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I don't sit around and study the pages of a script over and over again.

quote by Genevieve Bujold
Added by Lucian Velea
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Down By The Riverside

(public domain)
Im gonna lay down my burden, down by the riverside,
Down by the riverside, down by the riverside
Im gonna lay down my burden, down by the riverside,
Im gonna study war no more
I aint a gonna study war no more, I aint a gonna study war no more
I aint a gonna study war no more, I aint a gonna study war no more
I aint a gonna study war no more, I aint a gonna study war no more
Well, Im gonna put on my long white robe, (where? ) down by the riverside (oh)
Down by the riverside, down by the riverside
Im gonna put on my long white robe, (where? ) down by the riverside
Im gonna study war no more
I aint a gonna study war no more, I aint a gonna study war no more
I aint a gonna study war no more, I aint a gonna study war no more
I aint a gonna study war no more, I aint a gonna study war no more
Well, Im gonna lay down my sword and shield, (where? ) down by the riverside
Down by the riverside, down by the riverside
Im gonna lay down my sword and shield, (a-ha) down by the riverside
Im gonna study war no more
I aint a gonna study war no more, I aint a gonna study war no more
I aint a gonna study war no more, I aint a gonna study war no more
I aint a gonna study war no more, I aint a gonna study war no more

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Written In Blood And Love

In pages written in blood, in pages written love.
Stories are told of you grow old together.
Live to dieing forever.
Scarred by the pain of misery.
Scarred by the imperfections the have created so many rejections.
Give me the antidote to the poison that I have slipped in my own drink.
Let me breath the life in again.
Drowned out all the cowardliness of my angel who holding me up.
Such a beautiful crutch.

Still in the pages written in blood, in the pages written love.
We are just one of millions.
Every story is the same.
All that's changed is the names, places, and faces.
Erase it all.
Rewrite the entire fall.
Let the wind take me.
Let the lightning strike me here and now.
For i will not let it cloud my judgement.
No matter the storm that's brought on.

In the pages written in blood, in the pages written in love
Hate me for the right reasons
Hate me because I am what you wanted me to be.
In all the irony.
I didn't change for you.
It was done way before you came along and sang your song.

All the pages have been written, in blood and love.
The Shakespeare play Romeo and Juliet to the fullest.
Its the cruelest games in tragedy strikes without a ounce of leniency.
No mercy to those who are jumping without a life line.
Protection against the evil of an accident so quick.
A slip becomes a fall.
Next your trying to stall buy a little time.
But its in vain.
Nothing can be changed.
Its sink or swim till you reach shore.
So long off stripped of everything you thought was important.

Values so mixed up in these pages written in blood, in the pages written in love.
We have killed another pair of doves.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Barricades Of Heaven

Running down around the towns along the shore
When I was sixteen and on my own
No, I couldnt tell you what the hell those brakes were for
I was just trying to hear my song
Jimmy found his own sweet sound and won that free guitar
Wed all get in the van and play
Life became the paradox, the bear, the rouge et noir
And the stretch of road running to l.a.
Pages turning
Pages we were years from learning
Straight into the night our hearts were flung
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from
All the world was shining from those hills
The stars above and the lights below
Among those there to test their fortunes and their wills
I lost track of the score long ago
Pages turning
Pages we were years from learning
Straight into the night our hearts were flung
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from
Childhood comes for me at night
Voices of my friends
Your face bathing me in light
Hope that never ends
Pages turning
Pages torn and pages burning
Faded pages, open in the sun
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from.
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from.

song performed by Jackson Browne
Added by Lucian Velea
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Home By The Sea

Creeping up the blind side, shinning up the wall
Stealing thru the dark of night
Climbing thru a window, stepping to the floor
Checking to the left and the right
Picking up the pieces, putting them away
Something doesnt feel quite right
Help me someone, let me out of here
Then out of the dark was suddenly heard
Welcome to the home by the sea
Coming out the woodwork, thru the open door
Pushing from above and below
Shadows but no substance, in the shape of men
Round and down and sideways they go
Adrift without direction, eyes that hold despair
Then as one they sign and they moan
Help us someone, let us out of here
Living here so long undisturbed
Dreaming of the time we were free
So many years ago
Before the time when we first heard
Welcome to the home by the sea
Sit down sit down
Sit down sit down sit down
As we relive our lives in what we tell you
Images of sorrow, pictures of delight
Things that go to make up a life
Endless days of summer longer nights of gloom
Waiting for the morning light
Scenes of unimportance, photos in a frame
Things that go to make up a life
Help us someone, let us out of here
Cos living here so long undisturbed
Dreaming of the time we were free
So many years ago
Before the time when we first heard
Welcome to the home by the sea
Sit down sit down
Sit down sit down sit down sit down
As we relive out lives in what we tell you
Let us relive out lives in what we tell you
Sit down sit down sit down
Cos you wont get away
No with us you will stay
For the rest of your days - sit down
As we relive our lives in what we tell you
Let us relive our lives in what we tell you

