No individual has a vested right to a job when that individual fails to perform adequately.
quote by James E. Rogers
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Related quotes
Eternal Creation
The Parent’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to the child; but to irrefutably ensure that the infant was nourished with their breath and blood till the time it could unflinchingly fend for its symbiotic survival; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created them for,
The Sun’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to light; but to irrefutably ensure that the rays optimistically enlightened even the most infinitesimally lugubrious cranny of remorsefully cloistered earth; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Rose’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to fragrance; but to irrefutably ensure that the majestic resplendence ebulliently blossomed into the lives of countless haplessly beleaguered and bereaved; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Peak’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to victory; but to irrefutably ensure that the royal triumph peerlessly massacred even the most ethereal iota of devilishness form this Universe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
Nature’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to newness; but to irrefutably ensure that the evolution metamorphosed every bit of egregiously stagnating ghoulishness into a sky of rhapsodic freshness; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Cloud’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to rain; but to irrefutably ensure that the water stupendously ignited vivaciously iridescent life in every ingredient of hopelessly dying soil; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Conscience’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to truth; but to irrefutably ensure that the righteousness insuperably conquered every trace of diabolical lies on earth and the atmosphere; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Ocean’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to salt; but to irrefutably ensure that the tanginess wonderfully illuminated every treacherously spiceles and deliriously lackadaisical moment of life; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Poet’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to fantasy; but to irrefutably ensure that the dream spellbindingly impregnates the winds of Omnipotent romance into monotonously monstrous robots; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created him for,
The Lip’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to smiles; but to irrefutably ensure that the happiness altruistically perpetually perpetuates into every dwelling incarcerated in chains of murderous gloom; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Rainbow’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to vividness; but to irrefutably ensure that the color timelessly enshrouded every gruesomely befriended orphan; miserably deteriorating on the globe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Shadow’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to tranquility; but to irrefutably ensure that the peacefulness granted celestial reprieve to every bizarrely estranged soul squandering on this Universe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The philanthropist’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to unity; but to irrefutably ensure that the oneness miraculously coalesced every spuriously staggering and cold-bloodedly fighting caste; creed and tribe into the unassailable religion of humanity; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created him for,
The wind’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to freedom; but to irrefutably ensure that the liberation unequivocally freed every element of torturously enslaved earth till times immemorial; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
The night’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to sensuality; but to irrefutably ensure that the passion brilliantly transformed every speck of infertility into the chapters of everlastingly Omniscient procreation; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
The eyelash’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to flirtation; but to irrefutably ensure that the mischief serenely catapulted every fretfully frenetic organism into realms of impeccable childhood; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
The soldiers job just doesn’t end at giving birth to martyrdom; but to irrefutably ensure that the valor to timelessly serve the mothersoil; throbbed fearlessly in every chest; even centuries after his veritable death; was what the Almighty Creator had created him for,
The breath’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to life; but to irrefutably ensure that the exultation inexhaustibly transcended over; even the most inane anecdote of baseless corruption and demeaning death; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
And the heart’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to Love; but to irrefutably ensure that the compassionate togetherness tirelessly bonded the entire planet into a paradise of Omnipresently unshakable strength; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for…
©copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. All rights reserved.
