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The thing that reinforces my belief about that is having worked the last four years with the Safe Kids Campaign on a national basis. I am so amazed at what these little kids do in keeping their parents alerted to what they are there for.

quote by C. Everett Koop
Added by Lucian Velea
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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How beautiful is

How beautiful is the Belief, when we belief in the God
How beautiful are the Creatures, when we belief in the Creator
How beautiful is the Motherhood, when we belief in the Sacrifices
How beautiful is the Fatherhood, when we belief in the Battles
How beautiful is the Childhood, when we belief in the Innocence
How beautiful is the Dream, when we belief in the Ambition
How beautiful is the Contentment, when we belief in the Simplicity
How beautiful is the Life, when we belief in the dead
How beautiful is the Love, when we belief in the Care
How beautiful is the Happiness, when we belief in the Sadness
How beautiful is the Relationships, when we belief in the Tender
How beautiful is the Fruit, when we belief in the Farming
How beautiful is the Confidence, when we belief in Our self
How beautiful is the Beauty, when we belief in Our eyes
How beautiful is the World, when we belief in Peace
How beautiful is the Friendship, when we belief in Brotherhood
How beautiful is the Marriage, when we belief in Sharing
How beautiful is the World, when we belief in the Peace

poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

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

When she was old enough she got married.

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

Agnes was my mother.

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

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

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

Anna was a maid and cook.

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

They were both good cooks

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

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
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Safe In New York City

(young - young)
Hello baby gimme your hand
Check out the high spots the lay of the land
You dont need a rocket or a big limousine
Come on over baby and Ill make you obscene
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
All over the city and down to the dives
Dont mess with this place itll eat you alive
Got lip smackin honey to soak up the jam
On top of the world ma ready to slam
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
Movin all over like a jumpin bean
Take a look at that thing in the tight ass jeans
Comin your way now you may be in luck
Dont you fret boy shes ready to buck
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
New york, new york, new york
I feel safe in a cage in new york city
2000, j. albert & son, pty.

song performed by AC-DC
Added by Lucian Velea
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Safe

[verse 1]
Here I am alone with You
Quietly I talk to You
You said the truth would set me free
So here I am surrendering
(pre-chorus)
I know I can let your promise be my hope
And I know until You take me home
[chorus]
I'm safe (I'm safe), safe 'cause You love me
Safe (I'm safe), safe all because Your name
Has power to calm the ocean
When everything changes I'm safe
[verse 2]
My heart is overflowing
With peace beyond all knowing
This love is deep, it shelters me
And I'm safe within Your reach
(pre-chorus)
I know I can let your promise be my hope
And I know until You take me home
[chorus]
I'm safe (I'm safe), safe 'cause You love me
Safe (I'm safe), safe all because Your name
Has power to calm the ocean
When everything changes I'm safe
[bridge]
Though the odds are stacked against me
Though I'm running out of time
My heart is breaking
But I know You are mine
So I let You see into me as
You hold me in Your hand
My heart is on my sleeve
I'm safe because You understand
You understand
[chorus]
I'm safe (I'm safe), safe 'cause You love me
Safe (I'm safe), safe all because Your name
Has power to calm the ocean
When everything changes I'm safe

song performed by ZoeGirl
Added by Lucian Velea
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Keeping The Peace Leaves Me Desperate

Keeping the peace leaves me desperate..
When thinking my peace,
Might cease to be.
Yes...
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.
Yes...
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.

I don't want thoughts of an enemy,
Taking my peace away from me.
No...
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.

Keeping the peace leaves me desperate..
When thinking my peace,
Might cease to be.
Yes...
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.
Yes...
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.

I don't want thoughts of an enemy,
Taking my peace away from me.
No...
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.

I don't want thoughts of an enemy,
Taking my peace away from me.

Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.

Keeping the peace leaves me desperate..
When thinking my peace,
Might cease to be.

Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.
Keeping the peace leaves me desperate.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What Parents When Old, Want From Their Children …

When you were small, a helpless kid,
Just imagine what parents did,
From feeding to keeping you clean –
A routine that had always been!

And now when parents are quite aged,
They feel like birds both that are caged;
Just give them half the love they gave;
Don’t lose your temper / misbehave!

When you were small and could not bathe,
Mom bathed you with towel to swathe,
And wiped you dry and combed your hair,
All your mischief, she had to bear!

When parents are now pretty old,
Or have a fever, catch a cold,
Should not the children care for them,
And treat them for each new problem?

When you were just a little child,
And parents scolded you so mild,
To show you what was wrong and right,
And chalk a future that was bright!

And now when parents have gone weak,
To walk, your assistance, they seek,
Oblige them with a heart all glad:
Old age is less happy, much sad!

