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No taxation without respiration.

quote by Tom Feeney
Added by Lucian Velea
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The New Inner-City Slave Plantation

The now-a-day slave or labor force
The ruling-class determines the course
The political master’s pastor contorts
Politics and policy aborts

The new inner city slave-plantation
Human and civil rights violation with extreme taxation

Work like a blind jackass
Support and finance the ruling class
Being bi-partisan-just a mask
Cultured career criminals civilizing crass

The new inner city slave-plantation
Human and civil rights violation with extreme taxation

The political engineers of The Greater Good own
The inner city war-zone
The psychotropic drug sets the tone
Slavery as the new world order is the throne

The new inner city slave-plantation
Human and civil rights violation with extreme taxation

Multi-tasking a labor saving device
Freedom of movement has no right
Monopolized government enslaved all might
The inner city slave- plantation private and prime
Real estate blight

The new inner city slave-plantation
Human and civil rights violation with extreme taxation

The thirteenth amendment of the constitution
On the inner city slave-plantation no social, no economical,
No educational, no political absolution

On the inner city slave-plantation, indentured servants,
Chattel slaves, still considered Black Gold
By the God Fearing slave codes used to control

The new inner city slave-plantation
Human and civil rights violation with extreme taxation

On the new inner city slave-plantation
The American Flag can not wave
Even Democracy is revered as a Black Slave

poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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Taxation Beyond Death

A taxation beyond the grave
A bill without receipt
A rental disagreement
For the socially deceased
A thought of public space
The potential revenue made
To fill the coffers of government
Money from the grave
The subtle moves they placed
Not just a place of mourning
But prime advertising space
Then the service fees incurred
Maintenance and service
Cost too much to the public
It became in our own interest
Or that they would have us know
That the resting land taxation
Was as just and rightful
And so perfectly legal
The coffers filled by coffins
A taxation on the socially deceased
No longer a grave yard
But national rental space

poem by Matthew Holloway
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But we need to quit taxing people upon death. No taxation without respiration.

quote by Steve King
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America is a land of taxation that was founded to avoid taxation.

quote by Laurence J. Peter
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It is the small owner who offers the only really profitable and reliable material for taxation. He is made for taxation.

quote by Auberon Herbert
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Perpetual inspiration is as necessary to the life of goodness, holiness and happiness as perpetual respiration is necessary to animal life.

quote by Andrew Bonar Law
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Canto the Tenth

I
When Newton saw an apple fall, he found
In that slight startle from his contemplation --
'T is said (for I'll not answer above ground
For any sage's creed or calculation) --
A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round
In a most natural whirl, called "gravitation;"
And this is the sole mortal who could grapple,
Since Adam, with a fall or with an apple.

II
Man fell with apples, and with apples rose,
If this be true; for we must deem the mode
In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose
Through the then unpaved stars the turnpike road,
A thing to counterbalance human woes:
For ever since immortal man hath glow'd
With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon
Steam-engines will conduct him to the moon.

III
And wherefore this exordium? -- Why, just now,
In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,
My bosom underwent a glorious glow,
And my internal spirit cut a caper:
And though so much inferior, as I know,
To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour,
Discover stars and sail in the wind's eye,
I wish to do as much by poesy.

IV
In the wind's eye I have sail'd, and sail; but for
The stars, I own my telescope is dim:
But at least I have shunn'd the common shore,
And leaving land far out of sight, would skim
The ocean of eternity: the roar
Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim,
But still sea-worthy skiff; and she may float
Where ships have founder'd, as doth many a boat.

V
We left our hero, Juan, in the bloom
Of favouritism, but not yet in the blush;
And far be it from my Muses to presume
(For I have more than one Muse at a push)
To follow him beyond the drawing-room:
It is enough that Fortune found him flush
Of youth, and vigour, beauty, and those things
Which for an instant clip enjoyment's wings.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Life is aspiration, respiration and expiration.

classic quote by Salvador Dali
Added by Dan Costinaş
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He said it was artificial respiration, but now I find I am to have his child.

quote by Anthony Burgess
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sleepless Symphony

