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I have a huge respect for writers and realise that this is not an area that I find easy. I doubt that I would have the patience in front of a blank sheet of paper to become a writer.

quote by Jenny Agutter
Added by Lucian Velea
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No Doubt

You should know
No doubt, no doubt, no doubt, no doubt
You should know
No doubt, no doubt, no doubt, no doubt... no doubt
You should know
No doubt, no doubt, no doubt, no doubt
You should know
No doubt, no doubt
You should know by now that I really like when youre around
Its so irreplaceable, what we have with you and i
And you should know by now that we belong on each others team
One of the greatest things that came to be is you and me, you and me
I hope by now you recognize no matter what Im here for life
You aint getting rid of me, that is just the bottom line
I think you understand by now we can always work it out
No matter what, Im down, Im down
There aint no doubt that I still love you
No doubt I love you babe, really really love you babe
There aint no doubt that I still want you
No doubt I want you babe, really really want you babe
Shouldnt be no doubt that Im here for you
No doubt Im here for you, really really here for you
I have no doubt about being with you
Its me for you
Thinking back on what I did to cause you so much pain
It was such a silly thing I did to our relationship
But heres something from the heart, I really do apologize
Dont cut me off cause I really love ya
I love ya babe, love ya babe
And I want ya, I want ya babe, want ya babe
Said Im here for ya, for ya babe, for ya babe
Forever Im with you, Im with you
Baby cant you see you belong with me
Ill be here for you so Im telling you
There aint no doubt that I still love you
No doubt I love you babe, really really love you babe
There aint no doubt that I still want you
No doubt I want you babe, really really want you babe
Shouldnt be no doubt that Im here for you
No doubt Im here for you, really really here for you
I have no doubt about being with you
Its me for you
[spoken]
Look baby, I want you to know I love you
And I always will.. dont worry, cause you know...
There aint no doubt that I still love you
No doubt I love you babe, really really love you babe
There aint no doubt that I still want you
No doubt I want you babe, really really want you babe
Shouldnt be no doubt that Im here for you

[...] Read more

song performed by Nivea
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the First

I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Easy Skanking

Easy skanking (skankin it easy);
Easy skanking (skankin it slow);
Easy skanking (skankin it easy);
Easy skanking (skankin it slow).
Excuse me while I light my spliff; (spliff)
Good god, I gotta take a lift: (lift)
From reality I just cant drift; (drift)
Thats why I am staying with this riff. (riff)
Take it easy (easy skankin);
Lord, I take it easy! (easy skankin);
Take it easy (easy skankin);
Got to take it easy (easy skankin).
See: were takin it easy (ooh-wah-da da-da)
We taking it slow, (ooh-wah-da da-da)
Takin it easy (easy);
Got to take it slow (slow-slow)
So take it easy (easy skankin - da-da-da-da-da-da)
Wo-oh, take it easy (easy skankin)
Take it easy (easy skankin - da-da-da-da-da-da)
Take it easy. (easy skankin)
Excuse me while I light my spliff; (spliff)
Oh, god, I gotta take a lift: (lift)
From reality I just cant drift; (drift)
Thats why I am staying with this riff. (riff)
Take it easy (takin it easy);
Got to take it easy (takin it slow);
Take it easy (takin it easy);
Skanky, take it easy (takin it slow).
Tell you what:
Herb for my wine; (ooh-wa-da-da-da)
Honey for my strong drink; (ooh-wa-da-da-da)
Herb for my wine; (ooh-wa-da-da-da)
Honey for my strong drink.
I shake it easy (takin it easy);
Skanky, take it easy (skankin it slow);
Take it (takin it easy) easy;
Take it (skankin it slow) easy;
Take it easy (takin it easy);
Oh-oh-ooh! (skankin it slow);
Little bit easier (takin it easy);
Skanky, take it easy (skankin it slow).
Take it easy! take it easy! take it easy! /fadeout/

song performed by Bob Marley
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Paperback Writer

