint,
En dévorant les traces de notre grâce éteinte,
Aucun ne faisant face à sa fauche rieuse!
Pourtant malgré le Temps, sa main sans pitié,
Ces lignes attendent un jour coulant de vérité.

15 December 1991 revised 2005 robi3_0508_shak1_0008 PFT_DZX see robi3_0654
Translation William SHAKESPEARE – Sonnet LX for previous version see below

__________________

Sonnet LX

Ainsi qu’aux vagues visant la rive pierreuse,
Nos instants précieux se hâtent vers leur destin,
Chacun son précedent remplaçant en chemin,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Shakespeare Daughter's Hungry Street

Jules travelled down smoking art surreal street
to explore bohemian style flavoured beat.
Where all the noble artist souls are found
carrying her doves heart, she was stage bound.
Down to Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

Jazz sax soared art savouring lovers danced.
Midget naked dancing twin brothers pranced.
Fire eater sister showed her fiery flash style.
Marching the military two step erotic mile.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

Some priest held paintings of narrow grief.
Some lovers carried crosses of their belief.
Some miracle workers photographed their smile.
Some frozen suit prophets flaunted their style.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

The red body wine skull shape face glowed.
Humanities blood of experience muse flowed.
Sax and ghost trumpeter explore reality theme.
Every jazz hip poet was singing up wild scene.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

Some choir angels sung 'let humanity be heard'.
Redemptions poems quote reality to disturb.
Let the high barbed pitched tongues glow.
Artist dreams and mad sanity will overflow.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

The immaculate dripping sky turned bright red.
Some saint laughed loud, cool your aching head.
Poets, junkies, taxman, lovers played high dice.
Each and every sister painted their own paradise.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

Drinking her own redemption flavour wine divine.
Slept childlike and woke mysteriously to fine.
The seven stone evangelist had shifted outa town.
The sculptured Valentino had fallen nose down.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

Jules travelled down smoking art valley street.
To savour bohemian flavour feel burning heat,
but finally her natural innocence was blown.
All the poets ritual seers faces had flown.
Down to Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

poem by Wayne Falconer
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The Price You Pay

(bruce springsteen)
You make up your mind, you choose the chance you take
You ride to where the highway ends and the desert breaks
Out on through an open road you ride until the day
You learn to sleep at night with the price you pay
Now with their hands held high, they reached out for the open skies
And then with their last breath
They built the roads they would ride to their deaths
Driving on through the night unable to break away
>from the restless pull of the price you pay
Oh, the price you pay, oh, the price you pay
Now you cant walk away from the price you pay
Now theyve come so far and theyve waited so long
Just to end up caught in a dream where everything goes wrong
Where the dark of night holds back the light of the day
And you gotta stand and fight for the price you pay
Oh, the price you pay, oh, the price you pay
Now you cant walk away from the price you pay
Little girl down on the strand
With that pretty little baby in your hands
Do you remember the story of the promised land
How he crossed the desert sands
And could not enter the chosen land
On the banks of the river he stayed
To face the price you pay
So let the games start
You better run you little wild heart
You can run through all the nights and all the days
But just across the county line
A stranger passin through put up a sign
That counts so many fallen away
To the price you pay,
Oh, the price you pay, oh, the price you pay
Now you cant walk away from the price you pay
Oh, the price you pay, oh, the price you pay
Now you cant walk away from the price you pay

song performed by Emmylou Harris
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bishop Blougram's Apology

No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk.
A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith!
We ought to have our Abbey back, you see.
It's different, preaching in basilicas,
And doing duty in some masterpiece
Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart!
I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes,
Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere;
It's just like breathing in a lime-kiln: eh?
These hot long ceremonies of our church
Cost us a little—oh, they pay the price,
You take me—amply pay it! Now, we'll talk.

