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At Sun, we have a special number you can call if there is something important happening.

quote by James Frank
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Can Call Me Al

A man walks down the street
He says why am I soft in the middle now
Why am I soft in the middle
The rest of my life is so hard
I need a photo-opportunity
I want a shot at redemption
Dont want to end up a cartoon
In a cartoon graveyard
Bonedigger bonedigger
Dogs in the moonlight
Far away my well-lit door
Mr. beerbelly beerbelly
Get these mutts away from me
You know I dont find this stuff amusing anymore
If youll be my bodyguard
I can be your long lost pal
I can call you betty
And betty when you call me
You can call me al
A man walks down the street
He says why am I short of attention
Got a short little span of attention
And wo my nights are so long
Wheres my wife and family
What if I die here
Wholl be my role-model
Now that my role-model is
Gone gone
He ducked back down the alley
With some roly-poly little bat-faced girl
All along along
There were incidents and accidents
There were hints and allegations
If youll be my bodyguard
I can be your long lost pal
I can call you betty
And betty when you call me
You can call me al
Call me al
A man walks down the street
Its a street in a strange world
Maybe its the third world
Maybe its his first time around
He doesnt speak the language
He holds no currency
He is a foreign man
He is surrounded by the sound
The sound
Cattle in the marketplace
Scatterlings and orphanages
He looks around, around
He sees angels in the architecture
Spinning in infinity
He says amen! and hallelujah!
If youll be my bodyguard
I can be your long lost pal
I can call you betty
And betty when you call me
You can call me al
Call me al

song performed by Paul Simon
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Can Not Have It Both Ways

You can not have it both ways.
You can not market decadence.
And then preach about its ill affects.
Especially when you have enjoyed it the best!

You can not sit in judgement to condemn.
When every rule and law that is made...
You are the first to be found breaking them!

You can not profess what should be right for others...
When you do what you please,
Wherever you wish to express your druthers.

And you are certainly no example,
To a way of life you defend.
When standards you believe should be followed...
You can not uphold yourself.
If you begged, steal or borrowed.
Without becoming offensive about your whims.

And deceit and stealing...
Are not unfamiliar to you!
In fact...
Did you not teach how,
To succeed using that?
Aren't you the one to climb to heights...
By keeping others back?

Would you like to redo,
Your own tainted tracks?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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All These Busy Busy Entrepreneurial Poets

All these busy, busy entrepreneurial poets
trying to substitute their usefulness for talent.
If you can't sing well enough to bear your own voice
to get lovers and applause on your own merits,
manage a band, control those who can,
network like gyspy moths in a Dutch elm,
take two creative writing courses
from a narcissistic mystagogue projecting
the fraud of the Wizard of Oz on the unsuspecting
listening to a firefly of talent talking like a starmap
about shining, about black holes and supernovas
dark energy and gravitational eyes, and the myriad galaxies
he teaches on the lower rung of a swing
in an institutionalized aviary of higher learning
as if the closest he's ever been to the light
was a dead starfish among the usual relics of a low tide
or sodden firecrackers of insight on a Halloween night.
He teaches you to take out whatever there was never much of
to put in. To strike the definite article
like crab grass out of your well-mown lawn
so you ending up writing in the patois of a robot.

Listen to this swarming starcluster of gnats
in the sunset of the word that's wondering
where all the songbirds went. Maybe it's me
and I've grown reactionary without knowing it
into a vicious old age but I swear my stomach
can't turn another page of a saddle-stitched chapbook
that reads the tea leaves in the broken skull-cup of the moon
like a bowl of soggy cornflakes that taste like breakfast haikus.
You can't live like a maggot and write
like a wounded dragon of the soul. You can't
paint a tsunami in watercolours and claim you know
what it's like to be caught up in the emotional undertow
of a tidal pool that threatened to sweep you out to sea
until your guru or your shrink reminded you like a tugboat
you have to sink before you can call yourself a shipwreck.

I think of Van Gogh. I think of the intensity of a man
of immense humanity, and it occurs to me if he were sitting
on your saffron sectional in your coffee-book living room,
going on obsessively about the nutritional value of cadmium yellow
you'd commit the same sin of omission and condemn him
to his solitude like an asylum for the underfed
listening to the voices in their head telling them
they're better off mad or dead than living on
the aesthetically modified junkfood
you dropp in their begging bowls like chump change.
And, o yes, wouldn't you just be the exception to the rule
who knew how to tell the difference between a sad joke
and the rage of a sacred fool eating his palette like buttered toast.

