Though intelligence is powerless to modify character, it is a dab hand at finding euphemisms for its weaknesses.
quote by Quentin Crisp
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Smack Dab In The Middle
(charles e. calhoun)
(g) - (g7) - (c) - (d7) - (f)
Well, (g) pick me a town in any clime
People like a rockin time
Stay awake both day and night
And everybodys feeling good and right
Then (g7) throw me
(c) smack dab in the middle
Smack dab in the middle
(d7) smack dab in the middle
Well, let me rock and roll to satisfy my (f) soul (g)
I want ten cadillacs and a diamond mill
Ten suits of clothes all dressed to kill
Ten room house and-a some barbecue
And-a fifty chicks none over twenty-two
Then throw me
Smack dab in the middle
Smack dab in the middle
Smack dab in the middle
Well, let me rock and roll to satisfy my soul
I want a lotta bread and gangs of meat
Oodles of butter and something sweet
Gallons of coffee to wash it down
And bi-carbonated soda by the pound
Smack dab in the middle
Smack dab in the middle
Smack dab in the middle
Well, let me rock and roll to satisfy my soul
Well, I want a big jazz band, a lotta dancing girls
A street thats paved with natural pearl
Bring me a wagonload of bonds and stocks
And then open up the doors to fort knox
Then throw me
Smack dab in the middle
Smack dab in the middle
Smack dab in the middle
Well, let me rock and roll to satisfy my soul
Soul, soul, soul
Smack dab, smack dab, smack dab...
song performed by Ry Cooder
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Dab Nab It
You've got to be who you are,
To free yourself of enemies.
You've got to free yourself from others,
Who have nothing but hate to feed!
You've got to be who you are,
To free yourself of enemies.
And you've got to...
Free yourself from others,
Who have nothing but hate to feed!
The days of throwing those sticks and stones are gone!
Leave them on the ground to be walked around.
Prolonging your agonies just to sing a bluesy song.
Can't last long if you know it's wrong!
Leaving you to toss and turn all night long!
Dag nab it...
Let go of bad habits!
Don't pat but grab 'em,
And send them along.
You've got to be who you are,
To free yourself of enemies.
You've got to free yourself from others,
Who have nothing but hate to feed!
You've got to be who you are,
To free yourself of enemies.
And you've got to...
Free yourself from others,
Who have nothing but hate to feed!
Dag nab it...
Let go of bad habits!
Don't pat but grab 'em,
And send them along.
If you knew this was true...
Why do you do whatcha do?
The days of throwing those sticks and stones are gone!
Leave them on the ground to be walked around.
Prolonging your agonies just to sing a bluesy song.
Can't last long if you know it's wrong!
Leaving you to toss and turn all night long!
So dab nab it,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Only Way To Control Things
The only way to control things is with an open hand.
Water on rock
a fist can't do anything to stop the rain
that keeps washing its bloody knuckles
by kissing the raw red buds
of the pain-killing poppies clean.
Anger grows ashamed of itself
in the presence of unopposable compassion
just as planets are humbled by their atmospheres.
The soft supple things of life insist
and the hard brittle ones comply.
Bullies are the broken toys of wimps.
Power limps.
But space is an open hand.
Mass may shape it
but it teaches matter how to move
just as the sky converts its openness
into a cloud and a bird
or the silence nurtures
the embryo of a blue word
in the empty womb of the dark mother
like the echo of something that can't be said.
The only way to control things is with an open hand.
Not a posture of giving.
Not a posture of receiving.
Not a posture of greeting or farewell.
Not hanging on or letting go
but the single bridge they both make
when they're both at peace with the flow.
It's not the branch it's not the trunk
it's not the root it's not the fruit
but the open handedness of its leaves
that is a tree's consummate passion.
Isis tattoos her star on their palms
like sailors and sails
to keep them from drowning
and into the valleys of their open hands
that lie at the foot of their crook-backed mountains
the aloof stars risk the intimacy of fireflies
and fate flows down like tributaries into the mindstream
as life roots its wildflowers on both shores
as if there were no sides to the flowing
of our binary lifelines.
