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I've actually been turned down for jobs because I was in Playboy.

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I Could Make A Living Out Of Lovin You

If theres something that needs fixing
Im the man to see
Look me up, Im listed
Just check under b
If youre ever on the spot
Well, Im good with my hands
24-7 Im your handyman
Odd jobs, hard jobs, anything under the sun
Big jobs, small jobs, baby
Chorus:
Id be a rich man, its true
If I could make a living out of lovin you
These two hands know what to do
If I could make a living out of lovin you
I could make a living out of lovin you
Until the work is finished
Well, I dont get paid
I dont mind getting dirty
Thats my middle name
Im in the service business
So I understand
Call me 24-7, Im your handyman
Odd jobs, hard jobs, anything under the sun
Big jobs, small jobs, baby
Chorus:
Id be a rich man, its true
If I could make a living out of lovin you
These two hands know what to do
If I could make a living out of lovin you
If I could make a living out of lovin you
Solo
Tough jobs, rough jobs, say where and when
Ill leave you my card, call when you need me again
Odd jobs, hard jobs, baby
Chorus:
Id be a rich man, its true
If I could make a living out of lovin you
These two hands know what to do
If I could make a living out of lovin you
Id be a rich man, its true
I could make a living out of lovin you
Im a rich man
I could make a living out of lovin you

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If I Could Make A Living Out Of Loving You

If theres something that needs fixing
Im the man to see
Look me up, Im listed
Just check under b
If youre ever on the spot
Well, Im good with my hands
24-7 Im your handyman
Odd jobs, hard jobs, anything under the sun
Big jobs, small jobs, baby
Chorus:
Id be a rich man, its true
If I could make a living out of lovin you
These two hands know what to do
If I could make a living out of lovin you
I could make a living out of lovin you
Until the work is finished
Well, I dont get paid
I dont mind getting dirty
Thats my middle name
Im in the service business
So I understand
Call me 24-7, Im your handyman
Odd jobs, hard jobs, anything under the sun
Big jobs, small jobs, baby
Chorus:
Id be a rich man, its true
If I could make a living out of lovin you
These two hands know what to do
If I could make a living out of lovin you
If I could make a living out of lovin you
Solo
Tough jobs, rough jobs, say where and when
Ill leave you my card, call when you need me again
Odd jobs, hard jobs, baby
Chorus:
Id be a rich man, its true
If I could make a living out of lovin you
These two hands know what to do
If I could make a living out of lovin you
Id be a rich man, its true
I could make a living out of lovin you
Im a rich man
I could make a living out of lovin you

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Playboy To A Man

You had your own way one too many times and now
Youre going to find out what its like
Just what its like, now youre a mess
You wanted something you could never possess
You went your own way one too many nights
You treated her like some small oversight
What in the world makes her think that she can
Turn you from a playboy into a man
Chorus
Shes going to make you suffer tonight
To turn you from a playboy into a man
And when youre worthy of her then she might
Turn you from a playboy into a man
You thought you were the answer to her prayers
The perfect gift that every girl prefers
But thats the trouble cos every girl still thinks youre hers
So there you are with your gold chains jangling
Your lucky charms and jewelry dangling
But when she saw you she turned and ran
To turn you from a playboy into a man
Chorus
You couldnt see that the juvenile things you do
Would drag you down and now that the jokes on you
Youre pretty cold you end as you start
When your facade isnt falling apart
So now youre standing in your underwear
Well now you know just how it feels for her
Youre halfway there you know that she can turn you from a
Playboy into a man
Chorus

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Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;


Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

[...] Read more

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They Call Me A Playboy

They call me a playboy
As I'm making my rounds
Chasing the bright light
Of each night spot in town
Though I never show it,
My heart's breaking in two
They may call me a playboy
But I'm just lonesome for you
I once had a real love
That was when I had you
Now I'll never feel love
With somebody new
This false front I'm wearing
Is just to cover my blues
They may call me a playboy
But. I'm just lonesome for you
--- Instrumental ---
I once had a real love
That was when I had you
Now I'll never feel love
With somebody new
This false front I'm wearing
Is just to cover my blues
They may call me a playboy
But. I'm just lonesome for you
They may call me a playboy
But. I'm just lonesome for you..

