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I have a memory like an elephant. In fact, elephants often consult me.

quote by Noel Coward
Added by Lucian Velea
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An Extraordinary Friendship

There happened to be an Elephant with purple skin
Which caused many a little child, to laugh and to grin?
They considered it so strange, and so ‘out of place’
That, a cheeky smirk ne’er left each mischievous face.
They laughed so much that they even shed tears:

“A Purple Elephant, with purple ears!
Who ever heard such a ridiculous thing,
Next we’ll be hearing the Elephant sing.”

On this did continue, for many a day,
Each time he felt more hurt and full of dismay.
He thought about travelling, far, far away –
“Perhaps then, my skin will be the normal grey? ”
Thus he did reason inside his mind,
This way he would be leaving his shame behind.
But, as he thought on, he began to realise
That his shame wasn’t what they saw with their eyes
But, how they made him feel, deep inside,
All this is what continued to wound his pride.

Suddenly, one bright and cheerful day
A small Blue Mouse just happened by his way.
The Purple Elephant instinctively let out a scream
From the fear and shock, at what he had just seen!
He was just about to turn, quickly away,
When, his attention was caught, as the Blue Mouse did say:
“Please, there’s no need for you to fear me
I’m only a little, quiet Blue Mouse, as you can see.
Why is it that you’re afraid and nervous too?
Please, tell me how I can help – I would really like to.”

And so, the Purple Elephant related his troubles and woes;
How he seemed to have few friends, but much more foes.
The little Blue Mouse gave him such caring advice,
Of which he thought was ever so nice:

“Don’t you worry about how others see you,
Because, when it comes to real beauty, they haven’t a clue.
Your strength of character is something I admire.
You battle on, where others weaken and tire;
You’re tall in stature, big hearted as well.
How do I know? I’ve observed you and can tell.”

The Purple Elephant smiled, and a tear glistened in his eye,
He found her words very touching, and did thus reply:

“O thank you so much, for your kind words so true,
Now, I wonder, is there any favour I can do for you? ”

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Holmes
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GOD's Elephant - Beating Back The Lion...

GOD Pulled The Lion’s Teeth
GOD Crushed The Lion’s Claws
GOD Took The Lion’s Roar
… and made it very small

GOD Tore Off The Lion’s Tail
GOD Cut The Lion’s Mane
‘Til The Lion’s Voracious Voice
Became Lame and Tamed … and Shamed

Because That Lion Was A Coward
That Crazed Lion Was A Bully
Looking Only For The Weak
To Feast On Them Fully

Not Because It Was Hungry
Not Because It Was In Need
Terror Became Its Creed
Because Its Favorite Taste … Was Greed

It Was The Nature Of That Beast
To Be The Enemy Of My Peace
But GOD Changed Me Into An Elephant
When GOD Saw Me On My Knees

That Lion Chose Me As Victim
It Thought I’d Be Irrelevant
Because It Had No Idea …
I’d Become GOD’ Elephant

… I Am One Of GOD’s Messengers
Hear Me Trumpet HIS Sound
See How Christian Courage Charge
and Shake Lions Underground

See My Ivory Tusks Of Hope
Raised High In Silhouette Moonlight
Gleaming As I Spoke
My Prayers Thru Every Night

See My Ears So Huge To Cool
Fiery Heat That Must Come
Caressing My Full Faith Form
As Heart Beats A Thunder-Drum

GOD Gave Me Wings Of The Wind
GOD Gave Me Echoes Of The Sea
Gave Me A Stand Like A Snowcapped Mountain
And A Trunk Like A Baobab Tree

[...] Read more

poem by MoonBee Canady
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Elefans' Fans - Elefans' Fans - Gray Eulogy written in a Country Backyard

Enormous fan ears,
Like trees legs large, small rope tail,
Ends pointed, tusk spears.
Flanks walls, pack I derm trunk snake
ANSwer: blind faith tale's trumps wake.

21 March 2009 robi3_1871_saxe1_0003 PAH_NXX
Acrostic Tanka Elefans

The Blind Men and the Elephant

It was six men of Hindostan
To learning much inclined
Who went to see the Elephant
[Though all of them were blind];
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

The first approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
"Bless me, it seems the Elephant
Is very like a wall."

The second, feeling of his tusk,
Cried, "Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp.
To me ‘tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear."

