Citatepedia^®.com

To be a leader of men one must turn one's back on men.

quote by Henry Ellis
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Percys Song

Bad news, bad news,
Come to me where I sleep,
Turn, turn, turn again.
Sayin one of your friends
Is in trouble deep,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
Tell me the trouble,
Tell once to my ear,
Turn, turn, turn again.
Joliet prison
And ninety-nine years,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
Oh whats the charge
Of how this came to be,
Turn, turn, turn again.
Manslaughter
In the highest of degree,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
I sat down and wrote
The best words I could write,
Turn, turn, turn again.
Explaining to the judge
Id be there on wednesday night,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
Without a reply,
I left by the moon,
Turn, turn, turn again.
And was in his chambers
By the next afternoon,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
Could ya tell me the facts?
I said without fear,
Turn, turn, turn again.
That a friend of mine
Would get ninety-nine years,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
A crash on the highway
Flew the car to a field,
Turn, turn, turn again.
There was four persons killed
And he was at the wheel,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
But I knew him as good

[...] Read more

song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Booker Washington Trilogy

I. A NEGRO SERMON:—SIMON LEGREE

(To be read in your own variety of negro dialect.)

Legree's big house was white and green.
His cotton-fields were the best to be seen.
He had strong horses and opulent cattle,
And bloodhounds bold, with chains that would rattle.
His garret was full of curious things:
Books of magic, bags of gold,
And rabbits' feet on long twine strings.
But he went down to the Devil.

Legree he sported a brass-buttoned coat,
A snake-skin necktie, a blood-red shirt.
Legree he had a beard like a goat,
And a thick hairy neck, and eyes like dirt.
His puffed-out cheeks were fish-belly white,
He had great long teeth, and an appetite.
He ate raw meat, 'most every meal,
And rolled his eyes till the cat would squeal.

His fist was an enormous size
To mash poor niggers that told him lies:
He was surely a witch-man in disguise.
But he went down to the Devil.

He wore hip-boots, and would wade all day
To capture his slaves that had fled away.
But he went down to the Devil.

He beat poor Uncle Tom to death
Who prayed for Legree with his last breath.
Then Uncle Tom to Eva flew,
To the high sanctoriums bright and new;
And Simon Legree stared up beneath,
And cracked his heels, and ground his teeth:
And went down to the Devil.

He crossed the yard in the storm and gloom;
He went into his grand front room.
He said, "I killed him, and I don't care."
He kicked a hound, he gave a swear;
He tightened his belt, he took a lamp,
Went down cellar to the webs and damp.
There in the middle of the mouldy floor
He heaved up a slab, he found a door —
And went down to the Devil.

[...] Read more

poem by Vachel Lindsay
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

King Solomon And The Queen Of Sheba

(A Poem Game.)

“And when the Queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon, . . .
she came to prove him with hard questions.”

[The men’s leader rises as he sees the Queen unveiling
and approaching a position that gives her half of the stage.]

Men’s Leader: The Queen of Sheba came to see King Solomon.
[He bows three times.]
I was King Solomon,
I was King Solomon,
I was King Solomon.

[She bows three times.]
Women’s Leader: I was the Queen,
I was the Queen,
I was the Queen.

Both Leaders: We will be king and queen,
[They stand together stretching their hands over the land.]
Reigning on mountains green,
Happy and free
For ten thousand years.

[They stagger forward as though carrying a yoke together.]
Both Leaders: King Solomon he had four hundred oxen.

Congregation: We were the oxen.

[Here King and Queen pause at the footlights.]
Both Leaders: You shall feel goads no more.
[They walk backward, throwing off the yoke and rejoicing.]
Walk dreadful roads no more,
Free from your loads
For ten thousand years.

[The men’s leader goes forward, the women’s leader dances round him.]
Both Leaders: King Solomon he had four hundred sweethearts.

[Here he pauses at the footlights.]
Congregation: We were the sweethearts.

[He walks backward. Both clap their hands to the measure.]
Both Leaders: You shall dance round again,
You shall dance round again,
Cymbals shall sound again,
Cymbals shall sound again,
[The Queen appears to gather wildflowers.]

