The Stones in a club is still the ultimate rush.
quote by Keith Richards
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Twin State
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[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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Our Car Club
Ive been cruisin round the town now with the guys for quite a while
We been thinkin bout starting up a club that shows some class and style
And well get the finest cars
We got a deuce coupe, a stingray, a rail job and an xke
(well start a car club)
Well be the fastest at the drags, man, well really cut some low ets
(well start a car club)
And wipe out the other clubs
Well set a meet, and get a sponsor, and collect some dues
And you can bet that well have our jackets on wherever we cruise
Well get the roughest and the toughest initiation we can find
(well start a car club)
And if you want to try to get in well really put you through the grind
(well start a car club)
This clubs the very best
Well set a meet, and get a sponsor, and collect some dues
And you can bet that well have our jackets on wherever we cruise
Well get the roughest and the toughest initiation we can find
(well start a car club)
And if you want to try to get in well really send you through the grind
(well start a car club)
This clubs the very best
Start a club, a car club
(start a car club)
Start a club, a car club
(start a car club)
Start a club, a car club
(start a car club)
Start a club, a car club
(start a car club)
song performed by Beach Boys
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Tear Da Club Up 97
Intro: three six mafia (repeat 7x)
Tear da club up, nigga, tear da club up
[dj paul]
This for all you playa haters who be talkin that...(ha ha)
The three six show no love, put some hurt on a trick
Im bustin through the crowd, wild, with my hand on a cannon
Be like quick to put two up in ya like who mana standin
I be the last man, blast man
If you think you fast man, headlines
Three left em up in a cast man
When I look into your eyes I see a coward
Face to face I hit ya
Three six mafiad rather die than
[lord infamous]
Lord, hittin, here comes the two to the three and four
Three six mafia I want ya to wreck it all over the club floor
Blowin and throwin your sets in the air
Ya bumpin them tables and chests everywhere
Trampled over by the macs and the playas
You standin there actin like you wonder where
It aint said we the hardest,
And you cant rock it like three six mafia can
All up in a trance in the prophecy van
We gonna tear the club up, get it bucked till it dont eelin me
(.....? ? .....)
Chorus: three six mafia (repeat 8x)
Tear da club up, nigga, tear da club up
[juicy j]
We tearin the club up, gettin buck
Haters try to call it rough
They better call security, bring them straight jackets and handcuffs
Aint takin it, aint takin it
The clutches I be breakin it
And rippin off the bosses and tossin them to the floor, bricks
Going through the window, got that thing at your temple
When they bust, keep it trust, and we aint talkin bout bustin pimples
Haters cant get with the mafia click, them fools aint buck enough
We gonna get the dynamite trick, and blow the club up
[gangsta boo]
Crazy lady comin at you, you cant fade me trick
I bet you bet you bottom dollar make you holla
When my soldiers get ya, I dont like that violence stuff
But I believe in gettin buck
If you with me, let me see you tear da, tear da club up
Mafia, mafi-mafia, wont stop with it though
Hypnotizing minds, we got you blind and you cant hear me though
Come and get it while you can trick, before its all gone
Goin once, goin twice, oh my God it just went gone
[crunchy black]
Oh, oh, oh, get buck, get wild
[...] Read more
song performed by Three 6 Mafia
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Club Soul City
Pack up your bags
Dont look back
Theres a little place
Out cross the the railroad tracks
If youre broken-hearted
And you dont know what to do
But they got a place down there thats just for you
Club soul, club soul city, yeah yeah yeah
Club soul, club soul city, oh yeah
Theres a waitress at the back bar
Goes with the the guy that runs the place
Shes got hair like a weeping willow
And tears running down her face
Shes seen a lot of guys like you coming around
Looking for something that theyve lost
Or trying to lose something that theyve found
Down at
Club soul, club soul city, yeah yeah yeah
Club soul, club soul city, oh yeah
So if youre down on your spirit
And there aint no-one who cares
If youre lost and youre lonely
You wont be lonely down there
You cant miss it, its just up the highway
On the front door theres a sign that says
Restricted to the losing kind
Club soul, club soul city, yeah yeah yeah
Club soul, club soul city, oh yeah
Club soul, club soul city, yeah yeah yeah
Club soul, club soul city, oh yeah
song performed by Bruce Springsteen
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Temporary Poem Of My Time
Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west,
Latin writing, from west to east.
