Even if you don't like a concert of mine, please, please applaud at the end anyway.
quote by Emanuel Ax
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Damn Good Times
I'm not much of a natural dancer
But I've got a friend who's a natural dancer
You could call her a jumpin' bean
She's got ants in her pants and she's gonna dance
I know a girl who's a jumpin' bean
She's got keys and a token when she hits the scene
Yeah I know a girl who's got a record machine
She acts like David Lee Roth when he turned 21
I know a girl who's a natural dancer
With a cape and a hat she's a natural dancer
She coughs and she laughs and she makes a lot of calls
And all of the people applaud
As she leaves the store
As she leaves the store (damn good times)
All of the people applaud (damn good times) As she leaves the store
As she leaves the store (damn good times)
All of the people applaud (damn good times)
Can she do the karaoke? Yes she can, but she won't
'Cause she's highly qualified and she's not a joke
When it comes to opera, she is ossified
So all of you operas better step aside
When my friend got amnesia
She can't remember the show she saw
Like the one with the guy with amnesia
Who got off from the island on a helicopter
I know a girl who's a natural dancer
With a cape and a hat she's a natural dancer
She coughs and she laughs and she makes a lot of calls
And all of the people applaud
As she leaves the store
As she leaves the store (damn good times)
All of the people applaud (damn good times)
As she leaves the store
As she leaves the store (damn good times)
All of the people applaud. (damn good times)
song performed by They Might Be Giants
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The Cremona Violin
Part First
Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door.
A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind
Swirled through the trees, and scattered leaves before
Her on the clean, flagged path. The sky behind
The distant town was black, and sharp defined
Against it shone the lines of roofs and towers,
Superimposed and flat like cardboard flowers.
A pasted city on a purple ground,
Picked out with luminous paint, it seemed. The cloud
Split on an edge of lightning, and a sound
Of rivers full and rushing boomed through bowed,
Tossed, hissing branches. Thunder rumbled loud
Beyond the town fast swallowing into gloom.
Frau Altgelt closed the windows of each room.
She bustled round to shake by constant moving
The strange, weird atmosphere. She stirred the fire,
She twitched the supper-cloth as though improving
Its careful setting, then her own attire
Came in for notice, tiptoeing higher and higher
She peered into the wall-glass, now adjusting
A straying lock, or else a ribbon thrusting
This way or that to suit her. At last sitting,
Or rather plumping down upon a chair,
She took her work, the stocking she was knitting,
And watched the rain upon the window glare
In white, bright drops. Through the black glass a flare
Of lightning squirmed about her needles. 'Oh!'
She cried. 'What can be keeping Theodore so!'
A roll of thunder set the casements clapping.
Frau Altgelt flung her work aside and ran,
Pulled open the house door, with kerchief flapping
She stood and gazed along the street. A man
Flung back the garden-gate and nearly ran
Her down as she stood in the door. 'Why, Dear,
What in the name of patience brings you here?
Quick, Lotta, shut the door, my violin
I fear is wetted. Now, Dear, bring a light.
This clasp is very much too worn and thin.
I'll take the other fiddle out to-night
If it still rains. Tut! Tut! my child, you're quite
Clumsy. Here, help me, hold the case while I -
Give me the candle. No, the inside's dry.
[...] Read more
poem by Amy Lowell
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Christmas Carol Singalong
(Every Christmas, I go to the Christmas Carol Singalong at the Royal Albert Hall, hosted by Jonathan Cohen, and I wanted to capture the atmosphere of the event.)
I love going to the Royal Albert Hall for the Christmas Carol Sing-along.
It attracts a really large audience – some five thousand people strong.
Before the concert begins, there’s excited anticipation in the air,
And, there are plenty of cheerful, smiling faces, everywhere.
On stage, there’s a large orchestra and a smartly clad choir,
And there’s the promise of singing to your heart’s desire.
There’s well known Christmas songs old and new,
And all your favourite Christmas carols mixed in to.
Sometimes, just the orchestra get to do their thing,
And sometimes, just the choir stand up and sing.
