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There's this unspoken club where you say to each other: Oh God, if they only knew how ordinary I was, they wouldn't be interested. That includes movie stars and politicians.

quote by Margot Kidder
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She Ain't Your Ordinary Girl

(Robert Jason)
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She don't love carelessly that's what I've always heard
'Can't use the usual lines she measures every word
No empty promises proof is what it takes to win her heart
The truth and nothing less, simple things that set her far apart
Save your diamonds and your furs she's not your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary, no she's not
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary, oh no
She ain't your ordinary girl
No midnight alibis, no foolish games for her
And if you cross the line you'll get what you deserve
But when you see her smile nothing seems to matter anymore
And in a little while you'll feel like you've never felt before
Like no other in the world, she's not your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary, no she's not
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary, oh no
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
Save your diamonds and your furs, she ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl
She ain't your ordinary
She ain't your ordinary girl

song performed by Alabama
Added by Lucian Velea
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Satan Absolved

(In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groups conversing.)
Satan. To--day is the Lord's ``day.'' Once more on His good pleasure
I, the Heresiarch, wait and pace these halls at leisure
Among the Orthodox, the unfallen Sons of God.
How sweet in truth Heaven is, its floors of sandal wood,
Its old--world furniture, its linen long in press,
Its incense, mummeries, flowers, its scent of holiness!
Each house has its own smell. The smell of Heaven to me
Intoxicates and haunts,--and hurts. Who would not be
God's liveried servant here, the slave of His behest,
Rather than reign outside? I like good things the best,
Fair things, things innocent; and gladly, if He willed,
Would enter His Saints' kingdom--even as a little child.

[Laughs. I have come to make my peace, to crave a full amaun,
Peace, pardon, reconcilement, truce to our daggers--drawn,
Which have so long distraught the fair wise Universe,
An end to my rebellion and the mortal curse
Of always evil--doing. He will mayhap agree
I was less wholly wrong about Humanity
The day I dared to warn His wisdom of that flaw.
It was at least the truth, the whole truth, I foresaw
When He must needs create that simian ``in His own
Image and likeness.'' Faugh! the unseemly carrion!
I claim a new revision and with proofs in hand,
No Job now in my path to foil me and withstand.
Oh, I will serve Him well!
[Certain Angels approach. But who are these that come
With their grieved faces pale and eyes of martyrdom?
Not our good Sons of God? They stop, gesticulate,
Argue apart, some weep,--weep, here within Heaven's gate!
Sob almost in God's sight! ay, real salt human tears,
Such as no Spirit wept these thrice three thousand years.
The last shed were my own, that night of reprobation
When I unsheathed my sword and headed the lost nation.
Since then not one of them has spoken above his breath
Or whispered in these courts one word of life or death
Displeasing to the Lord. No Seraph of them all,
Save I this day each year, has dared to cross Heaven's hall
And give voice to ill news, an unwelcome truth to Him.
Not Michael's self hath dared, prince of the Seraphim.
Yet all now wail aloud.--What ails ye, brethren? Speak!
Are ye too in rebellion? Angels. Satan, no. But weak
With our long earthly toil, the unthankful care of Man.

Satan. Ye have in truth good cause.

Angels. And we would know God's plan,
His true thought for the world, the wherefore and the why
Of His long patience mocked, His name in jeopardy.

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Poem: Will You Travel With Me To Heaven?

When you wake up in the morning
From a dream you think is okay
You see your spouse and family
Get ready for another day

The dream you saw, the things you see
The bed on which you soundly sleep
Your kids all grown up, your husband
And old memories that you keep

Who do you think created them?
Were they created from nothing?
If there is no god who made these
All, then what's the point of living?

D'you think we were made from nothing
Then from nothing we live for fun
To eat and drink, to love and hate
Then when we die, what comes is none?

The eyes with which your body sees
Those sockets that keep your eyeballs
The mouth you use for food and speech
The way you answer random calls

The languages you use to speak
And another –your mother tongue-
The way you carry yourself, and
How you breathe through your heart and lungs

The muscles that stretch when you smile
Your friends who often make you laugh
The words you try to understand
And how you sign your name so fast

Your kids who once stayed in your womb
The months you carried them in you
Your feelings when you saw their first
Walk and when they smile back at you

The food you eat and cook each day
The rainfalls that fall from above
The earth you walk on each night and

[...] Read more

poem by Miriam Mababaya
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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
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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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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Sobre Horizontes

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soccer back pack bags

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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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
Added by Lucian Velea
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Our God is a God of mercy and of grace. (Gerald Albright's Kicking it up #6)

God, I just do not understand why
You treat me so good everyday.
In spite of all of my sins and all of my mistakes,
You are still good to me.
Yes, you are; my God really is.

