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The Harley's got a little too much torque when it comes to jumping.

quote by Evel Knievel
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Horace, Epist. I, VII Imitation Of Horace To Lord Oxford

Harley, the nation's great support,
Returning home one day from court,
His mind with public cares possest,
All Europe's business in his breast,
Observed a parson near Whitehall,
Cheap'ning old authors on a stall.
The priest was pretty well in case,
And show'd some humour in his face;
Look'd with an easy, careless mien,
A perfect stranger to the spleen;
Of size that might a pulpit fill,
But more inclining to sit still.
My lord, (who, if a man may say't,
Loves mischief better than his meat),
Was now disposed to crack a jest
And bid friend Lewis go in quest.
(This Lewis was a cunning shaver,
And very much in Harley's favour)—
In quest who might this parson be,
What was his name, of what degree;
If possible, to learn his story,
And whether he were Whig or Tory.
Lewis his patron's humour knows;
Away upon his errand goes,
And quickly did the matter sift;
Found out that it was Doctor Swift,
A clergyman of special note
For shunning those of his own coat;
Which made his brethren of the gown
Take care betimes to run him down:
No libertine, nor over nice,
Addicted to no sort of vice;
Went where he pleas'd, said what he thought;
Not rich, but owed no man a groat;
In state opinions a la mode,
He hated Wharton like a toad;
Had given the faction many a wound,
And libell'd all the junto round;
Kept company with men of wit,
Who often father'd what he writ:
His works were hawk'd in ev'ry street,
But seldom rose above a sheet:
Of late, indeed, the paper-stamp
Did very much his genius cramp;
And, since he could not spend his fire,
He now intended to retire.
Said Harley, 'I desire to know
From his own mouth, if this be so:
Step to the doctor straight, and say,
I'd have him dine with me to-day.'

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Swift
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Adrienne Vittadini

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[...] Read more

poem by Caasder Fronds
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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The Author Upon Himself

By an old ——pursued,
A crazy prelate, and a royal prude;
By dull divines, who look with envious eyes
On ev'ry genius that attempts to rise;
And pausing o'er a pipe, with doubtful nod,
Give hints, that poets ne'er believe in God.
So clowns on scholars as on wizards look,
And take a folio for a conj'ring book.
Swift had the sin of wit, no venial crime:
Nay, 'twas affirm'd, he sometimes dealt in rhyme;
Humour and mirth had place in all he writ;
He reconcil'd divinity and wit:
He moved and bow'd, and talk'd with too much grace;
Nor show'd the parson in his gait or face;
Despised luxurious wines and costly meat;
Yet still was at the tables of the great;
Frequented lords; saw those that saw the queen;
At Child's or Truby's, never once had been;
Where town and country vicars flock in tribes,
Secured by numbers from the laymen's gibes;
And deal in vices of the graver sort,
Tobacco, censure, coffee, pride, and port.
But, after sage monitions from his friends,
His talents to employ for nobler ends;
To better judgments willing to submit,
He turns to politics his dang'rous wit.
And now, the public Int'rest to support,
By Harley Swift invited, comes to court;
In favour grows with ministers of state;
Admitted private, when superiors wait:
And Harley, not ashamed his choice to own,
Takes him to Windsor in his coach alone.
At Windsor Swift no sooner can appear,
But St. John comes, and whispers in his ear:
The waiters stand in ranks: the yeomen cry,
Make room, as if a duke were passing by.
Now Finch alarms the lords: he hears for certain
This dang'rous priest is got behind the curtain.
Finch, famed for tedious elocution, proves
That Swift oils many a spring which Harley moves.
Walpole and Aislaby, to clear the doubt,
Inform the Commons, that the secret's out:
'A certain doctor is observed of late
To haunt a certain minister of state:
From whence with half an eye we may discover
The peace is made, and Perkin must come over.'
York is from Lambeth sent, to show the queen
A dang'rous treatise writ against the spleen;
Which, by the style, the matter, and the drift,
'Tis thought could be the work of none but Swift.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Swift
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The Three Tommies

That Barret, the painter of pictures, what feeling for color he had!
And Fanning, the maker of music, such melodies mirthful and mad!
And Harley, the writer of stories, so whimsical, tender and glad!