song performed by Genesis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Monitored or Not It Just Becomes Hypnotic

People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
Like the hands of a clock that tocks with a tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
And the running and humming becomes toxic.
Toxic.
Toxic.
And nothing exotic will make this erotic.
Monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
And people who want what they want wont stop!
Like the hands of a clock that ticks with a tock!
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Or the chopping heard of meat on a butcher's block!
Sssshop chop.
Sssshop chop.
Sssshop chop.
Sssshop chop!
People like their beef stewed nice and hot!

And nothing exotic will make this erotic.
Monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
And people who want what they want wont stop!
Like the hands of a clock that ticks with a tock!
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.

People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
Like the hands of a clock that tocks with a tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
And the running and humming becomes toxic.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Books

The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges

Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn

poem by Erica Jong
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My Song

I wrote a song
It's called 'my life'
I tried my best to make it a good one
I'd never written a song
Twas indeed my first
I had an eraser
I couldn't clean my mistakes though
It turned out to be a long song
A hundred and twenty pages worth
A page a year
I made a mess of it
Blue pen made a mark
As depression took a quarter of it
Yellow pen made an entrance
I decided it was better than blue
Red pen tried to hurt me
As all anger was kept inside
Green pen whispered a note
I wished I had my neighbour's song
So many colours on just one song
Twenty-five pages were dark
I knew not which way to go
I tried to turn a page but couldn't
I basked in pages gone
Hence left several pages blank
Twenty-five pages were wet
As tears serenaded my heart, it did the pages
Too much pain in one song
Tried to change the words
The things I thought all made the song
On a scale of good to bad, bad stole the day
I searched and found other songs titled 'my life'
I wrote my song the way they had
My song was like a painting
One in utter disharmony
One drawn by a clueless artist
But an artist whose passion burned his painting
I set my heart on fire on page 35
There had to be more
And more I had
On page 120, my eyes were dim and hands tired
Since pages couldn't be turned
My mind sat, and looked back
What had I done?
I'd been mountain high
I'd been valley low
I'd been good
I'd been bad
I'd been....
I lay my head on my song

[...] Read more

poem by Jenim Dibie
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Schooling Relationship

you are the subject which i study
understanding and getting to know you psychologically
learning new ways to do right
ways to out do the wrong
you are the subject which i study
practicing and testing the goods and bads
you are the subject which i study
the time has come graduation is here
learn the subject by studing its psychology
understanding is the only way for success
now we move on to the next step
you are the subject which i study to major
as i take hold of your hand
guide you through rough times throughout this life
you are the subject which i study to major
as time goes by ticking away
i studied you all those days
i understand your past history life
your psychology means alot to me
mentally physically emotionally speaking
you are the subject which i study to major...

poem by Diara Armstead
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Boot That Supercool That You Do

Whatcha gonna do with your supercool?
When the scooting of satisfaction scats.
Will you pack it to be shipped away?
Or will you hang it to dust,
On a rack.
When the need to attract,
Lacks.

Then whatcha gonna do with your supercool?
When the flaunting of it needs to...
Sit back,
And...
Relax.

Whatcha gonna do with your supercool?
And have you given thought to that?

It's sad to see a rusting swagger.
Outdated and fading quick.
Yes it's sad to see a rusting swagger.
Doing it's best to be hip...
Limping through it!

So...
Whatcha gonna do with your supercool?
When the scooting of satisfaction scats.
Will you pack it to be shipped away?
Or will you hang it to dust,
On a rack.
When the need to attract,
Lacks.

Whatcha gonna do,
With your supercool?
You need to sit back and relax.

No need for you to prove that you've been supercool.
You need to sit back and relax.

Whatcha gonna do,
With your supercool?
You need to sit back and relax.