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Sobre Horizontes

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soccer background graphics
soccer back pack bags

[...] Read more

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Allegany Camp

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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.


II.

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Reverse Reality

when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision
when one becomes somebody, it is actually nobody
when one happens naturally to be nobody, it is a real somebody by decision

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An Abc Of Inner Peace

inner peace: a to z (© Raj Arumugam, September 2008)

Inner peace is effortless, as it’s always there within.
One just has to see it.

And once one truly sees this inner peace – not with words or just
intellectually, but actually see this inner peace within – it is one’s, always;
no one takes away that…

Nothing and no evil and no violent force or even the most difficult
of circumstances in one’s life can remove that inner peace that one
sees within; but let one see this not as a word, or as a phrase
but as an actuality.

Feel that peace, see that inner peace and let it radiate always – for it is
the harmony within each and it is always one’s own.


A


Let amity be your constant companion….Be at peace with all beings, equally at peace with those near and those far, and thus walk hand in hand with amity as in a bounteous garden…





B


Be mindful of your blessings always…To be alive, to breathe in fresh air;
and to be with the family and the companionship of good fellow-human
beings; and the kindness of strangers; and the creatures of this world
and the flowers that bloom, and to have a place in this marvelous planet
of ours….all these too are blessings….

There is a life of the body in the domain of the physical, and
the legitimate needs of the body are just as important as
one’s inner needs…

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Playboy Mansion

If Coke is a mystery, Michael Jackson History
If beauty is truth, and surgery the fountain of youth
What am I to do?
Have I got the gift to get me through
The gates of that Mansion
If OJ is more than a drink, a Big Mac bigger than you think
If perfume is an Obsession, then talk shows confession
What have we got to lose?
I'll never push my way through
The gates of that mansion
I never bought a Lotto ticket
I never parked in anyone's space
And the banks feel like cathedrals because casinos took their place
Luck, come on down
I wake up, she'll come around
Sex is a kind of religion
We're down for playin' hard luck
I never did see that movie, and I never did read that book
Luck, come on down, let my numbers come around
Don't know if I can hold on
Don't know if I'm that strong
Don't know if I can wait that long
Til the colors come flashing and the lights go on
Then will there be no time for sorrow
Then will there be no time for shame
And though I can't say why
I know I've got to believe
We'll go diving in their pool
It's who you know that gets you through
The gates in the Playboy Mansion
The Playboy Mansion
In the Playboy Mansion
Then will there be no time for sorrow?
Then will there be no time for shame?

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Mack Attack

Its a mack attack, coming from way back
My name is too $hort baby, I dont play that jack
Im from the dangerous crew, and I tell you its true
Everything they say about playboy too
Im $hort dog, aint nothing nice
I drink g-juice and wouldnt cut it with ice
>from the eastside baby, oakland town
Cant understand why Im so down?
Im not a whitewall, Im a vogue
Like a zenith wire wheel I roll
Got a fresh new beat, made to get freak
It was everything you wanted cause I cant be weak
Yeah baby thats it, do the split
Freak nasty all on my tip
I took it to my dj fresh on wax
Put it on the turntable, I got taps
It started burning up, wires smoking
Had to be the sound coming straight from oakland
$hort dog, its a mack attack
My name is too $hort baby, I dont play that jack
One young tender lost all hope
Slapped her in the face with my dunkey rope
Another young sucker tried to front my staff
Saw it on his face when they broke him in half
It was the dangerous crew, and I tell you its true
Everything they say about playboy too
When I say my rhymes, Im never fake
When you start my beat, thats when I break
On you, and it dont stop, and it dont stop, and it wont stop
Cause Im too $hort baby on the microphone and Im macking
Im not a wannabe pimp, I never simp
Since I started walking I had this limp
It was a cool type walk, just like me
The too s-h-o-r-t
I might be young, but I spit this game
I start it with p, and it ends the same
If your brain is lame, remember the name
When its too $hort baby, aint nothing plain
Dangerous music on the microphone
Makes you wanna break your hip bone
Might break your leg, or maybe your back
Grooving to hard to my mack attack
Its really not easy, you know its hard
Sort of just like my gangster car
You know what I mean, vern? its like funny
I mack legit and make all the money
See my capital t on my diamond ring
We hook up the beat and love to swing
So while youre out there grooving back and forth
I want you to scream out sir too $hort (sir too $hort!)