(LennonMcCartney)
Paperback writer
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn't understand
His son is working for the Daily Mail
It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's a thousand pages, give or take a few
I'll be writing more in a week or two
I can make it longer if you like the style
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
If you really like it you can have the rights
It could make a million for you overnight
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer (fade out)

song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bishop Blougram's Apology

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

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

[...] Read more

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

Love, love is so hard
Love is so hard to find
When love, such an easy thing
Such an easy thing
Such an easy thing to lose, yeah
Words, words are so hard
Words are so hard to find
When love, such an easy thing
Such an easy thing
Such an easy thing to lose, yeah
When you find your love
Will you know its real
When you lose it all
Will you really feel love
Love, love is so hard
Love is so hard to find
cause loves such an easy thing
Such an easy thing
Such an easy thing to lose, yeah
When you find your love
Will you know its real
When you lose it all
Will you really feel love
Love, love is so hard
Love is so hard to find
cause love (love) such an easy thing (so easy)
Such an easy thing (love is so easy)
Such an easy thing to lose, yeah (love)
Love (love) such an easy thing (so easy)
Such an easy thing (love is so easy)
Such an easy thing to lose, yeah (love, love is so easy to lose)
Love (love) such an easy thing (so easy)
Such an easy thing (love is so easy)
Such an easy thing to lose, yeah (love)
Love (love) such an easy thing (so easy)
Such an easy thing (love is so easy)
Such an easy thing to lose, (love, love is so easy to lose)

song performed by Kiss
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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King Billy's Skull.

THE scene is the Southern Hemisphere;
The time — oh, any time of the year
Will do as well as another; say June,
Put it down likewise as the full of the moon,
And midnight to boot, when churchyards, they say,
Yawn in a most unmannerly way;
And restless ghosts in winding-sheets
Go forth and gibber about the streets,
And rehearse old crimes that were better hid
In the darkness beneath the coffin-lid.
Observe, that I merely say, on dit;
But though it never happened to me
To encounter, either in-doors or out,
A posthumous gentleman walking about,
In regulation sepulchral guise,
Or in shirt, Crimean or otherwise,
Or in hat and boots and usual wear,
Or, save for a cloud, unbecomingly bare,
Or in gaseous form, with the stars shining through him,
Beckoning me to interview him —
On mission of solemnest import bound,
Or merely a constitutional round,
Beginning at twelve as books declare,
And ending at first sniff of morning air; —
Though all such things, you will understand,
Have reached me only at second-hand,
Or third, or fourth, as the case may be,
Yet there really did occur to me
Something which I perforce must call
Ultra-super-natural; —
In fact trans-ultra-super-preter-
Natural suits both truth and metre.
There is an Island, I won't say where,
For some yet live who mightn't care
To have the address too widely known;
Suffice it to say: South Temperate Zone.
In that same Isle, thus precisely set down,
There's a certain township, and also a town —
(For, to ears colonial, I need not state
That the two do not always homologate). —
And in that same town there's a certain street;
And in that same street, the locals to complete,
There's a certain Surgery, trim and neat,
Kept by —— well, perhaps it were rash
To call him other than Doctor Dash.
At midnight, then, in the month of June
(And don't forget the full of the moon),
I sat in that Surgery, writhing with pain,
Having waited fully two hours in vain
For Doctor Dash, who, I understood,

[...] Read more

poem by James Brunton Stephens
Added by Poetry Lover
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Point Blank