When you were craving for good food,
Your mother cooked it as she should,
And heaved a sigh of great relief,
When you’d slept, in disbelief!

And now, when parents ask something,
Be kind and courteously do bring,
They cannot buy whatev’r they feel;
They cannot run or walk or kneel!

When you’d joined school for the first time,
And could not say even a rhyme,
Your mom had taught you how to write,
And sang a ‘lullaby’ at night!

And now when parents cannot read,
And reached a stage, they cannot feed,
Shouldn’t children help them with these chores,
And see that they don’t get bed-sores?

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Third Book

'TO-DAY thou girdest up thy loins thyself,
And goest where thou wouldest: presently
Others shall gird thee,' said the Lord, 'to go
Where thou would'st not.' He spoke to Peter thus,
To signify the death which he should die
When crucified head downwards.
If He spoke
To Peter then, He speaks to us the same;
The word suits many different martyrdoms,
And signifies a multiform of death,
Although we scarcely die apostles, we,
And have mislaid the keys of heaven and earth.

For tis not in mere death that men die most;
And, after our first girding of the loins
In youth's fine linen and fair broidery,
To run up hill and meet the rising sun,
We are apt to sit tired, patient as a fool,
While others gird us with the violent bands
Of social figments, feints, and formalisms,
Reversing our straight nature, lifting up
Our base needs, keeping down our lofty thoughts,
Head downward on the cross-sticks of the world.
Yet He can pluck us from the shameful cross.
God, set our feet low and our forehead high,
And show us how a man was made to walk!

Leave the lamp, Susan, and go up to bed.
The room does very well; I have to write
Beyond the stroke of midnight. Get away;
Your steps, for ever buzzing in the room,
Tease me like gnats. Ah, letters! throw them down
At once, as I must have them, to be sure,
Whether I bid you never bring me such
At such an hour, or bid you. No excuse.
You choose to bring them, as I choose perhaps
To throw them in the fire. Now, get to bed,
And dream, if possible, I am not cross.

Why what a pettish, petty thing I grow,–
A mere, mere woman,–a mere flaccid nerve,-
A kerchief left out all night in the rain,
Turned soft so,–overtasked and overstrained
And overlived in this close London life!
And yet I should be stronger.
Never burn
Your letters, poor Aurora! for they stare
With red seals from the table, saying each,
'Here's something that you know not.' Out alas,
'Tis scarcely that the world's more good and wise

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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0978..... Belief Vs Trust

Belief is Doubtful, Trust is Certain
Belief is from Mind, Trust is from Heart
Belief is Lip Service; Trust is Heart Felt
Believe many; Trust only a Few
Believing is Easy, Trusting is Hard
Belief scores 50%, Trust scores 100%
Belief is Ordinary; Trust is Extra-ordinary
Belief is Start point; Trust is End Point
Belief is Limited; Trust is infinite
Belief is Shaking Hands, Trust is Embracing
Belief keeps Control; Trust gives up control
Belief is jumping opportunities; Trust is staying
Belief is not Time Tested; Trust passes Tough Times
Belief is Partial; Trust is Complete
Believe in Thoughts; Trust your Intuition
Belief in God is Attempting; Trust in God is Surrender
Belief is Important; Trust is Essential
Belief is Plastic Rose; Trust is Real Rose

(23-June-2010, Chennai)

poem by Gan Chennai
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IV. Tertium Quid

True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Somehow I Am Immediately Alerted

If I can express,
From my own point of view...
A committment to honesty,
As 'my' experience with it
Allows me to be.
With a self assessment...
That encourages I should be limitation free.
I will not be seeking opinions,
As to how my own impressions...
Affect me emotionally,
Mentally or physically.
Somehow,
I am immediately alerted.

Or why my feelings are felt,
The way I feel them.
Somehow,
I am immediately alerted.

Nor am I going to address that in debate.
To await who wins!
Somehow,
I am immediately alerted.

If I say I feel a certain way about my life...
I do not seek a validation.
Nor will I take random surveys.
Somehow,
I am immediately alerted.

Any emotions I can not define...
That are mine,
Has very little to do with outside observations.
No needs do I have to schedule visits,
With qualifying psychiatrists.
Or analytical dissections of dysfunctions,
Performed by anyone ordained...
To deliver sermons from a pulpit.
And...
Who believes themselves to be more in touch,
With 'my' reality.
Since all my realities have my name on them!
My creditors will vouch for that!
And would be happy I've made any attempts,
To contact them at all!