No need for you to prove that you've been supercool.
You need to sit back and relax.

You need to boot it and be through.
Sit back,
And relax.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Don't Dip Yo Pity Here To Sit

Don't dip yo pity here to sit.
No permitted pity here can visit.
Don't dip yo pity here to sit.
No permitted pity here can visit.

When you tire of your weeping...
You can call on me.
But don't dip yo pity in a pit!
To leave it here to sit.

When you tire of your weeping...
You can call on me.
But don't dip yo pity in a pit!
To leave it here to sit.

I'll call 9-1-1...
To rescue me.

Don't dip yo pity.
Don't dip yo pity here to sit!

I'll call 9-1-1...
To rescue me.

Don't dip yo pity.
Don't dip yo pity here to sit!

No tears on my pillow.
Unless they're mine to cry.

Everyday you bring me pity.
As if your pity thrives.

Don't dip yo pity.
Don't dip yo pity here to sit!
No yo...
Don't dip yo pity.
Don't dip yo pity here to sit!
No yo!

I'll call 9-1-1...
To rescue me.

Don't dip yo pity.
Don't dip yo pity here to sit!
No yo.

I'll call 9-1-1...
To rescue me.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Book Of My Life

Let me watch by the fire and remember my days
And it may be a trick of the firelight
But the flickering pages that trouble my sight
Is a book I'm afraid to write
It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life
And it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
And it's all there to see as the section reveals
There's some sorrow in every life
If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze
Then I won't understand 'til the end of my days
I'm still forced to remember,
Remember the words of my life
There are promises broken and promises kept
Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
If I lose everything that I possess
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
There's a chapter on fathers a chapter on sons
There are pages of conflicts that nobody won
And the battles you lost and your bitter defeat,
There's a page where we fail to meet
There are tales of good fortune that couldn't be planned
There's a chapter on god that I don't understand
There's a promise of Heaven and Hell but I'm damned if I see
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
Now the daylight's returning
And if one sentence is true
All these pages are burning
And all that's left is you
Though the pages are number

song performed by Sting
Added by Lucian Velea
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Collection of Poems 2009-2011

Lullaby

Butterfly, sing to me a lullaby
Of the wonders I placed in a box
I am in the middle of time
In the middle of theft and crime
Take me away to the fantasy
Of living in truth and honesty
I'll listen to your whisper
Carefully and attentively
Why would I do otherwise?
You know I try to be wise
I am open to your lullaby
Dear butterfly
Can you see it in the depth of my eyes?
Sing to me about the place I dreamt of
Bring me the true message of love
Take with you a message of my own
To the skies you fly in
That I expected my wings to have grown
By this time in my life
How come I feel glued to the ground?
With hungry wolves all around
They want to take everything
Even your beautiful sound

In Four Walls

In the pit of my stomach…
I hold my chest
My hands hold nothing else
I go forward with my bed ready
To embrace me when I pull back
I know I can't make it
My tank has been emptied
The love and care and understanding
Somehow flew out the windows
And now I keep them shut
I can't stay with myself anymore
I've seen too much of how I am
And too much of who they are
Nothing but a big bore
Being either rich or poor
Everyone seems to fly carelessly
Into the soft clouds
They smile so endlessly
My voices are too loud
Maybe yours is too

[...] Read more

poem by Erica Borges
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Passerby

I'm not crazy like my brother
but it's the way I choose
I don't hang around with a six pence
when I got everything to lose

would you bring me my money
and take from me all that I was worth
cause I wasn't worth nothing
and I wasn't yours

oh don't you be a passerby
oh won't you sit down
and stay a while
cause it's been too long since you been around

sold out men from across the way
he thought he heard what he heard you say
hey now man your watch it shines
for the bid of a moment yeilds 40 times

oh don't you be a passerby
oh won't you sit down
and stay while

don't you be a passerby
oh don't won't you sit down
and stay a while...
cause it's been too long since you been around

woman and little child
don't you be a passerby
I'm not crazy like my brother
but it's the way I choose
I don't hang around with a six pence
when I got everything to lose

would you bring me my money
and take from me all that I was worth
cause I wasn't worth nothing
and I wasn't yours

oh don't you be a passerby
oh won't you sit down
and stay a while
cause it's been too long since you been around

sold out men from across the way
he thought he heard what he heard you say
hey now man your watch it shines
for the bid of a moment yeilds 40 times