So, you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs.
No deprecation—nay, I beg you, sir!
Beside 't is our engagement: don't you know,
I promised, if you'd watch a dinner out,
We'd see truth dawn together?—truth that peeps
Over the glasses' edge when dinner's done,
And body gets its sop and holds its noise
And leaves soul free a little. Now's the time:
Truth's break of day! You do despise me then.
And if I say, "despise me"—never fear!
1 know you do not in a certain sense—
Not in my arm-chair, for example: here,
I well imagine you respect my place
(Status, entourage, worldly circumstance)
Quite to its value—very much indeed:
—Are up to the protesting eyes of you
In pride at being seated here for once—
You'll turn it to such capital account!
When somebody, through years and years to come,
Hints of the bishop—names me—that's enough:
"Blougram? I knew him"—(into it you slide)
"Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day,
All alone, we two; he's a clever man:
And after dinner—why, the wine you know—
Oh, there was wine, and good!—what with the wine . . .
'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk!
He's no bad fellow, Blougram; he had seen
Something of mine he relished, some review:
He's quite above their humbug in his heart,
Half-said as much, indeed—the thing's his trade.
I warrant, Blougram's sceptical at times:
How otherwise? I liked him, I confess!"
Che che, my dear sir, as we say at Rome,
Don't you protest now! It's fair give and take;
You have had your turn and spoken your home-truths:
The hand's mine now, and here you follow suit.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Luxurious

Working so hard, every night and day
And now we get the pay back
Trying so hard, saving up the paper
Now we get to lay back
Working so hard, every night and day
And now we get the pay back, the pay back, the pay back
Champagne kisses, hold me in your lap of luxury
I only want to fly first-class desires, you're my limousine
So elegant, the way we ride, our passion, it just multiplies
There's platinum lightning in the sky
Look I'm livin' like a queen
This kind of love is getting expensive
We know how to live, baby
We're luxurious, like Egyptian cotton
We're so rich in love, we're rollin' in cashmere
Got it in fifth gear, baby
Diamond in the rough is lookin' so sparkly
Working so hard, every night and day
And now we get the pay back
Trying so hard, saving up the paper
Now we get to lay back
Working so hard, every night and day
And now we get the pay back, the pay back, the pay back
Sugar, honey, sexy baby
When we touch it turns to gold
Sensitive and delicate, kinda like a tuberose
You know you are my treasure chest
It's pure perfection when we kiss and
You're my Mr., I'm your Miss
Gonna be until we're old
This kind of love is getting expensive
We know how to live, baby
We're luxurious, like Egyptian cotton
Working so hard, every night and day
And now we get the pay back
Trying so hard, saving up the paper
Now we get to lay back
Working so hard, every night and day
And now we get the pay back, the pay back, the pay back
[2x]
Cha-ching, cha-ching, we're loaded and we're not gonna blow it
Cha-ching, cha-ching, we're hooked up with the love cause we grow it
Cha-ching, cha-ching, we got hydroponic love and we're smokin'
Cha-ching, cha-ching, we burn it, you and I, we are so lit
And we're so rich in love, we're rollin' in cashmere
Got it in fifth gear, baby
Diamond in the rough is lookin' so sparkly
Working so hard, every night and day
And now we get the pay back
Trying so hard, saving up the paper

[...] Read more

song performed by Gwen Stefani
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ooh, Ohh, Hey...

(hook)
Ill pay a penny for your thoughts
A nickel for your kiss, you know that I will
Ill pay a penny for your thoughts, yes I will
A nickel for your kiss, you know that I will (listen)
Listen honey baby, theres something that ive
Gotta make clear
You may have had other lovers in your life
That cant compare to whats going down here
I promise Ill be gentle, Im gonna give you all
That Ive got (got)
Dont say no, let your body go,
Ill do my thing nice and slow if you tell me your
Thoughts
(hook)
Ill pay a penny for your thoughts
A nickel for your kiss, you know that I will
Ill pay a penny for your thoughts, come on
Nickel for your kiss, you know that I will, I will
I will pay anything to know whats on your mind
I do whatever it takes, pretty baby
I will pay anything to know whats on your
Mind please tell me baby, I would pay anytime, tell me whats on your mind
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Girl I wanna work your body
Like your body was a (9) to (5)
And just when you think Im getting tired baby
Ill be putting in overtime
I only want to please you, to tease you is not my style
Just let me know when your ready for love
Girl you gotta make up your mind
Ill pay a penny for your thoughts
A nickel for your kiss, you know that I will
Ill pay a penny for your thoughts, yes I will
A nickel for your kiss, you know that I will
I will pay anything to know whats on your mind
I will pay anythign to know whats om your mind
I will pay anytime, tell me whats on your mind
I will pay anytime, tell me whats on your mind
Baby tell me, tell me baby
Whatever you want girl
Whatever you need lady
Ill be right there for you baby, yes I will
Ill pay a penny for your thoughts
A nickel for your kiss, I will