There’s also a guest singer who sings a few songs,
But, with the majority of songs, we get to sing along.
On the pacier numbers, the choir move to the beat,
Clapping their hands together and shuffling their feet.
There’s usually a piano solo which requires nifty fingers.
I watch in total awe and my amazement always lingers.
They certainly look like they’re having great fun.
The festive cheer you experience there is second to none.
Everyone dons festive Santa hats during the second half,
And everyone looks like they’re having such a great laugh.
At some point, a Mexican wave usually begins,
And losing their inhibitions, everybody joins in.
There are often some shout-outs to people in the crowd,
And they respond with a wave and cheer very loud.
There’s a party spirit all round the Hall,
And everybody really is having a ball.
The whole concert is joyous and very fast paced
And is guaranteed to light up even the glummest face.
On stage, there are two huge Christmas trees, brightly lit.
Everything about this concert proves to be a massive hit.
Full of cheer, everyone claps and sings along in their seats.
Going to the concert makes my Christmas totally complete.
When the choir sings ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’, you know,
That the concert is drawing to a close and it will soon be time to go.
You leave the Hall feeling full of joy and Christmas cheer,
Ready to repeat this wonderful experience again next year.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Imagination
Imagine the concert
The concert did not cost a dime
But every soul was there- from the beginning of time.
It was the biggest concert the heavens had ever seen.
The greatest dancers and singers that were ever known.
On the largest television screen it was shown.
You had the crooners, the swooners,
the rockers, the boppers, and the opera singers
All gathered together for one big show.
In heaven- this is the way to go.
It started off with the “tappers” coming on to the stage
All well known in the archives of fame.
First Bill “Bo jangles” Robinson with Fred Astaire in back.
Then Jean Kelly. Ginger Rodgers,
and Gregory Hines picking up the slack.
Then came the female singers who were all
In the hall of fame, and all well known by their names.
Billie holiday, Lena Horne, Doris Day and Peggy Lee
Judy Garland and Dinah Shore-and lets not forget
The Andrew Sisters- who gave us so much more.
Then out came the male singers who touched the
Hearts of women all around the world
And made all their hair stand up and curl.
Mario Lanza, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, Dean Martin
Just to name a few, then let us not forget the soul singers
Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, and Nat “king” Cole
Then Marvin Gaye who really put on a show.
OH! This concert was a wonder to behold!
And the greatest one was yet to unfold.
Everyone waited in anticipation
As the angels blew their trumpets
And the harps let out the most beautiful melody.
For behind that big curtain
Walked out our all Mighty King.
All knees bent, and all heads bowed
You couldn’t hear a pin drop
Not a single solitary sound.
He gave the heavens his blessings
As every face lit with delight
And all the way to earth
You could see this glaring light.
[...] Read more
poem by Louis Rams
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A concert is a concert is a concert is a concert. An album is an album is an album is an album. Musically, both have nothing in common.
quote by Klaus Schulze
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Wild & Loose
What time is it!?
Hangin' by the backstage door
Decked out like a queen
Your body's sayin' 21
But your face says 17
My intuition tells me
That U're waitin' 4 the band
Before U get your hopes up
One thing understand (Oh, hey)
CHORUS:
Wild and loose, that's how it's got 2 be
Cuz that's the only kind of dame that appeals 2 me
Wild and loose, the only life I know
Just havin' one big party from show 2 show
Talkin' trash 2 Jimmy Jam
"Tell us where the party's at"
We don't care who U came with
We'll take care of that
Just meet us at the Gotel
Room 602, ooh
Tell your mama U won't be home
Cuz we got plans 4 U (Oh, yeah)
CHORUS
Universal freak delight, where'd U get those thighs?
Where did U get the nerve 2 wear that miniskirt so high?
Don't worry baby, I can keep a secret 4 as long as snow is white
Hey Jesse? (Yeah?) Come here man, guess what I did last night?
CHORUS
Baby, U ain't no saint {repeat verse twice}
Cuz there ain't no in-between
Either U come or U can't
Now get loose, let me hear U scream
CHORUS
(Wild and loose) {repeats in BG}
Ah pardon me, say it one more time, huh
I can't hit it baby, maybe I'm blind
Everybody know U got 2 be, yeah
Cuz ain't nobody cool but me, slap me!