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The Three Sunrises

If Coke is a mystery
Michael Jackson...History
If beauty is truth
And surgery the fountain of youth
What am I to do
Have I got the gift to get me through
The gates of that mansion
If OJ is more than a drink
And a Big Mac bigger than you think
If perfume is an obsession
And talk shows, confession
What have we got to lose
Another push and we'll be through
The gates of that mansion
I never bought a Lotto ticket
I never parked in anyone's space
The banks feel like cathedrals
I guess casinos took their place
Love, come on down
Don't wake her, she'll come around
Chance is a kind of religion
Where you're damned for plain hard luck
I never did see that movie
I never did read that book
Love, come on down
Let my numbers come around
Don't know if I can hold on
Don't know if I'm that strong
Don't know if I can wait that long
'Til the colours come flashing
And the lights go on
Then will there be no time for sorrow
Then will there be no time for shame
And though I can't say why
I know I've got to believe
We'll go diving in that pool
It's who you know that gets you through
The gates of the Playboy mansion
The Playboy mansion
The Playboy mansion
Then will there be no time for sorrow
Then will there be no time for shame
Then will there be no time for sorrow
Then will there be no time for shame

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Atalanta's Race

Through thick Arcadian woods a hunter went,
Following the beasts upon a fresh spring day;
But since his horn-tipped bow but seldom bent,
Now at the noontide nought had happed to slay,
Within a vale he called his hounds away,
Hearkening the echoes of his lone voice cling
About the cliffs and through the beech-trees ring.

But when they ended, still awhile he stood,
And but the sweet familiar thrush could hear,
And all the day-long noises of the wood,
And o'er the dry leaves of the vanished year
His hounds' feet pattering as they drew anear,
And heavy breathing from their heads low hung,
To see the mighty corner bow unstrung.

Then smiling did he turn to leave the place,
But with his first step some new fleeting thought
A shadow cast across his sun-burnt face;
I think the golden net that April brought
From some warm world his wavering soul had caught;
For, sunk in vague sweet longing, did he go
Betwixt the trees with doubtful steps and slow.

Yet howsoever slow he went, at last
The trees grew sparser, and the wood was done;
Whereon one farewell backward look he cast,
Then, turning round to see what place was won,
With shaded eyes looked underneath the sun,
And o'er green meads and new-turned furrows brown
Beheld the gleaming of King Schœneus' town.

So thitherward he turned, and on each side
The folk were busy on the teeming land,
And man and maid from the brown furrows cried,
Or midst the newly blossomed vines did stand,
And as the rustic weapon pressed the hand
Thought of the nodding of the well-filled ear,
Or how the knife the heavy bunch should shear.

Merry it was: about him sung the birds,
The spring flowers bloomed along the firm dry road,
The sleek-skinned mothers of the sharp-horned herds
Now for the barefoot milking-maidens lowed;
While from the freshness of his blue abode,
Glad his death-bearing arrows to forget,
The broad sun blazed, nor scattered plagues as yet.

Through such fair things unto the gates he came,
And found them open, as though peace were there;

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Third Book

'TO-DAY thou girdest up thy loins thyself,
And goest where thou wouldest: presently
Others shall gird thee,' said the Lord, 'to go
Where thou would'st not.' He spoke to Peter thus,
To signify the death which he should die
When crucified head downwards.
If He spoke
To Peter then, He speaks to us the same;
The word suits many different martyrdoms,
And signifies a multiform of death,
Although we scarcely die apostles, we,
And have mislaid the keys of heaven and earth.

For tis not in mere death that men die most;
And, after our first girding of the loins
In youth's fine linen and fair broidery,
To run up hill and meet the rising sun,
We are apt to sit tired, patient as a fool,
While others gird us with the violent bands
Of social figments, feints, and formalisms,
Reversing our straight nature, lifting up
Our base needs, keeping down our lofty thoughts,
Head downward on the cross-sticks of the world.
Yet He can pluck us from the shameful cross.
God, set our feet low and our forehead high,
And show us how a man was made to walk!