Do you still say your prayers little darlin do you go to bed at night
Prayin that tomorrow, everything will be alright
But tommorows fall in number in number one by one
You wake up and youre dying you dont even know what from
Well they shot you point blank you been shot in the back
Baby point blank you been fooled this time little girl thats a fact
Right between the eyes baby, point blank right between the pretty lies that
They tell
Little girl you fell
You grew up where young girls they grow up fast
You took what you were handed and left behind what was asked
But what they asked baby wasnt right you didnt have to live that life,
I was gonna be your romeo you were gonna be my juliet
These days you dont wait on romeos you wait on that welfare check and on all the pretty things that you cant ever have and on all the promises
That always end up point blank, shot between the eyes
Point blank like little white lies you tell to ease the pain
Youre walkin in the sights, girl of point blank
And its one false move and baby the lights go out
Once I dreamed we were together again baby you and me
Back home in those old clubs the way we used to be
We were standin at the bar it was hard to hear
The band was playin loud and you were shoutin somethin in my ear
You pulled my jacket off and as the drummer counted four
You grabbed my hand and pulled me out on the floor
You just stood there and held me, then you started dancin slow
And as I pulled you tighter I swore Id never let you go
Well I saw you last night down on the avenue
Your face was in the shadows but I knew that it was you
You were standin in the doorway out of the rain
You didnt answer when I called out your name
You just turned, and then you looked away like just another stranger waitin to get blown away
Point blank, right between the eyes
Point blank, right between the pretty lies you fell
Point blank, shot right through the heart
Yea point blank, youve been twisted up till youve become just another part of it
Point blank, youre walkin in the sights
Point blank, livin one false move just one false move away
Point blank, they caught you in their sights
Point blank, did you forget how to love, girl, did you forget how to fight.
Point blank they must have shot you in the head
Cause point blank, bang bang baby youre dead.

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Child Of The Islands - Winter

I.

ERE the Night cometh! On how many graves
Rests, at this hour, their first cold winter's snow!
Wild o'er the earth the sleety tempest raves;
Silent, our Lost Ones slumber on below;
Never to share again the genial glow
Of Christmas gladness round the circled hearth;
Never returning festivals to know,
Or holidays that mark some loved one's birth,
Or children's joyous songs, and loud delighted mirth.
II.

The frozen tombs are sheeted with one pall,--
One shroud for every churchyard, crisp and bright,--
One foldless mantle, softly covering all
With its unwrinkled width of spotless white.
There, through the grey dim day and starlit night,
It rests, on rich and poor, and young and old,--
Veiling dear eyes,--whose warm homne-cheering light
Our pining hearts can never more behold,--
With an unlifting veil,--that falleth blank and cold.
III.

The Spring shall melt that snow,--but kindly eyes
Return not with the Sun's returning powers,--
Nor to the clay-cold cheek, that buried lies,
The living blooms that flush perennial flowers,--
Nor, with the song-birds, vocal in the bowers,
The sweet familiar tones! In silence drear
We pass our days,--and oft in midnight hours
Call madly on their names who cannot hear,--
Names graven on the tombs of the departed year!
IV.

There lies the tender Mother, in whose heart
So many claimed an interest and a share!
Humbly and piously she did her part
In every task of love and household care:
And mournfully, with sad abstracted air,
The Father-Widower, on his Christmas Eve,
Strokes down his youngest child's long silken hair,
And, as the gathering sobs his bosom heave,
Goes from that orphaned group, unseen to weep and grieve.
V.

Feeling his loneliness the more this day
Because SHE kept it with such gentle joy,
Scarce can he brook to see his children play,
Remembering how her love it did employ

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
Added by Poetry Lover
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Backdoor Medley