[...] Read more

poem by Vachel Lindsay
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Picking Teachers For Their Leader

Strangers!
Come before the darkness of night,
Crawls.
As twilight escorts the rising moon!
Strangers...
Known in dreams.
Whisper of their presence unseen.
But felt...
By a familiar comfort embraced.

My steps cease to seek a quickened pace.
There is no wish for leaving.
I am told in my mind I should stay.
Soft voices dance within rainbowed light!
Sparkling to convince...
I should pray with faith.
And they would make my life right!

Picking teachers for their Leader.
For the One never shown.
The One who through scriptures...
Repeated to make appear,
But left still for them to go unknown.

Picking teachers for their Leader.
How they do it like it's done...
When they come,
Nobody knows.

Their picking teachers for their Leader.
They say He's number One.
Like none other like He,
Upon me with gifts bestowed!

Strangers!
Come before the darkness of night,
Crawls.
As twilight escorts the rising moon!
Strangers...
Known in dreams.
Whisper of their presence unseen.
But felt...
By a familiar comfort embraced.

Their picking teachers for their Leader.
As God demands.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
As God Commands.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
And I understand...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Lone White Wolf: The Hunt

As the first day of the new moon creeps into the trees, no wolf among the pack gathers to see the light overcome the darkness to bring in the new day except the lone white wolf. This peculiar wolf is almost solid white except for the black along the length of his nose. It watches over the pack as they peacefully sleep, unaware of his eyes that could protect everything that was soon to come.

Today was the first day of the long hunt for the white wolf. He must bring down an animal that could feed the whole pack for several days, so he could become an official member of the pack, but more importantly, he must prove himself to be one with the pack instead of running alone.

The leader of the wolf pack slowly raises his head like a turtle to look around to see who’s awake. He sees all the wolves are still asleep in a tight circle except the outcast. The leader doesn’t understand why this wolf sleeps alone nor does he understand why the wolf was born white instead of gray. The white wolf stirs from his wakeful sleep. The eyes of the self-proclaimed leader stay on him before moving off to look into the distance searching for all the answers to his questions among the countless trees.

The leader of the wolf pack slowly gets up and walks to the lone wolf and nudges him to sound the morning howl. It was customary for the leader of the wolf pack to do this, but for reasons unknown to any wolf besides the leader, the wolf chose the outcast to sound the howl. The white wolf understands and gives a howl to stir the remaining wolves out of their deep slumber.

Once all the wolves are fully awake and able to comprehend what today is and what it means for the outcast, they realize it is the first day of the new moon. It is the first day of the long hunt. All of the wolves first look to the leader, then to the outcast, then back to the leader wondering who is going to give the special howl to begin the long hunt. No wolf willingly howled the beginning of the long hunt because if the howl was bad, the hunt would go badly, but if the howl was good, the hunt would go smoothly and the hunt would be short. The answer is soon apparent when the eyes of the leader look over the pack to see whose eyes would meet his. None but one pair kept his gaze.

The leader gave a sign, and the wolf began to prepare to give the special howl that would determine the outcome of the hunt. A wolf could not open its muzzle and give an ordinary howl since the hunt would also go badly. To give the special howl the wolf must pull back its hind legs and brace itself to make sure all legs are securely anchored to the ground so that the wolf, while giving the special howl would not slide backwards during the middle of it.

The lone wolf was ready mentally and physically to give the special howl. Once his feet were securely on the ground, the wolf began the howl. The lone white wolf put everything in his howl: the pain of being an outcast his entire life, the anger at his individuality, everything was put into that howl. Wolves stepped back with their fur standing on end; birds flew away squawking bloody murder. The others started yipping and snapping at nothing in particular remembering everything they’d ever felt. After the lone wolf was done, he realized the effect his special howl had on the wolves and he noticed the disarray and confusion that he had caused.