Languages are like cats:
You must not stroke their hair the wrong way.
The clouds come from the sea, the hot wind from the desert,
The trees bend in the wind,
And stones fly from all four winds,
Into all four winds. They throw stones,
Throw this land, one at the other,
But the land always falls back to the land.
They throw the land, want to get rid of it.
Its stones, its soil, but you can't get rid of it.
They throw stones, throw stones at me
In 1936, 1938, 1948, 1988,
Semites throw at Semites and anti-Semites at anti-Semites,
Evil men throw and just men throw,
Sinners throw and tempters throw,
Geologists throw and theologists throw,
Archaelogists throw and archhooligans throw,
Kidneys throw stones and gall bladders throw,
Head stones and forehead stones and the heart of a stone,
Stones shaped like a screaming mouth
And stones fitting your eyes
Like a pair of glasses,
The past throws stones at the future,
And all of them fall on the present.
Weeping stones and laughing gravel stones,
Even God in the Bible threw stones,
Even the Urim and Tumim were thrown
And got stuck in the beastplate of justice,
And Herod threw stones and what came out was a Temple.
Oh, the poem of stone sadness
Oh, the poem thrown on the stones
Oh, the poem of thrown stones.
Is there in this land
A stone that was never thrown
And never built and never overturned
And never uncovered and never discovered
And never screamed from a wall and never discarded by the builders
And never closed on top of a grave and never lay under lovers
And never turned into a cornerstone?
Please do not throw any more stones,
You are moving the land,
The holy, whole, open land,
You are moving it to the sea
And the sea doesn't want it
The sea says, not in me.
[...] Read more
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Sobre Horizontes
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The wheels on the bus
‘The wheels on the bus
Go round and round
Round and round
Round and round
The wheels on the bus
Go round and round
Round and round
Round and round
All night long’
The driver on the bus goes
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
The driver on the bus goes
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
All night long
The children on the bus go
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
The children on the bus go
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
All night long
The fathers on the bus go
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
The fathers on the bus go
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
All night long
The mothers on the bus go
Hush hush shus
Hush hus hush
Hush hush
The mothers on the bus go
Hush hush hush
All night long
[...] Read more
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Blame It On The Stones
Mister marvin middle class is really in a stew
Wondrin what the younger generations coming to
And the taste of his martini doesnt please his bitter tongue
Blame it on the rolling stones.
Blame it on the stones; blame it on the stones
Youll feel so much better, knowing you dont stand alone
Join the accusation; save the bleeding nation
Get it off your shoulders; blame it on the stones
Mother tells the ladies at the bridge club every day
Of the rising price of tranquilizers she must pay
And she wonders why the children never seem to stay at home
Blame it on the rolling stones.
Blame it on the stones; blame it on the stones
Youll feel so much better, knowing you dont stand alone
Join the accusation; save the bleeding nation
Get it off your shoulders; blame it on the stones
Fathers at the office, nightly working all the time
Trying to make the secretary change her little mind
And it bothers him to read about so many broken homes
Blame it on those rolling stones.
Blame it on the stones; blame it on the stones
Youll feel so much better knowing you dont stand alone
Join the accusation; same the bleeding nation
Get it off your shoulders; blame it on the stones
Blame it on the stones, blame it on the stones.
song performed by Kris Kristofferson
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When You Rush To Judgement
You have no idea,
What you've done.
You have no idea...
None.
You have no idea,
What you've done.
You have no idea...
Not a one.
Oh, oh, oh...
When you rush to judgement,
Your emotions are your worst enemy.
When you rush to judgement,
Your emotions are your worst enemy.
When you rush to judgement,
Your emotions are your worst enemy.
When you rush to judgement.
Oh, oh, oh...
When you rush to judgement.
To pass your judgements,
When you rush to judgement.
You have no idea,
What you've done.
You have no idea...
None.
You have no idea,
What you've done.
You have no idea...
Not a one.
When you rush to judgement,
You have no idea.
No idea.
None.
When you rush to judgement,
No one has an idea...
What they've done.
When you rush to judgement,
What one does...
Affects more than one.
When you rush to judgement.