song performed by Usher
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dante, Shakespeare, Milton - From

Doctor. Ah! thou, too,
Sad Alighieri, like a waning moon
Setting in storm behind a grove of bays!
Balder. Yes, the great Florentine, who wove his web
And thrust it into hell, and drew it forth
Immortal, having burn’d all that could burn,
And leaving only what shall still be found
Untouch’d, nor with the small of fire upon it,
Under the final ashes of this world.
Doctor. Shakespeare and Milton!
Balder. Switzerland and home.
I ne’er see Milton, but I see the Alps,
As once, sole standing on a peak supreme,
To the extremest verge summit and gulf
I saw, height after depth, Alp beyond Alp,
O’er which the rising and the sinking soul
Sails into distance, heaving as a ship
O’er a great sea that sets to strands unseen.
And as the mounting and descending bark,
Borne on exulting by the under deep,
Gains of the wild wave something not the wave,
Catches a joy of going, and a will
Resistless, and upon the last lee foam
Leaps into air beyond it, so the soul
upon the Alpine ocean mountain-toss’d,
Incessant carried up to heaven, and plunged
To darkness, and still wet with drops of death
Held into light eternal, and again
Cast down, to be again uplift in vast
And infinite succession, cannot stay
The mad momentum, but in frenzied sight
Of horizontal clouds and mists and skies
And the untried Inane, springs on the surge
Of things, and passing matter by a force
Material, thro’ vacuity careers,
Rising and falling.
Doctor. And my Shakespeare! Call
Milton your Alps, and which is he among
The tops of Andes? Keep your Paradise,
And Eves, and Adams, but give me the Earth
That Shakespeare drew, and make it grave and gay
With Shakespeare’s men and women; let me laugh
Or weep with them, and you—a wager,—aye,
A wager by my faith—either his muse
Was the recording angel, or that hand
Cherubic, which fills up the Book of Life,
Caught what the last relaxing gripe let fall
By a death-bed at Stratford, and hence-forth
Holds Shakespeare’s pen. Now strain your sinews, poet,
And top your Pelion,—Milton Switzerland,

[...] Read more

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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An Unfortunate Likeness

I'VE painted SHAKESPEARE all my life -
"An infant" (even then at "play"!)
"A boy," with stage-ambition rife,
Then "Married to ANN HATHAWAY."

"The bard's first ticket night" (or "ben."),
His "First appearance on the stage,"
His "Call before the curtain" - then
"Rejoicings when he came of age."

The bard play-writing in his room,
The bard a humble lawyer's clerk.
The bard a lawyer (3) - parson (4) - groom (5) -
The bard deer-stealing, after dark.

The bard a tradesman (6) - and a Jew (7) -
The bard a botanist (8) - a beak (9) -
The bard a skilled musician (10) too -
A sheriff (11) and a surgeon (12) eke!

Yet critics say (a friendly stock)
That, though it's evident I try,
Yet even I can barely mock
The glimmer of his wondrous eye!

One morning as a work I framed,
There passed a person, walking hard:
"My gracious goodness," I exclaimed,
"How very like my dear old bard!

"Oh, what a model he would make!"
I rushed outside - impulsive me! -
"Forgive the liberty I take,
But you're so very" - "Stop!" said he.

