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I look back into past history, the stored experiences or products of the imagination. I look no further forward than the evening.

quote by Jerzy Kosinski
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Dinner Menu Affected The Bedroom

Insecticides concentrated
in meat and fish cause sterility
Amyloid plaque from meat
and fish... cause senility
The animal fat in meat fish
and dairy
clogs the arteries
reducing sexual
ability
*

PREVENTION OF SEXUAL TRAUMA

Impotence And Animal Flesh

A. CONQUERING IMPOTENCE
Dr. Michael Klaper, Md, in a public speech mentioned that a 25 per
cent blockage of penile arteries from cholesterol (animal fat) accounts for a quadrupled lack of function. Elimination of animal products in many cases returns sexual function. The Physicians' Desk Reference lists sexual dysfunction or impotence as a byproduct of many psychiatric drugs.
(Dr. Klaper is available through archives and live discussion on the web
at
Drs. Neal Barnard MD and Chaitowitz both concurred in this opinion in an
article in May in the Montreal Gazette.
National Public Radio on Sept 9,98 hosted the author of a book on Prozac
who stated that 30 to 40% of users feel a loss of sensation sexually.
Viagra has been correlated to heart attacks. (Eli Lilly and Pfizer
make these 2 drugs.) Fox News reported June 10,98 that Viagra in combination
with nitrates such as sodium nitrate used to color hot dogs can be lethal.
Dr. Drew, MD, host of Loveline, stated one should research the many
antidepressants which cause impotence.
B. CURING BREAST CANCER
(See the Ohio file no.7 under Nonviolent Action for an analysis of
federal and state programs regarding breast cancer.)
The New England Journal of Medicine in November of 1997 stated that
animal fats which become trans-fatty acids are a cause of breast cancer.
The major cause of breast removal in the U.S.is animal products.
(The five countries with the highest rates of breast
cancer have the highest animal product consumption. They are
Scandinavian countries, the U.S. and one other. Women with mastectomies lose
none of their beauty, but they have
a difficult time adjusting. Elimination of the butyric acid in animal
products makes the body more fragrant.
(Other factors in sexual dysfunction are generalized anger, anger with
the partner, low self esteem, general exhaustion, female hormones in animal
products, etc.)
The dietary causes of breast cancer are both the animal products and the
female hormones given to the animals. The Dept. of Defense Health Section in
October did a symposium on the trans fatty acids found in animal products as
a cause of cancer.
The administration's plan to give 450 million dollars to the testing

[...] Read more

poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Evening Coconut

The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
Atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
It really dont matter much, which way I go.
But remember to pull over in the storm.
Have you seen the evening coconut
Bobbing on the bay?
Standing on the waters edge of stone
Someone there besides you
To hear the words you say
To show you things your eyes have never known.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
While atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut

song performed by Neil Young
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The History Of Tomorrow

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of light
By dumping us in the dark with pits everywhere

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of food
By asking us to chop several fire-woods to heat up a pot full of stones

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of job creation
By making us slaves on our own soil

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of education
By dumping us in dilapidated buildings without teachers

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of accountability
By looting our treasury and asking us for yet another term in office

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of safety
By leaving pot holes large enough to swallow countless accident victims on our roads

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our bows and arrows
Would secure our future

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless heroes
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless robbers
Robbers with fame
Robbers without shame
Robbers that we would roast with flame

© Adegbenro Adekunle Jacob

Tomorrow’s history is today. All world leaders must make real democracy work. They must be selfless. We must not wait until there is horror and terror before we learn. Nigerian leaders must shun CORRUPTION.

poem by Adegbenro Adekunle
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What for is money?

I thought on how could be the life
Without having to work for money.
After all this is the money which we work for.

Had we only have enough money to spend
We won’t have to toil our body or brain.
Solution also seemed very easy to me.

Just have a lot of mints to mint money.
Make as much money as may people need
Give them as much as may people want.

All problems are seemingly soon gone.
The root of all evils I thought could be
the root of happiness of all kind instead.

“How could this easy way out be overlooked? ”
Thinking furthermore I thought.
We need mints and we need paper and ink.

We need banks and a lot of ATMs.
People will get money and go for shopping
So we need ample shops. In shops we need products.

We need make shops and we need make products.
but we also need people to run them.
So some people will make paper and some ink.

Some other will work in mints and banks.
Some will work in shops and making products.
Rest all the people will only happily buy things.

Thinking up to here my thought jumbled.

People needed money so they worked.
If money was available for doing no work
Then why should there be anyone to work?

If no one works then where from comes paper and ink?
Where from comes money, banksand ATMs?
Where from then comes products?

Without products how could then we live and enjoy?

So we need products and for products we need to work,
to get people into the works we need money.
So it was that money could not be made free.