My God is so wonderful.
He has provided for all of my needs.
He created the sun to shine brightly everyday.
God has supplied the very air that I breathe.
Yes, He does.

My God is so good to me each day.
He has provided for all of my needs.
God sends out the cooling invisible breeze.
He produced all of the food that I eat.
Yes he does; now help me say it.

Our God is a God of mercy.
He truly deserves all of our praise.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.

Our God is a God of mercy.
He wakes us up every single day.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.

My God is so wonderful.
He provides me with His grace each day.
All I need to do is confess my sins to Him,
He has promised to forgive every one.
Yes, He does.
All that God has ask me to do
Is give to Him all of my praise every day.
By the life that I have chosen to live
I must show the world that my God is.
Now open your mouth and help me praise Him.

Our God is a God of mercy.
He truly deserves all of our praise.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.

Our God is a God of mercy.
He wakes us up every single day.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.

Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.

[...] Read more

poem by Reginald Walker
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Jubilate Agno: Fragment B, Part 2

LET PETER rejoice with the MOON FISH who keeps up the life in the waters by night.

Let Andrew rejoice with the Whale, who is array'd in beauteous blue and is a combination of bulk and activity.

Let James rejoice with the Skuttle-Fish, who foils his foe by the effusion of his ink.

Let John rejoice with Nautilus who spreads his sail and plies his oar, and the Lord is his pilot.

Let Philip rejoice with Boca, which is a fish that can speak.

Let Bartholomew rejoice with the Eel, who is pure in proportion to where he is found and how he is used.

Let Thomas rejoice with the Sword-Fish, whose aim is perpetual and strength insuperable.

Let Matthew rejoice with Uranoscopus, whose eyes are lifted up to God.

Let James the less, rejoice with the Haddock, who brought the piece of money for the Lord and Peter.

Let Jude bless with the Bream, who is of melancholy from his depth and serenity.

Let Simon rejoice with the Sprat, who is pure and innumerable.

Let Matthias rejoice with the Flying-Fish, who has a part with the birds, and is sublimity in his conceit.

Let Stephen rejoice with Remora -- The Lord remove all obstacles to his glory.

Let Paul rejoice with the Scale, who is pleasant and faithful!, like God's good ENGLISHMAN.

Let Agrippa, which is Agricola, rejoice with Elops, who is a choice fish.

Let Joseph rejoice with the Turbut, whose capture makes the poor fisher-man sing.

Let Mary rejoice with the Maid -- blessed be the name of the immaculate CONCEPTION.

Let John, the Baptist, rejoice with the Salmon -- blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus for infant Baptism.

Let Mark rejoice with the Mullet, who is John Dore, God be gracious to him and his family.

Let Barnabus rejoice with the Herring -- God be gracious to the Lord's fishery.

Let Cleopas rejoice with the Mackerel, who cometh in a shoal after a leader.

Let Abiud of the Lord's line rejoice with Murex, who is good and of a precious tincture.

Let Eliakim rejoice with the Shad, who is contemned in his abundance.

Let Azor rejoice with the Flounder, who is both of the sea and of the river,

Let Sadoc rejoice with the Bleak, who playeth upon the surface in the Sun.

[...] Read more

poem by Christopher Smart
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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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I Have A Woman Inside My Soul

I have a woman inside my soul,
Her eyes sombre and sad.
She waves her hand to try to reach me,
But I cant hear what she says.
I wish I knew what she says,
I wish I knew what she wants,
I wish I knew what she says to me,
I wish I knew what she means to me.
I see an asphalt road inside my soul,
Its pale even in a warm summers day.
It stretches into the mist and calls me,
But I dont know what it takes.
I wish I knew what it takes, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it gives, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it says to me, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it means to me. (I wish I knew)
I see a tombstone inside my soul,
Its old and mossy, covered in dead leaves.
It stands with an engraving on it surface,
But I dont know what it reads.
I wish I knew what it reads, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it says, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it says to me, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it means to me. (I wish I knew)
(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, hey)
I feel snow covering inside my soul,
Its hard and shining in shades of grey.
No footsteps ever made their marks,
And I dont know when it melts.
I wish I knew when it melts, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew when it happens, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew if it happens at all, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it means to me. (I wish I knew)
I hear a stream running inside my soul,
Its cold and clear and carries a tune.
But I dont know what it sings and tells,
I dont know where it goes.
I wish I knew what it sings,
I wish I knew where it goes,
I wish I knew what it sings, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew where it goes, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it sings. (I wish I knew)
(I wish I knew)
(I wish I knew) (yeah!)
(I wish I knew)
(I wish I knew)

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Saw It Myself (Short Verse Drama)

Dramatis Personae: Adrian, his wife Ester, his sisters Rebecca and Johanna, his mother Elizabeth, the high priest Chiapas, the disciple Simon Peter, the disciple John, Mary Magdalene, worshipers, priests, two angels and Jesus Christ.