The only way to control things is with an open hand.
You cannot bind the knower to the knowing
as if time had to know where eternity was going
before anything could change.
X marks the spot where all maps are born
[...] Read more
poem by Patrick White
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi
Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Nature
Weather constantly changes.
No character, only dynamic.
Dull and dreary,
Or bitter and cold,
Or bright and shiny.
This is mother nature.
She is of this world.
She dictates the mood.
She affects mine.
Emotions, constantly changing.
Personality has dynamic,
But lacks character.
It is constantly changing.
Bitter and resentful,
Frustrated and annoyed
Happy & joyous.
This is human nature.
It is of this world.
It dictates our mood.
It affects another.
Mother nature cannot be controlled.
For she is not ours.
Yet mother nature controls me,
Though I am not hers.
Together, we must exist.
We must accept each as we both are.
Though one affects the other.
Based on emotion, not character.
During the storm,
The sky is still the sky,
The ground, is still the ground
The sun is still the sun.
This is the character of mother nature.
The snow may cover the ground,
But the ground remains.
The clouds may cover the sun,
But the sun remains.
Character is always constant.
Nature affects character.
Character is patience, kindness,
Compassion, empathy, forgiving.
Plain and simple,
Our character is love.
Human nature covers human character,
Although it might not be seen,
It still remains.
[...] Read more
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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The Poet Sajid Khan's Background.
Our Background
We have figured out what is wisdom and how it can be created on a mass scale.
Wisdom is the wealth of intelligence and just like wealth, wisdom is
nothing on its own! Just like wealth has to be in something else like
gold, real estate, stocks, bank balance etc. Again wisdom is like a
house. A house is the sum of its parts. A house is nothing without its
building blocks. Similarly wisdom is nothing without/but its building
blocks. The building block of wisdom is selflessness. By creating
selflessness we create wisdom.
We have quantified the mind and now emotions can be measured. We are
founders of Wisdom Day, Pure Happiness Seminars, 'Who am I' seminars,
'Third Eye' seminars. We have developed the idea of 'WisdomLand',
'Brain Power Clubs', 'Shy Power Club' and The Wisdom Express. We even
have wisdom toys.
The world is at a loss of how to solve the economic mess. We have the
answers. The human self runs on two wheels. One is intelligence and
the other is emotional-intelligence/wisdom. For intelligence we have
hundreds of subjects and for emotional-intelligence/wisdom we have
zero subjects. As a result we educate only half our brains. Naturally
the wheel of emotional intelligence is punctured. And every time we
try to fix this education mess we go back to improving intelligence
education. Leaving emotional intelligence as punctured as ever;
resulting in developing imperfect minds and imperfect brains for over
80% of the population.
Michael Gazzaniga the foremost expert on the brain and mind concludes
in his latest best seller, for a call to arms. “Understanding how to
develop a vocabulary for these layered interactions (between the left
and right brain and between brain and mind) , for me, ” he writes,
“constitutes the scientific problem of the century.” This is exactly
the problem we recognized 40 years ago and we have now solved.
We have figured out the difference between brain and mind. The
education mess is due to the fact man has cutting edge education to
educate the mind and has no idea how to educate the brain. In simple
terms one can say that we keep our homes clean; we keep our cars and
our offices spic and span and when it comes to our own brains and
minds we keep them dirty; full of defective memories/knowledge. We
have developed education for cleaning up the brain.
We have invented this whole new wisdom industry that will generate
wisdom education, creation of text books, with exercises and lessons,
training for teachers and parents, and 'pure happiness' counselors
etc., wisdom coaching for adults, groups and countries, toys that
teach wisdom, wisdom computer games, comic books, children stories,
sitcoms, TV talk shows, movies etc.; and Wisdom Theme Parks, Wisdom
[...] Read more
poem by Sajid Khan
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Beowulf
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled….
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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III. The Other Half-Rome
Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!
There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 12
WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,
Their armies broken, and their courage quell’d,
Himself become the mark of public spite,
His honor question’d for the promis’d fight;
The more he was with vulgar hate oppress’d, 5
The more his fury boil’d within his breast:
He rous’d his vigor for the last debate,
And rais’d his haughty soul to meet his fate.