So if there is anyone who is in doubt,
About what comes out of my mouth.
Know this...
Any questions I may have,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Witch of Hebron

A Rabbinical Legend

Part I.
From morn until the setting of the sun
The rabbi Joseph on his knees had prayed,
And, as he rose with spirit meek and strong,
An Indian page his presence sought, and bowed
Before him, saying that a lady lay
Sick unto death, tormented grievously,
Who begged the comfort of his holy prayers.
The rabbi, ever to the call of grief
Open as day, arose; and girding straight
His robe about him, with the page went forth;
Who swiftly led him deep into the woods
That hung, heap over heap, like broken clouds
On Hebron’s southern terraces; when lo!
Across a glade a stately pile he saw,
With gleaming front, and many-pillared porch
Fretted with sculptured vinage, flowers and fruit,
And carven figures wrought with wondrous art
As by some Phidian hand.

But interposed
For a wide space in front, and belting all
The splendid structure with a finer grace,
A glowing garden smiled; its breezes bore
Airs as from paradise, so rich the scent
That breathed from shrubs and flowers; and fair the growths
Of higher verdure, gemm’d with silver blooms,
Which glassed themselves in fountains gleaming light
Each like a shield of pearl.

Within the halls
Strange splendour met the rabbi’s careless eyes,
Halls wonderful in their magnificance,
With pictured walls, and columns gleaming white
Like Carmel’s snow, or blue-veined as with life;
Through corridors he passed with tissues hung
Inwrought with threaded gold by Sidon’s art,
Or rich as sunset clouds with Tyrian dye;
Past lofty chambers, where the gorgeous gleam
Of jewels, and the stainèd radiance

Of golden lamps, showed many a treasure rare
Of Indian and Armenian workmanship
Which might have seemed a wonder of the world:
And trains of servitors of every clime,
Greeks, Persians, Indians, Ethiopians,
In richest raiment thronged the spacious halls.

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Harpur
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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The Kids

Written by jay kay and toby smith
Now were getting nasty
Everybody is talking about the kids
The kids have funky soul and groove emotion
But if you dont give the kids the chance to use it
Theyre always more than likely to abuse it
Kids get down, stormy weather, fifteen years of royal pleasure.
Everybodys talking about the kids
And its taking time for you to realise
Now hunger turns to anger in your eyes
I say the revolution will be televised, yes it will gil...
Everybodys talking about the kids
Kids get down, stormy weather, fifteen years of royal pleasure.
Kids get down underground, evrybody dance to the funky sound.
Everybodys talking about the kids
The kids need space to get their heads in place
And every day this world we have to face
Well I just cant seem to find my proper place
Kids get down, celebrate, now were gonna kick the thing we hate
Everybodys talking about the kids
It wont be long before we get our own
And every kid can truly feel at home
I told ya you should give the dog a bone.
Kids get down, pressurized, to live the life that you devised
Kids get down, celebrate, life is to short to complicate
Everybodys talking about school
But I get more pleasure breaking all the rules
Cos lesson one begins with life is cruel
Well I guess Im just an educated fool
Everybodys talking about the kids
Mom and dad make efforts to excuse it
Government officials will confuse it
Members of the bench will try to prove it
Youre going down sucker!
Everybodys talking about the kids now
Everybodys talking about the kids now
The kids got funky soul
Everybodys talking about high
But kids get high to satisfy
For reaching out to touch the sky
Is all I can identify, and you know why...
Kids get down, stormy weather, fifteen years of royal pleasure
Kids get down celebrate, now were gonna kick the thing we hate.

song performed by Jamiroquai
Added by Lucian Velea
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IX. Juris Doctor Johannes-Baptista Bottinius, Fisci et Rev. Cam. Apostol. Advocatus

Had I God's leave, how I would alter things!
If I might read instead of print my speech,—
Ay, and enliven speech with many a flower
Refuses obstinate to blow in print,
As wildings planted in a prim parterre,—
This scurvy room were turned an immense hall;
Opposite, fifty judges in a row;
This side and that of me, for audience—Rome:
And, where yon window is, the Pope should hide—
Watch, curtained, but peep visibly enough.
A buzz of expectation! Through the crowd,
Jingling his chain and stumping with his staff,
Up comes an usher, louts him low, "The Court
"Requires the allocution of the Fisc!"
I rise, I bend, I look about me, pause
O'er the hushed multitude: I count—One, two—