I. backdoor love affair
Got to have you, baby, even
Though you say that you dont care.
Got to have you, baby, even
Though you say that you dont care.
Any way you want it,
Settle for a backdoor love affair.
Ii. mellow down easy
Jump, jump here, jump, jump there,
Jump, jump, baby, everywhere.
Dont you mellow down easy,
Babe, you got to mellow down easy.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Got to mellow down easy.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Got to mellow down easy, babe.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Got to mellow down easy.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Mellow down easy when you really wanna blow your top.
Shake, shake here, shake, shake there,
Shake, shake, baby, everywhere.
Dont you mellow down easy,
Babe, you got to mellow down easy.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Got to mellow down easy.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Got to mellow down easy, babe.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Got to mellow down easy.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Mellow down easy when you really wanna blow your top.
Shake, shake here, shake, shake there,
Shake, shake, baby, everywhere.
Dont you mellow down easy,
Babe, you got to mellow down easy.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Got to mellow down easy.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Got to mellow down easy, babe.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Got to mellow down easy.
Dont you mellow down easy.
Mellow down easy when you really wanna blow your top.
Iii. backdoor love affair no.2
Baby baby baby baby, dont you want a man like me?
Uh-huh uh-huh, yes I do, yes I do.
Oh, baby baby baby baby, dont you want a man like me?
Uh-huh uh-huh, uh-huh uh-huh, uh-huh uh-huh.
Oh, I give you lovin by the daytime,

[...] Read more

song performed by ZZ Top
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Take Love Easy

Easy
Easy
Take love easy, easy easy
Never let your feelings show
Make it breezy, breezy breezy
Easy come and easy go
Never smile too brightly brightly
When your heart is riding high
Let your heart break, oh so slightly
When your baby says goodbye
That well known flame is mighty hot
As all of us have learned
So handle it with velvet gloves
And you wont get your fingers burned
Take love easy, easy
On the free and easy plan
And if you cant take it easy
Take it easy as you can
Take love easy, easy
Never let your feelings show
Make it breezy, breezy, easy
Easy, easy come and easy go
Never smile too brightly brightly
When your heart is riding high
Let your heart break, oh so slightly
When your baby says goodbye
That well known flame is mighty hot
As all of us have learned
So handle it, handle it with velvet gloves
And you wont get your fingers burned
Take love easy, easy easy
On the free and easy plan
And if you cant take it easy
Take it easy as you can
Take it easy
Take it easy
Take it easy, take it easy, take it easy, take it easy

song performed by Ella Fitzgerald
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
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Tale XXI

The Learned Boy

An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and

hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
Added by Poetry Lover
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Paper Thin

Rich and wealthy canvas
Clustered up in jewels
Finding all your heavyweights
Are featherweights and fools
Broken all your promises
Broken all your paper plates
Clustered in gold
Crusted in gold
Heavy and hollow
Look at the shape were in
Find us here
Paper thin
Heavy and humble
Look at the shape were in
Find us here
Paper thin
In origami cities
In nations build on sand
Love got bend right outta shape
Things got outta hand
Polystyrene skylines
Papier mch smiles
Rusted and bruised
Tarnished and frail
Heavy and hollow
Look at the shape were in
Find us here
Paper thin
Heavy and humble
Look at the shape were in
Find us here
Paper thin
Stars scrape the moon
And the moon scrapes the sky
We stand beneath
Wondering why
Stars scrape the moon
And the moon scrapes the sky
We stand beneath
Wondering, wondering why
Paper buys the men
The men that make the bomb
The bomb that makes this world
Paper thin!
Money markets crumble
Gentle as a drum
But if you see me stumble, im
Paper thin!
Life is but a fragile thing
So delicate and pure

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song performed by Abc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Four Main Types of Writers (personal opinion)

The Lonely Writer

Some writings tell me
This person is lonely
And is reaching out
For the touch of a friendly comment
These writers are sad, solitary,
Isolated, but good persons
And quite often very good writers

The needy juvenile writer

Some writings contain words
Or language meant to shock
And to offend.
These writers are lonely also
But in a different way.
These writers are simply saying
Like a little child
“hey! I exist! Someone better
Acknowledge me! ”
These writers can often write well
But usually don’t, can’t, or choose not to

The Spite Writer

This writer can be of either gender
But seems to be in a female majority
They’ve been spurned or rejected
Two-timed or lied to.
And they are going to vent their ire
In the most public way they can.
These writers can also be very good writers
But too often let their anger get in the way.