The third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Then boldly up and spake:
"I see, " quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a snake."

The fouth stretched out his eager hand
And felt about the knee,
"What most this mighty beast is like
Is mighty plain, " quoth he:
"'Tis clear enough, the Elephant
Is very like a tree."

The fifth who chanced to touch the ear
Said, "Even the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Elefans' Fans' Grey Tanka Eulogy written on a Grass Green Country Backyard after John Godfrey Saxe The Blind Men and the Elephant

The King was ill. A travelling monk told him to look upon the healing colour of green. The king spent lakhs and lakhs of money hiring artists to paint the entire country green. The monk once again travelled in the vicinity and came to court. He said to the king: 'Would it not have been better to put on green glasses? ' Paraphrased from a story told by Sathya Sai Baba

Guard us from advice
Responses aping logic
As King in a trice
Should have rejected both monk,
Story artists' green leafed trunk.

Green dreams in dark night
Reveal lies theologic
Emerald eyes quite
Express blood red as black junk -
Simplistic suggestions sunk.

Enormous fan ears,
Like trees legs large, small rope tail,
Ends pointed, tusk spears.
Flanks walls, pack I derm trunk snake
ANSwer: blind faith tale's trumps wake.

Guard from blind minds blind
Leads up undermined mined path
As grass green scene signed
Shows more than meets eye. debunk
Surface virid, vivid drunk.

The Blind Men and the Elephant
It was six men of Hindostan
To learning much inclined
Who went to see the Elephant
[Though all of them were blind];
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

The first approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
"Bless me, it seems the Elephant
Is very like a wall."

The second, feeling of his tusk,
Cried, "Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp.
To me ‘tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear."

The third approached the animal,
And happening to take

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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As A Matter Of Fact

Written by s. garrett & d. boyette
Blow daddy, aww, yeah
Here we are, standing at the hard line
We made it last this long
The two of us, together since the first time
And I believe our love is still strong
Seems love has a funny way
Well, it can come or go or it can choose to stay
But love says what it has to say
(chorus)
Matter of fact (ooh, as a matter of fact)
I love you (oh, as a matter of fact)
And I love that you love me back
As a matter of fact (ooh, as a matter, a matter)
Some said we wouldnt make it this far
But they dont talk no more (no more)
The love we share is precious as a big star
And what we haves what others hope for
Seems love has a funny way
Well, it can come or go or it can choose to stay
But love says what it has to say
(chorus)
Matter of fact (ooh, as a matter of fact)
I need you (oh, as a matter of fact)
And Im glad that you need me back
As a matter of fact (ooh, as a matter, a matter)
Mm, matter of fact, yeah (ooh as a matter of fact)
I want you (yeah, as a matter of fact)
And I cant tell you more than that
As a matter of fact, (ooh, as a matter) yeah (matter)
Aww, blow, daddy
Musical interlude
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Seems love has a funny way
Well, it can come and go or it can choose to stay
But love says what it has to say
(repeat chorus)
Matter of fact (ooh, as a matter of fact)
I love you (oh, as a matter of fact)
Yeah and I love that you love me back
As a matter of fact (ooh, as a matter of fact)
Ooh, ooh, baby
Matter of fact (ooh, as a matter of fact)
I need you (yeah, as a matter of fact)
And Im glad that you need me right back
As a matter of fact
(ooh, as a matter) yeah (a matter)

song performed by Natalie Cole
Added by Lucian Velea
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Elephants & Flowers

Boy is lonely on a burning hot summer night
Hes looking 4 some action, hes looking 4 a fight
Hes looking 4 a saviour in a city full of fools
Maybe he just needs a good talker to give him a good talking 2.
Can we talk baby? strip down, strip down.
I think Im gonna fall in love tonight.
Elephants and flowers, hot sweaty light paints a picture red and gold
On a crowd of naked bodies stripped down to their very souls
How can he find a shy angel in a city so bold (so bold)
He cant even find a place 2 dance, this is rock and roll.
Strip down, strip down, elephants and flowers
Is everybody ready? here we go.
Love the one who is love, (love) the one who gives us the power, (power)
The one who made everything, (what? ) elephants and flowers (what will he do? )
The one who will listen when all others will not.
There will be peace 4 those who love God a lot.
Elephants and flowers. strip down. think Im gonna fall in love tonight.
When I do, there wont be no more (confusion)
There wont be no more (no tears)
There wont be no more enemies, so that eliminates all the fear
And there wont be no sorrow, (sorrow)
There wont be no pain, (no pain)
There wont be no ball and no chain
Strip down, strip down. elephants and flowers.
Boy is lonely on a burning hot summer night
Hes looking 4 an angel to hold him til the morning light
Here we go.
Love the one who is love, (well) the one who gives us the power, (power)
The one who made everything, (everything) elephants and flowers (oh, yeah)
The one who will listen when all others will not. (all others will not)
There will be peace 4 those who love God a lot.
Here we go.
Love the one who is love, (love) the one who gives us the power, (power)
The one who made everything, (what? ) elephants and flowers (what will he do? )
The one who will listen when all others will not.
There will be peace 4 those who love God a lot.