I think of all the poets that have been crucified
as a proxy for you like kings and queens of the waxing year,
as you try to step into their shoes like the waning twin
who isn't Orphically dismembered between July and December
to ensure the creative fertility of your cloned cornflakes.
Merd! Rimbaud screamed as he stuck a knife
through the hand of a pompous muse-molesting poetaphile
and abandoned his rational dissociation of the sensibilities,
denying he ever wrote poetry, to run guns in Ethiopia.
A temper tantrum over the point size of your name
on a poetry poster and the publishing hierarchy
that sorts the planets out from the shepherd moons
by the order in which you've been asked to read
isn't the same as the creative demonism of a real enfant terrible.

You can't rent a ghost in a creative writing class
and then wear its deathmask around as if your persona
were tragically haunted by the past. Or pretend
you're a bad ass from a bourgeois suburb where
the closest you ever got to a slum
was your Mommy's makeshift studio basement
and an album cover you shot on the wrong side of the tracks.
Fifteen minutes of fame in a photo op with a candleflame
isn't enough to shed a lot of light on a regressively darkling world,
or even turn the head of a single sunflower.
You need more than a flashlight to get a rose to bloom.
You might be the loudest toad on the biggest lily pad
in a small pond, sounding off like popcorn
in the lobby of your own double-feature,
but you lick your sticky fingers clean with a long tongue
when you sup with the devil like an award-winning liar
and there's no long oar of a spoon in your lifeboat.
And even when you claim to be a damselfly in distress
I don't see any starmud caked on your winged heels
after you say you crushed the head of the snake
that bit Persephone in the spring while she gathered wildflowers.
You might sleep with the Lord Of Jewels, but who said
you could sing? Though I like the bling
of all your dangling participles ringing like wind-chimes
in synch with the dissonant cosmic hiss of universal bliss.

Kunaikos. Dog. In classical Greek. Diogenes the Cynic
asked Alexander to get out of his light, not turn it off
because the music was over and all there was left to glean
were the random seed words of an abandoned alphabet
that will never come to flower like sacred syllables
in the mouths of scavenging birds pecking among the pebbles
at the feet of a crucified scarecrow where the literati
are rolling snake eyes for the emperor's new clothes.
What did Horace say when he'd had enough?
Terence, this is stupid stuff. As the cynics bark
like barnyard dogs at every shadow and blade of grass
that moves in the dark woods beyond the knotted chains
of their dying dactyls while the wolves bay elegiacally at the moon.

Which page of this book did you suffer the most to write?
Clever the way you put the climax of the narrative on the cover.
Best place to hide is out in the open. And, my God,
just look at the quality of the quotes you've
called into court like a twitter account to verify
your inability to write an alibi for why
your works aren't literate enough to speak for themselves.
Odious the stink of number 2 book paper and hot ink.
Worse the lack of the use of your nose when you're writing.
Or the way you abuse your eyes by looking at the world
through a glass darkly as if you were aging the wines of life
like a total eclipse of the new moon in an antique inkwell
no one draws inspiration from anymore since the bottom
fell out of the bucket when you replaced the Pierian spring
with an unenlightened fire hydrant in a volunteer fire brigade.

And who more reasonable than you about
all the aesthetic atrocities going on in the world.
When murder is done I know of no one
more eloquent than you about not raising your voice
for fear of polarizing the situation unnecessarily.
But peace isn't a euphemism for cowardice
and if your words aren't guilty of precipitating a confrontation
then your critically acclaimed silence is complicit.
When did the sheep start practising hunting magic?
When did the m.b.a.s start chanting like Druids
and the gleemen of the king make a jest of their calling?
Are you still experimenting with taking all those
tiny fractals and digital pixels of retinal experience
and one day elaborating them by cutting and pasting
into a unified field theory of the visionary continuum
that focuses on the infrastructure of the scaffolding
at the expense of Michelangelo who had to scramble up on it
like monkey bars in a playpark to paint the origin of the species
as he saw it in his imagination before the plaster dried?