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Dead End Job
Words and music by The Police
I don't want no dead end job
I don't wanna be no number
I don't want no dead end job
I don't wanna be no number
The queue gets longer everyday
I just ain't no time to stay
I ain't gonna run away
All I want to do is play
Don't wanna be no teacher
I don't wanna be no slave
I don't wanna work no assembly line
A' like my uncle Dave
The queue gets longer everyday
I just ain't got time to stay
I ain't gonna run away
All I wanna do is play
I don't want no dead end job
I don't want no dead end job
I don't want no dead end job
I don't want no dead end job
I don't want no dead end job
I don't wanna be no number
I don't want no dead end job
I don't wanna be no number
The queue gets longer everyday
All I wanna do is play
I just ain't got time to stay
But I ain't gonna run away
Don't wanna be no millionaire
Don't wanna own no mint
I don't wanna be no tax exile
And I don't mind being skint
The queue gets longer every day
I just ain't got time to stay
I ain't gonna run away
All I wanna do is play
I don't want no dead end job
I don't want no dead end job
I don't want no dead end job
I don't want no dead end job
I don't want no dead end job
I don't wanna be no number
I don't want no dead end job
I don't wanna be no number
The queue gets longer everyday
I just ain't no time to stay
I ain't gonna run away
All I want to do is play
Don't wanna be no millionaire
[...] Read more
song performed by Police
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Mans Job
Well you can go out with him
Play with all of his toys
But takin care of you darlin
Aint for one of the boys
Oh theres somethin in your soul
That hes gonna rob
And lovin you baby lovin you darlin
Lovin you woman is a mans mans job
Lovin yous a mans job baby
Lovin yous a mans job
Lovin yous a mans job baby
Lovin yous a mans job
Well now his kisses may thrill
Those other girls that he likes
But when it comes to treatin
A real woman right
Well of all of his tricks
No they wont be enough
cause lovin you baby lovin you woman
Lovin you darlin is a mans mans job
Lovin yous a mans job baby
Lovin yous a mans job
Lovin yous a mans job baby
Lovin yous a mans job
Youre dancin with him hes holding you tight
Im standing here waitin to catch your eye
Your hands on his neck as the music sways
All my illusions slip away
Repeat riff from intro twice
Now if youre lookin for a hero
Someone to save the day
Well darlin my feet
Theyre made of clay
But Ive got something in my soul
And I wanna give it up
But gettin up the nerve
Gettin up the nerve
Gettin up the nerve is a mans mans job
Lovin yous a mans job baby
Lovin yous a mans job
Lovin yous a mans job woman
Lovin yous a mans job
song performed by Bruce Springsteen
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Dirty Job
Its a dirty job
But somebodys got to do it
Better get to it
Somebodys gotta do it
Whatever it takes, whatever it takes
Any work at all
Is better than none
Better buckle down to it
Gotta get the job done
Gotta earn my pay... I gotta earn my pay
I cant wait around on the lottery
And there aint no millionaires
Lookin for me
And somebodys gotta do it, do it
Somebodys gotta do it, do it
Somebodys gotta do it, do it
Somebody
I can think of better things
Id rather do
I might get lucky
And Im hopin to
But until I do
I gotta compromise
The job aint much
But at least its mine
It beats standin
In the unemployment line
Put pride aside
And Ill improvise
Even if I do get a better job
Somebody else
Has gotta fill my spot
Somebodys gotta do it, do it
Somebodys gotta do it, do it
Somebodys gotta do it, do it
Somebody
Somebody
Somebodys gotta do it, do it
Somebodys gotta do it, do it
Its a dirty job
Its a low-down dirty job
Somebody
Even if the rules are too hard to follow
Even when pride is too hard to swallow
Its another day so its another dollar
Thats what its all about, oh
Its a dirty job
But somebodys got to do it
Better get to it
Somebodys gotta do it
[...] Read more
song performed by Dolly Parton
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Virginia's Story
Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.
She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.
When she was old enough she got married.
First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.
Agnes was my mother.
Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.
Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.
Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.
Anna was a maid and cook.
She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth
They were both good cooks
They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.
My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.
She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.
[...] Read more
poem by Talile Ali
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Rich Man, Poor Man
When God looked down from Heaven's Throne to Job upon the Earth,
God saw Job's faith had fully grown and that this man had worth...
God told the Devil of this man, so righteous and so pure.
God said, 'He does the best he can, almost without a flaw...'
The Devil fumed and then replied, 'You made him rich, that's why!
How many times has that man sighed? He has no cause to cry! '
Then God let Satan smite Job's land and suffer for a while
And death was very near to hand... and poor Job lost his smile...