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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I. The Ring and the Book

Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.

Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Making Love With Memories

You poked my blurring eye,
Let me lift your mushy breast.

We aged onwards
While you stroked flaccidity –
Recalling decades of
Blood-gorged coming, shuddering to boot.

I kissed a venerable mouth
Crammed with falsities –
Once brilliant keys
Guarded by crimson lips
Washed by a sensual tongue.

And so we writhed in wrinkles,
Tiring effort, and
Memories.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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We Must Be Liberal

I remember when I called you a honky.
And you called me a black ugly monkey.
Now both of us ride on a donkey.
'Haw hee haw.'

The brainiacs are on the attack.
Trying to cover their dirty tracks.
Those conservative try to debate...
How an elephant's gait can keep up the pace.

'Haw hee haw.'

I remember when I called you a honky.
And you called me a black ugly monkey.
Now both of us ride on a donkey.
'Haw hee haw.'

I remember when I called you a honky.
And you called me a black ugly monkey.
Now both of us ride on a donkey.
'Haw hee haw.'

Are we liberal?
'Haw hee haw haw...whoa!
I don't know that.
But an elephant's trying to crush my back! '

Are we liberal?
'Haw hee haw haw...whoa!
I don't know that.
But an elephant's trying to crush my back! '

The brainiacs are on the attack.
Trying to cover their dirty tracks.
Those conservative try to debate...
How an elephant's gait can keep up the pace.

'Haw hee haw haw...whoa!

Are we liberal?
'Haw hee haw haw...whoa!
I don't know that.
But an elephant's trying to crush my back! '

Are we liberal?
'Haw hee haw haw...whoa! '
Are we liberal?
'Haw hee haw haw...whoa! '
Are we liberal?
'Haw hee haw haw...whoa! '

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Cellophane Spirit: Improvisation 10 19 2004

Old men have seen a memory blown by sleeping,
wails of grief kisses sucked up excavated noses
soul stirring psalms to the very top of the lung
energy boasts of a golden but feared recall, I
have seen the fingering of Miles Davis’ trumpet
wail of sex instincts on Stella by Starlight sung
Jesus looking for guileless disciples in the gilded
night I have seen a memory, driven by alleys of
Georgetown fences, noted gentries out-of-the-way
welcome entries, walked to mama’s down at the
very end of towns, P Street’s dead turn onto the
Avenue of murderer’s row in a town’s strip of
social clubs, I have walked sidewalk storm drains
from stoops of filth down to Main & Baltimore
streets, I have seen memory collect in the smaller
towns of Shelbyville, Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio,
Tennessee, and Springfield, Illinois, cellophane
swathes the memory, what’s known of selected
service towns, soldiers never coming home,
where divine earth gardens of herbs, salts, and
sugary loves are grown, I have seen a memory
stripped off every language, a cappella chanting
of soliloquists, ritual Griot and orphaned rappers
of cellophane spirit; porno on sheets of exhibited
joy, I have seen a memory cruising the boulevards
to The Louver and the mall to The Smithsonian, got
down with nightfall song on Martin Luther King Jr.
Avenues with whores pimps of priest and mothers,

LEE MACK
(Cellophane Spirit, Page 2)

memory eyes that burn high with desire set afire
the fricative nature of her cellophane spirit,
I have seen a memory of towns of orphaned sons
bound for locomotive dreams there in old houses on
Rose Street, Spanish laborers now rent overcrowded
dream Tudor houses, mansions of memories now city
neighbors with funeral homes where strange crowds
gather in games of wake, I have seen a memory
for the dead a picnic and a park of spirits set aside
in stone, strange crowds in games of joy a girl’s legs
too young consent to cellophane; raps disown me,

[...] Read more

poem by Lee B. Mack
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Little Aggie

When Joe Dove took his elephants out on the road
He made each one hold fast with his trunk
To the tail of the elephant walking in front
To stop them from doing a bunk.