[...] Read more

song performed by Dispatch from Who Are We Living For?
Added by Lucian Velea
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On The Pleasures Of College Life

With tears I leave these academic bowers,
And cease to cull the scientific flowers;
With tears I hail the fair succeeding train,
And take my exit with a breast of pain.
The Fresh may trace these wonders as they smile;
The stream of science like the river Nile,
Reflecting mental beauties as it flows,
Which all the charms of College life disclose;
This sacred current as it runs refines,
Whilst Byron sings and Shakspeare's mirror shines.
First like a garden flower did I rise,
When on the college bloom I cast my eyes;
I strove to emulate each smiling gem,
Resolved to wear the classic diadem;
But when the Freshman's garden breeze was gone;
Around me spread a vast extensive lawn;
'Twas there the muse of college life begun,
Beneath the rays of erudition's sun,

Where study drew the mystic focus down,
And lit the lamp of nature with renown;
There first I heard the epic thunders roll,
And Homer's light'ning darted through my soul.
Hard was the task to trace each devious line,
Though Locke and Newton bade me soar and shine;
I sunk beneath the heat of Franklin's blaze,
And struck the notes of philosophic praise;
With timid thought I strove the test to stand,
Reclining on a cultivated land,
Which often spread beneath a college bower,
And thus invoked the intellectual shower;
E'en that fond sire on whose depilous crown,
The smile of courts and states shall shed renown;
Now far above the noise of country strife,
I frown upon the gloom of rustic life,
Where no pure stream of bright distinction flows,
No mark between the thistle and the rose;
One's like a bird encaged and bare of food,
Borne by the fowler from his native wood,
Where sprightly oft he sprung from spray to spray,
And cheer'd the forest with his artless lay,

Or fluttered o'er the purling brook at will,
Sung in the dale or soar'd above the hill.
Such are the liberal charms of college life,
Where pleasure flows without a breeze of strife;
And such would be my pain if cast away,
Without the blooms of study to display.
Beware, ye college birds, again beware,
And shun the fowler with his subtile snare;

[...] Read more

poem by George Moses Horton
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The Library

When the sad soul, by care and grief oppress'd,
Looks round the world, but looks in vain for rest;
When every object that appears in view
Partakes her gloom and seems dejected too;
Where shall affliction from itself retire?
Where fade away and placidly expire?
Alas! we fly to silent scenes in vain;
Care blasts the honours of the flow'ry plain:
Care veils in clouds the sun's meridian beam,
Sighs through the grove, and murmurs in the stream;
For when the soul is labouring in despair,
In vain the body breathes a purer air:
No storm-tost sailor sighs for slumbering seas,-
He dreads the tempest, but invokes the breeze;
On the smooth mirror of the deep resides
Reflected woe, and o'er unruffled tides
The ghost of every former danger glides.
Thus, in the calms of life, we only see
A steadier image of our misery;
But lively gales and gently clouded skies
Disperse the sad reflections as they rise;
And busy thoughts and little cares avail
To ease the mind, when rest and reason fail.
When the dull thought, by no designs employ'd,
Dwells on the past, or suffer'd or enjoy'd,
We bleed anew in every former grief,
And joys departed furnish no relief.
Not Hope herself, with all her flattering art,
Can cure this stubborn sickness of the heart:
The soul disdains each comfort she prepares,
And anxious searches for congenial cares;
Those lenient cares, which with our own combined,
By mix'd sensations ease th' afflicted mind,
And steal our grief away, and leave their own

behind;
A lighter grief! which feeling hearts endure
Without regret, nor e'en demand a cure.
But what strange art, what magic can dispose
The troubled mind to change its native woes?
Or lead us willing from ourselves, to see
Others more wretched, more undone than we?
This BOOKS can do;--nor this alone; they give
New views to life, and teach us how to live;
They soothe the grieved, the stubborn they

chastise,
Fools they admonish, and confirm the wise:
Their aid they yield to all: they never shun
The man of sorrow, nor the wretch undone:

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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A Paradelle Of A Poet (The Paradelle)

Of all the things I need to write
Of all the things I need to write
To spread my wings and be a poet
To spread my wings and be a poet
To write a spread and to be the things
I need all of my poet wings

A pen and paper in my hand
A pen and paper in my hand
I then begin to script the word
I then begin to script the word
Script to the paper I then begin
My word in hand and a pen