The leader is satisfied and gets the pack into order; it was time to begin the hunt. The wolves began running, their muscles rippling beneath their skin. Nothing could stop them. Their destination was a mile and a half down the road where the large game was located. Running freely among the wolf pack, the lone wolf didn’t feel like an outcast, but whenever he began to get too close, a shallow snip on the shoulder would shove him away to a safer distance.

The game was just ahead; it was time for the lone wolf to prove himself to the pack. The lone wolf went ahead of the pack and picked one of the biggest caribou he could find and slowly approached while the pack followed. The wolves lurched like a bullet from a gun onto the caribou with the white wolf clinging to the exposed flesh of the neck bringing it to the ground but not before it got one last kick in. The kill was successful; the caribou was dead. It was then that the white wolf noticed the bloody mess of the leader of the pack. The last kick of the now dead caribou landed on the skull of the leader, and he was dead instantly. The sight was a grizzly one with his skull caved in and blood gushing out of the wound.

The self-proclaimed leader was dead with no next-in-line to follow. Every wolf looked to the now dead leader, then to the outcast, then back to the dead leader, and then back to the outcast. The white wolf met the eyes of each wolf and got an unspoken request from each one. It was unanimous; the previous outcast of the pack became the leader. For the first time in history, a white wolf was chosen to lead and will lead the wolves to a prosperity the wolves have never known.

2009 October

poem by Matthew Bresette
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Turn It Up

Turn it up, turn it up, baby
My signal's gettin' kinda weak
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
I know U got 2 be a freak, ooh
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
I'm still waiting by the knob
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
I'm ready 4 the heavy stuff, oh yeah
CHORUS:
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Come and play with my controls
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work me like a radio (oh, oh)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work it 'til I start 2 groove, ooh
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
I know U know what 2 do (Girl, U know what 2 do)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work it 'til my clothes are wet
Turn it up, turn it up
I wanna drown in your body's sweat! (Oh yeah)
CHORUS
Now turn it up!
Come here
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Give me everything U got
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
U know I know U got a lot (Oh yeah)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
I'll play what U want me 2 play
Turn it up, turn it up
It ain't no good unless U turn it up all the way - yeah, yeah!
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Come and play with my controls (oh, oh)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work me like a radio (Come on, baby, turn it up)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Come and play with my controls (oh)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work me like a radio (Listen 2 me now)
Come on baby, what's it gonna be?
Are U gonna do it or are U gonna leave it up 2 me?
Are U gonna stop? Are U gonna drop?
Kiss me, kiss me! Yeah!
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Come and play with my controls (oh)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work me like a radio (Come on, gotta, gotta, gotta..) (Oh yeah)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Come and play with my controls (oh)

[...] Read more

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Beowulf

LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled….
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Baudelaire
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Leader That Was Pushed

Once on a time a general whose name is handed down
To the present generation as a name of high renown
Once on a time this general - I trust you understand
This happened years and years ago, and in a foreign land.
This general once stood before his army, thinking hard;
And he talked about advancing, but he didn't move a yard,
For, to put the matter plainly, though he knew his cause was right,
And desired to be the leader, yet he didn't want to fight.

He bravely talked for hours and hours of tactics and defence
(In good sooth, he was a leader of undoubted eloquence)
Till his soldiers grew impatient, for they spied afar the foe,
So they started marching forward, and the leader had to go,
Though he begged for time to elocute, they forced him to a walk;
Then they broke into a double, and he hadn't breath to talk.
If his soldiers start to push him - well, that can a leader do?
Thus he led his army forward - of necessity, 'tis true.

Oh, they forced him to a run,
And the firing of a gun
Gave him qualms about the business, but he couldn't change his mind.
He'd have dearly loved to pause
And orate about The Cause,
But he had to keep responding to the pressure from behind.
Then he yelled a battle-cry,
And he waved his sword on high,
But he mournfully reflected as he viewed the foemen's horde:
Leadership may be all right
While the foe is out of sight,
But, like the pen, the silver tongue is safer than the sword.