There were fifteen in all, so 'twere rather a job
To get them linked up in a row,
But once he had fixed 'em Joe knew they'd hold on,
For an elephant never lets go.

The pace it was set by the big 'uns in front,
'Twas surprising how fast they could stride,
And poor little Aggie, the one at the back...
Had to run till she very near died.

They were walking one Sunday from Blackpool to Crewe,
They'd started at break of the day,
Joe followed behind with a bagful of buns
In case they got hungry on t'way.

They travelled along at a rattling good pace
Over moorland and valley and plain,
And poor little Aggie the one at the back
Her trunk fairly creaked with the strain.

They came to a place where the railway crossed road,
An ungated crossing it were,
And they wasn't to know as the express was due
At the moment that they landed there.

They was half way across when Joe saw the express-
It came tearing along up the track-
He tried hard to stop, but it wasn't much good,
For an elephant never turns back.

He saw if he didn't do something at once
The train looked like spoiling his troupe,
So he ran on ahead and he waggled tho buns
To show them they'd best hurry up

When they caught sight of buns they all started to run,
And they soon got across at this gait,
Except poor little Aggie-the one at the back,
She were one second too late.

The express came dashing along at full speed,
And caught her end on, fair and square
She bounced off the buffers, turned head over heels,
And lay with her legs in the air.

[...] Read more

poem by Marriott Edgar
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China Slaughters Elephants For Profit Ivory

10 million elephants 10 years ago
decade on worldwide 2012 less than
450,000 elephants survive worldwide
an evil hand causes elephant holocaust

elephants only survive in wilderness areas
Chinese companies resource rape cut roads
into mother planet earth last wilderness areas
urban global hero Wikileaks sources reviews

Wikileaks spills the beans on Chinese financial
elephant poaching China slaughtering elephants
for profit ivory to get limp Chinese alter ego dicks
up demand is growing growing growing dickless

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Incubus

Who wants a nice white elephant,
Quite fit in wind and limb?
An ornament for any gent
Who can find use for him.
It won't pay us to kill the cuss;
But we can't afford his keep.
Who wants a nice white elephant?
We'll sell or lease him cheap.

Who wants a nice white elephant?
He'd make a lovely pet.
In rich, fat days we loved his way,
But in these times of fret
He's sort of grown too big for us
To fondle, groom and feed.
Who wants a fine white elephant
Of most exclusive breed?

Who wants a nice white elephant?
Of noble lineage he.
His breed is by State Jealousy
Out of Prosperity.
The rich years thro' he grew and grew,
And, ah, we loved him so.
But we can't afford his bed and board,
And we'd like to let him go.

Who'll buy a nice white elephant?
No decent bid refused.
We love him yet, altho' our pet
Has often been abused.
But come on, gents, walk up, walk up.
Our funds, alas, are scant.
Altho' we once were sold a pup
Who'll buy an elephant?

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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YOUR MEMORY [by Redscar McOdindo K'Oyuga & Muna Moons Ahmed]

YOUR MEMORY
[by Redscar McOdindo K’Oyuga & Muna Moons Ahmed]

Redscar McOdindo:

I’ve tried to forget your cultures
I’ve taken down all of your pictures
I’ve even changed my manners
And tried to get yet another missus…
I’ve cleaned out all of your drawers
I’ve painted over the scratches
From all our little wars
But it has never been a savory
To erase your memory.

Muna Moons:

I live beyond earthly possessions
I, I am your emotions
We have lost directions
Trying to conform to different directions.
You, you come in to ease these confusions
But we are lost. Are we lost in institutions?
Baseless yet holding on to unique fusions?

Redscar McOdindo:

Since you left
I’ve acted swift
To wander away adrift
And widen the rift
Between you and me….
Too hard has it been to shift
But I’ve put away every gift
That you ever gave to me –
Including your flowers and their vase –
And now everything is in its place
Except for one quandary:
Your Memory.

Muna Moons:

Honey, the flower dried
And the vase was then deprived
But its memory can’t be denied
I loved you so much it sighed
You loved me too much it died
And now that we are sidelined
Our memories we can’t hide.