The Lord received Job's faithful praise, despite the tragic loss!
Job proved he loved the Lord always! That made the Devil cross!
'What say you now? ' the Lord remarked! But Satan argued still...
For he was livid, he was narked, 'What if I make him ill? '
So God agreed, 'But spare his life! ' So Satan went below
And Job fell ill, such that his wife saw skin boils start to grow...
'Why praise the Lord? Reject His love! ' But Job dismissed each word.
'I trust the Lord who dwells above! Rejection's quite absurd! '
Alas, poor Job conferred with friends, who said that he had sinned...
But Job had faith that never ends! Though he no longer grinned!
Through gritted teeth, he set them straight, 'Of what sin am I blamed?
Of every sin I've learned to hate! I sit here unashamed! '
Then God spoke loud and God spoke clear, of everything He'd made,
Both sun and moon, things far and near, so truth could be displayed.
A structured world to live upon, from valleys to snowflakes!
If rainbow-coloured lights are shone, then, oh, what joy, each makes!
Poor Job, he suffered all he could, yet now he'd seen God's face,
By faith, he'd done the things he should, yet Job was saved by grace!
By faith, not works, lest any boast, no matter, rich or poor...
In Christ, receive the Holy Ghost... You'll never want for more...
Denis Martindale, copyright, May 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Nothing Fails
I'm in love with you
You silly thing
Anyone can see
What is it with you
You silly thing
Just take it from me
It was not a chance meeting
Feel my heart beating
You're the One
You could take all this
Take it away
And I'd still have it all
Cause I've found the Tree of Life
And that is why
No longer scared if I fall
When I get lost in space
I can return to this place
Cause you're the one
(Chorus)
Nothing Fails
No more fears
Nothing Fails
You washed away my tears
Nothing Fails
No more fears
Nothing Fails
Nothing Fails
I'm not religious
But I feel so moved
Makes me wanna pray
Pray you'll always be here
I'm not religious
But I feel such love
Makes me wanna pray
When I get lost in space
I can return to this place
Cause you're the one
I'm not religious
But I feel so moved
Mmmm
I'm not religious
Makes me wanna pray
I'm not religious
But I feel so moved
Makes me wanna pray
Pray you'll always be here
I'm not religious
But I feel such love
Makes me wanna pray
(Repeat Chorus 2 x's)
[...] Read more
song performed by Madonna
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If You can Keep your Cheese - after Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your cheese while few about you
are holding onto theirs', all envy ease.
If none can get your goat nor cow could doubt you
your scent which, heaven sent, can tell true bries
from gorgonzola, parmesan without you
planning for house mouse contingencies,
or short supply where larder rats may scout to
grind, compromise the tasty rind most please.
If by a whisker cheshire follows trout to
provide fit end for sweet delicacies,
or cheddar meat meal follows leaves no gout to
blur enjoyment, taste buds' harmonies.
If desert heat no threat presents, no pout too
in winter's cold where lizard's blood would freeze,
If neither flood nor drought can mar, throughout you
may triumph over blue mould colonies.
If all kowtow, if none would ever flout you
remembering to bow before ‘big cheese'...
if hole in one you score in club you clout to
take golden trophy - competition flees.
If all above's accomplished taste devout, true,
while others fail to prove their expertise,
your's is the world, which elsewhere's up the spout, few
can make their time your rhyme's real_I_tease!
IF - A Writers' Guild Gild Guile Guide
If you can form and not make norms your master,
conformity, performance formal, flame.
If you inform, share, [fl]airing, flow far faster,
yet let not copyright bind tight to shame.
If you treat critic's inconstructive blaster
with humour, beat him at his game's lame claim,
take not to hea[r]t his tumour, bandage, plaster
half-heartedly, pretend [s]he never came.