Act I

Scene I.- Adrian’s house in Jerusalem. Adrian has just returned home after a business journey in Galilee, in time to attend the Passover feast. He sits at the table with his wife Ester and his sisters, Rebecca and Johanna. It’s just before sunset on the Friday afternoon.

Adrian. (Somewhat puzzled) Strange things are happening,
some say demons dwell upon the earth,
others angelic beings, miracles take place
and all of this when they had put a man to death,
had crucified a criminal. Everybody knows
the cross is used for degenerates only!

Rebecca. (With a pleasant voice) Such harsh words used,
for a good, a great man brother?
They say that without charge
he healed the sick, brought back sight,
cured leprosy, even made some more food,
from a few fishes and loafs of bread…

Adrian. (Somewhat harsh) They say many things!
That he rode into Jerusalem
to be crowned as the new king,
was a rebel against the state,
even claimed to be
the very Son of God,
now that is blasphemy
if there is no truth to it!

Johanna. I met him once.
He’s not the man
that you make him, brother.
There was a strange tranquilly to Him.
Some would say a divine presence,
while He spoke of love that is selfless,
visited the sick, the poor
and even the destitute, even harlots.

Adrian. (Looks up) There you have it!
Harlots! Tax collecting thieves!
A man is know by his friends,
or so they say and probably
there is some truth to it.

Ester. Husband, do not be so quick to judge.
I have seen Him myself, have seen
Roman soldiers marching Him to the hill
to take His life, with a angry crowd
following and mocking Him.

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poem by Gert Strydom
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The Manuscript of Saint Alexius

There came a child into the solemn hall
where great Pope Innocent sat throned and heard
angry disputings on Free-Will in man,
Grace, Purity, and the Pelagian creed--
an ignorantly bold poor child, who stood
shewing his rags before the Pope's own eyes,
and bade him come to shrive a beggar man
he found alone and dying in a shed,
who sent him for the Pope, "not any else
but the Pope's self." And Innocent arose
and hushed the mockers "Surely I will go:
servant of servants, I." So he went forth
to where the man lay sleeping into death,
and blessed him. Then, with a last spurt of life,
the dying man rose sitting, "Take," he said,
and placed a written scroll in the Pope's hand,
and so fell back and died. Thus said the scroll:

Alexius, meanest servant of the Lord,
son of Euphemianus, senator,
and of Aglaia, writes his history,
God willing it, which, if God so shall will,
shall be revealed when he is fallen asleep.
Spirit of Truth, Christ, and all saints of Heaven,
and Mary, perfect dove of guilelessness,
make his mind clear, that he write utter truth.

That which I was all know: that which I am
God knows, not I, if I stand near to Him
because I have not yielded, or, by curse
of recreant longings, am to Him a wretch
it needs Such grace to pardon: but I know
that one day soon I, dead, shall see His face
with that great pity on it which is ours
who love Him and have striven and then rest,
that I shall look on Him and be content.

For what I am, in my last days, to men,
'tis nothing; scarce a name, and even that
known to be not my own; a wayside wretch
battening upon a rich lord's charity
and praying, (some say like the hypocrites),
a wayside wretch who, harboured for a night,
is harboured still, and, idle on the alms,
prays day and night and night and day, and fears
lest, even praying, he should suddenly
undo his prayer and perish and be great
and rich and happy. Jesu, keep me Thine.

Father and mother, when ye hear of me,

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poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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For Me You Are…………

Building the wall of confidence, all around my ribs
Inspiring, when am alone, even in noise
Showing me, the fairy way, when I get confused
Hauling me from, those atrocious affairs, that matters
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Pursuing illusion, enlightening my life
Reaching, as a shadow at the time of tide
Intimacy, in the dream that comes into my mind
Yielding smile at my labor, creating zeal at my failure
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
At every insult and every admire
Youth mind, mine even if retires
Occupying for me, the seat of mentor
Uprooting all solitary despairs
Aspiring not to be worry, else to fear
Reinforcing skeleton by self-esteem of yours
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Enriching my each moment, being even so bare
Animating my life, that anyone can't imagine
Nursing me, to special from alone
Grasping me in the midst of up and down
Enlivening those deadly postures of dreams
Lightening by a heavy power as thunderstorm
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Forgiving me for each-every mistakes done
Organizing such beautiful ceremonies
Rearranging me, trying to make me genuine
My life you are, I can't remain alone
Eagerly, have awaited for you, oh my feminine!
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life

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poem by Nibedit Nahak
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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

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poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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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:

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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Jubilate Agno: Fragment B, Part 1

Let Elizur rejoice with the Partridge, who is a prisoner of state and is proud of his keepers.