Somebody, somebody sing it
Tell your mama U won't be home, huh
Everybody know U got 2 be, yeah
Ain't nobody cool but me, now break it down
{2 separate conversations take place}
Kim, wasn't the concert great?
Minneapolis is mine
Oh yeah, it sure was
She was right in the front row
I know man, she was sittin' there
Did U see Jesse up there, wasn't he fine?
She was lookin' at me so nasty, U know what I'm sayin'?
[...] Read more
song performed by Prince
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Little Pierre's Song
In a humble room in London sat a pretty little boy,
By the bedside of his sick mother her only joy,
Who was called Little Pierre, and who's father was dead;
There he sat poor boy, hungry and crying for bread.
There he sat humming a little song, which was his own,
But to the world it was entirely unknown,
And as he sang the song he felt heartsick,
But he resolved to get Madame Malibran to sing his song in public
Then he paused for a moment and clasped his hands,
And running to the looking-glass before it he stands,
Then he smoothed his yellow curls without delay,
And from a tin box takes a scroll of paper worn and grey.
Then he gave one fond eager glance at his mother,
Trying hard brave boy his grief to smother,
As he gazed on the bed where she lay,
But he resolved to see Madame Malibran without delay.
Then he kissed his mother while she slept,
And stealthily from the house he crept,
And direct to Madame Malibran's house he goes,
Resolved to see her no matter who did him oppose.
And when he reached the door he knocked like a brave gallant
And the door was answered by her lady servant,
Then he told the servant Madame Malibran he wished to see
And the servant said, oh yes, I'll tell her immediately.
Then away the servant goes quite confident,
And told her a little boy wished to see her just one moment
Oh! well, said Madame Malibran, with a smile,
Fetch in the little boy he will divert me a while.
So Little Pierre was broght in with his hat under his arm
And in his hand a scroll of paper, thinking it no harm,
Then walked straight up to Madame Malibran without dread
And said, dear lady my mother is sick and in want of bread.
And I have called to see if you would sing my little song,
At someof your grand concerts, Ah! Say before long,
Or perhaps you could sell it to a publisher for a small sum,
Then I could buy food for my mother and with it would run.
Then Madame Malibran rose from her seat most costly and grand
And took the scroll of paper from Pierre's hand
And hummed his little song, to a plaintive air,
Then said, your song is soul stirring I do declare.
[...] Read more
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire
'I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers'~Shakespeare
'Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too,'~Pope.
Still must I hear? -- shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,
And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse?
Prepare for rhyme -- I'll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
O nature's noblest gift -- my grey goose-quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,
That mighty instrument of little men!
The pen! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes
Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose,
Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride,
The lover's solace, and the author's pride.
What wits, what poets dost thou daily raise!
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise!
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite,
With all the pages which 'twas thine to write.
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen!
Once laid aside, but now assumed again,
Our task complete, like Hamet's shall be free;
Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me:
Then let us soar today, no common theme,
No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream
Inspires -- our path, though full of thorns, is plain;
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain.
When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway,
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey;
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime,
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime;
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail,
And weigh their justice in a golden scale;
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers,
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears,
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe,
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law.
Such is the force of wit! but not belong
To me the arrows of satiric song;
The royal vices of our age demand
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand.
[...] Read more
Essay on Psychiatrists
I. Invocation
It‘s crazy to think one could describe them—
Calling on reason, fantasy, memory, eves and ears—
As though they were all alike any more
Than sweeps, opticians, poets or masseurs.
Moreover, they are for more than one reason
Difficult to speak of seriously and freely,
And I have never (even this is difficult to say
Plainly, without foolishness or irony)
Consulted one for professional help, though it happens
Many or most of my friends have—and that,
Perhaps, is why it seems urgent to try to speak
Sensibly about them, about the psychiatrists.