When I am finished with my work
When I am finished with my work
I'll grin and wrap the string on scroll
I'll grin and wrap the string on scroll
The work on my scroll I'll wrap when
I am fisnished with string and grin

To spread a write I need to begin
All of my work, hand and pen
I am a poet and I'll be the things
I script to paper with my wings.
Then the word on scroll...finished when
The wrap in string...and my grin

poem by Adam McKim
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Surreal Ballard Of Tahrir Square

script implausible was so bad surreal
a badly written distorted dream scene
by hack writer with his train off de track

a director still coupled to an antique
loose caboose directing a crummy
crew straight out of sad clown wagon

hear bark a doghouse glory wagon
nationalist saviour script monkey
wagon attack techniques yes these

lapdogs trained as running dogs were
about to be let loose from monkey
wagon many bused in especially for

lackey protest busting feature occasion
moral railroaded false charge imagery
“don’t fall asleep on trains coz trains run

over sleepers” view protesters in lime
light were about to be overwhelmed
ruthlessly crushed steamrolled to pave

one way for Mubarak to oh so smoothly
retain President power so run mad house
script bizarre surging footage shot real?

roll cameras action paid men came with
baseball bats pieces of broken window
frames machetes one homemade spear?

form a line a small group plainclothes
policemen block one broad boulevard
leading into Tahrir Square now symbolic

epicentre
of peaceful Egyptian
revolution

poor police publicly shamed had been
driven from streets so used to controlling
last Friday now had come to hero reclaim

what? A ruthless reputation, proud ego,
status regarded as rightfully lawfully
theirs? Police gathered on Qasr el-Aini

prepared themselves for confrontation
with brave protesters who had humiliated

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sit Down, Stand Up

Sit down, stand up
Sit down, stand up
Walk into the jaws of hell (sit down, stand up)
Walk into the jaws of hell (sit down, stand up)
Anytime (sit down)
Anytime (stand up)
Sit down, stand up
Sit down, stand up
We can wipe you out anytime (sit down, stand up)
We can wipe you out (sit down, stand up)
Anytime (sit down)
Anytime
Stand up (the rain drops the rain drops)
Sit down (the rain drops the rain drops)
Oh
The rain drops x46

song performed by Radiohead
Added by Lucian Velea
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To My Sons, Eddie & Edwin

You're my cute little son,
But you're always stubborn,
Fast to get anger and upset
Very small hearted person.

Why you so like that
Give me the reasons
Why? , why? , why?
Why you so disobedient person?

You all are clever
But lazy and hard headed
Sometimes, you are good
But you're very naughty boy.

Always Be a good boy
My boy, my boy,
Listen to elderly always,
Respect your parents.

Please study hard
Study smarter
Future in your hands
No one can change you
Unless yourself.

Don't play only
Remember to study things
You love and likes
Learn as much as you can.

Time is short,
Time never return,
Study when you're young
Study when you're grow up too.

Stop playing games,
Start your lessons on time
Stop fooling around,
Stop arguing with parents.

My sons, Eddie and Edwin
Always I love you all
No matter Where,
No matter When,
No matter How.
You're always my sons.

poem by Lawrence Hiung
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The Mystery Remains story poem

By my lanthorn dimly burning.
I have trouble in discerning
the faint words scrawled upon the page
By the hand of a long dead sage.

What I study is forbidden
a secret I must keep hidden.
I dare not study it by day
and that is why I hide away.

In the dark hours of the night.
I study by a lanthorns light.
Lest the priesthood should suspect.
For they would kill me to protect

from what they see as wizardry
although it’s only chemistry.
The shaveling priests of Mother Church
have full authority to search.

As and when and where they choose
.a power open to abuse
And they abuse it readily
in their search for men like me.

Men who defy authority,
pursue their studies secretly.
The church pretends to safeguard souls
but aims to keep in place controls.

Which keep the people ignorant
so that they will accept the cant.
The falsehoods and hypocrisy
of the priests more easily.

The common man must never know.
Because the church will have it so.
That education is the key
to knowledge which will set them free.

From religious domination.
To me a foul abomination.
The Holy Book from which they preach
written in a language will do not teach

To any but the favoured few
Who think the same way that they do.
Which will maintain the Status Quo
beneath the piety they show.

[...] Read more

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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