The fight was won. That general, his heart swelled up with pride,
Delivered speeches eloquent to his victorious side;
And the peroration hinted they should rest while they'd the chance;
But the army wanted more of it and urged him to advance.
'Twas here the general resigned to join another band
That didn't yearn to go and fight the battles of the land.
'Twas a calm, reposeful army, and that leader suited well;
For it let him talk of fighting while it sat and took a spell.

He was leader of the tired,
And he never was required
To go ranging o'er the country to attack a savage foe;
And whene'er he thought it best
To sit down and take a rest,
Well - it's rude to push a leader when he doesn't want to go.
And, if by some mischance,

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.

THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;
From whose corrupted flesh that breed
Of vermin did at first proceed.
So e're the storm of war broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various rout
Of petulant Capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts,
That first run all religion down,
And after ev'ry swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their mothers got their sons,
That were incapable t' enjoy
That empire any other way;
So PRESBYTER begot the other
Upon the good old Cause, his mother,
Then bore then like the Devil's dam,
Whose son and husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral tie of blood
Nor int'rest for the common good
Cou'd, when their profits interfer'd,
Get quarter for each other's beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But only by the ears engag'd:
Like dogs that snarl about a bone,
And play together when they've none,
As by their truest characters,
Their constant actions, plainly appears.
Rebellion now began, for lack
Of zeal and plunders to grow slack;
The Cause and covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b' out of season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O' th' King's Revenue, and the Churches,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on;
Which forc'd the stubborn'st for the Cause,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Brus Book XVIII

Only Berwick remains in English hands; a burgess offers to betray it]

The lordis off the land war fayne
Quhen thai wist he wes cummyn agan
And till him went in full gret hy,
And he ressavit thaim hamlyly
5 And maid thaim fest and glaidsum cher,
And thai sa wonderly blyth wer
Off his come that na man mycht say,
Gret fest and fayr till him maid thai.
Quharever he raid all the countre
10 Gaderyt in daynte him to se,
Gret glaidschip than wes in the land.
All than wes wonnyn till his hand,
Fra the Red Swyre to Orknay
Wes nocht off Scotland fra his fay
15 Outakyn Berwik it allane.
That tym tharin wonnyt ane
That capitane wes of the toun,
All Scottismen in suspicioun
He had and tretyt thaim tycht ill.
20 He had ay to thaim hevy will
And held thaim fast at undre ay,
Quhill that it fell apon a day
That a burges Syme of Spalding
Thocht that it wes rycht angry thing
25 Suagate ay to rebutyt be.
Tharfor intill his hart thocht he
That he wald slely mak covyne
With the marchall, quhays cosyne
He had weddyt till him wiff,
30 And as he thocht he did belyff.
Lettrys till him he send in hy
With a traist man all prively,
And set him tym to cum a nycht
With leddrys and with gud men wicht
35 Till the kow yet all prively,
And bad him hald his trist trewly
And he suld mete thaim at the wall,
For his walk thar that nycht suld fall.

[The marischal shows the letter to the king,
who seeks to avoid jealousy between Douglas and Moray]

Quhen the marchell the lettre saw
40 He umbethocht him than a thraw,
For he wist be himselvyn he
Mycht nocht off mycht no power be
For till escheyff sa gret a thing,
And giff he tuk till his helping

[...] Read more

poem by John Barbour
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Turn The Beat Around (Def Classic Mix)

Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn the beat around
Love to hear the percussion
Turn it upside down
Love to hear the percussion
Love to hear it
Blow horns you sure sound pretty
Your violins keep movin' to the nitty gritty
When you hear the scratch of the guitars scratchin'
Then you'll know that rhythm carries all the action, so
Woah yeah
Turn the beat around
Love to hear the percussion
Turn it upside down
Love to hear the percussion
Love to hear it
Turn the beat around
Love to hear the percussion
Turn it upside down
Love to hear the percussion
Love to hear it
Flute player play your flute 'cause
I know that you want to get your thing off
But you see I've made up my mind about it
It's got to be the rhythm, no doubt about it, woah woah
'Cause when the guitar player start playing
With the syncopated rhythm, with the scratch, scratch, scratch
Makes me wanna move my body yeah, yeah, yeah
And when the drummer starts beating that beat
He nails that beat with the syncopated rhythm
With the rat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat on the drums, hey
Turn the beat around
Love to hear the percussion
Turn it upside down
Love to hear the percussion
Love to hear it
Love to hear it
Love to hear it
Love to hear it
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn the beat around
Love to hear the percussion
Turn it upside down
Love to hear the percussion