As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase,
He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace; 10
But, if the pointed jav’lin pierce his side,
The lordly beast returns with double pride:
He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain;
His sides he lashes, and erects his mane:
So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire, 15
Thro’ his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire.
Trembling with rage, around the court he ran,
At length approach’d the king, and thus began:
“No more excuses or delays: I stand
In arms prepar’d to combat, hand to hand, 20
This base deserter of his native land.
The Trojan, by his word, is bound to take
The same conditions which himself did make.
Renew the truce; the solemn rites prepare,
And to my single virtue trust the war. 25
The Latians unconcern’d shall see the fight;
This arm unaided shall assert your right:
Then, if my prostrate body press the plain,
To him the crown and beauteous bride remain.”
To whom the king sedately thus replied: 30
“Brave youth, the more your valor has been tried,
The more becomes it us, with due respect,
To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect.
You want not wealth, or a successive throne,
Or cities which your arms have made your own: 35
My towns and treasures are at your command,
And stor’d with blooming beauties is my land;
Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees,
Unmarried, fair, of noble families.
Now let me speak, and you with patience hear, 40
Things which perhaps may grate a lover’s ear,
But sound advice, proceeding from a heart
Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art.
The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown,
No prince Italian born should heir my throne: 45
Oft have our augurs, in prediction skill’d,
And oft our priests, a foreign son reveal’d.
Yet, won by worth that cannot be withstood,
Brib’d by my kindness to my kindred blood,
Urg’d by my wife, who would not be denied, 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Nothing us but only in between us
In finding you
I find me, in looking for you
You look for me, so in finding you finding me,
We finally find out, there is nothing us but only
You and me finding you and me, there is really
No us, just some things between us, always finding
You and me finding you always finding two
Not one, nothing one, but always two, a separate
You finding me and me finding you in this search in futility
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Remember Me
You don't need to ask me if i'll be your friend
I am
I am
You don't need to ask me if i'm sure my friend
I am
I am your friend
You must remember me
I'm the one who saw through the world's disguise
Took away its cloak and i made it hide
From me
Remember me?
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
What can i say
You don't need to find the words to say what's on your mind
If you need a reason to begin again
I am
I am
You will find an answer at your journey's end
I am
Waiting there my friend
You must remember me
I'm the one who knew you when
I'm the one you call your friend
Feel free
Remember me
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
What can i say
You don't need to find the words to say what's on your mind
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
What can i say
You don't need to find the words to say what's on your mind
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
You, you
You, you
You, you
song performed by Moody Blues
Added by Lucian Velea
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Remember Me (My Friend)
You dont need to ask me if Ill be your friend
I am
I am
You dont need to ask me if Im sure my friend
I am
I am your friend
You must remember me
Im the one who saw through the worlds disguise
Took away its cloak and I made it hide
From me
Remember me?
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
What can I say
You dont need to find the words to say whats on your mind
If you need a reason to begin again
I am
I am
You will find an answer at your journeys end
I am
Waiting there my friend
You must remember me
Im the one who knew you when
Im the one you call your friend
Feel free
Remember me
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
What can I say
You dont need to find the words to say whats on your mind
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
What can I say
You dont need to find the words to say whats on your mind
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
Walking on this earth finding you
You, you
You, you
You, you
You, you
song performed by Moody Blues
Added by Lucian Velea
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Finding Out
Theres something wrong, I cant get my finger on it
I must be looking over something
Sometimes at night Ive had to fight with this emptiness
Its been so hard to see, theres something more than this
Im finding out, Im finding out
Yeah it took a little ti me to get what love was about
But honey Im coming round
Im finding out
Ive had enough of all this hard core loneliness
I dont think pain is so romantic
Im just a working man
I feel each day go by
I couldnt understan d I was too weak to fight
But Im finding out, Im finding out
It took a little time for me to stand up and shout
But honey Im coming round, Im finding out
I have to thank you baby, honey I must confess
You have pulled me from this river of loneliness
Im finding out, baby Im finding out
Yeah it took a little time to get what love was about
But honey Im coming round
Im finding out
song performed by Tom Petty
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pout On
IwishthatIcouldrushtoyouandmakeitokay,
ButIcan'tdothatbecauseyou'renotfeelingthatway .