The rain fell steady on the roof
While I lay awake next to her.
Her slumbered sounds while fast asleep
Had scored a midnight symphony:
Each dropp of rain from heaven fell
Made sounds like strings on violins
Each tightly strung and singly tuned
Awaiting for the slightest cue.
A flash, then thunder from the clouds
Commenced the orchestrally sounds
Of euphonic respiration's
And the strings of condensation
Played for an audience of one:
Dreamy arrangements envisioned.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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I Am Your Doctor (feat. Wayne Wonder & Elephant Man)

Intro & Chorus: Wyclef Jean
I am your doctor (Yeah yeah yeah) heres the prescription (Girl!!!)
Two teaspoons of my friendship, a full cup of my love
(Yo Wayne Wonder, you ready to talk to the girls, lets go)
Verse 1: Wayne Wonder (Wyclef Jean)
I will be knockin by the time me come a four
Here comes the doctor baby worry no more
I will bring the remedy baby I will bring the cure
Give you what you want and absolutely I am sure
Take my hand Ill be your man
Let me take you to the sunshine island
I will be your therapy, let it be
You know you need my healing (Wait a minute!!!)
Chorus: Wyclef Jean
I am your doctor (Yeah yeah yeah) heres the prescription (Yeah yeah yeah)
Two teaspoons of my friendship, a full cup of my love
(Gimme some love, gimme some love)
And if your back is hurtin, turn around girl
See, Im your chiropractor (Wayne Wonder: La da dow da dow!!!)
Please!!! Lay on this sofa (Wayne Wonder: Oh na na na now!!!)
And let me message your back (Wayne Wonder: Your back)
So I can feel whats wrong (Girl whats wrong, girl whats wrong, girl whats wrong)
(Yo Wayne, talk to the girls man)
Verse 2: Wayne Wonder (Wyclef Jean)
If you got a problem and you wanna get it fixed
Send for the doctor with the medicine for your chest
Fill your prescription with the right mix
My kiss and I will say what kind of miracle is this
Take my hand Ill be your man
Let me take you to the sunshine island
I will be your therapy, let it be
You know you need my healing (Let me talk to them now)
Verse 3: Wyclef Jean
When you make it to the emergency room (Yeah)
Tell the nurse I said that she dont need no, coverage no, no no no
(Wayne Wonder: Oh na na na now)
Cause I been waitin to operate on you all night
So lay back, relax, feel my hands right through your hair
Chorus: Wyclef Jean
I am your doctor (Oh yeah yeah) heres the prescription
Two teaspoons of my friendship, a full cup of my love
(Wait a minute Elephant Man, talk to di gal dem)
Verse 4: Elephant Man (Wyclef Jean)
Dem call mi Dr. Love, ready fi di surgery gimme di gloves
Mouth to mouth respiration a weh she love
You mi thermometer test har and she hundred above
Give har di lovin and she melt like a fudge
Mi have di PHD, mi qualify mi have mi degree
Fi give she di remedy from a di therapy
Nuh waan see nuh night nurse so she come a mi

[...] Read more

song performed by Wyclef Jean
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The Scribe

I'm being visited more and more seldom
By respiration.
I can't breathe anymore -so I can't write therefore, I live no more.

And here I ask:
The portion of my air I did not breathe
(Since I was gone before the deadline)
Is it worth anything?
At least it could be given to the poor
(If this were possible)
But this is such an absurd parsimony
Of Nothingness.

And further on:
The thoughts I left unwritten
By whom will they be finished? Since grains of sand are not alike
How could a new pen different from mine
Resume the thread exactly from the point I ceased?

And I had just discovered
A handful of great subjects, themes.
I had already improvised - and it did work - my style
Who is the one who will decode my notes
Which I could never organize?

Is it then you who will give answer
To these simple, common sense questions
You Pure Nothingness?

poem by Marin Sorescu, translated by Catalina Iliescu
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Mason

It is but natural
to commit crime.
It is but natural
to get punished.

There are commission
and ommission
and you my mason
make all correction.

That I can take
free respiration
in this temple of
devotion.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Lorbardo

Lorbardo, Queen of the Dwarves is dying. She has passed away from disease.
She’s hardly a century old. To the sad dwarves this really means apologies.
Too many voices lament as the shuddering queen has stopped respiration.
The grieving is immense. The age of Lorbardo has been complete aggression.

poem by Naveed Akram
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A River of Orange

A river of the freshest orange makes her way towards my all,
I am the ocean of karma waters within which she may fall.

Here I swim within myself to honour the perfection of my bodies aspirations,
Here I swim within myself as a thousand spirits sour upon the joy of respiration.