If you can couple energy creative
well in advance of others in your field,
without confusing nominative, dative,
rei[g]n arguments through cogency revealed
in context, in a manner innovative,
code palimpsests from all but s[t]age concealed,
If trust in self is never compensative
reaction used when you refused to yield.
If you can link great ends with small beginnings,
and yet not brag, nor tag each copy sold,
If dialogue's more vital than piled winnings,
to trim the quill where will won't be short-sold,
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bible Stories: Job (Chapter XXXXII)
I know You do just everything;
To You, no one can hindrance bring;
May be, I’ve dealt with some great things-
Things all unknown to e’en earth’s kings!
No one can block your purpose, Lord;
I came to know You by mouth’s word;
And now, my eyes both have seen God;
I’m sorry for whatev’r I said.
Of things I knew, I cannot know;
They are so wonderful Lord, O!
I disown things I said before;
In ashes, dust, I repent, Oh!
The Lord then spoke to Eliphaz,
‘I’m angry with you three, because
How you spoke to Job of me was
Never aright and made Job worse.’
‘My servant Job had spoken right;
Take bullocks, rams all seven each
To job who’ll pray with all his might,
To make up for your blunders, breach.’
‘Concerning me, you didn’t talk well,
As well as my servant Job’s spell!
I’ll accept his prayer to not
To punish severely, I thought.’
Eliphaz, Zohar, Bildad did
According to what God had bid.
God accepted Job’s prayer soon
For all, life turned from bane to boon!
God then restored Job’s sad a plight,
After Job prayed for friends aright;
He blessed him two-fold as before,
And Job was happy, all the more.
His relatives came back to him,
Enquiring how life had turned grim;
They condoled, comforted him also,
And shared their wealth with him therefore.
The latter days of Job were blessed,
More than the earlier ones, God dressed;
God gave him immense cattle-wealth;
He lived one-forty years in health.
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
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The hunger without a name
The hunger, even felt
by the adequately clothed,
the adequately fed, the
adequately housed..
the hunger without a name,
a smell, a taste,
without an image, without
an advertising agency
to shape it for us; quietly
whimpering, whining at the door
to be let in and fed;
is it something we’ve never had?
distantly remember
like a childhood happiness?
or have, but want much more of?
and if a good fairy passed
and said, I can offer you only
one of these three things:
to be almost always happy;
to understand almost everything;
or to live almost forever…
which one would we choose? and
would the hunger be assuaged?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The sad story of happiness
Statistics tell. You can be
independent of them, but
you cannot deny them.
Though white Americans are freed
from many of the hassles and indignities
that affect black Americans, yet,
on average, they are only
very slightly happier.
Men have more power and freedom
than women, yet, on average,
they are not any happier.
(Women experience more depression,
but also more intense joy..)
Though the young have so much more
to look forward to, than the elderly,
yet ratings of life satisfaction rise slightly
up to age sixty-five, and for some, beyond..
People in colder areas of the USA
might expect Californians to be
happier. They are wrong.
Surely people who are more attractive
are happier than the unattractive?
Not so..
If you’re adequately housed,
adequately clothed, adequately fed,
then wealth will surely bring you greater happiness?
The rich are only a very little
happier than the middle classes…
So is this the end of
The American Dream – Joe,
José, Leroy, Yusuf, Gianni, Johan, Boris, Ivan, Ravi?
isn’t there a happy ending, over the border,
over the ocean, over the rainbow?
Yes, there is…
happy people grow rich faster..
(thanks to Jon Haidt for this)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Book III - Part 02 - Nature And Composition Of The Mind
First, then, I say, the mind which oft we call
The intellect, wherein is seated life's
Counsel and regimen, is part no less
Of man than hand and foot and eyes are parts
Of one whole breathing creature. But some hold
That sense of mind is in no fixed part seated,
But is of body some one vital state,-
Named "harmony" by Greeks, because thereby
We live with sense, though intellect be not
In any part: as oft the body is said
To have good health (when health, however, 's not
One part of him who has it), so they place
The sense of mind in no fixed part of man.