IwishthatIcouldrushtoyouandmakeitokay,
ButIcan'tdothatbecauseyou'renotfeelingthatway .
You rather whine about these times.
Just sitting on your backside finding time to sigh.
You rather whine about these times.
Just sitting on your backside finding time to sigh.
IwishthatIcouldrushtoyouandmakeitoka y,
ButIcan'tdothatbecauseyou'renotfeelingthatway .
IwishthatIcouldrushtoyouandmakeitokay,
ButIcan'tdothatbecauseyou'renotfeelingthatway .
You rather whine about these times.
Just sitting on your backside finding time to sigh.
You rather whine about these times.
Just sitting on your backside finding time to sigh.
Pout on.
Pout on.
Like the others who are shouting 'bout lost pennies in their pots!
Pout on.
Pout on.
Like the others who are shouting 'bout lost pennies in their pots!
IwishthatIcouldrushtoyouandmakeitokay,
ButIcan'tdothatbecauseyou'renotfeelingthatway .
IwishthatIcouldrushtoyouandmakeitokay,
ButIcan'tdothatbecauseyou'renotfeelingthatway .
You rather whine about these times.
Just sitting on your backside finding time to sigh.
You rather whine about these times.
Just sitting on your backside finding time to sigh.
You rather whine about these times.
Just sitting on your backside finding time to sigh.
You rather whine about these times.
Just sitting on your backside finding time to sigh.
Pout on.
Pout on.
Like the others who are shouting 'bout lost pennies in their pots!
IwishthatIcouldrushtoyouandmakeitokay,
ButIcan'tdothatbecauseyou'renotfeelingthatway .
You rather whine about these times.
Just sitting on your backside finding time to sigh.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Without A Priority
Finding oneself...
Might take a lifetime.
And,
Finding one's life...
May not be...
Any need.
But...
Finding one's happiness,
Without a wanting...
May be possible.
But without a priority,
How can this succeed?
Finding oneself and untieing the knots,
May take a lifetime.
And finding one's life without a tear to drop,
May not be a need.
But...
Finding one's happiness without a crave,
May be possible.
But without a priority,
How can this succeed?
Without priority,
How this succeed?
Finding oneself...
Might,
Take a lifetime.
And finding one's life may not,
Be...
Anybody's need,
And...
Finding one's true happiness,
Without a wanting...
May be possible.
But without priority...
How can one succeed?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When God Fearin Women Get The Blues
Lock up your husbands
Lock up your sons
Lock up your whiskey cabinets
Girls lock up your guns
Lock up the beauty shop
No telling if theyve heard the news
Call the boys downtown at neiman marcus
Tell em lock up them high-heeled shoes
When God fearin women get the blues
There aint no slap dab atellin what theyre gonna do
Run around yellin I gotta mustang
Itll do eighty
You dont have to be my baby
Ive stirred my last batch of gravy
You dont have to be my baby
Call all the deacons
Call the ladies aid
Call all the altos, sopranos, tenors, call every bass
Well, call all the pentecostals
And bring that anointing oil too
Well call the preacher
Hes the only one can reach her
And there aint no time to lose
When God fearin women get the blues
There aint no slap dab atellin what theyre gonna do
Run around yellin I gotta mustang
Itll do eighty
You dont have to be my baby
Ive stirred my last batch of gravy
You dont have to be my baby
Shes on all our prayer lists
Shes on all our hearts
As for the easter cantata
We dont know wholl sing her part.
When God fearin women get the blues
There aint no slap dab atellin what theyre gonna do
Run around yellin I gotta mustang
Itll do eighty
You dont have to be my baby
Ive stirred my last batch of gravy
You dont have to be my baby
song performed by Martina Mcbride
Added by Lucian Velea
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V. Count Guido Franceschini
Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Iliad: Book 13
Now when Jove had thus brought Hector and the Trojans to the
ships, he left them to their never-ending toil, and turned his keen
eyes away, looking elsewhither towards the horse-breeders of Thrace,
the Mysians, fighters at close quarters, the noble Hippemolgi, who
live on milk, and the Abians, justest of mankind. He no longer
turned so much as a glance towards Troy, for he did not think that any
of the immortals would go and help either Trojans or Danaans.