Here, if you give me an award, I'll make one up of my own
and give it back to you in return. That way everyone
can feel special about their mediocrity. Watch out, Mozart
here comes the lunar fire of the lime they throw on your corpse
like desiccated moonlight before the dirt. Burn, baby, burn.
The fire hydrants are learning to play the harpsichord like amputees.
And Keats is trying to pick out a more buoyant font
than the lead of his despair to write his name in water.
The roots are dead, the leaves are gone, the blossom flown,
the fruit has dropped and the branches dry and brittle
as an old woman's bones. Pageants of funeral barges
floating down the Thames like the wilting lilies
of long-necked swans that used to make
the most beautiful compound bows out of the arrows
of their fletched reflections. The timber clear cut
and the underbrush flogged to death by the bush hogs
and snarling chain saws in the mountains of the muses.
What do you think, is Shakespeare still out there somewhere
leafing the stumps with the magic rods of his imagination?
Is all the world still a stage, the airy nothing
he gave a local habitation and a name, or merely the dream
of the crone mother of the muses on her death bed, Mnemosyne,
reaching for a cellphone, trying to remember who she was
before they erased her on facebook and disconnected the internet?

poem by Patrick White
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You Can Begin to Think That Over

I don't know where you are going in such a hurry.
I've got the keys.
You can not get there without me.

Unless you now have decided you want to drive?
And as of yet,
You have not proven to accept a lesson to learn,
For your benefit.

Are you rushing to collect more conflicts?
Or you just want to sit and witness,
To say you had been part of an accepting crowd.

And I am not in that kind of a need.
Nor will I enable those of yours.
Not on my time.

So...
You can begin to think that over.
Or you can choose to remain thoughtless.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Remote And Unconnected, But You Can Assemble Them Yourself

i must have said it before
and here you are telling me that
someone said it,
sort of pretending that it wasn't me

the church that you destroyed
and built again

i missed the old facade
where God must have been there waiting

you changed the lights
paved the way and made it too smooth for me

what i see is a cheap structure
to my utter dismay

but you are too good to be tackled
too kind to be toppled down

and so i healed the rift with a laughter
that you can never hear

there is still the guilt that lives at the bottom of things
but soon i will dislodge it

it does not deserve my dwelling
which is always waiting for something else for something new

the old clothes are burned
old needles shall use new threads to sew another pattern again

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Can Do It

(sands / germinaro / wiesman)
Take your shoes off
Let your hair down
Time for you to get away
Dont you worry bout tomorrow
Or youre gonna miss today
When the madness gets you crazy
til youre lookin for a place to hide
And youre thinking
That youll never
Get yourself some peace of mind
But, you can do it, you can do it
You can do it to your hearts delight
Oh, you can do it with your imagination
And you can do it in real life
Feel the magic of the moment
Let your spirit carry you away
Get in touch with, oh
All your feelings
Youd better find out what they have to say
Oh, you can do it, you can do it
You can do it to your hearts delight
Oh, you can do with your imagination
And you can do it in real life
Feeling free as an eagle
Flying homeward
High in the sky
Youll touch the fire of love inside you
That youre lookin to find
But, you can do it, you can do it
You can do it to your hearts delight
Oh, you can do it with your imagination
You can do it in real life
You can do it, you can do it
You can do it to your hearts delight
You can do it with your imagination
And you can do, can do, do it, do it
You can do it, you can do it
You can do it to your hearts delight
You can do it with your imagination
And you can do it, can do it, do it, do it, yeah, yeah

song performed by Dusty Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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Do You Still Call Me Brother? ?

Brother, so you call me
when your hands are red with blood
whiskers resembles those of vampires, ,
in the dark silent of the night
portraying me like a devil on the cross
am i still your brother?

when without without change in temperature and without any love lost
you ran away from me
..telling your fellow conspirators how i am bad
or is it a better deal you have found
and brother you still call me

when you have led me to believe
that the exposure of your ugly fangs
is a smile, , to be with me
when you have wanted to swallow me alive
brother, ,

is my success you cant stand?
or is it a question for the Lord
why it has not been you
when my star is shining?
..and you still call me call me brother

perfect i know i am not
and nobody is perfect didn't they say that?
i have my human flaws
but should the whole be informed?
courtesy of your generosity
in information about me
and you still part my shoulder
..brother you call me
when my nudity you have exposed?

my GOD is not a human being
to be influenced by the conspiracies theories about me
my blessings shall continue to roar
from all directions of the wind
my calabash shall be filled
and i will soon kiss the clouds

unlike you my brother I
will hold your hand until fate smiles at you
will cover your nakedness until the end of time
will wipe the sweat dripping from your rigid face
..my smile will come from the heart
and i will rejoice in your every success

until the end of time
so it shall remain......
brothers.....

poem by Ole Kuyioni Josphat
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Huckleberry