Mightily, diversly, meseems they err.
Often the body palpable and seen
Sickens, while yet in some invisible part
We feel a pleasure; oft the other way,
A miserable in mind feels pleasure still
Throughout his body- quite the same as when
A foot may pain without a pain in head.
Besides, when these our limbs are given o'er
To gentle sleep and lies the burdened frame
At random void of sense, a something else
Is yet within us, which upon that time
Bestirs itself in many a wise, receiving
All motions of joy and phantom cares of heart.
Now, for to see that in man's members dwells
Also the soul, and body ne'er is wont
To feel sensation by a "harmony"
Take this in chief: the fact that life remains
Oft in our limbs, when much of body's gone;
Yet that same life, when particles of heat,
Though few, have scattered been, and through the mouth
Air has been given forth abroad, forthwith
Forever deserts the veins, and leaves the bones.
Thus mayst thou know that not all particles
Perform like parts, nor in like manner all
Are props of weal and safety: rather those-
The seeds of wind and exhalations warm-
Take care that in our members life remains.
Therefore a vital heat and wind there is
Within the very body, which at death
Deserts our frames. And so, since nature of mind
And even of soul is found to be, as 'twere,
A part of man, give over "harmony"-
Name to musicians brought from Helicon,-
Unless themselves they filched it otherwise,
To serve for what was lacking name till then.
Whate'er it be, they're welcome to it- thou,
Hearken my other maxims.
[...] Read more
poem by Lucretius
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Bible Stories: Job (Chapter II)
When angels came before Yahweh,
Satan too joined them again.
The Lord asked him, “Whence do you come? ”
And Satan told, “By roaming earth,
And going on lands, back and forth.”
God asked, “Did you notice my servant Job?
There’s none like him upon the earth! ”
“You ruined Job without a cause! ”
And Satan answered Lord and said,
“Man gives all things to save his life;
Just touch his body, he’ll curse God.”
So, God placed Job in Satan’s hands;
‘Just spare his life, ’ God warned Satan.
So, Satan went from Lord’s presence,
And caused Job boils from head to foot;
Job took a potsherd to scrape with
And sat amongst the ashes sad.
His wife advised, “Curse God and die! ”
Job told her not to be foolish.
“When good things come, we praise the Lord.”
“Why shouldn’t some evil come? ” asked Job.
In all this, Job didn’t sin by word!
Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar-
Good friends of Job, heard the sad news,
And rushed to mourn and console him!
From far, they couldn’t recognize Job;
They wept aloud and tore their cloaks;
They sprinkled dust upon their heads;
And sat with him upon the ground,
For seven days and nights, speechless.
They saw his grief was very great!
poem by John Celes
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You're Like a Child
You're an idiot, that's for sure
You'll never learn
You're a dumbass
That won't ever change
And through you have a grown man's body
Through you claim to be so very macho
You're like a child
You sit and waste away
You don't know what a job is
You don't ever wanna leave your mama's home
And crybaby all I want for you to know is
You're like a child
You don't know what a job is
You don't wanna ever leave your mama's home
All I want for you to know is
Your constant clinging to my purse strings brings me to tears
Even after all these years
And it pains me to have to put up with you
I know you too damn well
And through you look like a grown man
Through you claim to be so very macho
You're like a child
You sit and waste away
You don't know what a job is
You don't ever wanna leave your mama's home
And crybaby all I want you to know is
You're like a child
You sit and waste away
You don't know what a job is
You don't ever wanna leave your mama's home
All I want for you to know is
It's not that I wanna say goodbye
It's just time that you try to grow up
Stand on your own
Each and every single day you know
You're going to have to eventually move away
And through you look like a grown man
And through you claim to be ever so very macho
I know deep down
You're just scared
That through life you won't make it on your own
You're like a child
You sit and waste away
You don't know what a job is
You don't ever wanna leave your mama's home
[...] Read more
poem by Ramona Thompson
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There Is No Such Thing As An Individual
She looked at me
and asked.