I thought 'People have already thought it before me.'

poem by Palas kumar Ray
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Son Of The Evening Star, The

Can it be the sun descending
O'er the level plain of water?
Or the Red Swan floating, flying,
Wounded by the magic arrow,
Staining all the waves with crimson,
With the crimson of its life-blood,
Filling all the air with splendor,
With the splendor of its plumage?
Yes; it is the sun descending,
Sinking down into the water;
All the sky is stained with purple,
All the water flushed with crimson!
No; it is the Red Swan floating,
Diving down beneath the water;
To the sky its wings are lifted,
With its blood the waves are reddened!
Over it the Star of Evening
Melts and trembles through the purple,
Hangs suspended in the twilight.
No; it is a bead of wampum
On the robes of the Great Spirit
As he passes through the twilight,
Walks in silence through the heavens.
This with joy beheld Iagoo
And he said in haste: "Behold it!
See the sacred Star of Evening!
You shall hear a tale of wonder,
Hear the story of Osseo,
Son of the Evening Star, Osseo!
"Once, in days no more remembered,
Ages nearer the beginning,
When the heavens were closer to us,
And the Gods were more familiar,
In the North-land lived a hunter,
With ten young and comely daughters,
Tall and lithe as wands of willow;
Only Oweenee, the youngest,
She the wilful and the wayward,
She the silent, dreamy maiden,
Was the fairest of the sisters.
"All these women married warriors,
Married brave and haughty husbands;
Only Oweenee, the youngest,
Laughed and flouted all her lovers,
All her young and handsome suitors,
And then married old Osseo,
Old Osseo, poor and ugly,
Broken with age and weak with coughing,
Always coughing like a squirrel.
"Ah, but beautiful within him

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Son Of The Evening Star

Can it be the sun descending
O'er the level plain of water?
Or the Red Swan floating, flying,
Wounded by the magic arrow,
Staining all the waves with crimson,
With the crimson of its life-blood,
Filling all the air with splendor,
With the splendor of its plumage?
Yes; it is the sun descending,
Sinking down into the water;
All the sky is stained with purple,
All the water flushed with crimson!
No; it is the Red Swan floating,
Diving down beneath the water;
To the sky its wings are lifted,
With its blood the waves are reddened!
Over it the Star of Evening
Melts and trembles through the purple,
Hangs suspended in the twilight.
No; it is a bead of wampum
On the robes of the Great Spirit
As he passes through the twilight,
Walks in silence through the heavens.
This with joy beheld Iagoo
And he said in haste: "Behold it!
See the sacred Star of Evening!
You shall hear a tale of wonder,
Hear the story of Osseo,
Son of the Evening Star, Osseo!
"Once, in days no more remembered,
Ages nearer the beginning,
When the heavens were closer to us,
And the Gods were more familiar,
In the North-land lived a hunter,
With ten young and comely daughters,
Tall and lithe as wands of willow;
Only Oweenee, the youngest,
She the wilful and the wayward,
She the silent, dreamy maiden,
Was the fairest of the sisters.
"All these women married warriors,
Married brave and haughty husbands;
Only Oweenee, the youngest,
Laughed and flouted all her lovers,
All her young and handsome suitors,
And then married old Osseo,
Old Osseo, poor and ugly,
Broken with age and weak with coughing,
Always coughing like a squirrel.
"Ah, but beautiful within him

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Song Of Hiawatha XII: The Son Of The Evening Star

Can it be the sun descending
O'er the level plain of water?
Or the Red Swan floating, flying,
Wounded by the magic arrow,
Staining all the waves with crimson,
With the crimson of its life-blood,
Filling all the air with splendor,
With the splendor of its plumage?
Yes; it is the sun descending,
Sinking down into the water;
All the sky is stained with purple,
All the water flushed with crimson!
No; it is the Red Swan floating,
Diving down beneath the water;
To the sky its wings are lifted,
With its blood the waves are reddened!
Over it the Star of Evening
Melts and trembles through the purple,
Hangs suspended in the twilight.
No; it is a bead of wampum
On the robes of the Great Spirit
As he passes through the twilight,
Walks in silence through the heavens.
This with joy beheld Iagoo
And he said in haste: 'Behold it!
See the sacred Star of Evening!
You shall hear a tale of wonder,
Hear the story of Osseo,
Son of the Evening Star, Osseo!
'Once, in days no more remembered,
Ages nearer the beginning,
When the heavens were closer to us,
And the Gods were more familiar,
In the North-land lived a hunter,
With ten young and comely daughters,
Tall and lithe as wands of willow;
Only Oweenee, the youngest,
She the wilful and the wayward,
She the silent, dreamy maiden,
Was the fairest of the sisters.
'All these women married warriors,
Married brave and haughty husbands;
Only Oweenee, the youngest,
Laughed and flouted all her lovers,
All her young and handsome suitors,
And then married old Osseo,
Old Osseo, poor and ugly,
Broken with age and weak with coughing,
Always coughing like a squirrel.
'Ah, but beautiful within him

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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100 STD's 10,000 MTD's

There are STD's, sexually transmitted diseases.
and then there are MTD's, meat transmitted diseases.