[d-shot]
Hey now baby, how you be doin?
You been doin fine?
You know you called me last week
I got your message but i was outta state, yaknowhati'msayin?
(now i comes through, just like the hog i am)
It seems you need a little bit of excitement in your life
(all up in her bedroom, til renee humming my tune)
I'm here for you, don't sweat it
(she's got an attitude, i'm just her man)
How your man be treatin you?
(she needs me to get her in the mood)
I know
(i had to hit her, i'm never stairy i'll be yo huckleberry!)
See you can call me any hour, that's how we do it
I'm in and out, and partner you ain't knowin this
She loves you goodly but she's all on a player's tip
Cause you ain't givin, somethin that she really needs
And that's that good ass lovin, partner can't you see
She's bored no trust, she sits in the house all day
While you out there ballin, tryin to have it the kingpin way
She gets no time, your schedule way too deep
You leaves out the house everytime you get a beep
To all you ladies, sweet dark and lovely
See players like me, i likes to taste the easter bunny
I likes to lick you down, give you self esteem
I'm the playboy you want, on your under team
Yo' huckleberry, mackin fast shot-ty
One of them type of ballers on the same level as gotti
So all you tenders, it's all to the good
So page me on the under and i'll creep through yo' hood
*chorus*
If you need some lovin, lovin girl
I'll be yo' huckleberry, berry
And if you need someone to talk to girl, talk to girl
You can call me on the under, under
[e-40]
Lookin at my oyster perpetual rolex, browsin through my rolodex
Baby done left a verbal, want me to hit that girdle
Come through on a tuck, while he's in the shower
Get in on the ease with robbin him, after hour
Slumpin gen-a-talia, regulatin
Cheatin in next room, fun-a-catin
Demonstratin, new and improved moves
Legislatin, perkin drinkin booze
But when you plug it, baby see you soon
You say one day, we gon' jump the broom
It was seven years, and g is faithful for ya
But did she love ya, or was she used to ya
It ain't my fault you got too attached
But don't check me partner, check yo baitch
Wanna know my name, call me 40 pop cherry
I'll be yo huckleberry
*chorus*
[d-shot]
I'm on yo mind, twenty-four seven
When you at work, you calls me at eleven
And that's cool, cause my number won't be on yo' bill
Ohh baby girl all we wanna do is keep it real
No hesitation, we wanna play this game right
But if you feel me, we gots to have our game tight
So we can smob to the beach and pain n all
Rub you down to the canvasol
One hundred miles away, while your man think you at work
That boy shot, is all up in these skirts
If there's a bluebird on my shoulder should i hit him
I turn him around, then from the back that's when i kill him
But hittin it from the back ain't always what i wanna do
I got ta do you hard, so you can tell your crew
That that boy shot knows how to... tuck
He got you givin it up
And you ain't done that in years
That's right
And you ain't done that in years
*chorus*
Keep it on the under, on the under, no one has to know
It's between me and you, take my pager number
You can call me, call me, all times of the day...

song performed by E-40
Added by Lucian Velea
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You don't have to be alone with your thoughts anymore. You don't have to process anything. You can call up someone to do something to instantly make you sort of feel better.

quote by Dennis Quaid
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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So many names

I have so many names
You can call me by any name.
Are you ready to come to me
I am here for you only
To heal you from all diseases.

Open the door of your house
The word the sound enter your house
And you find in every word in each sound
My name is there.

You can call me by any name
That suit you.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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And So I Write This Poem...

because i cannot tell you
exactly the facts,
all the details that may
hurt you
and me at the end
of this
pathway where pebbles
have sharp edges
and mud is sticky and
foul
rotten leaves abound
and worms
are busy eating what
leaf is left,

because i do not want
to hurt you
neither does i want to
suffer
with self-inflicted
injuries

and so i am back
with these lines there is
no way that
you can sense that
there is something blunt
in the vowels
something unspeakable
in my consonants,
as expected,
life in dots and dashes
some blanks
too.....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poor Happy Guy

you are in a situation
that is utterly uniquely yours

you love much
but no one loves you

you make all of them happy
but they only hurt you

you want true love
there is none for you

they will love you because of your money
that has always been the curse from the day you were born

you have all the luxuries, the fame, that honor, that position
you have all the money you can hold

but there is no love for you

well i guess, you must have accepted it
it is but fair: you have it all, except love

on the other hand, there is this guy who is stripped of everything
poor, uneducated, jobless, no house to live, no land to own
no money to spend

but someone loves him so truly
he is silent, but (i do not have to guess) he is absolutely happy

tonight, she is his.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Decided To Be