[...] Read more

poem by Redscar McOdindo K'Oyuga
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!

It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!

Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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New York City

Standing on the corner, just me and yoko ono,
We was waiting for jerry to land.
Up come a man with a guitar in his hand,
Singing, have a marijuana, if you can.
His name was david peel and we found that he was real,
He sang, the pope smokes dope evryday.
Up come a policeman, shoved us of the street,
Singing, power to the people today.
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! hey!
Well, down to maxs, kansas city, got down the nitty gritty
With the elephants memory band.
Laid something down as the news spread around
About the plastic ono elephants memory band.
Well, we played some funky boogie, and laid some tutti fritti,
Singing, long tall sallys a man.
Up come a preacher man, tryin to be a teacher,
Singing, gods a red herring in drag!
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Ha! ha!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey!
Oh yeah!
Hey! new york city!
Alright, new york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! hey!
Well, we did the staten island ferry, making movies for the telly,
Played the fillmore and apollo for freedom.
Tried to shake our image, just a-cycling through the village,
But we found that we had left it back in london.
Well, nobody came to bug us, hustle us or shove us,
We decided to make it our home.
If the man wants to shove us out, we gonna jump and shout,
The statue of liberty said, come!
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?

[...] Read more

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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New York City

Standing on the corner, just me and yoko ono,
We was waiting for jerry to land.
Up come a man with a guitar in his hand,
Singing, have a marijuana, if you can.
His name was david peel and we found that he was real,
He sang, the pope smokes dope evryday.
Up come a policeman, shoved us of the street,
Singing, power to the people today.
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! hey!
Well, down to maxs, kansas city, got down the nitty gritty
With the elephants memory band.
Laid something down as the news spread around
About the plastic ono elephants memory band.
Well, we played some funky boogie, and laid some tutti fritti,
Singing, long tall sallys a man.
Up come a preacher man, tryin to be a teacher,
Singing, gods a red herring in drag!
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Ha! ha!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey!
Oh yeah!
Hey! new york city!
Alright, new york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! hey!
Well, we did the staten island ferry, making movies for the telly,
Played the fillmore and apollo for freedom.
Tried to shake our image, just a-cycling through the village,
But we found that we had left it back in london.
Well, nobody came to bug us, hustle us or shove us,
We decided to make it our home.
If the man wants to shove us out, we gonna jump and shout,
The statue of liberty said, come!
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?

[...] Read more

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Cloud Messenger - Part 01

A certain yaksha who had been negligent in the execution of his own duties,
on account of a curse from his master which was to be endured for a year and
which was onerous as it separated him from his beloved, made his residence
among the hermitages of Ramagiri, whose waters were blessed by the bathing
of the daughter of Janaka1 and whose shade trees grew in profusion.

That lover, separated from his beloved, whose gold armlet had slipped from
his bare forearm, having dwelt on that mountain for some months, on the first
day of the month of Asadha, saw a cloud embracing the summit, which
resembled a mature elephant playfully butting a bank.

Managing with difficulty to stand up in front of that cloud which was the
cause of the renewal of his enthusiasm, that attendant of the king of kings,
pondered while holding back his tears. Even the mind of a happy person is
excited at the sight of a cloud. How much more so, when the one who longs to
cling to his neck is far away?

As the month of Nabhas was close at hand, having as his goal the sustaining
of the life of his beloved and wishing to cause the tidings of his own welfare
to be carried by the cloud, the delighted being spoke kind words of welcome
to the cloud to which offerings of fresh kutaja flowers had been made.

Owing to his impatience, not considering the imcompatibility between a cloud
consisting of vapour, light, water and wind and the contents of his message
best delivered by a person of normal faculties, the yaksha made this request to
the cloud, for among sentient and non-sentient things, those afflicted by desire
are naturally miserable:

Without doubt, your path unimpeded, you will see your brother’s wife, intent
on counting the days, faithful and living on. The bond of hope generally
sustains the quickly sinking hearts of women who are alone, and which wilt
like flowers.

Just as the favourable wind drives you slowly onward, this cataka cuckoo,
your kinsman, calls sweetly on the left. Knowing the season for fertilisation,
cranes, like threaded garlands in the sky, lovely to the eye, will serve you.