When you rush to judgement.
You have no idea,
What you've done.
You have no idea...
None.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wednesday's Child (Sheffield Wednesday Soccer Club)
It eats soccer. It breathes soccer. It lives soccer. It fades when it's team fades and it blooms when it's team blooms. It has the letters S.W. permanently etched upon it's brain and it probably even arranges it's Monopoly money in S.W. formations. What is it, you ask? It's a soccer fan. You knew that, didn't you? But it isn't just any soccer fan. It is specifically a Sheffield Wednesday soccer fan. Or addict, for want of a better word.
Yes, of course, even I know about Liverpool, Everton, Arsenal and Man. United fans. They're the normal, run-of-the-mill type but Owls supporters are really Something Else!
I have had the somewhat dubious good fortune of becoming rather well acquainted with one of these strange 'animals' but until today, I'd managed to evade any one-to-one discourse on the merits or demerits of one man's passion for his team. On the face of it, you could say I asked for it. In a weak moment, I queried how his team had fared over the past week or so. It was like asking a hypochondriac the state of his health.
Well, there I was, supposedly having a cup of tea with his wife, my friend Sheila. But Sheila knew the signs and, together with two equally clued-up daughters, had opportunely beaten a hasty retreat into the garden. They had long since paid their dues. Now, it was my turn.
It was a reasonably tentative beginning. It is more than probable that Ken, the addict, suspected I would never stay the course but feeling somewhat emotionally trapped by the knowledge that he had no sons with whom to share his enthrallment of the game, what else could I do but don my interested-looking mask, take a deep breath and settle back to hear him out. By tacit consent, we both knew that I was a victim of sorts. Destiny rides again!
My heart sunk a little when I realised that he was starting from scratch. From the actual day when his team first started playing. His enthusiasm was boundless but somehow I found myself becoming absorbed in what he was saying. His eyes took on a bright, azure sparkle and his mouth was motoring at twice the speed of sound as it travelled back and forth in time. I stared in mute fascination. This was for real! This was the guy's life. Dear Lord, where was I when enthusiasm for anything was dished out? I raised my eyes Heavenwards and found myself looking straight into those of a grey, woolly owl who was peering down at me from a built-in show-case. The Sheffield Wednesday Football Club mascot. I knew I was a gonner when I found myself asking how the Club had come to be so named.
Sheffield Wednesday, as we know it today, Ken told me, came into being in 1867 as the football section of the Wednesday Cricket Club, which had been in existence since 1820. The cricket club had been the creation of a group of Sheffield craftsmen who gave it the name 'Wednesday' for the simple reason that that was the day when they took regular afternoons off to pursue their sporting enthusiasms.
Not surprisingly, perhaps, the meeting at which the football section was formed took place on a Wednesday and this, at a local sporting pub, The Adelphi. Members of the cricket club called the meeting because they wanted a way of keeping everybody together during the winter months but the step was probably partly inspired by the dramatic increase in football's popularity in the town over the previous ten years.
Ken's eyes misted over somewhat as he proudly told me that it had been Sheffield who had led the way in organised football even before the birth of the national FA in 1863. So Wednesday no doubt felt it appropriate to have their own football section. At the very least, it would mean that their players would not be tempted to drift off to other clubs at the end of the summer and forget to return in the following spring.
The founders could not have imagined that the infant football section would become the dominant partner. So strong, in fact, that within sixteen years it would break free and Wednesday Football Club would become one of the most famous names in English football - and a force in the professional game to boot (no pun intended!) Would they also have believed that the Cricket Club would survive only until 1924 and then die through lack of support, so that today, it is all but forgotten.
By now, there was no doubt that Ken knew he had my attention for I was leaning forward in my chair, hanging onto every word. Vortex-like, my concentration was being pulled and drawn into the centre of what could only be described as the secret world of the soccer-addict; a passionate and breathtaking intensity which would encompass anything related thereto, from a humble soccer boot to a moth-eaten ticket to some long-ago and memorable match played.