The Religious Writer

These writers show people passionate
And zealously devoted to singing the praises
Of the Lord and goodness and charity.
They’re probably austere, honest people
Who almost always write very well.
For the most part these writers seem
To want to spread the word and
At the same time tend to be rather singular
In the subject matter of their writings,
Rarely attempting other genres.

poem by David Whalen
Added by Poetry Lover
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A Fable For Critics

Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Was reminded of Daphne, of whom it was made,
For the god being one day too warm in his wooing,
She took to the tree to escape his pursuing;
Be the cause what it might, from his offers she shrunk,
And, Ginevra-like, shut herself up in a trunk;
And, though 'twas a step into which he had driven her,
He somehow or other had never forgiven her;
Her memory he nursed as a kind of a tonic,
Something bitter to chew when he'd play the Byronic,
And I can't count the obstinate nymphs that he brought over
By a strange kind of smile he put on when he thought of her.
'My case is like Dido's,' he sometimes remarked;
'When I last saw my love, she was fairly embarked
In a laurel, as _she_ thought-but (ah, how Fate mocks!)
She has found it by this time a very bad box;
Let hunters from me take this saw when they need it,-
You're not always sure of your game when you've treed it.
Just conceive such a change taking place in one's mistress!
What romance would be left?-who can flatter or kiss trees?
And, for mercy's sake, how could one keep up a dialogue
With a dull wooden thing that will live and will die a log,-
Not to say that the thought would forever intrude
That you've less chance to win her the more she is wood?
Ah! it went to my heart, and the memory still grieves,
To see those loved graces all taking their leaves;
Those charms beyond speech, so enchanting but now,
As they left me forever, each making its bough!
If her tongue _had_ a tang sometimes more than was right,
Her new bark is worse than ten times her old bite.'

Now, Daphne-before she was happily treeified-
Over all other blossoms the lily had deified,
And when she expected the god on a visit
('Twas before he had made his intentions explicit),
Some buds she arranged with a vast deal of care,
To look as if artlessly twined in her hair,
Where they seemed, as he said, when he paid his addresses,
Like the day breaking through, the long night of her tresses;
So whenever he wished to be quite irresistible,
Like a man with eight trumps in his hand at a whist-table
(I feared me at first that the rhyme was untwistable,
Though I might have lugged in an allusion to Cristabel),-
He would take up a lily, and gloomily look in it,
As I shall at the--, when they cut up my book in it.

Well, here, after all the bad rhyme I've been spinning,
I've got back at last to my story's beginning:
Sitting there, as I say, in the shade of his mistress,
As dull as a volume of old Chester mysteries,

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poem by James Russell Lowell
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Allegany Camp

amazing grace circus camp
amazing grace day camp
amazing grace hallelujah jeremy camp
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amazing love jeremy camp
amazing place chalet pigeon forge
amazing race church camp
amazing race games for camps
amazing race girl scout camp
amazon camp dutch lodge oven
amazon camp in sweetwater missouri
amazon cast iron dutch lodge camp
amazon dutch oven camp
amazon lodge dutch oven camp
ambassador camp at lake waccamaw nc
ambassador camp inc
ambassador chalet
ambassador chalet at doral
ambassador chalet wgc
amber bowers
amber camp lazlo
amber pow camp
amberg germany dp camp
ambition camp hockey pro
ambler baseball camp
ambleside scotland school camp
ambon pow camp
ambor island pow camp
ambor pow camp
ambulance bower
amc camp dodge
amc camp movie summer
amc camp summer theater
amc little lyford camps
amc movie camp
amc movie camps
amc north west camp bear mountain
amc pinkham notch camp
amc summer camp for s
amc summer camp for s 2007
amc summer camp movies
amc summer movie camp
amc summer movie camp 2007
amc summer movie camp 2008
amc summer movie camp arlington
amc summer movie camp ontario california
amc theater camp hill
amc theatres summer camp
amcmovie camps
amelia earhart in japanese war camp

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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