'What is your answer? '
I was startled
and caught up short.
Simple question.
But I did not know
what the answer was.
'Who am I'?
I blurted out
vying for time;
I gave her my name
narrowing it to the millions
of Jim Jones in the world.
But am I my name?
She said
What else.?
'I am Hedi's Father
and Lisa's husband'
but before this response rolled away
into silence
I knew it wasn't enough.
So who else?
'I like hockey' I said
and knew even this
fell short.
How do I single out
the Me among millions?
What could I say
without out offering
fingerprints or DNA?
What would you say?
Maybe I should have given her
an address.
Only I live there.
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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You Know Im Not Crazy
Say your mind has an overload
Your heart beats rythym
Hot and cold
Your stature has a naked buxx
When youre near
Youre not like us
Chorus:
You know Im not crazy
You know Im not crazy
I caught on to the way you smile
Love could only last a while
I couldnt love
I couldnt touch
The situation
Was too much
(chorus)
Your love fails me
Your love it fails me
Your love fails me
Your love it drives me crazy
Dont tell me that lovers always mistrust
The lies in your eyes
The death in your lust
Its more than distraction
You touch you feel
Our hearts dance apart
And you say this is real
You know Im not crazy
Talk about the love we feel
The passion that our hearts conceal
Kiss and run
The fools we trust
Love inside a blinding lust
(chorus)
Hold me to my every word
Forget about the things you heard
Time will conquer
Time will state
We owe every tear to fate
(chorus)
Your love fails me
Your love it fails me
Your love fails me
Your love it drives me crazy
song performed by Culture Club
Added by Lucian Velea
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Book Seventh [Residence in London]
SIX changeful years have vanished since I first
Poured out (saluted by that quickening breeze
Which met me issuing from the City's walls)
A glad preamble to this Verse: I sang
Aloud, with fervour irresistible
Of short-lived transport, like a torrent bursting,
From a black thunder-cloud, down Scafell's side
To rush and disappear. But soon broke forth
(So willed the Muse) a less impetuous stream,
That flowed awhile with unabating strength,
Then stopped for years; not audible again
Before last primrose-time. Beloved Friend!
The assurance which then cheered some heavy thoughts
On thy departure to a foreign land
Has failed; too slowly moves the promised work.
Through the whole summer have I been at rest,
Partly from voluntary holiday,
And part through outward hindrance. But I heard,
After the hour of sunset yester-even,
Sitting within doors between light and dark,
A choir of redbreasts gathered somewhere near
My threshold,--minstrels from the distant woods
Sent in on Winter's service, to announce,
With preparation artful and benign,
That the rough lord had left the surly North
On his accustomed journey. The delight,
Due to this timely notice, unawares
Smote me, and, listening, I in whispers said,
'Ye heartsome Choristers, ye and I will be
Associates, and, unscared by blustering winds,
Will chant together.' Thereafter, as the shades
Of twilight deepened, going forth, I spied
A glow-worm underneath a dusky plume
Or canopy of yet unwithered fern,
Clear-shining, like a hermit's taper seen
Through a thick forest. Silence touched me here
No less than sound had done before; the child
Of Summer, lingering, shining, by herself,
The voiceless worm on the unfrequented hills,
Seemed sent on the same errand with the choir
Of Winter that had warbled at my door,
And the whole year breathed tenderness and love.
The last night's genial feeling overflowed
Upon this morning, and my favourite grove,
Tossing in sunshine its dark boughs aloft,
As if to make the strong wind visible,
Wakes in me agitations like its own,
A spirit friendly to the Poet's task,
Which we will now resume with lively hope,
[...] Read more
poem by William Wordsworth
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Carrolling II-Parody Lewis CARROLL–The Mad Gardener’s Song
Carolling II
He Thought He Saw
He thought he saw new Internet
exchanging peer to peer,
he looked again and found it was
a mirage for each year
sees more control, “what rôle, ” he said,
“for values once held dear?