'Look! ' he said, paging through a well-thumbed book, 'here's a picture of Wednesday's first match at Olive Grove. This site was bought from the Duke of Norfolk. Did you know that? ' As if I would! But no reply was necessary as he pressed on regardless to tell me about how officials at the time were unable to persuade either Preston or Aston Villa to provide the opposition for a match but Blackburn Rovers did decide to accept the invitation to play. Things weren't going too well but I wanted to fall off my chair to show him how thrilled I was too when Wednesday recovered from a three-goal deficit to draw 4-4 but he wouldn't have noticed. He was in another world.
And then he was down in the depths again as he showed me pictures of headlines proclaiming how Dooley had broken his leg at Deepdale way back in 1953. It was to be the end of the big centre-forward's career. Oh, shame, Ken, I said. And I really meant it.
1954-55 proved to be a disastrous season with Wednesday finishing bottom of the table, nine points below relegation companions Leicester City. The Owls won only 8 games, losing 24 and conceding 100 goals. However, Ken assured me, they won the Second Division Championship in 1955-56 with three points to spare and in the following season they finished mid-table. But, oh dear, by 1957-58 they were down again. The Addict's voice faded and I thought he had been called by the angels.
'And then....? ' I encouraged. Momentarily, he seemed to surface.
'Go on, get along with you, ' he said with a half-smile, 'you're not really interested.'
'Oh, I am, I am, ' I protested gamely, whereupon he went on to tell me all about the so-called bribes scandal or betting-coup revelations which broke in the Sunday newspapers of 1964. Not only did Wednesday suffer in terms of its reputation but it also lost two of its best players.
The situation sounded sufficiently grave for me to try my mournful-look but no, it wasn't necessary as The Addict changed course and went on to tell me the good news about how in 1971, that bloke Dooley, (who'd broken his leg 18 years or so earlier and subsequently had to have it amputated) had been made manager of the club. He was still an idol in the city and the folk-hero of Hillsborough. But his magic was limited and he proved that he was as human as anyone else in his lack of anticipated performance.
But Sheila was rattling crockery in the kitchen and the thought of a nice cup of tea was becoming more and more enticing. Escape was out of the question. We still had about twenty years more to work through! There's a limit to a body's endurance and a feminine mind's appreciation of a predominantly masculine interest.
So, a little less stoically now, I went 'up' with the Owls and 'down' with the Owls as we travelled through from one Division to another over a timespan of many years. But much of their pain was to dissolve in relief when in 1985, they reached their highest position for 25 years by coming fifth in the FA Cup semi-Final. Even if they did lose to Everton.
In that same year, Wednesday were to equalise in the dying seconds of the match with Chelsea. They were 3-O up at half-time and I can well imagine how Ken had nearly fallen off his chair when hearing on the BBC World Service later that evening that the game had ended at 4-4. He still hasn't got over the sheer horror of it all.
There was no stopping him now and I just had to give in and hear about how the next time round, Chelsea lost the toss with the Owls' Chairman tossing the coin and the replay going to Stamford Bridge. Wednesday lost 2-1 proving that the Chelsea bogey had struck again. 'We can't even beat a bunch of pensioners, ' the Addict grinned. I was impressed by his ability not to take himself and his beloved team too seriously.
'And last year, you actually visited the Club, didn't you? ' I asked, determined to hastily gobble up the few remaining years so that I could go and have my tea. I knew of course that the highlight of his addicthood had been when Wednesday were promoted to First Division by beating Man. United in the Rumbelows League Cup Final at Wembley and didn't want to go into all that lot again. Like I said, there's a limit........
'Ah yes, ' he replied dreamily. Even he was beginning to tire. But no, not yet. I had a feeling we were about to move into extra time. More like injury-time, one would say.
'Come, ' he said, leading me towards a cupboard filled with everything and anything that could have any association whatsoever with his team. I'd seen it all before and I would see it again, but there's an indisputable thrill of sharing both old-time and current mementoes and memorabilia of a soccer club, some six thousand miles away, right here in the living room of one of its most ardent supporters.