"You needn't waste your breath or time, -
I know what you are going to say, -
That you're an artist, and that I'm
Remarkably like SHAKESPEARE. Eh?

"You wish that I would sit to you?"
I clasped him madly round the waist,
And breathlessly replied, "I do!"
"All right," said he, "but please make haste."

I led him by his hallowed sleeve,
And worked away at him apace,
I painted him till dewy eve, -
There never was a nobler face!

[...] Read more

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The Absent-Minded Beggar

When you've shouted ' Rule Britannia,' when you've sung ' God save the Queen,'
When you've finished killing Kruger with your mouth,
Will you kindly drop a shilling in my little tambourine
For a gentleman in khaki ordered South?
He's an absent-minded beggar, and his weaknesses are great -
But we and Paul must take him as we find him -
He is out on active service, wiping something off a slate
And he's left a lot of little things behind him!
Duke's son - cook's son - son of a hundred kings
(Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!)
Each of 'em doing his country's work
(and who's to look after their things?)
Pass the hat for your credit's sake, and pay - pay - pay !
There are girls he married secret, asking no permission to,
For he knew he wouldn't get it if he did.
There is gas and coals and vittles, and the house-rent falling due,
And its more than rather likely there’s a kid.
There are girls he’s walked with casual. They’ll be sorry now he’s gone,
For an absent-minded beggar they will find him,
But it ain’t the time for sermons with the winter coming on
We must help the girl that Tommy’s left behind him!
Cook's son - Duke's son - son of a belted Earl
Son of a Lambeth publican - it's all the same to-day !
Each of 'em doing his country's work
(and who's to look after the girl?)
Pass the hat for your credit's sake, J1 and pay - pay - pay !

There are families by thousands, far too proud to beg or speak,
And they'll put their sticks and bedding up the spout,
And they'll live on half o' nothing, paid 'em punctual once a week,
'Cause the man that earns the wage is ordered out.
He's an absent-minded beggar, but he heard his country call,
And his reg'rnent didn't need to send to find him!
He chucked his job and joined it - so the job before us all
Is to help the home that Tommy's left behind him !
Duke's job - cook's job - gardener, baronet, groom.
Mews or palace or paper-shop, there's someone gone away!
Each of 'em doing his country's work
(and who's to look after the room?)
Pass the hat for your credit's sake, and pay - pay - pay !

Let us manage so as, later, we can look him in the face,
And tell him - what he'd very much prefer
That, while he saved the Empire, his employer saved his place,
And his mates (that's you and me) looked out for her.
He's an absent-minded beggar and he may forget it all,
But we do not want his kiddies to remind him
That we sent 'em to the workhouse while their daddy hammered Paul,
So we'll help the homes that Tommy left behind him !
Cook's home - Duke's home - home of a millionaire,

[...] Read more

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Imitations of Horace: The First Epistle of the Second Book

Ne Rubeam, Pingui donatus Munere
(Horace, Epistles II.i.267)
While you, great patron of mankind, sustain
The balanc'd world, and open all the main;
Your country, chief, in arms abroad defend,
At home, with morals, arts, and laws amend;
How shall the Muse, from such a monarch steal
An hour, and not defraud the public weal?
Edward and Henry, now the boast of fame,
And virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name,
After a life of gen'rous toils endur'd,
The Gaul subdu'd, or property secur'd,
Ambition humbled, mighty cities storm'd,
Or laws establish'd, and the world reform'd;
Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!
All human virtue, to its latest breath
Finds envy never conquer'd, but by death.
The great Alcides, ev'ry labour past,
Had still this monster to subdue at last.
Sure fate of all, beneath whose rising ray
Each star of meaner merit fades away!
Oppress'd we feel the beam directly beat,
Those suns of glory please not till they set.

To thee the world its present homage pays,
The harvest early, but mature the praise:
Great friend of liberty! in kings a name
Above all Greek, above all Roman fame:
Whose word is truth, as sacred and rever'd,
As Heav'n's own oracles from altars heard.
Wonder of kings! like whom, to mortal eyes
None e'er has risen, and none e'er shall rise.

