With the permanent elimination of this tax, farmers and business owners will have the sense of security they need to plan for the financial future of their business or farm and their family.
quote by Doc Hastings
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Related quotes
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The Final Tax
Said Statesman A to Statesman Z:
'What can we tax that is not paying?
We’re taxing every blessed thing—
Here’s what our people are defraying:
'Tariff tax, income tax,
Tax on retail sales,
Club tax, school tax,
Tax on beers and ales,
'City tax, county tax,
Tax on obligations,
War tax. wine tax,
Tax on corporations,
'Brewer tax, sewer tax,
Tax on motor cars,
Bond tax, stock tax,
Tax on liquor bars,
'Bridge tax, check tax,
Tax on drugs and pills,
Gas tax, ticket tax,
Tax on gifts in wills,
'Poll tax, dog tax,
Tax on money loaned,
State tax, road tax,
Tax on all things owned,
'Stamp tax, land tax,
Tax on wedding ring,
High tax, low tax,
Tax on everything!'
Said Statesman A to Statesman Z:
'That is the list, a pretty bevy;
No thing or act that is untaxed;
There’s nothing more on which to levy.'
Said Statesman Z to Statesman A:
'The deficit each moment waxes;
This is no time for us to fail—
We will decree a tax on taxes.'
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Sobre Horizontes
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)
Introduction
In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.
Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.
Prologue
The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain
mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact
that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals
becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,
who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight
in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.
Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Believer's Principles : Chap. IV.
Faith and Sense Natural, compared and distinguished.
When Abram's body, Sarah's womb,
Were ripe for nothing but the tomb,
Exceeding old, and wholly dead,
Unlike to bear the promis'd seed:
Faith said, 'I shall an Isaac see;'
'No, no,' said Sense, 'it cannot be;'
Blind Reason, to augment the strife,
Adds, 'How can death engender life?'
My heart is like a rotten tomb,
More dead than ever Sarah's womb;
O! can the promis'd seed of grace
Spring forth from such a barren place?
Sense gazing but on flinty rocks,
My hope and expectation chokes:
But could I, skill'd in Abram's art,
O'erlook my dead and barren heart;
And build my hope on nothing less
That divine pow'r and faithfulness;
Soon would I find him raise up sons
To Abram, out of rocks and stones.
Faith acts as busy boatmen do,
Who backward look and forward row;
It looks intent to things unseen,
Thinks objects visible too mean.
Sense thinks it madness thus to steer,
And only trusts its eye and ear;
Into faith's boat dare thrust its oar,
And put it further from the shore.
Faith does alone the promise eye;
Sense won't believe unless it see;
Nor can it trust the divine guide,
Unless it have both wind and tide.
Faith thinks the promise sure and good;
Sense doth depend on likelihood;
Faith ev'n in storms believes the seers;
Sense calls all men, ev'n prophets, liars.
Faith uses means, but rests on none;
Sense sails when outward means are gone:
[...] Read more
poem by Ralph Erskine
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The Farm
There┬┤s a cockroach in my coffee
There┬┤s a needle in my arm
And I feel like New York City
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Somebody get me to the farm
I got terminal uniqueness
I'm an egocentric man
I get caught up in my freakness
But I ain┬┤t no Peter Pan
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Get me...
Buckle up straight Jack
Sanity is such a drag
Jellybeam thorazene
Trancendental jet lag
Sanity I ain┬┤t gotta
Feeling like a pinala
Sucker punch-blowin┬┤lung
Motherload-pigeonholed
I'm feeling like I'm gonna explode
I wanna be a Hare Krishna
Tattoo a dot right on my head
And the prozac is my fixer
I am the living dead
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm...
Take me to the farm
[...] Read more
song performed by Aerosmith
Added by Lucian Velea
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.
PART THE FIRST
I
In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Farmers Daughter
I could come from miles away
Aint got (aint got, aint got)
No place to stay (place to stay, place to stay)
Glad to (glad to, glad to)
Help you plow your fields (help you plow, help you plow)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Might be (might be, might be)
Just a couple of days (couple of days, couple of days)
Clean up (clean up, clean up)
Rest and on my way (on my way, on my way)
Thank you (thank you, thank you)
And Im must obliged (much obliged, much obliged)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
So long (so long, so long)
Better leave your land (leave your land, leave your land)
Many thanks (many thanks, many thanks)
It was mighty grand (mighty grand, mighty grand)
I do (hope to, hope to)
Hope to see you again (see you again see you again)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Farmers Daughter
Written by brian wilson.