To hark to their talk in the trenches, high heart unfolding to heart,
Of the day when the war would be over, and each would be true to his part,
Upbuilding a Palace of Beauty to the wonder and glory of Art . . .

Yon's Barret, the painter of pictures, yon carcass that rots on the wire;
His hand with its sensitive cunning is crisped to a cinder with fire;
His eyes with their magical vision are bubbles of glutinous mire.

Poor Fanning! He sought to discover the symphonic note of a shell;
There are bits of him broken and bloody, to show you the place where he fell;
I've reason to fear on his exquisite ear the rats have been banqueting well.

And speaking of Harley, the writer, I fancy I looked on him last,
Sprawling and staring and writhing in the roar of the battle blast;
Then a mad gun-team crashed over, and scattered his brains as it passed.

Oh, Harley and Fanning and Barret, they were bloody good mates o' mine;
Their bodies are empty bottles; Death has guzzled the wine;
What's left of them's filth and corruption. . . . Where is the Fire Divine?

I'll tell you. . . . At night in the trenches, as I watch and I do my part,
Three radiant spirits I'm seeing, high heart revealing to heart,
And they're building a peerless palace to the splendor and triumph of Art.

Yet, alas! for the fame of Barret, the glory he might have trailed!
And alas! for the name of Fanning, a star that beaconed and paled,
Poor Harley, obscure and forgotten. . . . Well, who shall say that they failed!

No, each did a Something Grander than ever he dreamed to do;
And as for the work unfinished, all will be paid their due;
The broken ends will be fitted, the balance struck will be true.

So painters, and players, and penmen, I tell you: Do as you please;
Let your fame outleap on the trumpets, you'll never rise up to these --
To three grim and gory Tommies, down, down on your bended knees!

poem by Robert William Service
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Brother

Whoa!whoa!whoa!
Somebodys jumping in the tub with your brother (2x)
Whoa!whoa!whoa!
Somebodys definitely jumping in the tub with your brother (2x)
Somebodys definitely jumping in the tub with your brother
Jumping in the tub with your cousin
Somebodys definitely jumping in the tub with your brother
Uncle!
Somebodys jumping in the tub with your brother!
Somebodys jumping in the tub with your mother!
Whoa!whoa!whoa!

song performed by Phish
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Jumping Someone Else's Train

Don't say what you mean
You might spoil your face
If you walk in the crowd
You won't leave any trace
It's always the same
You're jumping someone else's train
It won't take you long
To learn the new smile
You'll have to adapt
Or you'll be out of style
It's always the same
You're jumping someone else's train
If you pick up on it quick
You can say you were there
Again and again and again
You're jumping someone else's train
It's the latest wave
That you've been craving for
The old ideal
Was getting such a bore
Now you're back in line
Going not quite quite as far
But in half the time
Everyone's happy
They're finally all the same
'cause everyone's jumping
Everyone else's train
Jumping someone else's train
Jumping someone else's train
Jumping someone else's train

song performed by Cure
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In The Middle