[...] Read more
poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Dont Rush The Good Things
(n. gammack)
Producer: carter
Album: private dancer emi centenary edition (96)
B-side of the uk/ger whats love got to do with it single
Bought me a bottle of wine
Im gonna drink it tonight
And you can join me
Its gonna make us feel alright
Dont rush the good things
Dont rush the good things in life
Dont rush the good things
Dont rush the good things in life
Im gonna sip it slowly
Im not gonna rock it back
I am no historier but i
Ive learned from my past what Ive learned
Dont rush the good things
Dont rush the good things in life
Dont rush the good things
Dont rush the good things in life
Its a slow job falling in love
Its a slow job
Falling in love its a slow job
Dont rush good things tonight
You and me baby
No need to rush it tonight
Cause we got all the time in the world
Get it back, get it back
Get it back, get it back
Get it, get it, get it, get it
Dont rush the good things
Dont rush the good things in life
Dont rush the good things
Dont rush the good things in life
song performed by Tina Turner
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Put a Sock In It
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Today there is just too much stuff.
And people are getting fed up!
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Today there is just too much stuff.
And people are getting fed up!
Many getting sick of the pickiness started.
And when it gets sticky they can not stop.
Instigating agitation with annoyance.
Dropping all they've got to tie a mind in knots.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Today there is just too much stuff.
And people are getting fed up!
Can't you see them strike poses and begin to 'cheese'.
Then plop on their knees,
To make their pleas.
These same folks cry about bad luck.
With claims their butts are stuck in ruts.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Today there is just too much stuff.
And people are getting fed up!
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Folks have had enough,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Paradise Knife & Gun Club
(chick rains)
Joe bob was rough as a cob
And prone to blow his stack
Kenny dean was in a suicide scene
Sneaking behind joes back
Sneaking around with joes girl, june
She liked the boys in the band
And when they all got together on saturday night
It was easy to understand why
They called it saturday night at the paradise knife and gun club
And theres drinking and dancing to the music of bobby lee and the blackjacks
It was saturday night at the paradise knife and gun club
If you was looking for some trouble you could find it I guarantee
Now the only other place was a man named jack
And he wouldnt take talking back
He was married to a woman named may
She took up the slack
Well he knocked you out and shed drag you out
And leave you in the parking lot
And when you wake up in the morning with a busted head
Youre just happy that was all you got
On saturday night at the paradise knife and gun club
And theres drinking and dancing to the music of bobby lee and the blackjacks
It was saturday night at the paradise knife and gun club
If you was looking for some trouble you could find it I guarantee
Well the night joe bob found out
That kenny dean was sneaking around with june
He caught bobby lee and the band
In the middle of an old hank williams tune
Bobby lee cried out your cheatin heart
And that was just the spark it took
And when the fighting got started
Everybody took part and that whole damn building shook
Until the sheriff came out and stopped the bout
Hauled everybody to jail
When the judge saw the blood and the chewed up ears
He turned a whiter shade of pale
He said, good God yall
Whats happened here, somebody start a wwiii
Well kenny dean just grinned the best he could
Said your honor it seems to me
Like it was just another saturday night at the paradise knife and gun club
And theres drinking and dancing to the music of bobby lee and the blackjacks
It was saturday night at the paradise knife and gun club
If you was looking for some trouble you could find it I guarantee
On saturday night at the paradise knife and gun club
And theres drinking and dancing to the music of bobby lee and the blackjacks
It was saturday night at the paradise knife and gun club
If you was looking for some trouble you could find it I guarantee
On saturday night at the paradise knife and gun club
[...] Read more
song performed by Lonestar
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Whoa Whoa Whoa Hush That Rush
Traveling with negative activities...
Hear them cuss a lot!
Yes, they cuss a lot.
Nothing that is said by them,
Seems to please.
And they cuss a lot.
Hear them cuss a lot!
No matter where they seem to be.
No matter in whose company.
Whoever is around them,
Never is quite free!
Or alone.
Traveling with negative activities...
Hear them cuss a lot!
Yes, they cuss a lot.
Nothing that is said by them,
Seems to please.
And they cuss a lot.
Hear them cuss a lot!
No matter where they seem to be.
No matter in whose company.
Whoever is around them,
Never is quite free!
Or alone.
No matter what the reason,
Or the season may be...
They rush to cuss,
With a lust to cuss!
Making misery as if a cup of tea.
They rush to cuss,
With a lust to cuss.
And dropping in the Autumn like leaves from trees.
They rush to cuss,
With a lust to cuss.
Traveling with negative activities...
Hear them cuss a lot!
Yes, they cuss a lot.
And dropping in the Autumn like leaves from trees.