I am moved by the argument
And would prefer to comment
Not out of any religious concern
But loosing of life in turn

No field is immune from contamination
Daily some exposures are made in this relation
We are supplied with inferior quality
As animals are infested and killed with cruelty

Its minimum use with care is acceptable
Quality assurance can’t be debatable
Apart from compromising the health standards
It is playing with the quality of sub-standards

I belong to a group which believes in non violence
To kill innocent animal is taken as rare incidence
“Live and let others live” is corner stone policy
Not even animals are considered as foe or enemy

We have help line service
You can call it as mercy device
You dial for any accident
They will rush to the sport in a moment

If you are tolerant and patient to human beings
No misery will be caused for anything
This will give you little thought of becoming considerate
You remain with the movement and keep yourself upto date

Your assertion is right when you proclaim
Why to kill animals when we have alternative to claim?
Live stocks are integral part of any system
We must protect and kindly save them

Test once only the vegetarian dish
You will forget the delicious test of fish
Easy to digest and in abundance with variety
Enough of guarantee to protect health with surety

I may not be able to influence
Yet it leaves behind some thought presence
Millions of people live on vegetables
You won’t find place for reserve tables

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite

(berry/buck/mills/stipe)
This here is the place I will be staying
There isnt a number. you can call the pay phone
Let it ring a long, long, long, long time
If I dont pick up, hang up, call back, let it ring some more
If I dont pick up, pick up. the sidewinder sleeps, sleeps, sleeps in a coil
(chorus)
Call me when you try to wake her up, call me when you try to wake her
Call me when you try to wake her up, call me when you try to wake her
Call me when you try to wake her up, call me when you try to wake her
There are scratches all around the coin slot
Like a heartbeat, baby, trying to wake up,
But this machine can only swallow money
You cant lay a patch by computer design
Its just a lot of stupid, stupid signs
Tell her,
Tell her she can kiss my ass, then laugh and say that you were only kidding
That way shell know that its really, really, really, really me, me
(repeat chorus)
Baby, instant soup doesnt really grab me
Today I need something more sub-sub-sub-substantial
A can of beans or blackeyed peas, some nescafe and ice,
A candy bar, a falling star, or a reading of doctor seuss
(repeat chorus)
The cat in the hat came back, wrecked a lot of havoc on the way,
Always had a smile and a reason to pretend
But their world has flat backgrounds and little need to sleep but to dream
The sidewinder sleeps on his back
Call me when you try to wake her up, call me when you try to wake her
Call me when you try to wake her up, call me when you try to wake her
I can always sleep standing up, call me when you try to wake her
Call me when you try to wake her up, call me when you try to wake her
Call me when you try to wake her up, call me when you try to wake her
I can always sleep standing up, call me when you try to wake her
Call me when you try to wake her up, call me when you try to wake her
I can always sleep standing up, call me when you try to wake her
I can always sleep standing up, call me when you try to wake her
Weve got to moogie, moogie, move on this one

song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight

This here is the place I will be staying.
There isnt a number. you can call the pay phone.
Let it ring a long, long, long, long time.
If I dont pick up, hang up, call back, let it ring some more.
If I dont pick up, pick up... the sidewinder sleeps, sleeps, sleeps in a coil
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
There are scratches all around the coin slot
Like a heartbeat, baby trying to wake up,
But this machine can only swallow money.
You cant lay a patch by computer design.
Its just a lot of stupid, stupid signs.
Tell her,
Tell her she can kiss my ass, then laugh and say that you were only kidding.
That way shell know that its really, really, really, really me.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
Baby, instant soup doesnt really grab me.
Today I need something more sub-sub-sub-substantial.
A can of beans or blackeyed peas, some nescafe and ice,
A candy bar, a falling star, or a reading of doctor seuss;
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
The cat in the hat came back, wrecked a lot of havoc on the way,
Always had a smile and a reason to pretend.
But their world has flat backgrounds and little need to sleep but to dream.
The sidewinder sleeps on his back.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
I can always sleep standing up. call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
I can always sleep standing up. call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. call me when you try to wake her.
I can always sleep standing up. call me when you try to wake her.
I can always sleep standing up. call me when you try to wake her.
Weve got to moogie, moogie, move on this one.

song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Sidewinder Sleep Tonight