Chorus:
I'm caught up in the middle
Jumping through the riddle
I'm falling just a little tonight (uh uh)
Cos everybody's making trouble
Someone's burst their bubble
But we'll be getting by alright (uh uh uh)
Chorus:
I'm caught up in the middle
Jumping through the riddle
I'm falling just a little tonight (uh uh)
Cos everybody's making trouble
Someone's burst their bubble
But we'll be getting by alright (uh uh uh)
Sooner or later this drunken elevator
Is gonna stop where I'm supposed to be
It's ten past eleven, I'm half way up to heaven
But I'm stuck in reality
Life's kind of funny
Not in it for the money
But I know that I've gotta pay
Love's gonna getcha
But only when I letcha
And I don't wanna turn away
Why can't the boys be the toys
That the girls want the boys to be
And why can't the girls see the world
That the boys want the girls to see, yeah
Chorus:
I'm caught up in the middle
Jumping through the riddle
I'm falling just a little tonight (uh uh)
Cos everybody's making trouble
Someone's burst their bubble
But we'll be getting by alright (uh uh uh)
At night it's on the low
No front just sing the flow
We're speaking all in code
To get to the place we know
Sweat running down my back
I'm wearing leather, black
Falling into a trap
There is no turning back
I got my ladies with me
Fellas get cool and freaky
But we've gotta keep him tame
Cos we don't wanna play that game
Everybody from the block
Needs to be feeling nice
It ain't no weakest party

[...] Read more

song performed by Sugababes
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Jumping Rope

We are jumping rope together
we are jumping rope together
unwinding naughty knots of tether
we are jumping rope together

We are jumping rope together
we are skipping beats together
pouting panting chasing chants
unraveling rigid wraps to sever

We are jumping rope together
we are jumping rope together
jointly jogging jagged breath
suddenly we
sneeze!

poem by Randy Resh
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Radio

He's chosen my attic
I feel it in the static
He lives in my basement
And I can hardly face it
My performance is easy
I am the god of romance
And in my confusion
I have the right to reign
He's stolen my Oscars
He trades on my jokes
He makes all my engines go oh oh oh
He put an "e" in the arsenal
A comb in my 'fro
Devine retribution
And away we will go
Hey hey hey hey
Something's happening I can feel it
Moving out of time you'll hear it
Falling in the way you fear it
Jumping thumping shout out something
Jumping thumping shout out something
Listen to the radio
And you will hear the songs you know
Make it effervescent here
And you might have a job my dear
I'm searching for something
Beyond my understanding
Looking for meaning
Where nothing is demanding
There are no surprises
Where nothing is expected
If you offer nothing
Then everyone accepts
He's stolen my Oscars
He trades on my jokes
He makes all my engines go oh oh oh
He put an "e" in the arsenal
A comb in my 'fro
Devine retribution
And away we will go
Hey hey hey hey
Something's happening I can feel it
Moving out of time you'll hear it
Falling in the way you fear it
Jumping thumping shout out something
Jumping thumping shout out something
Listen to the radio
And you will hear the songs you know
Make it effervescent here
And you might have a job my dear

[...] Read more

song performed by Robbie Williams
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Living In A World That Some Can Not Leave

Living high in a castle,
Without a mote.
Isn't easy to do...
When one searches the horizon,
For a delivery...
Of an awaited treasured boat.

And one who demands,
They can command steps quicker...
While jumping double dutch,
Without a visable rope.
Should be left alone...
If a commitment to doing this is shown.

Living in a castle and there is no mote...
And waiting for delivery of a big boat,
While jumping double dutch without a visable rope...
Some need!

People should be left to live lives they believe!

Living high in a castle,
Without a mote.
Isn't easy to do...
When one searches the horizon,
For a delivery...
Of an awaited treasured boat.

And one who demands,
They can command steps quicker...
While jumping double dutch,
Without a visable rope.
Should be left alone...
If a commitment to doing this is shown.

People should be left to live lives they believe!

Living in a castle and there is no mote...
And waiting for delivery of a big boat,
While jumping double dutch without a visable rope...
Some need!

People should be left to live lives they believe!

Living in a castle and there is no mote...
And waiting for delivery of a big boat,
While jumping double dutch without a visable rope...
Some need!