Leave the lamp, Susan, and go up to bed.
The room does very well; I have to write
Beyond the stroke of midnight. Get away;
Your steps, for ever buzzing in the room,
Tease me like gnats. Ah, letters! throw them down
At once, as I must have them, to be sure,
Whether I bid you never bring me such
At such an hour, or bid you. No excuse.
You choose to bring them, as I choose perhaps
To throw them in the fire. Now, get to bed,
And dream, if possible, I am not cross.

Why what a pettish, petty thing I grow,–
A mere, mere woman,–a mere flaccid nerve,-
A kerchief left out all night in the rain,
Turned soft so,–overtasked and overstrained
And overlived in this close London life!
And yet I should be stronger.
Never burn
Your letters, poor Aurora! for they stare
With red seals from the table, saying each,
'Here's something that you know not.' Out alas,
'Tis scarcely that the world's more good and wise

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With No Regrets That Can Take My Breath

Oh...
I am a fighter!
With a decision made long ago,
How it was I will live my life.
On my terms.
Knowing I would have to sacrifice.

I have had no doubts about it.
And will do what I feel is right,
For me.
With a living of my life to be,
My own.

I've turned away from those things I can't use.
I've turned away those things I refuse.
I've turned away from everyday headaches.
I've turned away from anything petty,
To get me fed up and upset.

I've turned away from anything petty.
I've turned away from everyday headaches.
I've turned away those things I refuse.
I've turned away from those things I can't use.

Oh...
I am a fighter!
And will do what I feel is right,
For me.

I've turned away from anything petty.
I've turned away from everyday headaches.
I've turned away those things I refuse.
I've turned away from those things I can't use,
To get me fed up and upset.

Oh...
I am a fighter!
And refuse to be fed up and upset!

Oh I know that I am fighter.
And refuse to be fed up and upset!
I refuse to be fed up and upset,
With regrets that can take my breath.

Oh I know that I am a fighter.
With no regrets that can take my breath,
Away.
With no regrets that can take my breath.
With no regrets that can take my breath,
Away.

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You Might Actually Care

So many times my heart leans over
Psst David, look, she's pretty, she's nice, she could be your lover
So many times Heart tells me how great she is
Heart prods me: 'Hey what if that your first kiss '
Heart says: 'You've only seen this side of her but she's actually like this'
Heart says: 'This isn't your idea of her this is her' what hypnosis
Heart says: 'She thinks you're worth it '
Heart says: 'She's wants romance, she wants you, you're a perfect fit'
Heart prods me: 'Wouldn't it be wonderful if...'
Heart says: 'Hey she actually cares, don't wait take the risk '
Heart says: 'Hey come this is your chance, she's like your serif'
Heart says: 'You want her, no you need her, like dawn needs dusk.'
Heart says: 'Don't suppress your feelings you were made for it'

Deceit... could this be deceit... Heart are you my friend?

Because of this, no hopefully in spite of this I think you care
I think that maybe I could say this love, maybe it's love... do I dare?
I think you might actually truly value me
Maybe you don't know to say 'you're worth it' but I hope you think that
I sincerely hope if I love you it's for you, not the you I see
I want to love you for who you really are, I want to love you at
Every single, breathing moment of my life, if I say I love you
It means I want to spend my entire life with you, I really do
So now you see why I can't just walk up and say how I feel
I'm not sure if my heart will ever heal
It's destroyed by lust, deceived by Heart... I don't want to offer you that
No you deserve better, but what if you actually care... I dunno if I was at
Even though I want you to have someone better I can't help it
I love you or so I think, I wish I could take a hit
For you and just not pursue so that someone worthy might find you
I'm sorry for my selfishness too

But maybe you don't care... maybe you'd only accept another
I don't want to fall in love with an idea of you
But maybe you could actually love me
Maybe you return my feelings and because maybe you're the first one
Who actually cares. Or maybe Heart has won
Again... do you actually care? Can I say that I love you?
Or could I let you go?