A land of emerald grace hath absorbed the seed of faith and grown
Towards such magnificent proportions that I would never have believed
Had I not know that I would never be deceived by such angelic forms.

A bridge across the ocean casts shadow down upon the waters below,
The monsters of the deep stir in bubbling hibernation for the day,
They wait as the monsters of sleep their time to rise, their time to feed.

I am one alone within the waters orange, un-able to see below the surface,
Unable to see beyond my faith I am left as upon a raft of hope for happiness.
No one hath ever seen the land to which the bridge leads us in his direction
Yet in the distance the silhouette of hills are notated by the erection of their heads,
They too cast their shadow upon the waters deep though not a sun is there in the sky.

Am I to remain upon this voyage for eternity’s duration or am I to land upon those
Distant shores of promise that I was offered in the state of dreamtime wandering?
Have I left my love ones behind to no avail or is there reason for my failings in love?
For here, alone and still upon a karma tide I feel as one with the ocean all,
I feel as though I could fall into the sky and swim just as I feel as though
I have the power to move the mountains, arranging circles out of ancient stone.

The sky is an ocean deep and I’ll never swim whilst I sleep again.
The sky is an ocean deep and I’ll never swim whilst I sleep again.

poem by David Lacey
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Blanket Syd

Here we are as smoke rings in the atmosphere stirred by our maidens
Churning, as spinning in orbit she incites gravity to push.
A rush of nightmares insist upon visions blurred,
I dreamt the night before last of otherworldly eyes beckoning
In the form I recognized as the girl for whom I longed.
A thousand girls have passed my way most without a smile to share,
Thronging in the nightmare riddled with familiar faces.
This girl she’s there beyond the stair fall, beyond dream time
Lost in reality skirting upon the edge as she wills the fall of
Restriction, dissolving friction in an instant, innocence beyond the
Keeping of youth’s grand adventure.

There lies another soul; a lover lost playing the fool.
There she lay begging to the camera, stammering whilst she feeds
From the pool of Apollo’s seed. What greed it is to witness, beyond the
Tendencies of the voyeur.

Dominant in submission, forget restrictions, let it ride.
The wave rises in flowing, I forget he moment, no regrets for the present.
Nowhere to hide, no need to run.

Here I lay on blanket Syd
Awaiting the journey,
Holding no expectations on the trip
Slipping into calms unseen, unknowing
Where I am or where I've been I feel
Reality fades, into shades of floral curls,
Peeling from the lampshade skin shed feeds the dead
Those that lay within singing soft laments by the night,
In repulsion of the nightmare.

Here I lay on blanket Syd
Wondering what it is that lies hidden
Beyond the boundaries of my quests flowing,
Knowledge to quench the thirst of wisdom,
I seek the wisdom to listen and nothing more,

Think not of return to your form, drift, lift, shift,
Think not of the rift between your friends
For all it is we need in the end is someone to care for,
Someone to kiss

My lips have not known touch for an eternity,

Far beyond the valley our maiden lies beyond the wall of sleep
They call it insanity we know it as vanity

Placid is youth beyond the reach of Father times forgiveness.

[...] Read more

poem by David Lacey
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Don Juan: Canto The Tenth

When Newton saw an apple fall, he found
In that slight startle from his contemplation--
'Tis said (for I 'll not answer above ground
For any sage's creed or calculation)--
A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round
In a most natural whirl, called 'gravitation;'
And this is the sole mortal who could grapple,
Since Adam, with a fall or with an apple.

Man fell with apples, and with apples rose,
If this be true; for we must deem the mode
In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose
Through the then unpaved stars the turnpike road,
A thing to counterbalance human woes:
For ever since immortal man hath glow'd
With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon
Steam-engines will conduct him to the moon.

And wherefore this exordium?--Why, just now,
In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,
My bosom underwent a glorious glow,
And my internal spirit cut a caper:
And though so much inferior, as I know,
To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour,
Discover stars and sail in the wind's eye,
I wish to do as much by poesy.

In the wind's eye I have sail'd, and sail; but for
The stars, I own my telescope is dim:
But at least I have shunn'd the common shore,
And leaving land far out of sight, would skim
The ocean of eternity: the roar
Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim,
But still sea-worthy skiff; and she may float
Where ships have founder'd, as doth many a boat.