People should be left to live lives they believe!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Jumping off a bridge

I know it is crazy to love you
Its as crazy as Jumping Off a Bridge
But I can't resist the thrill you bring me
The adrenaline

Everything is a mixed up...
When I am around you
I act different...
But I act different around every single male

But its not exactly the same
I stare off into space when I am around you
I stare at you

Usally I would act like a freak
Yelling no if you asked me....
That dreded question
It would run through my mind after it
But I would always say no

Why does that happen?
I say I hate you
Then After an hour I say I like you
Then the next day I say I love you

The three strongest words in life
Runs throught my mind over and over Again

Over and Over Again
Like a broken record player

Jumping off a bridge
Its crazy
Its crazy to love you

Jumping off a bridge
Jumping off a bridge
Jumping off a bridge
Jumping off a bridge

poem by Lynne . Tosh.
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Haley's Got A Harley

Well she don't need nothin from that man no more
No she took it all with her when she walked out the door
I say 1-800-PARTY, that's the number to call
Now Haley's got a Harley and she's leaving it all
Now she's headed out to Sturgis got it all wrapped up in leather
Got her Softail shined up, don't worry about the weather
Yeah she used to be the quiet type, the shyest of all
But now Haley's got a Harley, feelin' ten feet tall
Look at her now, look at her go
Out from the shadows, into the show
Ridin it hard, ridin it low
Flyin her colors, she's ready to roll
Just like the tattoo of an eagle on her shoulder
Yeah, her spirit's wild and free and the party's never over
Well, she's ridin' on the wind just a' wavin at em all
Cause now Haley's got a Harley and she's having a ball
Free as a Bird, watch her in flight
Across South Dakota, into the night
Ridin to live, livin to ride
She calls it heaven, ridin' for life

song performed by 38 Special
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On the Prospect of Peace

______ Sacerdos
Fronde super mitram, & felici comptus oliva.
Virg.

To the Lord Privy Seal

Contending kings, and fields of death, too long
Have been the subject of the British song.
Who hath not read of fam'd Ramillia's plain,
Bavaria's fall, and Danube choak'd with slain!
Exhausted themes! a gentler note I raise,
And sing returning peace in softer lays.
Their fury quell'd, and martial rage allay'd,
I wait our heroes in the sylvan shade:
Disbanding hosts are imag'd to my mind,
And warring powers in friendly leagues combin'd,
While ease and pleasure make the nations smile,
And Heaven and Anna bless Britannia's isle.
Well sends our queen her mitred Bristol forth,
For early counsels fam'd, and long-try'd worth;
Who, thirty rolling years, had oft withheld
The Swede and Saxon from the dusty field;
Completely form'd to heal the Christian wounds,
To name the kings, and give each kingdom bounds;
The face of ravag'd Nature to repair,
By leagues to soften Earth, and Heaven by prayer,

To gain by love, where rage and slaughter fail,
And make the crosier o'er the sword prevail.
So when great Moses, with Jehovah's wand,
Had scatter'd plagues o'er stubborn Pharaoh's land,
Now spread an host of locusts round the shore,
Now turn'd Nile's fattening streams to putrid gore;
Plenty and gladness mark'd the priest of God,
And sudden almonds shot from Aaron's rod.

O thou, from whom these bounteous blessings flow,
To whom, as chief, the hopes of peace we owe,

(For next to thee, the man whom kings contend
To style companion, and to make their friend,
Great Strafford, rich in every courtly grace,
With joyful pride accepts the second place)
From Britain's isle, and Isis' sacred spring,
One hour, oh! listen while the Muses sing.
Though ministers of mighty monarchs wait,
With beating hearts to learn their masters' fate,
One hour forbear to speak thy queen's commands,
Nor think the world, thy charge, neglected stands;

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Tickell
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The Barn at Willoughby's Farm - II

Jacinth's Tale

He was always there on the fringes
Of my world, when just a child,
There wasn't a time he wasn't there
To guide, protect, to chide,
He'd follow me safely home from school,
He'd take me for a ride,
A cousin, so many times removed
From those on my mother's side.