But King Neptune had kept no blind look-out; he had been looking
admiringly on the battle from his seat on the topmost crests of wooded
Samothrace, whence he could see all Ida, with the city of Priam and
the ships of the Achaeans. He had come from under the sea and taken
his place here, for he pitied the Achaeans who were being overcome
by the Trojans; and he was furiously angry with Jove.
Presently he came down from his post on the mountain top, and as
he strode swiftly onwards the high hills and the forest quaked beneath
the tread of his immortal feet. Three strides he took, and with the
fourth he reached his goal- Aegae, where is his glittering golden
palace, imperishable, in the depths of the sea. When he got there,
he yoked his fleet brazen-footed steeds with their manes of gold all
flying in the wind; he clothed himself in raiment of gold, grasped his
gold whip, and took his stand upon his chariot. As he went his way
over the waves the sea-monsters left their lairs, for they knew
their lord, and came gambolling round him from every quarter of the
deep, while the sea in her gladness opened a path before his
chariot. So lightly did the horses fly that the bronze axle of the car
was not even wet beneath it; and thus his bounding steeds took him
to the ships of the Achaeans.
Now there is a certain huge cavern in the depths of the sea midway
between Tenedos and rocky Imbrus; here Neptune lord of the
earthquake stayed his horses, unyoked them, and set before them
their ambrosial forage. He hobbled their feet with hobbles of gold
which none could either unloose or break, so that they might stay
there in that place until their lord should return. This done he
went his way to the host of the Achaeans.
Now the Trojans followed Hector son of Priam in close array like a
storm-cloud or flame of fire, fighting with might and main and raising
the cry battle; for they deemed that they should take the ships of the
Achaeans and kill all their chiefest heroes then and there.
Meanwhile earth-encircling Neptune lord of the earthquake cheered on
the Argives, for he had come up out of the sea and had assumed the
form and voice of Calchas.
First he spoke to the two Ajaxes, who were doing their best already,
and said, "Ajaxes, you two can be the saving of the Achaeans if you
will put out all your strength and not let yourselves be daunted. I am
not afraid that the Trojans, who have got over the wall in force, will
be victorious in any other part, for the Achaeans can hold all of them
in check, but I much fear that some evil will befall us here where
furious Hector, who boasts himself the son of great Jove himself, is
leading them on like a pillar of flame. May some god, then, put it
into your hearts to make a firm stand here, and to incite others to do
[...] Read more
poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
Added by Poetry Lover
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Put Your Hand In The Hand
(words & music by g. maclellan)
Put your hand in the hand of the man
Who stilled the water
Put your hand in the hand of the man
Who calmed the sea
Take a look at yourself
And you can look at others differently
Put your hand in the hand of the man
From galilee
My momma taught me how to pray
Before I reached the age of seven
When Im down on my knees
Thats when Im closest to heaven
Daddy lived his life, two kids and a wife
Well you do what you must do
But he showed me enough of what it takes
To get me through, oh yeh!
Put your hand in the hand of the man
Who stilled the water
Put your hand in the hand of the man
Who calmed the sea
Take a look at yourself
And you can look at others differently
Put your hand in the hand of the man
From galilee
Oh yeh!
Put your hand in the hand of the man
Who stilled the water
Put your hand in the hand of the man
Who calmed the sea
Take a look at yourself
And you can look at others differently
Put your hand in the hand of the man
From galilee
Oh yeh!
Put your hand in the hand of the man
Who stilled the water
Put your hand in the hand of the man
Who calmed the sea
Take a look at yourself
And you can look at others differently
Put your hand in the hand of the man
From galilee
Oh yeh!
Put your hand in the hand of the man from galilee
Put your hand in the hand of the man from galilee, oh yeh!
song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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