II. Some Terms
“Shrink” is a misnomer. The religious
Analogy is all wrong, too, and the old,
Half-forgotten jokes about Viennese accents
And beards hardly apply to the good-looking woman
In boots and a knit dress, or the man
Seen buying the Sunday Times in mutton-chop
Whiskers and expensive running shoes.
In a way I suspect that even the terms “doctor”
And “therapist” are misnomers; the patient
Is not necessarily “sick.” And one assumes
That no small part of the psychiatrist’s
Role is just that: to point out misnomers.
III. Proposition
These are the first citizens of contingency.
Far from the doctrinaire past of the old ones,
They think in their prudent meditations
Not about ecstasy (the soul leaving the body)
Nor enthusiasm (the god entering one’s person)
Nor even about sanity (which means
Health, an impossible perfection)
But ponder instead relative truth and the warm
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Pinsky
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Bull Session With The big Daddy
Well are we on?
Yeah well were kinda on
We just introduce earl leaf so
Earl tree
Hi fig
Food
You get my cheese sandwich?
Gimme
Uh huh they had ham
Did you get a malt?
Didnt bring any malts
Whatd you get us?
A burger I mean cheese heres cheese
Oh its mine
Did you order one?
No Im kidding
Whatd you get me?
Mike Im gonna take a bite pretty quick
Oh thank you
I wouldve rather had that
No thats all wrong
Hey theres onions on this so I hope all you guys dont mind
Hi earl
Heres some french fries you can all split
Oh theres kosher pickles
Thank you for the french fries Im really uh
Everythings gonna be alright marylin
Thank you
Oops okay why dont earl talk to brian
You stepped on my french fries
Now after the concert in paris
Concert?
Which was a blast
You mean that that big ol thing
That was a musically
I loved that conce that was the best concert
I had a lot of fun
It was great
I thought it was our best show we ever played
Its great
I thought it I liked it almost
First show I only made three mistakes
I still havent made a mistake my whole career
Were keep waiting for you to make a mistake brian
Where was this place we had the lamb wherever it was
Oh that banquet we had
Yeah
Yeah they brough in this big ol lamb and dennis and I had to sit there
Holding it up
Yeah but it had its you know they cooked the whole lamb and put its raw
[...] Read more
song performed by Beach Boys
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In Pursuit of the Poetic Soul of Ryan Adams
In Pursuit of the Poetic Soul of Ryan Adams
By Uriah Lee Hamilton
Last day of summer, football Saturday afternoon. A Warm breeze was pushing me toward Ann Arbor like a happy autumn leaf in pursuit of the beautiful poetic soul of Ryan Adams. Lovely charming mood all the way playing Easy Tiger and Demolition and feeling like the universe was kind and smiling.
Exit off 94 West onto State Street and all excited to make my way to Liberty Street and the heart of the College town I love. Kids were milling around everywhere in their gold and blue, gleeful and happy that Michigan is now playing 500 football after a discouraging start. Parking spaces across the street from Michigan Theater in the parking structure are all taken, I have to drive to the roof and still wait for a football fan to leave.
Me and my friend Cassandra start walking around and dig everything and everyone we see. Ann Arbor brings out your gentle Jack Kerouac nature, the part of you that wants to praise everything for it’s sad but beautiful, integral purpose to this existence.
We enter an Eastern clothing and folk art store that is positively charming and enlightening. I can’t remember the name of the store. Perhaps, it is called the Enchanted Sarong. It almost felt like George Harrison was there with us, beautiful carved statues of Buddha and Krishna and Ganesha were everywhere. The sales lady was friendly and helpful and said sweetly, “we’re Om friendly” as we asked about carved symbols for the breath-word Om. The serene incense Nag Champa drifted through the room but it was now time to leave and make our way to the Ryan Adams concert at Michigan Theater.
I purchased my tickets the very minute they went on sale and prayed I had front row despite my tickets saying double A. No Such luck, but I was still happy to be in row 27. As I was waiting for the show to begin, I saw my concert friend Jeremy and got his attention. He looked as happy and as excited as myself and said he had spent a fortune at some cool record store. Jeremy then handed me a beautiful soundboard copy of Ryan Adams at the Gem Theater in downtown Detroit June 20th 2007. Man, how I’ve been longing for that show! I then gave Jeremy a copy of Ryan’s punk rock band the Finger.