Have ye seen, Judges, have ye, lights of law,—
When it may hap some painter, much in vogue
Throughout our city nutritive of arts,
Ye summon to a task shall test his worth,
And manufacture, as he knows and can,
A work may decorate a palace-wall,
Afford my lords their Holy Family,—
Hath it escaped the acumen of the Court
How such a painter sets himself to paint?
Suppose that Joseph, Mary and her Babe
A-journeying to Egypt, prove the piece:
Why, first he sedulously practiseth,
This painter,—girding loin and lighting lamp,—
On what may nourish eye, make facile hand;
Getteth him studies (styled by draughtsmen so)
From some assistant corpse of Jew or Turk
Or, haply, Molinist, he cuts and carves,—
This Luca or this Carlo or the like.
To him the bones their inmost secret yield,
Each notch and nodule signify their use:
On him the muscles turn, in triple tier,
And pleasantly entreat the entrusted man
"Familiarize thee with our play that lifts
"Thus, and thus lowers again, leg, arm and foot!"
—Ensuring due correctness in the nude.
Which done, is all done? Not a whit, ye know!
He,—to art's surface rising from her depth,—
If some flax-polled soft-bearded sire be found,
May simulate a Joseph, (happy chance!)—
Limneth exact each wrinkle of the brow,
Loseth no involution, cheek or chap,
Till lo, in black and white, the senior lives!
Is it a young and comely peasant-nurse

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Parents Vs Children

Things that i don't understand in this world is that why do some people
get into relationship, getting married, enjoying life and making love.
But when it comes to children or when they already have kids, they
could not accept their responsibilities as parents. They do have
regrets of having kids especially if the kids are naughty, giving problem
or giving them headaches. They always beating, shouting, saying bad words to the kids saying wish you never exist, wish you never been born.
Instead of being calm, giving advice, doing good things which would make their children happy and be proud to have good parents.
Instead of thinking good ideas which would make them close to each other
.
Child is a child, they need more time with their parents. They need
attention, care, and love. Children are curious to everything, they need
to know antyhing as part of growing up. They need the guidance of
parents, but what I see nowadays is different. Parents just give material things to show their love for their kids.

Some parents just go out to parties, shopping, prefer to hang out with their friends rather than their kids. Then they just leave the children
to the nannies/babysitter.
Parents make their children be far from them instead children to get
close to the nannies who always there for them and give the love to the children. Parents must be a role model for the children, but what i see
now is that children do as what their parents do, they become more liberated.

There are also some parents who give up for their children. Some choose their own happiness, they don't like to stay at home with their kids. especially if thier husband dont have time for them too. the tendency, both couple would have a problem that result to divorce.
Where is the love that they shared? where is the promises and vows they had?

poem by Judith Kempis
Added by Poetry Lover
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Keeping My Distance

(jimmy davis/tommy burroughs/don smith)
Im keeping my calandar open
Even if it takes me years
til you figure out what your plan is
You figure out all of your fears
I dont wanna know anything about her
Or what you feel like you have to defend
But Ive seen your situation
And the world she keeps you in
Im keeping my distance
Im keeping my distance
And Ill wait until my time is here
Im keeping my distance
Im keeping my distance
And Ill wait until you make it clear
If you dont want to rush it baby
Well then by all means dont
But Im gonna wait for the day when
When you see that its me you want
I can see, I can tell that you need me
You know that I need you too
So why on earth cant you ever let her go
Will you ever try anything new
Im keeping my distance
Im keeping my distance
And Ill wait until my time is here
Im keeping my distance
Im keeping my distance
And Ill wait until you make it clear
Where will you find the strength
I cant hold you against your will
You keep me at arms length
Im reaching out to hold you still, yeah, yeah, yeah
I can see that you need me
You know that I need you too
So why on earth cant you ever let her go
Will you ever try anything new
Im keeping my distance
Im keeping my distance
And Ill wait until my time is here
Im keeping my distance
Im keeping my distance

song performed by Martina Mcbride
Added by Lucian Velea
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National Front Disco (live)

David, the wind blows,
The wind blows
Bits of your life away.
Your friends all say,
"Where is our boy?
Ah, we've lost our boy".
But they should know,
Where you've gone,
Because again and again you've explained
That you're going to . . .
Oh, oh, oh, going to . . .
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
"England for the English",
"England for the English".
David, the wind's blown,
The wind's blown
All of my dreams away.
And I still say,
"Where is our boy?
Ah, we've lost our boy".
But I should know
Why you've gone,
Because again and again you've explained
You're going to the National . . .
Ah, to the National . . .
There's a country,
You don't live there,
But one day you would like to.
And if you show them what you're made of,
Ah, then you might do.
But David, we wonder,
We wonder if the thunder
Is ever really gonna begin,
Begin, begin
Your mum says,
"I've lost my boy".
But she should know
Why you've gone,
Because again and again you've explained
You're going to the National,
To the National,
To the National Front disco,
Because you want the day to come sooner,
You want the day to come sooner,
You want the day to come sooner,
When you've settled the score.
Oh, the National,
Oh, the National,
Oh, the National,
Oh, the National,

[...] Read more

song performed by Morrissey
Added by Lucian Velea
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