We cannot learn from one another until we stop shouting at one another - until we speak quietly enough so that our words can be heard as well as our voices.
quote by Richard M. Nixon
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Quietly Making Noise
Quietly making noise
By: jimmy buffett, michael tschudin
1993
Oscar wilde died in bed
Several floors above my head
Living well beyond his means
In that crazy paris scene
Rain falls down in sheets so clear
And no one ever calls me hear
Travelin by myself these days
Im into jazz and felt berets
Far from that old eastern shore
Searchin for strange metaphors
I dont want to be another victim of fashion
No I dont want to see my name in the paper each day
Hey you can leave that to the young turks
Theyre handsome and dashing
Posing for paparazzis down laguna way
Now down in the metro I feel the world start to multiply
Bastille, rubber wheels, spiked heels
Subterranean lullaby
Met an african prancer, a hemisphere dancer
Spied the ghost of brassens
We smiled at the secret we shared
And I hid it like contraband
Quietly making noise (quietly making noise)
Starts with kindergarten toys
Not too soft, not too loud
Just enough to draw a crowd
Quietly, quietly, quietly making noise
Followed the beat
Hey I found myself in this patois spot
Outside a blizzard was blowin
But inside the joint was hot
Zouk songs, rubber thongs, sing-a-longs
The words flew right by my face
You know rhythm and motions a blamma jamma potion
You cannot erase
Quietly making noise (quietly making noise)
Pissin off the old kill-joys
Glasspacks on an hot mustang
A telecaster with a twang
Quietly, quietly, quietly making noise
Yes
Singers and writers and poets
Have flocked here for centuries
The city of light is built upon mountains of memories
Baritone saxophones, monotones
Speak with a voice Ive heard before
Its a lasting impression
[...] Read more
song performed by Jimmy Buffett
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I Dont Stop Rappin
Dont stop
Dont stop that rap
Too short
And I dont stop rappin
Just dont stop
Too short
I dont stop rappin
Dont stop that rap
Well Im sir too short
The true mc
Fresh again with the brand new beat
The big bank roller, I know whats happening
I get on the mike and I dont stop rappin
Dont stop
Dont stop that rap
Too short
I dont stop rappin
My rap dont stop, you know it cant
I get on the mic and I make big bank
Unlike some rappers that I know
Trying to get no, but that dont go
Im that rapper, sir too short
I know youve heard my name before
And if you havent, now you have
Sir too short dont stop that rap
Dont stop
I dont stop rappin
Too short
Dont stop that rap
Im so rough so tough when I talk my stuff
I dont stop rappin cuz Im too tough
Telling you rappers what its all about
Most mcs are played out
But not too short, Im the best
You know too short is so so fresh
If thats not short, your mind is snapping
The best is fresh cause I dont stop rappin
Dont stop
Dont stop rappin
Too short
I dont stop rappin
Im sir too short, the rapping man
Im a cold mc and I know I am
Im the big time rapper from east oakland
Into music and making fans
I love young ladies who love my rhymes
Cuz what they say is right on time
The only mc with fresh hits
Its sir too short, he never quits
Thats so so true, what they say
[...] Read more
song performed by Too Short
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Shouting...
i cannot sleep for this constant shouting...
the shouting of trees, the shouting of alleyways,
the shouting of rats crawling through trash.
the shouting of needles and Family Bibles,
the shouting of flags folded and given.
the shouting of machines, abandoned and morose,
the shouting of fields gone barren.
the shouting of poverty ripping color from being,
the shouting of hunger in faces silent.
the shouting of guns loaded and unloaded,
the shouting of clinics, filled without names.
the shouting of prayers wriiten in pavement,
the shouting of rivers filled with sewage.
the shouting of birth, and the shouting of death...
the shouting of love, distant and forgotten.
the shouting of god, in doubt's innumerable forms.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.
The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.
ACT I
Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.
Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.
Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!
[...] Read more
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Courtship of Miles Standish, The
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Courtship of Miles Standish
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Dont Stop til You Get Enough
Written and composed by michael jackson, 1979.