Now the lights go out and the music begins. Ryan Opens with Goodnight Rose and closes with Goodnight Hollywood Boulevard. Everything in-between is just magical. The first auspicious sign was that Ryan came out playing guitar! ! In June, he only sang, he didn’t play any instruments, some injury sidelined him. The June Show as a result was more subtle, almost like MTV Unplugged. Subtle but amazing. Last night was more rocking and adventurous with reworked extended arrangements, ala the Grateful Dead. In particular was a long and lovely version of Off Broadway from Easy Tiger. At the completion of Off Broadway, I shouted, “That was gorgeous! ” Of course, I may have added an expletive, all in the interest of ecstatic joy for music.
Ryan told a story during the show about running into a girl on her way to the concert that didn’t recognize him because he dresses like a plumber. My friend after the show said she thought she saw Ryan Adams on the street near the theater. I asked, “Really? ” She said, “I saw someone that looked like a plumber.” I can say, I didn’t see Ryan on the streets anywhere in Ann Arbor yesterday, but I have been known to miss a plumber or two in my day.
The first two songs in the encore made the whole show for me. Ryan came out by himself with an acoustic guitar and sang Call Me On Your Way Back Home. Toward the end of the song, Ryan played harmonica and I screamed like a schoolgirl, pretty much the way I do whenever Bobby Dylan plays harmonica! And if that wasn’t enough to make the end of summer completely magical, Ryan then sat down at the piano and sang Sylvia Plath: Oh my God, the point of tears! I’ve waited six years to hear him sing that song live from the Album Gold. As I told my friend, that was the song that sealed the deal making Ryan Adams my modern hero! If you want to get my attention and loyalty, sing about one of the tragic poets I love.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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We Live An On Going ... Craze!
It's an on going
Craze
Aready lauded
Many applaud it.
We're in an on going
Crazy-e 'daze'
Already lauded,
Some wish to audit
Many applaud it
Now all have bought it
With no obeying of the laws.
We live an on going
Craze!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Christmas-Eve
I.
OUT of the little chapel I burst
Into the fresh night air again.
I had waited a good five minutes first
In the doorway, to escape the rain
That drove in gusts down the common’s centre,
At the edge of which the chapel stands,
Before I plucked up heart to enter:
Heaven knows how many sorts of hands
Reached past me, groping for the latch
Of the inner door that hung on catch,
More obstinate the more they fumbled,
Till, giving way at last with a scold
Of the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled
One sheep more to the rest in fold,
And left me irresolute, standing sentry
In the sheepfold’s lath-and-plaster entry,
Four feet long by two feet wide,
Partitioned off from the vast inside—
I blocked up half of it at least.
No remedy; the rain kept driving:
They eyed me much as some wild beast,
The congregation, still arriving,
Some of them by the mainroad, white
A long way past me into the night,
Skirting the common, then diverging;
Not a few suddenly emerging
From the common’s self thro’ the paling-gaps,—
—They house in the gravel-pits perhaps,
Where the road stops short with its safeguard border
Of lamps, as tired of such disorder;—
But the most turned in yet more abruptly
From a certain squalid knot of alleys,
Where the town’s bad blood once slept corruptly,
Which now the little chapel rallies
And leads into day again,—its priestliness
Lending itself to hide their beastliness
So cleverly (thanks in part to the mason),
And putting so cheery a whitewashed face on
Those neophytes too much in lack of it,
That, where you cross the common as I did,
And meet the party thus presided,
“Mount Zion,” with Love-lane at the back of it,
They front you as little disconcerted,
As, bound for the hills, her fate averted
And her wicked people made to mind him,
Lot might have marched with Gomorrah behind him.
II.