Some track to trace attack and get
convictions based on fear.'
He dreamt he saw spam disappear,
all consultations free,
he looked again and found it was
a spybot lottery.
“Is net neutrality”, he said,
“from rash risks viral clear? ”
He dreamt that Microsoft would steer
all trash deleted fast,
then woke to find world insincere
where independence past
was sacrificed throughout the year
to biometrics ghast.
He thought he saw a friend’s hello,
with an attachment piece,
he looked again and found it was
the porno scanning police.
“Politically correct”, he said,
“can’t guarantee release.”
He opened it, discovered though,
a trojan horse to fleece –
he looked again as data flow
declined, - mind not at peace -
and whispered with voice hoarse and low:
'when will our worries cease? ”
He thought he saw a hierophant,
who’d deal successful life,
he looked again and found it was
subpoena from ex-wife
demanding child support, he said,
“cards are cut by Time’s knife.”
He looked once more with rage and rant
and swore like a fishwife
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Paradise Regained
THE FIRST BOOK
I, WHO erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind,
By one man's firm obedience fully tried
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.
Thou Spirit, who led'st this glorious Eremite
Into the desert, his victorious field
Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence 10
By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire,
As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute,
And bear through highth or depth of Nature's bounds,
With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds
Above heroic, though in secret done,
And unrecorded left through many an age:
Worthy to have not remained so long unsung.
Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice
More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried
Repentance, and Heaven's kingdom nigh at hand 20
To all baptized. To his great baptism flocked
With awe the regions round, and with them came
From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed
To the flood Jordan--came as then obscure,
Unmarked, unknown. But him the Baptist soon
Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore
As to his worthier, and would have resigned
To him his heavenly office. Nor was long
His witness unconfirmed: on him baptized
Heaven opened, and in likeness of a Dove 30
The Spirit descended, while the Father's voice
From Heaven pronounced him his beloved Son.
That heard the Adversary, who, roving still
About the world, at that assembly famed
Would not be last, and, with the voice divine
Nigh thunder-struck, the exalted man to whom
Such high attest was given a while surveyed
With wonder; then, with envy fraught and rage,
Flies to his place, nor rests, but in mid air
To council summons all his mighty Peers, 40
Within thick clouds and dark tenfold involved,
A gloomy consistory; and them amidst,
With looks aghast and sad, he thus bespake:--
"O ancient Powers of Air and this wide World
(For much more willingly I mention Air,
This our old conquest, than remember Hell,
Our hated habitation), well ye know
How many ages, as the years of men,
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poem by John Milton
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A Promise to Keep This Secret
A promise to keep this secret,
Is a hard job.
A promise to keep discreet,
Is just so hard.
A promise to keep this secret,
Is a hard job.
A promise to keep discreet,
Is just so hard.
Why would somebody have an elicit affair?
With a promise to keep this secret,
Is a hard job.
And do it while sneaking around,
In the clear open air?
A promise to keep discreet,
Is just so hard.
A friend can be a friend to another,
Until the end.
But a friend can not be trusted,
When a cheating begins.
A promise to keep this secret,
Is a hard job.
A promise to keep discreet,
Is just so hard.
And a friend can't be expected to defend a friend.
When that friend is also 'friend',
To those who swap and cheat on spouses...
Of,
Other friends!
Oh.
A promise to keep this secret,
Is a hard job.
A promise to keep discreet,
Is just so hard.
A promise to keep this secret,
Is a hard job.
A promise to keep discreet,
Is just so hard.
When those swapping spouses sneak from houses,
Living just next door???
Keeping this a secret is a hard job.
When those swapping spouses sneak from houses...
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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