I wasn't the only sibling, but
It was me he called his pet,
The others would get quite jealous
And they'd not let me forget,
‘He carries a torch for you, Jacinth,
And never will let you be! '
But when I was just a teenager
He made me feel like a queen.

He was into his later twenties, then
But he didn't seem to care,
He'd let me dress for a party, then
He'd sit and he'd brush my hair,
There wasn't a friend as good as him
I told my party crowd,
The cuz that lived in the basement
Of our flat, my Tom O'Dowd.

But once I grew as a woman, then
His manner became intense,
He started to irritate me, and
Took issue with all my friends,
‘That fellow isn't the one for you,
He'll only drag you down! '
Or - ‘What in the world are you coming to?
That guy, he's simply a clown! '

He tried to snuggle up closer on
The couch, when I was home,
Started to stroke my hand and knee
When we were quite alone,
I told him I wasn't interested,
That he was merely a friend,
His eyes would follow me round the room,
‘You'll love me, in the end! '

I got upset, and told him straight:
‘I hate it when you cling!
Just leave me be, or Tom, you'll see

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Talkin' Song Repair Blues

(Written by Dennis Linde)
The mechanic raised up from under my hood
He shook his head and said, "This ain't good
Your timin' belt's done, shrunk one size too small
Those spark plug wires are a little too long
And your main prodsponder's nearly gone
Your injector ports are stripped and that ain't all."
"The torque converter's runnin' low on torque
And that water pump's nearly down a quart
But we caught it all in time so you're in luck"
He said, "I've got the time and I've got the parts
Just give me the word and I'm ready to start
I think we can bring her in for eight hundred bucks."
But don't be downhearted, I can fix it for you, sonny
It won't take too long, it'll just take money
Then he said, "Ain't you that songwriter guy?"
I said, "Yes, I am," he said, "So am I."
And he sat down and played me a song by the grease rack
When he finished singin' he gave me a smile
And I closed my eyes and pondered awhile
And he said, "What do you think? Now don't hold nothin' back."
Well, I gave him my most sorrowful look
And I said, "This song's got a broken hook
I can order you a new one from Nashville but it won't be cheap
And I know you've been using a cut-rate thesaurus
'Cause your adverbs have backed up into your chorus
Now your verse is runnin' on verbs that are way too weak."
But don't be downhearted, I can fix it for you, sonny
It won't take too long, it'll just take money
And I said, "Hold on friend now I'm not through
I hate to be the one to give you the news.
But your whole melodic structure's worked itself loose
It's got so many dotted eighth notes in it
I'd keep her under fifty beats per minute
I mean, that's just me talkin', it's really up to you."
And you've got a bad safety problem with
That dominant chord with the augmented fifth
Just see how dangerously high it raises you up
So just go on over there and work on my car
I'll sit here by the fan and chances are
I can straighten this thing out for eig...nine hundred bucks."
But don't be downhearted, I can fix it for you, sonny
It won't take too long
You guessed it
It may be a hit
I like it...

song performed by Alan Jackson
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cymru

Dim in the mist of ages, seeking a resting-place,
Broke on the shores of Britain the wave of an Aryan race.
Clear thro’ the mist of ages, ere ever the White Christ came,
Songs of the Cymric singers have chanted the Brython fame.
Dark with the fate of nations, and swift as a broadspear hurled,
The breath of the God of Battles swept o’er the western world.
Where are the old-time peoples, men of the war-like front,
From the surge of the wild Atlantic to the shores of the Hellespont?
Come and gone like the breezes, ebbed and flowed like the tide
Race and feature and language are lost in that vortex wide!
Rich is thy soil, O Cymru, drenched with thy heroes’ blood,
Where ’mid the changeful æons changeless thy people stood!
Land of the birch and buckthorn, home of the hoary oak,
Where the songs of Llywarch linger, and the words that Merlin spoke!
Land of the tarn and torrent, where broods by the rock-bound springs
The spirit of stern Cunedda, the first of the Brython Kings!
Land of the mellow marshes, deep valley, and barren scar,
Sweet with the dreams of Cadoc, and the lore of Howel Dda!
Where upon dark Pymlimmon the snowy cloudwreaths rest!
Where wild Demetia’s forelands spurn the billows from her breast!
Comes to the heart that loves thee, under the changeful skies,
Rich with a rhythmic measure the surge of the centuries—
Days when the Cymric armies, marching in thousands strong,
Followed the fierce Aneurin, chanting his battle-song—
Deeds of a desperate valour that turned thro’ the wavering years
The thrust of the Roman pila, the rush of the Saxon spears,
The charge of the Norman barons, met by the stern reply
Of a land that had taught the Caesars whether her sons could die.