Well, from the road, the lanes or the common,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning
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El Capitan
By the harbour I harbor
The strangest memories
Older than I could ever be
Stranded in nostalgia
So tonight i'll try harder
But it's hard to fix this spotlight on me
In a cast that's taking places
I'm not sure of where I want to be
Stand up, stand up and stand out
Applaud El Captain
And jump up to cheers from the crowd
Stand up, stand up and stand out
And I hope you take your camera
To photograph my tears as they hit the ground
No one even listens
The same way that no one ever laughs
I'm taking the car out of the snow
I'm wondering where the summer went to
Circled by your secrets
I'm hoping that they don't include me
At least I'm in good company
Because there's no one else around except me
Stand up, stand up and stand out
Applaud el captain
Just to watch the world slow itself
Stand up, stand up and stand out
And I hope you took your camera
The silence makes the loudest sound
It seems far too easy to say the same things
I'll choose my own way to use my life up
And finally I found a new way to say the same things in imaginary ways
I use my life up
You were looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
In your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
Looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
Through your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
Looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
In your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
Looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
In your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
song performed by Idlewild
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Heartless Artless Buck How Skip Parodies Online
it's a lonely world
of prosaic people,
ranting as an angsty teen.
- on sight scene saviour on super site screen saver
'...it's a lonely world
of frightened people,
just as it has always
been.' - the girl outside the supermarket
if you have heeded simple sound parodies pun_nish_ing
in downloads
and needed to applaud
but simply couldn't bear others
carrying their ignorance down three upgrades
to unsound praise of injurious posers' - it is too much
if you have read unsightly sounds of screed punishing
in rub outs
and hesitated to applaud
and simply bared to others
carrying their texts to online amazons
open mouthed distate of furious flops. - it is much too much
'...and I have listened to the simple sound of water running
in tubs
and wished to drown
but simply couldn't bear the others
carrying my body down three flights of stairs
to the round mouths of curious biddies' - it is not much
'a rant's a rant', I say, 'no need to focus binoculars online
to see where
membership has fallen.' - site analysis
'...a woman's a woman, I say, and I put my binoculars between her
kneecaps and I can see where
empires have fallen.' - an empire of coins
we see it too often:
when gobbledegook sounds hollow
departure follows - self fulfiller
'we see it too late:
after the hock gets swallowed
the heart follows' - a killer
paces of rhyme and places to scan,
they're just not upgraded
anymore. I remember when
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Heartless Artless Buck_How_Skip Parodies Online - after Charles Bukowski various poems
it's a lonely world
of prosaic people,
ranting as an angsty teen.
On sight scene saviour on super site screen saver.
if you have heeded simple sound parodies pun_nish_ing
in downloads
and needed to applaud
but simply couldn't bear others
carrying their ignorance down three upgrades
to unsound praise of injurious posers' - it is too much
if you have read unsightly sounds of screed punishing
in rub outs
and hesitated to applaud
and simply bared to others
carrying their texts to online amazons
open mouthed distate of furious flops. - it is much too much
'a rant's a rant', I say, 'no need to focus binoculars online
to see where membership has fallen.' Site analyis
we see it too often:
when gobbledegook sounds hollow
departure follows - self fulfiller
paces of rhyme and places to scan,
they're just not upgraded
anymore. I remember when
each 4th line was metered, and Kevin
only got his rent
when you had
an efficient search engine, and each day was clear and good and each entry was full of promise.
the measure of poetasters damned
is limited to brief moments
of comment gold.' - the measure of a ping jammed.
(23 February 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Breathtaking
Why do I applaud them,
With enthusiasm in my standing ovation?
Did you just see that?
Their performance given...
Was absolutely brilliant.
The execution of presentation...
Superb.
Close to flawless.
The diction?
Eye contact?
And conviction with elecution?
Lifted me right out of my seat!
I have not witnessed such commitment,
To a staged production like this...
Since my parents tried to convince me,
Santa Claus was alive and well!
And that was after I saw them...
Wrapping up our Christmas gifts,
When my sister Mimmie and I were kids!
I felt compelled to applaud that!
It was the most remarkable piece of nonsense...
That came completely devoid of substance!
It was magical.
And for that...
I imagine,
Is one of the reasons...
All who stand are totally stunned.
We are shocked they pulled off this BS,
Without a single trace of reality.