Just in one instance, be it yet confest
Your people, Sir, are partial in the rest:
Foes to all living worth except your own,
And advocates for folly dead and gone.
Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old;
It is the rust we value, not the gold.
Chaucer's worst ribaldry is learn'd by rote,
And beastly Skelton heads of houses quote:
One likes no language but the Faery Queen ;
A Scot will fight for Christ's Kirk o' the Green:
And each true Briton is to Ben so civil,
He swears the Muses met him at the Devil.

Though justly Greece her eldest sons admires,
Why should not we be wiser than our sires?
In ev'ry public virtue we excel:

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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The Canon Of Aughrim

You ask me of English honour, whether your Nation is just?
Justice for us is a word divine, a name we revere,
Alas, no more than a name, a thing laid by in the dust.
The world shall know it again, but not in this month or year.

Honour? Oh no, you profane it. Justice? What words! What deeds!
Look at the suppliant Earth with its living burden of men.
Here and to Hindostan the nations and kings and creeds
Praise your name as a god's, the god of their children slain.

Which of us doubts your justice? It is not here in the West,
After six hundred years of pitiless legal war,
The sons of our soil are in doubt. They know, who have borne it, best:
The world is famished for justice. You give us a stone, your law.

These are its fruits. Yet, think you, the Ireland where men weep
Once was a jubilant land and dear to the Saints of God.
All you have made it to--day is a hell to conquer and keep,
Yours by the right of the strongest hand, the right of the rod.

History tells the story in signs deep writ on the soil,
Plain and clear in indelible type both for fools and wise.
Here is no need of books, of any expositor's coil.
He who runs may read, and he may weep who has eyes.

This is the plain of Aughrim, renowned in our Irish story
Because of the blood that was shed, the last in arms by our sons,
A fight in battle array, with more of grief than of glory,
Where as a Nation we died to dirge of your English guns.

So the Chroniclers tell us, and turn in silence their page,
Ending the fighting here. I tell you the Chroniclers lie.
Spite of the hush of the dead, the battle from age to age
Flames on still through the land, and still at men's hands men die.

Look! I will show you the footsteps of those who have died at your hand,
Done to death by your law, alas, and not by the sword,
Only their work remaining, a nations's track in the sand,
Ridge and furrow of ancient fields half hid in the sward.

Step by step they retreated. You fenced them out with your Pale,
Back from township and city and cornland fair by the Sea.
Waterford, Youghal and Wexford you took and the Golden Vale.
Tears were their portion assigned: for you their demesnes in fee.

Back to the forest and bog. They shouldered their spades like men,
Fought with the wolf and the rock and the hunger which holds the hill.
Still new homesteads arose where fever lurked in the fen,
Still your law was a sword that hunted and dogged them still.

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Version

We could live in a house outside of town,
We could build our own version of society,
Well...thered be no one to answer to
And complicate our lives,
We could be
The epitome of self sufficience.
Time to pay! to pay!
Time to pay; youve got to pay me!
Why should i?
Why should we pay for your mistake?
To carry on.
Why should we carry on your false integrity?
When youve shown us that you
Cant even keep your nest clean.
So far weve put finacial gain
Ahead of human needs,
Quality of our lives should be prioritized.
Time to pay! to pay!
Time to pay; youve got to pay me!
Why should i?
Why should we pay for your mistake?
To carry on.
Modify your version so we can carry on.
To carry on.
To be conclusive,
Id like to say,
Youve done a super-fine job with your display.
I see now that you cannot comprehend
What it means to respect your life and then some!
To be rich, that would be great.
No, but it doesnt mean poo-poo without your nest!
So why should I pay for your misake, man?
Why should i?
Why should we pay for your mistake?
To carry on.
Modify your version so we can carry on.
To carry on.
@song:azwethinkweiz
Floatin round my brain,
Tryin to think about the other thing.
Than that thought you know Im considering.
What if what I thought,
About who I think I though I was,
Was nothing more than my cerebellum slobbering?
Azwethinkweizm is hard to think about,
But simple to trust.
Youll know your on it
When your brain wont stop to take a break, no!
So when donut boy comes askin around,
Tryin to figure out somethin new,