1st verse
Lovely is the feelin now
Fever, temperatures risin now
Power (ah power) is the force the vow that makes it happen it asks no questions why (ooh)
So get closer (closer now) to my body now just love me til you dont know how (ooh)
Chorus
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
2nd verse
Touch me and I feel on fire
Aint nothin like a love desire (ooh)
Im melting (Im melting) like hot candle wax sensation (ah sensation) lovely where were
At (ooh) so let love take us through the hours I wont be complanin cause this is love
Power (ooh)
Chorus
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
(ooh)
3rd verse
Heartbreak enemy despise
Eternal (ah eternal) love shines in my eyes (ooh) so let love take us through the hours i
Wont be complanin (no no)
cause your love is alright, alright
Chorus
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
[...] Read more
song performed by Michael Jackson
Added by Lucian Velea
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Voices Cryin Out
Voices cryin out, voices cryin out
Voices cryin out in the night hear them call
Voices cryin out hear them call
Its a night
Like no other night
Its a day
Almost turning grey
Its a heart
Like a broken heart
Its a wheel
At the end of day
Its the plight
Of a boy whos scared
Of the waves rushing out
And the wind in the air
Its the sight
Of one longing to taste
Of life
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore
Visions that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices crying out hear them call
Its a song
Of a love unsung
Its the pain
Of just being young
Its a cry
Of a voice unheard
Of a face
Speaking silent words
Its the hope
That the time goes by
Take you upon a wing
Teach your soul to fly
Its a wish
That youll live your experience life
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore
Vision that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices crying out hear them call
Oh do you know how it feels to be free
Walking your path of life
Embracing destiny one day at a time
Voices cryin out...oh cant you hear them
Voices cryin out...listen please, listen to the future
Voices cryin out...millions and millions and millions of voices
[...] Read more
song performed by Donna Summer
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete
I.
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
II.
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Tamar
I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.
The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Voices
Words and music by rick nielsen
You didnt know what you were looking for
till you heard the voices in your ear.
Hey, its me again.
Plain, you see again.
Please, can I see you evry day?
Im a fool again.
I fell in love with you again.
Please, can I see you evry day?
You didnt know what you were looking for
till you heard the voices in your ear.
You didnt know what you were looking for
till you heard the voices in your ear.
Words dont come out right.
I tried to say it, oh, so right.
I hope you understand my meaning.
Hey, its me again.
Im so in love with you again.
Please, can I see you evry day?
You didnt know what you were looking for
till you heard the voices in your ear.
You didnt know what you were looking for
till you heard the voices in your ear.
I remember evry word you said. (word you said.)
I remember voices in my head. (in my head.)
I remember evry word you said. (word you said.)
Your voices. (I)
Cool voices. (hear)
Warm voices. (your)
It was just what I needed to. (voice.)
Cool voices. (words)
Warm voices. (dont)
Your voices. (seem)
But its just what I needed for. (right.)
Warm voices. (love)
Your voices. (is)
Cool voices. (the)
It was just what I needed to. (word.)
Your voices. (I)
Cool voices. (hear)
Warm voices. (your)
It was just what I needed to. (voice.)
Just what I needed to, just what I needed to,
Just what I needed.
You didnt know what you were looking for
till you heard the voices in your ear.
You didnt know what you were looking for
till you heard the voices in your ear.
song performed by Cheap Trick
Added by Lucian Velea
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.
PART THE FIRST
I
In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Dont Cha Stop
Right here Id like to melt inside of you
Right here you kiss is totally new
Right here your hands are soft and creamy
Right here your mouth is wet and dreamy
And its just what I like
So dim down the light
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
If it makes you feel good
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
Your rhapsody is blowing my cool-ool
Your fantasies there written for fools
Your long black hair tickles my skin skin
It feels so luscious come on do it again, oh yeah
And its just what I like
Dim down the light
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
If it makes you feel good
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
If it makes you feel good
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
If it makes you feel good, good,
Good, good, good
Dont cha stop dont cha stop
A dont cha stop if it makes you feel
Good, good, good
Oo dont cha stop dont cha stop
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
Dont you stop dont cha stop
If it makes you feel
Good, good, good
Good, good, good
Good, good, good
Dont cha stop
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
(dont cha stop dont cha stop)
[repeat-fade]
song performed by Cars
Added by Lucian Velea
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Please Stop War
Please Stop War; Please Stop indiscriminately terrorizing hatred to
reign as
the most supremely inebriating and acrimoniously rebuking ingredient;
of the
atmosphere,
Please Stop War; Please Stop Poverty from perpetuating its maliciously
ghastly curse to every quarter of the planet; as countless innocent
were
rendered hopeless; and without a single roof to sequester their scalps,
Please Stop War; Please Stop indiscriminately uncouth racialism;
ghettoizing
holistically bountiful society; into frigidly polarized and abominably
shivering halves,
Please Stop War; Please Stop uncontrollably atrocious misery without
the
tiniest rhyme or reason; as boundless innocuous civilians cadaverously
rotted in the aisles of reproachfully stabbing disease,