None associated to depicting a way of life we now live.
Even though they want us to accept,
What they have delivered is a way of life that reflects.
That alone...
Is breathtaking!
And that was done with flag waving,
Ballons dropping.
Fireworks and a singing chorus.
Do you have any tissue?
I must dry my eyes!
That was marvelous.
One for the archives.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Amazing Audacity (Revised)
Our recalcitrant colleague,
esteemed Mme Pompadour,
solved problem of being at
the office, Monday she said
booked off till today - called,
feels nauseous, can't come
in - why when she's already
arranged to stay away?
Difficult to make up sick leave
on the go, keep track what was
said when, ad hoc improvisation
on the spot - maybe she should
develop ethical standards, more
consistency in stories; we feel so
sorry when her tales go awry
Though I am glad to say that
management seems happy
with whatever she does, making
us proud by getting away with
anything, what lovely duplicity,
all has to admire and applaud
such amazing audacity!
[ORIGINAL: ]
Our recalcitrant colleague, most esteemed
Mme Pompadour - solved the problem of
irrelevant work at the office, Monday she
said booked off till Wednesday, today all
forgotten, called to say she took cortisone,
feels nauseous, she can't come in today,
why when already arranged to stay away?
It must be difficult to make up sick leave on
the go, keep track of what you said when -
ad hoc improvisation on the spot - maybe
she should write it down, develop ethical
standards-consistency in her own stories,
we feel so sorry for her when we can see
her intricate tales are going awry - though
Apparently management is happy with what-
ever she does, making us proud by getting
away with anything - what lovely duplicity,
all has to applaud such amazing audacity
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Caledonian Games
Lines on Caledonian games, May, 1884.
On grassy amphitheater
Spectators sit, to view the war
'Mong bold contestants on the plain,
Where each doth strive the prize to gain ;
And when the little boys and girls
In highland dress and waving curls,
From London, danced the Highland fling;
The whole mass did their praises sing ;
And at the concert did applaud
The little charmers Blanch and Maud.
poem by James McIntyre
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The Campaign, A Poem, To His Grace The Duke Of Marlborough
While crowds of princes your deserts proclaim,
Proud in their number to enrol your name;
While emperors to you commit their cause,
And Anna's praises crown the vast applause;
Accept, great leader, what the Muse recites,
That in ambitious verse attempts your fights.
Fir'd and transported with a theme so new,
Ten thousand wonders opening to my view
Shine forth at once; sieges and storms appear,
And wars and conquests fill the' important year:
Rivers of blood I see, and hills of slain,
And Iliad rising out of one campaign.
The haughty Gaul beheld, with towering pride,
His ancient bounds enlarg'd on every side;
Pyrene's lofty barriers were subdued,
And in the midst of his wide empire stood;
Ausonia's states, the victor to restrain,
Opposed their Alps and Apennines in vain,
Nor found themselves, with strength of rocks immur'd,
Behind their everlasting hills secur'd;
The rising Danube its long race began,
And half its course through the new conquests ran;
Amaz'd and anxious for her soverign's fates,
Germania trembled through a hundred states;
Great Leopold himself was seiz'd with fear;
He gaz'd around, but saw no succour near;
He gaz'd, and half-abandon'd to despair.
His hopes on heaven, and confidence in pray;
To Britain's queen the nations turn their eyes,
On her resolves the western world relies,
Confiding still, amidst its dire alarms,
In Anna's conncils, and in Churchill's arms.
Thrice happy Britain, from the kingdoms rent,
To fit the guardian of the continent!
That sees her bravest son advanc'd so high,
And flourishing so near her prince's eye;
Thy favourites grow not up by fortune's sport,
Or from the crimes or follies of a court;
On the firm basis of desert they rise,
From long-try'd faith and friendship's holy tyes:
Their soverign's well-distinguish'd smiles they share,
Her ornaments in peace, her strength in war;
The nation thanks them with a public voice,
By showers of blessings heaven approves their choice;
Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost,
And factions strive who shall applaud them most.
[...] Read more
poem by Joseph Addison
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