This here is the place I will be staying.
There isn't a number. You can call the pay phone.
Let it ring a long, long, long, long time.
If I don't pick up, hang up, call back, let it ring some more.
If I don't pick up, pick up... The sidewinder sleeps, sleeps, sleeps in a coil
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
There are scratches all around the coin slot
like a heartbeat, baby trying to wake up,
but this machine can only swallow money.
You can't lay a patch by computer design.
It's just a lot of stupid, stupid signs.
Tell her,
tell her she can kiss my ass, then laugh and say that you were only kidding.
That way she'll know that it's really, really, really, really me.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Baby, instant soup doesn't really grab me.
Today I need something more sub-sub-sub-substantial.
A can of beans or blackeyed peas, some Nescafe and ice,
a candy bar, a falling star, or a reading of Doctor Seuss;
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
The cat in the hat came back, wrecked a lot of havoc on the way,
always had a smile and a reason to pretend.
But their world has flat backgrounds and little need to sleep but to dream.
The sidewinder sleeps on his back.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
I can always sleep standing up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
I can always sleep standing up. Call me when you try to wake her.
Call me when you try to wake her up. Call me when you try to wake her.
I can always sleep standing up. Call me when you try to wake her.
I can always sleep standing up. Call me when you try to wake her.
We've got to moogie, moogie, move on this one

song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
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Take The Black

The moon is full you can not see
There's something in the air
Sound asleep you're into deep
Protecting your own lair
The lion roar into the night
Yet another foe to slay
Who are you that I see right through
The hunter or the pray?
Too late to hear the final warning
No one can defy the reaper
Voices - Twisted
Calling out your name
Voices - Twisted
Calling for you
Ain't no reason for the rhyme
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
Face to face you bide your time
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
You though you had it all in there
In your little bag of tricks
Insanity won't set you free
As you cross the river Styx
You're out of time your bridges burn
In the undying flame
We'll nail you down to the ground
For you to bear the shame
Too late to hear the final warning
No one can defy the reaper
Voices - Twisted
Calling out your name
Voices - Twisted
Calling for you
Ain't no reason for the rhyme
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
Face to face you bide your time
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Voices - Twisted
Calling out your name
Voices - Twisted
Calling for you
Ain't no reason for the rhyme
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
Face to face you bide your time
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Ain't no reason for the rhyme
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
Face to face you bide your time
Take the Black - Ready to attack

song performed by Hammerfall
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Can Never Buy The Sun

you can buy the Sun
If you build the tower
on the backs of others
to prove you have the power
Until a pyramid of one
Becomes the only answer
But when it inevitably falls
It proves it never mattered

For YoU CaN nEvEr BuY tHe Sun

poem by Kevin Patrick
Added by Poetry Lover
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I Have Grown to Love You

Not connecting on a level,
That evaporates an empty space.
You and I here sitting.
But not face to face.
And yet,
Once alone...
I can fill that vacancy with an imagined love.
A love remembered,
You had graced.
Somehow a fading of that wished,
Had come between us to be replaced.

I hold your hand tighter now,
In memory.
And with more intent...
With you gone.
Then ever I did with you in view...
But not close to me.
And not caring that the time we knew,
Moved on.

And I sat not wanting to be that close to touch.
Not even wishing to be near,
To hold you as such.
As if I had dismissed,
The fragrance of a cherished flower.
Once...
I could not get enough to sniff.
Or lift too high to admire its light!
As the Sun gently kissed.
Admiring it from dawn until night.
Hungering for the meeting of our lips.
Now...
It is with distance,
I have grown to love you!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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You Can't Have Everything

The Queensland sun shines early in the morning
And keeps on burning hotter through the day
And though the Parklands watered by the sprinklers
Through the pale green patches of brown through gray.

But I know of a Land of natural greeness
Where Spring doesn't often come till early May
Though birds from early April on nest building
In that green Country half a World away.

I close my eyes I hear the dipper singing
And wild flowers bloom along the mountain stream
And chaffinch pipes his happy notes to April
And grass is growing and fields look lush and green.

Here in the Gold Coast in deep south of Queensland
The lorikeets and noisy miners sing
They have only known the warmth of the sub tropics
Where Winter's warmer than the northern Spring.

In distant Land above the bracken mountain
The lark is piping in the morning sky
Till lost to view he soars towards gathering rain clouds
And singing ever singing as he fly.

In South Queensland the rain is always welcome
And sun shine all year round and wild birds sing
But I know of a Country green and wetter
Which goes to prove you can't have everything.

poem by Francis Duggan
Added by Poetry Lover
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