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The 47% Mitt Romney Calls Welfare Slobs

61% of these 47% percent of Americans that Mitt Romney calls irresponsible and welfare trash work and pay payroll taxes. Many of these 47% are vets, elderly on social security, crippled and hurting people. He doesn't mention soldiers at war during his acceptance speech NOW THIS....24%% of the people voting for the Romney ticket are in this 47% Romney called welfare slobs; they were voting for him but not no more! ! ! ! ! ! I'm sorry the zombies still will. Romney is an outsourcing business man who hid his money in tax shelters around the world. His 47% perspective is just more of his elitist antics. This 47%number has, elderly people on social security, vets and many hurting people. This shows his perspective on social security and medicare way back to the New Deal and President Roosevelt; it shows that he detests entitlement programs for the middle class and poor. He calls them irresponsible and seeing themselves as victims. So condescending, so out of touch....President Obama wants the private sector to lower this statistic of 47% getting government aid by creating jobs. He doesn't want everyone on the government dole but until jobs are created he wants everyone to get a fair shake at the American Dream not just the rich. The republicans and tea party resist any creation of jobs so they don't give him any credit or help. They paint him as a big government socialist because he uses the government to help the people, all of the people. Romney is a 1% representative and disdains a huge portion of the American people. These fat cats outsourced the jobs and now so many industrial jobs are in China with cheap labor and no environmental standards by people like Mitt Romney and Bain Capital. They hide their money in tax shelters then use that same money for lobbyists and use the right wing Supreme Courts ruling on Citizens United calling a corporation a person with first amendment rights so they can pour money into elections without disclosure. Mitt Romney represents this movement of the power of money not freedom. They even define rape or tried to as they bring their sexist elitist perspective into play....we must resist these new rich elites and power hungry shills

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Jobs?

Jobs?
They don't want jobs.
Not the ones they exclaim,
Can make a down payment...
On credited fantasies.
And they want to be able to pay for them.
They want money.
And lots of it.
They are above pushing a broom.
They've been spoiled by 'entitlements'.

That's why those who created those jobs,
Found a cheaper way to produce their products...
Now being made overseas.
With more sweating they get,
From grateful and pleasant employees.
Not discussing their retirement plans,
Or increments of expected raises.

Those employers wanting to survive,
Have prioritized their needs as well.
With a paying of those interested in creating quality...
And not those more involved,
In discussing where they vacation...
During a two hour lunch break.
While complaining what the boss makes...
Or who shops where for a price making eyes pop.
As they within eight hours do exactly what they please.
To leave a job before it is time...
Completing nothing that is due.

Jobs?
They had jobs.
And complained 'aliens' were taking them away.
When blacks began getting tips waiting on tables,
It was soon discovered how they were no longer qualified,
To do menial work.
Since 'some' folks began to realize,
Those menial positions could become very lucrative.

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A Thousand Poems

yeah yeah, nothing for you to boast about –
‘100 good ones would be quite enough…
no, make that 20 – who’s got time for more,
even if they were masterpieces…’

So perhaps, merely a little quiet satisfaction
in a personal kinda way: I guess
retirement years hang heavily for some,
recalling days of authority, command;
others find them richer, busier than ever; or
do just the same jobs as they did so well, except
they don’t get paid for it…

or you can put all your ego in one basket –
try to do the one thing well; after a life
of unfinished jobs and hasty jobs,
and jobs you dreamed of and yet never did…

or, there’s poetry: if speech is actually the Word
that set the cosmos on its merry way, that
sings the praise of gods or human enterprise, or
draws attention to the sunlight on a wall;
melts the heart; reveals, relates
the physical and the metaphysical;
raises the spirits, lights the mind… then,
poetry’s no bad thing
to sieve, to pour a lifetime into;

and if, as the statistics state,
400 of those 1,000 poems get a reading, averaging
two people each, around the world and every day –
then perhaps, a little quiet pride, a hope
that something useful has been tried
in these last years on earth…

a small gift to the fleeting soul,
the ferryman’s so solemn toll
to help it on its way; a fee
to offer; if that were, shall be,
what’s appropriate..

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