Let Shedeur rejoice with Pyrausta, who dwelleth in a medium of fire, which God hath adapted for him.

Let Shelumiel rejoice with Olor, who is of a goodly savour, and the very look of him harmonizes the mind.

Let Jael rejoice with the Plover, who whistles for his live, and foils the marksmen and their guns.

Let Raguel rejoice with the Cock of Portugal -- God send good Angels to the allies of England!

Let Hobab rejoice with Necydalus, who is the Greek of a Grub.

Let Zurishaddai with the Polish Cock rejoice -- The Lord restore peace to Europe.

Let Zuar rejoice with the Guinea Hen -- The Lord add to his mercies in the WEST!

Let Chesed rejoice with Strepsiceros, whose weapons are the ornaments of his peace.

Let Hagar rejoice with Gnesion, who is the right sort of eagle, and towers the highest.

Let Libni rejoice with the Redshank, who migrates not but is translated to the upper regions.

Let Nahshon rejoice with the Seabreese, the Lord give the sailors of his Spirit.

Let Helon rejoice with the Woodpecker -- the Lord encourage the propagation of trees!

Let Amos rejoice with the Coote -- prepare to meet thy God, O Israel.

Let Ephah rejoice with Buprestis, the Lord endue us with temperance and humanity, till every cow have her mate!

Let Sarah rejoice with the Redwing, whose harvest is in the frost and snow.

Let Rebekah rejoice with Iynx, who holds his head on one side to deceive the adversary.

Let Shuah rejoice with Boa, which is the vocal serpent.

Let Ehud rejoice with Onocrotalus, whose braying is for the glory of God, because he makes the best musick in his power.

Let Shamgar rejoice with Otis, who looks about him for the glory of God, and sees the horizon compleat at once.

Let Bohan rejoice with the Scythian Stag -- he is beef and breeches against want and nakedness.

Let Achsah rejoice with the Pigeon who is an antidote to malignity and will carry a letter.

Let Tohu rejoice with the Grouse -- the Lord further the cultivating of heaths and the peopling of deserts.

Let Hillel rejoice with Ammodytes, whose colour is deceitful and he plots against the pilgrim's feet.

Let Eli rejoice with Leucon -- he is an honest fellow, which is a rarity.

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poem by Christopher Smart
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Ordinary Girl

I see her there in her plain print dress and her fading youth
Something about her opens up my soul
Something about her speaks the truth
When the sky is falling
She makes the world go away baby and I tell the truth
Theres a plainness and a sameness to her touch
Oh yeah and its beautiful
I love an ordinary girl
Oh shes just an ordinary girl
I say I love you I know its just an ordinary sound
We make love in our ordinary house
Yeah its built on common ground and we know it baby
We go out walking on an friday night in ordinary town
Theres a sameness and a plainness to it all
Oh yeah and its beautiful
I love an ordinary girl
Yeah shes just an ordinary girl
Another day, another battle
We shake the cage, our sabers rattle
Nothing that matters comes easy
Nothing that comes easy ever really matters
Oh (everything I am) shes an ordinary girl (anything I plan)
I love her (for everything that I stand)
Shes an ordinary girl (Im just an ordinary man)
Yeah shes (in everything I do) just an ordinary girl
(in everything thats true) I love her (in everything I plan)
Just an ordinary girl (Im an ordinary man)...

song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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Unspoken Words

My thoughts are going back - back to the time
When I was young to live a life
A life of lies - full of lies
Then you came into my life
And youve changed so many things
That Ive done before - that Ive done before
Without you Ive been so alone
Dont leave me this way
Without you Ive been so alone
Dont leave me this way
You treated me the right way
You always said dont give up
Some day you will see what I have done
And when I start thinking about me
Then I find out
You did it right - just right
Without you Ive been so alone
Dont leave me this way
Without you Ive been so alone
Dont leave me this way
Unspoken words - so many unspoken words
They cannot lie to me anymore
Unspoken words - words so full of meaning
They cannot lie, theyre from inside
Unspoken words
Back to start again - were working still together
More than ever - better than before
Better than before
Without you Ive been so alone
Dont leave me this way
Without you Ive been so alone
Dont leave me this way - dont leave me this way
Unspoken words - so many unspoken words
They cannot lie to me anymore
Unspoken words - words so full of meaning
They cannot lie, theyre from inside
All those unspoken words so many, many unspoken words
They cannot lie to me anymore, oh yeah
Without you Ive been so alone
Dont leave me this way, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Unspoken words...

song performed by U. D. O.
Added by Lucian Velea
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