[...] Read more

song performed by Incubus
Added by Lucian Velea
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Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
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Discovering Shakespeare

‘From you have I been absent in the spring.’
The words of Shakespeare have a truly lovely ring,
But, when I was younger, by his words, I was bored,
And his words, written on a page, by me, were ignored.

Now I’m older, I can see that his famous words,
Are actually among the loveliest I’ve ever heard.
Until recently, I couldn’t recite a Shakespeare speech,
But, slowly, line by line, myself, I did teach.

Of his work, I love the rhythm and rhyme,
As it makes it much easier to learn each line.
Being able to recite a short speech, I felt proud,
As I had never performed any of his work aloud.

I was really amazed at what I’d been able to achieve,
And now, from my mind, his words will never leave.
When I feel low, in my mind, his words I recall -
They lift my mood, just as I am about to fall.

I didn’t understand any of his stories before,
But with each day that passes, I’m learning more.
I now understand about the characters and the plots.
Over the last few months, I really have learnt a lot.

Helena from ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream, ’
Is very like me in character, or so it seems:
She’s sensitive and cautious and likes to think things through,
And that description can pretty much be applied to me to!

Prior to my Shakespeare Bronze exam, I was full of fear,
But it proved to be one of the highlights of my entire year.
It’s been one of the best experiences of my life to date,
And to take my Shakespeare Silver exam, I just can’t wait.

If only Shakespeare was alive today, he would see
Just how much sheer joy he has managed to bring me.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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One Four Square Sonnet - Parody Shakespeare Sonnet CXVI

ONE FOUR SQUARE SONNET
Let's not into true marriage of two minds
Admit expedience. Love wears no kid glove
Which falters where fits, altercations, finds
Or ends when dumb observer would remove.
For lo! that marks stark feckless leaver, hark!
Tempest cooks cat's books, stands sturdy shaken,
Here, wild oats sown, dog-star to wandering bark,
Its birth unknown although its bow save bacon.
Since Love fools Time, lip-service cheeky rhyme
Within big spending tickle’s compass come,
O'er years piques havoc wreak, strange phantom mime,
Remaining edgy till wan wedge of doom,
Let be, if error writ, and on me proved,
Dumb see my wit, for no man clever loved.

30 October 1991 revised 14 July 2007 and 1 May 2010

robi03_0467_shak01_0022 PAS_LZX
Parody William SHAKESPEARE 1564_1616 Sonnet CXVI
For previous version see after notes and links

Author notes
acrostic sonnet LAW OF THIS WORLD
------
readers should carefully compare text line by line to that of Shakespeare's version
--------
Title One Four Square Sonnet...One hundred and 4 x 4 = 116 = Sonnet CXVI

four-square
• adjective 1 (of a building) having a square shape and solid appearance.2 firm and resolute.
• adverb 1 squarely and solidly.2 firmly and resolutely.

see also the game Four-Square where eternal triangle tries an additional angle
http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four-Square

Animat ed Cat tossing Dog http: //media.photobucket.com/image/%22animated%22%20%2 0%20%20%22cats%22%20%20%20%22dogs%22/boedaxkeneh/ funny_animated_pictures_18.gif? o=13
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
MARRIAGE OF TWO MINDS
Let not into the marriage of two minds
Admit expedience. Love is not love
Which falters where it altercation finds
Or ends when some observer would remove.
Fie no! it is an ever fixèd mark
That looks on cats and never is awaken,
Here, ‘tis the dog-star to every wandering bark,
Its birth unknown although its bough be shaken.
Since Love Time’s fool is not, though rosy cheeks
Within his wending tickle’s compass come,
Or alters not with years which havoc wreaks,

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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