I could come from miles away
Aint got (aint got, aint got)
No place to stay (place to stay, place to stay)
Glad to (glad to, glad to)
Help you plow your fields (help you plow, help you plow)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Might be (might be, might be)
Just a couple of days (couple of days, couple of days)
Clean up (clean up, clean up)
Rest and on my way (on my way, on my way)
Thank you (thank you, thank you)
And Im must obliged (much obliged, much obliged)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
So long (so long, so long)
Better leave your land (leave your land, leave your land)
Many thanks (many thanks, many thanks)
It was mighty grand (mighty grand, mighty grand)
I do (hope to, hope to)
Hope to see you again (see you again see you again)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
song performed by Fleetwood Mac
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ghost - Book IV
Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Ain't Gonna Work On Your Farm No More
I ain’t gonna work on your farm no more
I ain’t gonna scrub all your floors,
I ain’t gonna take all your friends who ignore
what I do when they hide behind doors
where they pay no attention to stuff that I think,
and say, when they pay me a dime,
that I ain’t entitled to spend it on drink,
or ladies who show me good time.
I ain’t gonna work for your children or friends
who preach of the law and the Lord,
and hear all those messages God never sends
to people with who He is bored,
like I am. I ain’t gonna work on your farm,
instead I will write me a song,
and pray that its words will all sound the alarm,
for I expect to be back before long.
Mark Z. Barabak (“He’s Digging ‘Farm, ’” LA Times, June 26,2008) writes that Barack Obama’s favorite Bob Dylan song is “Maggie’s Farm, ” performed in 1995 at the Newport Festival, when he turned electric and never looked back:
I AIN’T GONNA WORK ON MAGGIE’S FARM NO MORE
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I wake up every morning
hold my hands and pray for rain
I've got a head full of ideas
driving me insane
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
He hands you a nickel
he hands you a dime
He asks you and your friends
if you're having a good time
He blames you every time you slam the door
Well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
He stubs his cigarette out in your face just for kicks
his bedroom window is made out of bricks
And the National Guard are standing at his door
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
She talks to all the servants about man and God and law
[...] Read more
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Everything Is Going To Be Like My Plan
Duty must be fulfilled
But everything is going to be like my plan
People could lie to me
But everything is going to be like my plan
Pray may be often
But everything is going to be like my plan
Time flies uncontrolled
But everything is going to be like my plan
Destiny may not be cooperated
But everything is going to be like my plan
Other plan may ruin mine
But everything is going to be like my plan
Body is reaching the limit
But everything is going to be like my plan
The will should be strengthened
But everything is going to be like my plan
The anxiety may be doubled
But everything is going to be like my plan
Critics never disappear
But everything is going to be like my plan
Life is unfair
But everything is going to be like my plan
The way seems lost
But everything is going to be like my plan
Regret is gnawing my sense
But everything is going to be like my plan
The goal still far away
But everything is going to be like my plan
The future end may unseen
But everything is going to be like my plan
Source may not be enough
But everything is going to be like my plan
Things always change
But everything is going to be like my plan
Problem keeps occurring
But everything is going to be like my plan
World would laugh
But everything is going to be like my plan
Failure keeps happening
But everything is going to be like my plan
Memories may not help
But everything is going to be like my plan
Luck may test me
But everything is going to be like my plan
Love may not support me
But everything is going to be like my plan
Weather wants to rebel
But everything is going to be like my plan
The form may be different
But everything is going to be like my plan
[...] Read more
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Now I Need You
You parting words still echo clear on the day you left me
If you need me Ill be there, you said youd always help me
Now l need you, l need you, l need you, l need you
L need you, l need you right now
Now l need you, l need you, l need you, l need you
L need you, l need you right now
L cant seem to satisfy anyone around me
You hold my hand and see me through
All the things that bound me
Now l need you, l need you, l need you, l need you
L need you, l need you right now
Now l need you, l need you, l need you, l need you
L need you, l need you right now
Now l need you, l need you, l need you, l need you
L need you, l need you right now
Now l need you, l need you, l need you, l need you
L need you, l need you right now
Im calling you now (oh now I need you)
Calling you now (oh how I need you)
Please come to me now
I need you
I need you (oh how l need you)
I need you (oh how I need you)
I need you (oh how I need you)
I need you (oh how I need you)
Oh how I need you, oh how I need you
Having learned to live with you
Its hard to live without you
You always said if I were down,
To cheer me you would be around
Now l need you, l need you, l need you, l need you
L need you, l need you right now
Now l need you, l need you, l need you, l need you
L need you, l need you right now
Now l need you, l need you, l need you, l need you
L need you, l need you right now
Now l need you, l need you, l need you, l need you
L need you, l need you right now
Im calling you now
(oh how I need you)
Calling you now
(oh how I need you)
Please come to me now
(oh how I need you)
Please come to me now
(oh how I need you) I need you now
(oh how I need you)
song performed by Donna Summer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Farmers Blvd.