They rush to cuss,
With a lust to cuss.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Ultimate Sin
Overkill enough is enough
Theres nothing left of me to devour
Youve had your fill Im all I have left
What can stop your hunger for power
cos you took advantage of things that I said
Now the feeling is dead
And thats the ultimate sin
And thats the ultimate sin
Anyway I look at it now
The doors are closed and cannot be opened
Bury your anger and bury your dead
Or youll be left with nothing and no one
Theres no point in screaming cos you wont be heard
Now that tables have turned
It was the ultimate sin
It was the ultimate sin
It was the ultimate sin
I warned you then and Im warning you now
If you mess with me youre playing with fire
Winds of change that are fanning the flames
Will carry you to your funeral pyre
Its pulling you down
Its your final descent
Its too late to repent
When its the ultimate sin
When its the ultimate sin
When its the ultimate sin
When its the ultimate sin
song performed by Ozzy Osbourne
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Get A Rush
Every day of my life has been leading me here tonight
Feels like I'm coming home back to you, back to you
Every chance that I take
Every wrong turn and every mistake
Is a step on the road back to you
And I'm alive
Chorus:
I like it, I like it, I can't get enough
I like it, I like it, yeah, I get a rush
I like what I like and I like it too much
You know what I like, yeah, I get a rush
And my goal, I see you, you're as close as the hole in my shoe
And when I'm feeling used, I'm renewed, I get high
I can fly, I've got wings
I've got riches that money can't bring
I've got more than a king, I've got you
And baby, that's alright
Chorus:
I like it, I like it, I can't get enough
I like it, I like it, yeah, I get a rush
I like what I like and I like it too much
You know what I like, yeah, I get a rush
From you, everything you do
I call it love
Yeah, I get a rush, I get a rush
Every day of my life has been leading me here tonight
And wherever I roam I'm heading back home to you
Back to you
Chorus:
I like it, I like it, I can't get enough
I like it, I like it, yeah, I get a rush
I like what I like and I like it too much
You know what I like, yeah, I get a rush
I like it, I like it, I can't get enough
I like it, I like it, yeah, I get a rush
I like what I like and I like it too much
You know what I like, yeah, I get a rush
From you, everything you do
I call it love
Yeah, I get a rush, I get a rush from you
song performed by Bon Jovi
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Broken Windows
I kick stones, kick stones, kick stones through windows.
I kick stones, which somehow got home.
But i'm not proud, that i'm a broken window.
And i'm not proud, that i can't look through broken windows.
Froze in college, you said it was the wilderness
Froze in college, you said it was the wilderness of...
I kick stones, kick stones, kick stones through windows.
I've kicked stones which somehow got home.
But i'm not proud, that i'm a broken window.
And i'm not proud, that i can't look through broken windows.
Froze in college, you said it was the wilderness
Froze in college, you said it was the wilderness of... frustration.
frustration.
It was the wilderness of...
I kick stones, kick stones, kick stones through windows.
I kick stones which somehow got home.
song performed by Idlewild
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The Stones of Gosh
Now, here is a tale of the Glugs of Gosh,
In the end of the year umteen;
Of the Glugs of Gosh and their great King Splosh,
And Tush, his virtuous Queen.
And here is a tale of the Oglike Ogs,
In their neighbouring land of Podge;
Of their sayings and doings and plottings and brewings,
And something about Sir Stodge.
Wise to profundity,
Stout to rotundity,
That was the Knight Sir Stodge.
Oh, the King was rich, and the Queen was fair,
And they made a very respectable pair.
And whenever a Glug in that peaceful land,
Did anything no one could understand
The Knight, Sir Stodge, he looked in a book,
And charged that Glug with a crime called Crook.
And the great Judge Fudge, who wore for a hat
The skin of a female tortoise-shell cat,
He fined that Glug for his actions rash,
And frequently asked to be paid in cash.
Then every Glug went home to rest
With his head in a bag and his toes to the west;
For they knew it was best,
Since their grandpas slept with their toes to the west.
But all of the tale that is so far told
Has nothing whatever to do
With the Ogs of Podge, and their crafty dodge,
And the trade in pickles and glue.