Men of the blood of Meuric, of Maelgwn, the leonine,
Who smile at the Saxon hierarchs, who laugh at the Norman line,
Who are sprung from the loins of hunters who followed the mighty Hu
Wherever the broad-spear glittered, wherever the battle grew—
Kin of the warrior-princes who sank in the bloody tide
That raged on the field at Hexham where brave Cadwallon died—
Forget not the land that bore you! Be true to the breath that fills
The heart of her singing valleys, the heights of her storm-crowned hills!
The soul of the nation stirreth yet as it did of old
When the helm of the great Pendragon flamed o’er his torque of gold!

The myths of the Greek and Roman dim in the Eastward grew,
And o’er the realms of Asia the banner of Islam blew—
High in the halls of honour, bright on the scroll of fame,
Deep in the hearts of heroes, is written great Arthur’s name.
A star on the heights of morning, clear in the pearl of dawn,
It carried the White Christ’s message wherever a sword was drawn;
It flashed on the heathen darkness, it nursed with its golden ray
The strength of the early Churches that grew under David’s sway.
Ill shall the oak have blossomed and warped shall its branches be,
When Britain forgets to honour the dawn of her chivalry!

[...] Read more

poem by George Essex Evans
Added by Poetry Lover
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Party People... Friday Night

Party, people, hey, its friday night
Were gonna rock this joint until the morning light
Crowd is jumping, hey, it feels all right
Forget monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday, hey, its friday night
Just another day, sitting watching the clock
Tick tock, tick tock, but it feels like its stopped
Wishing time away, pushing monday through to friday
Im dreaming of the crowd; everybodys hanging out
Soft tops down, and were pumping the sounds
I can feel the vibe as were cruising the town
I cant wait til friday comes around
When the working week is done, got my money, and now, Im gonna get
Some
Party, people, hey, its friday night
Were gonna rock this joint until the morning light
Crowd is jumping, hey, it feels all right
Forget monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday, hey, its friday night
So, you all ready?
We just keep rocking on
Feeling good
Just til the break of dawn
Do what I gotta do, Ill do what they say,
But I swear that ship is coming my way
Im gonna kiss this place goodbye
Im gonna chase my destiny
Im gonna make it friday every day
When the working week is done, got my money, and now, Im gonna get
Some
Party, people, hey, its friday night
Were gonna rock this joint until the morning light
Crowd is jumping, hey, it feels all right
Forget monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday, hey, its friday night
Party, people, hey, its friday night
Were gonna rock this joint until the morning light
Crowd is jumping, hey, it feels all right
Forget monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday, hey, its friday night
Bring, bring, telephone rings; tell me, baby, what youre saying
I know, sometimes, its hard to take it; trust me, baby, just believe
It
Monday, I know it goes so slow; tuesday, oh, I just dont know
Wednesday drives you crazy; thursdays over, man, its friday
Party, people, hey, its friday night
Were gonna rock this joint until the morning light
Crowd is jumping, hey, it feels all right
Forget monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday, hey, its friday night

song performed by 911
Added by Lucian Velea
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