The latter take a lot more lives.

*********

In Animal Flesh: Blood Sweat Tears as well as Carcinogens Cholesterol Colon Bacteria

Animal products kill more people annually in the US than
tobacco, alcohol, traffic accidents, war, domestic violence,
guns, and drugs combined. USAMRID wrote that consumption of pig flesh caused the world's most lethal pandemic in WW1,
euphemistically called flu. Anthrax
used to be called wool sorters'
disease. Smallpox used to be called
cow pox or kine pox because of
its origin in animal flesh.
.

WHAT'S IN A BURGER? BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS (AS WELL AS BIOTERRORISM)

POISONS IN ANIMAL AND FISH FLESH... A PARTIAL LIST

a partial list in alphabetical order

acidification diseases
addiction (to trioxypurines)
adrenalin (secreted by terrorized
animals before and during slaughter)

ANTIBIOTICS (too many to list) (crowded factory farm animals standing in their own feces are often infected)

BACTERIA
creiophilic bacteria survive
the freezing of animal flesh
thermophilic bacteria survive
the baking boiling and roasting

bacteriophages (viruses FDA allows to
be injected)
blood
colon bacteria.. euphemistically
called ecoli animals defecate
all over themselves in terror
John Harvey Kellogg MD studied
the exponential rate into the billions

BSE DISEASES, PRIONS IN SPECIES FROM GELATIN (JELLO ETC)
Mad Chicken

[...] Read more

poem by O. Anna Niemus
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The Tower

SAILING TO BYZANTIUM
I

THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
-- Those dying generations -- at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out Of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

WHAT shall I do with this absurdity --
O heart, O troubled heart -- this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
As to a dog's tail?
Never had I more
Excited, passionate, fantastical
Imagination, nor an ear and eye
That more expected the impossible --
No, not in boyhood when with rod and fly,
Or the humbler worm, I climbed Ben Bulben's back
And had the livelong summer day to spend.
It seems that I must bid the Muse go pack,
Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend
Until imagination, ear and eye,

[...] Read more

poem by William Butler Yeats
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Not To Fake To Give

People want to have,
Their...
Lives wrapped up in gladness.
People want to know,
What it's like to have a harmony.
And people want to see,
Their futures bright in the Sun...
Lighting up their faces.
Acknowledging their products of love.

People want to find,
Perfection here on Earth.
But...
People ought to know,
They can't get it freely.
And...
Only those with open hearts.
Also know they're here...
Not to fake to give.

People want to have,
Their...
Lives wrapped up in gladness.
People want to know,
What it's like to have a harmony.
And people want to see,
Their futures bright in the Sun...
Lighting up their faces.
Acknowledging their products of love.
And...
Not to fake to give.

And people want to see,
Their futures bright in the Sun...
Lighting up their faces.
Acknowledging their products of love,
And...
Not to fake to give.

Lighting up their faces.
Acknowledging their products of love,
And...
Not to fake to give.

Lighting up their faces.
Acknowledging their products of love,
And...
Not to fake to give.

Acknowledging that their products of love,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Literature and Quantum Physics

Mind spoke:

I have been the Driver of all history
for animal and man,
I've fueled Progress,
built cities,
discovered science
literature, poetry
all of this due to me:
Mind.

Imagination Spoke:

You Mind
are not of consequence
without me
Imagination.

Whatever spark might have
fired your brain
came from my fashioning
events in you Mind
to creativity,
to art
for you are merely physical seat
the vehicle,
But I Imagination
am the driver.

Body Spoke:

The two of you have no independent existence,
no living space
without me Body.

I am that temple
which houses you.

I am the physical portal
which interacts with the
world.
Whatever you can see or think Mind
or you Imagination, can imagine
is filtered thorough me Body
and flesh though I am
few doubt my ultimate power.

For surely as you both have your place
but both of you are mental most
and cannot walk or run,

[...] Read more

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Undying One- Canto III

'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?

If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!

'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!