Your steady passage observed by charming female siddhas who in trepidation
wonder ‘Has the summit been carried off the mountain by the wind?’, you
who are heading north, fly up into the sky from this place where the nicula
trees flourish, avoiding on the way the blows of the trunks of the elephants of
the four quarters of the sky.

This rainbow, resembling the intermingled sparkling of jewels, appears before
Mt Valmikagra, on account of which your dark body takes on a particular
loveliness, as did the body of Vishnu dressed as a cowherd with the peacock’s
feather of glistening lustre.

While being imbibed by the eyes of the country women who are ignorant of
the play of the eyebrows, who are tender in their affection, and who are

[...] Read more

poem by Kalidasa
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Vida's Game Of Chess

TRANSLATED

ARMIES of box that sportively engage
And mimic real battles in their rage,
Pleased I recount; how, smit with glory's charms,
Two mighty Monarchs met in adverse arms,
Sable and white; assist me to explore,
Ye Serian Nymphs, what ne'er was sung before.
No path appears: yet resolute I stray
Where youth undaunted bids me force my way.
O'er rocks and cliffs while I the task pursue,
Guide me, ye Nymphs, with your unerring clue.
For you the rise of this diversion know,
You first were pleased in Italy to show
This studious sport; from Scacchis was its name,
The pleasing record of your Sister's fame.

When Jove through Ethiopia's parch'd extent
To grace the nuptials of old Ocean went,
Each god was there; and mirth and joy around
To shores remote diffused their happy sound.
Then when their hunger and their thirst no more
Claim'd their attention, and the feast was o'er;
Ocean with pastime to divert the thought,
Commands a painted table to be brought.
Sixty-four spaces fill the chequer'd square;
Eight in each rank eight equal limits share.
Alike their form, but different are their dyes,
They fade alternate, and alternate rise,
White after black; such various stains as those
The shelving backs of tortoises disclose.
Then to the gods that mute and wondering sate,
You see (says he) the field prepared for fate.
Here will the little armies please your sight,
With adverse colours hurrying to the fight:
On which so oft, with silent sweet surprise,
The Nymphs and Nereids used to feast their eyes,
And all the neighbours of the hoary deep,
When calm the sea, and winds were lull'd asleep
But see, the mimic heroes tread the board;
He said, and straightway from an urn he pour'd
The sculptured box, that neatly seem'd to ape
The graceful figure of a human shape:--
Equal the strength and number of each foe,
Sixteen appear'd like jet, sixteen like snow.
As their shape varies various is the name,
Different their posts, nor is their strength the same.
There might you see two Kings with equal pride
Gird on their arms, their Consorts by their side;
Here the Foot-warriors glowing after fame,

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poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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The Tale of the Tiger-Tree

A Fantasy, dedicated to the little poet Alice Oliver Henderson, ten years old.

The Fantasy shows how tiger-hearts are the cause of war in all ages. It shows how the mammoth forces may be either friends or enemies of the struggle for peace. It shows how the dream of peace is unconquerable and eternal.

I

Peace-of-the-Hea rt, my own for long,
Whose shining hair the May-winds fan,
Making it tangled as they can,
A mystery still, star-shining yet,
Through ancient ages known to me
And now once more reborn with me: —

This is the tale of the Tiger Tree
A hundred times the height of a man,
Lord of the race since the world began.

This is my city Springfield,
My home on the breast of the plain.
The state house towers to heaven,
By an arsenal gray as the rain...
And suddenly all is mist,
And I walk in a world apart,
In the forest-age when I first knelt down
At your feet, O Peace-of-the-Heart.

This is the wonder of twilight:
Three times as high as the dome
Tiger-striped trees encircle the town,
Golden geysers of foam.
While giant white parrots sail past in their pride.
The roofs now are clouds and storms that they ride.
And there with the huntsmen of mound-builder days
Through jungle and meadow I stride.
And the Tiger Tree leaf is falling around
As it fell when the world began:
Like a monstrous tiger-skin, stretched on the ground,
Or the cloak of a medicine man.
A deep-crumpled gossamer web,
Fringed with the fangs of a snake.
The wind swirls it down from the leperous boughs.
It shimmers on clay-hill and lake,
With the gleam of great bubbles of blood,
Or coiled like a rainbow shell....
I feast on the stem of the Leaf as I march.
I am burning with Heaven and Hell.

II

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poem by Vachel Lindsay
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