Please Stop War; Please Stop limitless impeccable infants from
treacherously
emaciating; with every conceivable trace of food and water;
pugnaciously
metamorphosing into vindictively gory blood,
Please Stop War; Please Stop the coffin of unforgivable diabolism
straddle
its grip; upon every pristinely untainted chest and soul; till times
beyond
infinite infinity,
Please Stop War; Please Stop the nightmare of perpetual disaster from
ghoulishly enshrouding every philanthropic brain; even in the most
blisteringly Omnipotent of daylight,
Please Stop War; Please Stop the scorpion of egregious abhorrence
venomously
blinding even the most effusively brilliant of your senses; to
mortuaries of
inexplicably endless despair,
Please Stop War; Please Stop politicians from taking unprecedented
advantage
of the same; salaciously busy in gobbling votes from the one community
that
they sanctimoniously supported,
Please Stop War; Please Stop the intransigently hazardous apocalypses
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Stop Me
I was weak and I was blind
You know I never ever wanted to put
Our love on the light
You were right, and I was wrong
I should have listened to the words
You said
But I was too headstrong
So if youve heard this all before
Dont let me carry on no more
Stop me, stop me if you think youve
Heard this one, this one
Stop me, stop me if you think youve
Heard this one
Stop me, stop me if you think youve
Heard this one, this one
Stop me, stop me, stop me
You said I lied, you said I cried
But I had to say something fast in case
You threw me aside
I didnt know, I couldnt guess
If I only would have known I never
Would have been in this mess
But if youve heard this all before
Dont let me carry on no more
Stop me, stop me if you think youve
Heard this one, this one
Stop me, stop me if you think youve
Heard this one
Stop me, stop me if you think youve
Heard this one, this one
Stop me, stop me, stop me
But if youve heard this all before
Dont let me carry on no more
Stop me, stop me if you think youve
Heard this one, this one
Stop me, stop me if you think youve
Heard this one
Stop me, stop me if you think youve
Heard this one, this one
Stop me if you think youve
Heard this one, this one
Stop me if you think youve
Heard this one, this one
song performed by Donna Summer
Added by Lucian Velea
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VII. Pompilia
I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.
All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.
Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Can't Stop
Yo get off me
Get off me
Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh
I can't stop
Da da da da da da da
I can't stop
Da da da da da da da
I can't stop
Da da da da da da da
Yo get your hands off me
Stop tryin' to hold me down
Let me just move around
Girl somethin' done happened to me
Swear to God somethin' done snapped in me
I need the whole floor for us
I'm about to bust mommy and it's glorious
I can't seem to stop my feet
You hear my heart beat
Digga digga digga digga digga digga digga
Oh lord I'm about to pass out
But when the night is over I'm a be the last out
Sweat pourin' in my eyes vision blurry
Even though my eyes is closed a see visions of her
Uma siente mami in me coca
Estoy bien livin' la vida loca
Heart jumpin' and pumpin' it's about to pop
But don't tell me nothin' back up
I can't stop
Da da da da da da da
I can't stop
Da da da da da da da
I can't stop
Da da da da da da da
The way you press against me
You messin' with me
The way that dress is fittin' has got to be forbidden
No reason for sercurity I'm feeling secure
You guardin' my body baby come on and give me some more
If all these people wasn't in here flocking around
I'd have you in the middle of the floor baby knockin' you down
They'd be talkin' about me when they walk in the house
like hammers click click click gizza gizza gizza
A damn shame how you do the damn thing
Girl you off the damn chain
But you're about to be tamed
Look at ya
Laughin' and grinnin' and dancin' and spinnin'
[...] Read more
song performed by Will Smith from Born To Reign
Added by Lucian Velea
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Naked In The Jungle
Naked in the jungle, naked to the world
Naked in the jungle, naked to the world
Well, you gotta keep it humble, else itll come unfurled
Lions and the tigers, grazin in the grass
Lions and the tigers, grazin in the grass
As I keep a-watching over, make sure no one can pass
Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha. aaaaah!
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Big fish eat the little fish, and the rabbits on the run
Big fish eat the little fish, and the rabbits on the run
Some folks gettin too much, other just aint gettin none
Naked in the jungle, naked to the world
Naked in the jungle, naked to the world
Well, you gotta keep em humble, else youll come unfurled
Lets go boy!
Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha. aaaaah!
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na
song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Eighth Book
ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.
The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lancelot And Elaine
Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where the morning's earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazoned on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,
Leaving her household and good father, climbed
That eastern tower, and entering barred her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot:
And ah God's mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.
How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.
For Arthur, long before they crowned him King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn.
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met
And fought together; but their names were lost;
And each had slain his brother at a blow;
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached,
And lichened into colour with the crags:
And he, that once was king, had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass,
All in a misty moonshine, unawares
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Added by Poetry Lover
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