'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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It Must Be Imagination

by Kenny Loggins & Tom Snow
When the feeling isn't right
They say you see it in a lovers eye
But I'm wide awake tonight
'N I'm looking for a reason why
It doesn't show
Still somehow I know
Tell me that it just ain't so
Say I made the whole thing up
It must be imagination
Why can't I forget it
God, you'd think I'd know better
It must be imagination
Gone completely out of my mind
It must be imagination
Tearin' me apart
'N breakin' my heart
You can say what is real
You can tell me if I'm in a dream
'Cause I know what I feel
But I don't know what to believe
Turn on the night light
Even if it takes us all night
I gotta be sure by daylight
If I've made this whole thing up
It must be imagination
Tell me if I'm right
'Cause it's changing my life
It must be imagination
Everybody knows
There ain't no way to fight it
It must be imagination
Breakin' my heart
'N tearing me apart
If I'm only dreamin'
Then I'm cryin' in my sleep
You should be shakin' me
Why ain't you wakin' me up?
It must be imagination
God I must be losin' my mind
It must be imagination
Does anybody know
Is there anyway to fight it?
It must be imagination
All in my mind, all in my mind
It must be imagination
If you wanna go, I just got to know
It must be imagination
Oooh tell me what's the problem
Why you wanna go on breakin' my heart?

[...] Read more

song performed by Kenny Loggins
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The Loves of the Angels

'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!

Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Moore
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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems

SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III

The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems

March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan

Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.

Sincerely,

George W. Bush

SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III

Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.

They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.

The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.

They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.

The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.

[...] Read more

poem by Tom Zart
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Your Imagination

Lyrics & music: daryl hall
I remember when i used to be the jealous kind
I got over it, now you're taking over my old line
You're caring too much about what i say
You're wondering too much about what i do
And baby, your imagination
Imagination's got the best of you
I ain't doin' nothing that you could really say was wrong
Just one oversight and no that didn't last too long
Listen, you're caring too much about what i say
You're wondering too much about what i do
And baby, your imagination
Imagination's got the best of you
Don't know what you're looking for
What's this thing about "true blue"
You know i ain't no danger boy
You're the one i like to touch, touch you, you
When the mood is right, change the light and the moment's gone
Better turn around, 'cause the light doesn't last too long
You're caring too much about what i say
You're wondering too much about what i do
And baby, your imagination
Imagination's got the best of you
Imagination, your imagination
Imagination, use your imagination.

song performed by Hall & Oates
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Added by Poetry Lover
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Evening In June

(Van Morrison)
By the light of the moon
When the night holds the secrets
Of the sleepy lagoon
I'm contemplating moonlight
On the water
When I'm walking with you
On an evening in June
On an evening in June
It can get so sentimental
When I'm thinking of you
And I can't think of anything
Except being with you
When the summer is through
On an evening in June
On an evening in June
Well it lifts me up
When I'm talking to you
On an evening in June
When the flowers are in bloom
And the sky is so blue
Well there's so many things
Taking place
That it's hard to keep up with it all
Keep your eye on the ball
And to make the right call
When we're longing for fall
On this evening in June
[Instrumental break]
On an evening in June
Well it lifts me up
When I'm talking to you
On an evening in June
When the flowers are in bloom
And the sky is so blue
Well there's so many things taking place
That it's hard to keep up with it all
Keep your eye on the ball
And to make the right call
When we're longing for fall
On this evening in June
By the sleepy lagoon
On an evening in June
By the light of the moon
By the sleepy lagoon
On an evening in June
On an evening in June
By the sleepy lagoon
By the light of the moon
By the sleepy lagoon

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song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Black History Month

In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.

But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!

Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...

*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Senlin: His Futile Preoccupations

1

I am a house, says Senlin, locked and darkened,
Sealed from the sun with wall and door and blind.
Summon me loudly, and you'll hear slow footsteps
Ring far and faint in the galleries of my mind.
You'll hear soft steps on an old and dusty stairway;
Peer darkly through some corner of a pane,
You'll see me with a faint light coming slowly,
Pausing above some gallery of the brain . . .

I am a city . . . In the blue light of evening
Wind wanders among my streets and makes them fair;
I am a room of rock . . . a maiden dances
Lifting her hands, tossing her golden hair.
She combs her hair, the room of rock is darkened,
She extends herself in me, and I am sleep.
It is my pride that starlight is above me;
I dream amid waves of air, my walls are deep.

I am a door . . . before me roils the darkness,
Behind me ring clear waves of sound and light.
Stand in the shadowy street outside, and listen--
The crying of violins assails the night . . .
My walls are deep, but the cries of music pierce them;
They shake with the sound of drums . . . yet it is strange
That I should know so little what means this music,
Hearing it always within me change and change.

Knock on the door,--and you shall have an answer.
Open the heavy walls to set me free,
And blow a horn to call me into the sunlight,--
And startled, then, what a strange thing you will see!
Nuns, murderers, and drunkards, saints and sinners,
Lover and dancing girl and sage and clown
Will laugh upon you, and you will find me nowhere.
I am a room, a house, a street, a town.

2

It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my fathers learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,
And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet
Stand before a glass and tie my tie.

Vine leaves tap my window,

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Added by Poetry Lover
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