To trade with the Glugs came the Ogs to Gosh,
And they said in the mildest of tones,
'We'll sell you pianers and pickels and spanners
For seventeen shiploads of stones
Smooth 'uns or nobbly 'uns,
Firm 'uns or wobbly 'uns,
All that we ask is stones.'
And the King said, 'What?' and the Queen said, 'Why,
That is awfully cheap to the things I buy!
That grocer of ours in the light brown hat
Asks two-and-eleven for pickles like that!'
But a Glug stood up with a wart on his nose,
And he cried, 'Your Majesties! Ogs is foes!'
But the Glugs cried, 'Peace! Will you hold your jaw!
How did our grandpas fashion the law?'
Said the Knight, Sir Stodge, as he opened a book,
'If the goods were cheap then the goods they took.'
So they fined the Glug with the wart on his nose
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Senlin: His Futile Preoccupations
1
I am a house, says Senlin, locked and darkened,
Sealed from the sun with wall and door and blind.
Summon me loudly, and you'll hear slow footsteps
Ring far and faint in the galleries of my mind.
You'll hear soft steps on an old and dusty stairway;
Peer darkly through some corner of a pane,
You'll see me with a faint light coming slowly,
Pausing above some gallery of the brain . . .
I am a city . . . In the blue light of evening
Wind wanders among my streets and makes them fair;
I am a room of rock . . . a maiden dances
Lifting her hands, tossing her golden hair.
She combs her hair, the room of rock is darkened,
She extends herself in me, and I am sleep.
It is my pride that starlight is above me;
I dream amid waves of air, my walls are deep.
I am a door . . . before me roils the darkness,
Behind me ring clear waves of sound and light.
Stand in the shadowy street outside, and listen--
The crying of violins assails the night . . .
My walls are deep, but the cries of music pierce them;
They shake with the sound of drums . . . yet it is strange
That I should know so little what means this music,
Hearing it always within me change and change.
Knock on the door,--and you shall have an answer.
Open the heavy walls to set me free,
And blow a horn to call me into the sunlight,--
And startled, then, what a strange thing you will see!
Nuns, murderers, and drunkards, saints and sinners,
Lover and dancing girl and sage and clown
Will laugh upon you, and you will find me nowhere.
I am a room, a house, a street, a town.
2
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my fathers learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,
And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet
Stand before a glass and tie my tie.
Vine leaves tap my window,
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 2
ALL were attentive to the godlike man,
When from his lofty couch he thus began:
“Great queen, what you command me to relate
Renews the sad remembrance of our fate:
An empire from its old foundations rent, 5
And ev’ry woe the Trojans underwent;
A peopled city made a desart place;
All that I saw, and part of which I was:
Not ev’n the hardest of our foes could hear,
Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear. 10
And now the latter watch of wasting night,
And setting stars, to kindly rest invite;
But, since you take such int’rest in our woe,
And Troy’s disastrous end desire to know,
I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell 15
What in our last and fatal night befell.
“By destiny compell’d, and in despair,
The Greeks grew weary of the tedious war,
And by Minerva’s aid a fabric rear’d,
Which like a steed of monstrous height appear’d: 20
The sides were plank’d with pine; they feign’d it made
For their return, and this the vow they paid.
Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side
Selected numbers of their soldiers hide:
With inward arms the dire machine they load, 25
And iron bowels stuff the dark abode.
In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle
(While Fortune did on Priam’s empire smile)
Renown’d for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay,
Where ships expos’d to wind and weather lay. 30
There was their fleet conceal’d. We thought, for Greece
Their sails were hoisted, and our fears release.
The Trojans, coop’d within their walls so long,
Unbar their gates, and issue in a throng,
Like swarming bees, and with delight survey 35
The camp deserted, where the Grecians lay:
The quarters of the sev’ral chiefs they show’d;
Here Phœnix, here Achilles, made abode;
Here join’d the battles; there the navy rode.
Part on the pile their wond’ring eyes employ: 40
The pile by Pallas rais’d to ruin Troy.
Thymoetes first (’t is doubtful whether hir’d,
Or so the Trojan destiny requir’d)
Mov’d that the ramparts might be broken down,
To lodge the monster fabric in the town. 45
But Capys, and the rest of sounder mind,
The fatal present to the flames designed,
Or to the wat’ry deep; at least to bore
The hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore.
The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide, 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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