(hey man, don't you realize
In order for us to make this thing work, man
We've got to get rid of the pimps, and the pushers, and the prostitutes?)
Ba-ha-ha-ha...
Yes, yes, y'all
[ cool j ] ah, ah
That's funky
[ marley marl ] yeah
Hey yo, marley, man
[ marley marl ] yo, what's up, man?
[ cool j ] hey yo, man
You know
We was gettin busy on the album everyday
We been gettin funky, but
I wanna take this jam back to farmers
Knowmsayin?
[ marley marl ] yo, let's go back on farmers
And get some of them early mc's
You used to be kickin it with back in the day?
[ cool j ] yeah, yeah, yeah
[ marley marl ] yo, let's do a jam with them
[ cool j ] aight, bet
But first i gotta like introduce it
Youknowmsayin?
[ marley marl ] aight, kick it...
(farmers boulevard)
[ l.l. cool j ]
Back in the days, before i was cool j
I used to hang up on the corner, pumpin games people play
Sittin on a garbage can, rhymin to my man
Talkin bout big money and future plans
I always told the brothers, if i got a contract
When the money started flowin, i'd be back
To do a jam, against all odds
Introducing rapper 1 from farmers boulevard
[ bomb ]
Hey yo, b-o-m-b, bomb explosion
Attack like a cat when i'm trapped and i'm closed in
Sharp-ass claws, and i break all laws
In a while all jaws, cause i'm perfect, no flaws
Now i'm back to farmers on some new improved
(sh...) i'm makin moves, not fakin moves
So don't you never come around here, talkin that talk
Or walkin that walk, you'll get played like a sport
Football, soccer, whatever you savour
You're a tramp and a pussycat, ready for labor
Ha! l'll have you breakin locks
I'll have you cookin fried rice in a big steel box
The type of skills that i got reigned for years
No worry or cares, your crew'll shed tears
[...] Read more
song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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Farmers Blvd (Our Anthem)
(Hey man, don't you realize
In order for us to make this thing work, man
We've got to get rid of the pimps, and the pushers, and the prostitutes?)
Ba-ha-ha-ha...
Yes, yes, y'all
[ Cool J ] Ah, ah
That's funky
[ Marley Marl ] Yeah
Hey yo, Marley, man
[ Marley Marl ] Yo, what's up, man?
[ Cool J ] Hey yo, man
You know
We was gettin busy on the album everyday
We been gettin funky, but
I wanna take this jam back to Farmers
Knowmsayin?
[ Marley Marl ] Yo, let's go back on Farmers
And get some of them early MC's
You used to be kickin it with back in the day?
[ Cool J ] Yeah, yeah, yeah
[ Marley Marl ] Yo, let's do a jam with them
[ Cool J ] Aight, bet
But first I gotta like introduce it
Youknowmsayin?
[ Marley Marl ] Aight, kick it...
(Farmers Boulevard)
[ L.L. Cool J ]
Back in the days, before I was Cool J
I used to hang up on the corner, pumpin Games People Play
Sittin on a garbage can, rhymin to my man
Talkin bout big money and future plans
I always told the brothers, if I got a contract
When the money started flowin, I'd be back
To do a jam, against all odds
Introducing rapper 1 from Farmers Boulevard
[ Bomb ]
Hey yo, B-o-m-b, bomb explosion
Attack like a cat when I'm trapped and I'm closed in
Sharp-ass claws, and I break all laws
In a while all jaws, cause I'm perfect, no flaws
Now I'm back to Farmers on some new improved
(Sh...) I'm makin moves, not fakin moves
So don't you never come around here, talkin that talk
Or walkin that walk, you'll get played like a sport
Football, soccer, whatever you savour
You're a tramp and a pussycat, ready for labor
Ha! L'll have you breakin locks
I'll have you cookin fried rice in a big steel box
The type of skills that I got reigned for years
No worry or cares, your crew'll shed tears
[...] Read more
song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Parish Register - Part I: Baptisms
The year revolves, and I again explore
The simple Annals of my Parish poor;
What Infant-members in my flock appear,
What Pairs I bless'd in the departed year;
And who, of Old or Young, or Nymphs or Swains,
Are lost to Life, its pleasures and its pains.
No Muse I ask, before my view to bring
The humble actions of the swains I sing. -
How pass'd the youthful, how the old their days;
Who sank in sloth, and who aspired to praise;
Their tempers, manners, morals, customs, arts,
What parts they had, and how they 'mploy'd their
parts;
By what elated, soothed, seduced, depress'd,
Full well I know-these Records give the rest.