We left our hero, Juan, in the bloom
Of favouritism, but not yet in the blush;
And far be it from my Muses to presume
(For I have more than one Muse at a push)
To follow him beyond the drawing-room:
It is enough that Fortune found him flush
Of youth, and vigour, beauty, and those things
Which for an instant clip enjoyment's wings.

But soon they grow again and leave their nest.
'Oh!' saith the Psalmist, 'that I had a dove's
Pinions to flee away, and be at rest!'
And who that recollects young years and loves,--
Though hoary now, and with a withering breast,

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Mud

This war's a waste of slurry, and its at-
mosphere is mud,
All is bog from here to sunset. Wadin'
through
We're the victims of a thicker sort of universal
flood,
With discomforts that old Noah never knew.

We have dubbed our trench The Cecil.
There's a brass-plate and a dome,
And a quagmire where the doormat used
to be,
If you're calling, second Tuesday is our reg'-
lar day at home,
So delighted if you'll toddle in to tea!

There is mud along the corridors enough to
bog a cow;
In the air there hangs a musty kind of
woof;
There's a frog-pond in the parlour, and the
kitchen is a slough.
She has neither doors nor windows, nor a
roof.

When they post our bald somnambulist as
missing from his flat
We take soundings for the digger with a
prop.
By the day the board is gratis, by the week
it's half of that;
For the season there's a corresponding drop.

Opening off the spacious hallway is my natty
little suite,
A commodious and accessible abode.
By judicious disposition, with exclusion of
my feet,
There is sleeping room for Oliver the toad.

Though the ventilation's gusty, and in gobs
the ceiling falls—
Which with oral respiration disagrees—
Though there comes a certain quantity of
seepage from the walls,
There are some I knew in diggings worse
than these.

On my right is Cobber Carkeek. There's a
spring above his head,

[...] Read more

poem by Edward George Dyson
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The Happy Bird’s Nest

When on my cottage falls the placid shower,
When ev'ning calls the labourer home to rest,
When glad the bee deserts the humid flower,
O then the bird assumes her peaceful nest.

When sable shadows grow unshapely tall,
And Sol's resplendent wheel descends the west,
The knell of respiration tolls for all,
And Hesper smiles upon the linnet's nest.

When o'er the mountain bounds the fair gazell,
The night bird tells her day-departing jest,
She gladly leaves her melancholy dell,
And spreads her pinions o'er the linnet's nest.

Then harmless Dian spreads her lucid sail,
And glides through ether with her silver crest,
Bidding the watchful bird still pour her tale,
And cheer the happy linnet on her nest.

Thus may some guardian angel bear her light,
And o'er thy tomb, departed genius, rest,
Whilst thou shalt take thy long eternal flight,
And leave some faithful bird to guard thy nest.

poem by George Moses Horton
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The Golden Legend: VI. The School Of Salerno

A traveling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate
of the College.

_Scholastic._ There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield,
Hung up as a challenge to all the field!
One hundred and twenty-five propositions,
Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue
Against all disputants, old and young.
Let us see if doctors or dialecticians
Will dare to dispute my definitions,
Or attack any one of my learned theses.
Here stand I; the end shall be as God pleases.
I think I have proved, by profound research
The error of all those doctrines so vicious
Of the old Areopagite Dionysius,
That are making such terrible work in the churches,
By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East,
And done into Latin by that Scottish beast,
Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain,
In the face of the truth, the error infernal,
That the universe is and must be eternal;
At first laying down, as a fact fundamental,
That nothing with God can be accidental;
Then asserting that God before the creation
Could not have existed, because it is plain
That, had he existed, he would have created;
Which is begging the question that should be debated,
And moveth me less to anger than laughter.
All nature, he holds, is a respiration
Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter
Will inhale it into his bosom again,
So that nothing but God alone will remain.
And therein he contradicteth himself;
For he opens the whole discussion by stating,
That God can only exist in creating.
That question I think I have laid on the shelf!

(_He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and
followed by pupils._)

_Doctor Serafino._ I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain,
That a word which is only conceived in the brain
Is a type of eternal Generation;
The spoken word is the Incarnation.

_Doctor Cherubino._ What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic,
With all his wordy chaffer and traffic?

_Doctor Serafino._ You make but a paltry show of resistance;
Universals have no real existence!

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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