Is there a place, save one the poet sees,
A land of love, of liberty, and ease;
Where labour wearies not, nor cares suppress
Th' eternal flow of rustic happiness;
Where no proud mansion frowns in awful state,
Or keeps the sunshine from the cottage-gate;
Where young and old, intent on pleasure, throng,
And half man's life is holiday and song?
Vain search for scenes like these! no view appears,
By sighs unruffled or unstain'd by tears;
Since vice the world subdued and waters drown'd,
Auburn and Eden can no more be found.
Hence good and evil mixed, but man has skill
And power to part them, when he feels the will!
Toil, care, and patience bless th' abstemious few,
Fear, shame, and want the thoughtless herd pursue.
Behold the Cot! where thrives th' industrious
swain,
Source of his pride, his pleasure, and his gain;
Screen'd from the winter's wind, the sun's last ray
Smiles on the window and prolongs the day;
Projecting thatch the woodbine's branches stop,
And turn their blossoms to the casement's top:
All need requires is in that cot contain'd,
And much that taste untaught and unrestrain'd
Surveys delighted; there she loves to trace,
In one gay picture, all the royal race;
Around the walls are heroes, lovers, kings;
The print that shows them and the verse that sings.
Here the last Louis on his throne is seen,
And there he stands imprison'd, and his Queen;
To these the mother takes her child, and shows
What grateful duty to his God he owes;
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Tax the Love
Oh Politicians!
you are now thinking to levy “Flush Tax”,
In future, you may tax even our earwax…
Instead,
Tax those, who fall in love
Tax those, who fall out of love
Tax those, who search for love
Tax those, who crave for love
Tax those, who love to love
Tax those, who hate to love
Tax those, who glorify the love
Tax those, who vilify the love
Tax those, who read about love
Tax those, who write about love
Tax those, who comment about love
And your coffers will be
overflowed with dough
In a one go...
For,
It is not the elusive dark matter that keeps
universe falling apart,
But the mysterious love that
stays in every human’s heart.
So,
Tax the love
fill your trove.
poem by Hitesh Sheth (2009)
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Mind Your Own Business
Mind Your Own Business
(Words and music by Hank Williams, Sr.)
If the wife and I was fussin', brother that's our right
Me and that ole woman bought a license to fight
Why don't you mind your own business(Mind your own business)
Yeah,mind your own business(Mind your own business)
If youmind your own business, you won't be mindin' mine.
Well, the woman on the party line's a nosey thing
She picks up her receiver when she knows it's my ring
Why don't you mind your own business(Mind your own business)
Yeah, mind your own business(Mind your own business)
If you mind your own business, you won't be mindin' mine.
--- Instrumental with ad libs ---
Well, I got a little girl that wears her hair up high
The boys all hollar when she walks by
Why don't you mind your own business(Mind your own business)
Yeah, mind your own business(Mind your own business)
Just mind your own business, you wont be mindin' mine.
--- Instrumental with ad libs ---
I may tell a lot of stories that may not be true
But I can get to Heaven just as easy as you
Why don't you mind your own business(Mind your own business)
Yeah, will you mind your own business(Mind your own business)
Mind your business, and you won't be mindin' mine.
--- Instrumental with ad libs ---
Now, If I want to honky tonk 'til around two or three
Darlin' that's my headache, don't you worry 'bout me.
Why don't you mind your own business(Mind your own business)
Go on and mind your own business(Mind your own business)
If you're mindin' your business, you won't be mindin' mine.
--- Instrumental---
Mindin' other people's business seems to be high-toned
Well, I got all that I can do just to mind my own
Mind your own business(Mind your own business)
Yeah, mind your own business(Mind your own business)
If you mind your businessmyou won't be mindin' mine.
Dear Lord, If you mind your business, you'll be busy all the time...
song performed by Alan Jackson
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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Future Babies
A flower stands erect upon the stem.
Odd:
It bears the naked flesh of many men –
Pulsing, writhing, arteries humming;
Androgenic fluids chase their channels
To the ground, caking at a mound
Of naked girls, who pout in doubt and
Hurl their rabid glares from eyes
That catch the light of want
And desperation.
Sighs:
They know the separation
Stays their open legs
From bursting cocks.
Masturbation of the mind
Is all they need –
They’re in the docks of
Fate:
The evil Overpopulation’s out to feed
Their thund’rous urge to procreate!
Forget the conjugation, just for once?
Bag the bulbous tits in bras.
I know they want the tongue on c*nts;
But focus! Where’s the room to live?
And think about the future babies.
THINK:
You know they won’t forgive
Your selfish drive to suck, to shag.
The Dying Age of Man will drag
Him down to disappear.
So keep the girls away from sperm –
Don’t let the men up there!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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