[...] Read more

song performed by Gloria Estefan
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Music Time

Written by dennis deyoung
Lead vocals by dennis deyoung
Hey everybody its music time
Now, you cant expect to figure out how to be cool looking in catalogs, so forget about it
Youve gotta do it the old-fashioned way...fake it!
Yeah!
Play your drum boy!
I like music
The rhythm really gets to me
I cant control it
My feet move automatically
And I like hot licks
The kind I wish that I could play
And when I hear them
I crank the volume all the way
Turn it on
Turn it up
Turn it loud
All the way
I like strangers
Their kindness means a lot to me
They dont ask questions
Dont care about my history
And I like fast girls
I dont know whats come over me
They make me do things
I would not ordinarily
Turn me on
Turn me up
Turn me loose
All the way
Hear it
Feel it
Like it
Do it do it do it do it
Want it
Need it
Love it
Cant get enough of it
Try it
Do it
Go ahead and go for it
All the way......
And I like daydreams
Ive had enough reality
My job is boring
Im overworked and underpaid
I like tv
It stirs up all my fantasies
Girls in tight jeans

[...] Read more

song performed by Styx
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Scout Toward Aldie

The cavalry-camp lies on the slope
Of what was late a vernal hill,
But now like a pavement bare-
An outpost in the perilous wilds
Which ever are lone and still;
But Mosby's men are there -
Of Mosby best beware.

Great trees the troopers felled, and leaned
In antlered walls about their tents;
Strict watch they kept; 'twas Hark! and Mark!
Unarmed none cared to stir abroad
For berries beyond their forest-fence:
As glides in seas the shark,
Rides Mosby through green dark.

All spake of him, but few had seen
Except the maimed ones or the low;
Yet rumor made him every thing-
A farmer-woodman-refugee-
The man who crossed the field but now;
A spell about his life did cling -
Who to the ground shall Mosby bring?

The morning-bugles lonely play,
Lonely the evening-bugle calls -
Unanswered voices in the wild;
The settled hush of birds in nest
Becharms, and all the wood enthralls:
Memory's self is so beguiled
That Mosby seems a satyr's child.

They lived as in the Eerie Land-
The fire-flies showed with fairy gleam;
And yet from pine-tops one might ken
The Capitol dome-hazy-sublime-
A vision breaking on a dream:
So strange it was that Mosby's men
Should dare to prowl where the Dome was seen.

A scout toward Aldie broke the spell. -
The Leader lies before his tent
Gazing at heaven's all-cheering lamp
Through blandness of a morning rare;
His thoughts on bitter-sweets are bent:
His sunny bride is in the camp -
But Mosby - graves are beds of damp!

The trumpet calls; he goes within;
But none the prayer and sob may know:

[...] Read more

poem by Herman Melville
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Turn Around

Turn around and I will show you something
Turn around and you will see
Life is like a roundabout
A kind of lsd
Turn around and have faith in all the changes
Turn around and you will feel
No more age of loneliness
You are a part of me
Turn around and I will show you something
Turn around and I will show you something
Turn around and I will show you something
Turn around and you will see
Life is just a roundbout
A kind of lsd
Turn around have faith in all the changes
Turn around and you will feel
No more age of loneliness
You are a part of me
Turn around~turn around~turn around
~~~~sandra whispers~~~~
Beyond the invisible, the prism of life
Turn around~turn around~turn around
The child in us, gravity of love
Turn around~turn around~turn around
Morphing thru time
Turn around ~turn around~turn around
Turn around and I will show you something amazing
Turn around and you will see
Life is just a roundabout
A kind of lsd
Turn around have faith in all the changes
Turn around and you will feel
No more age of loneliness
You are part of me
~~~~sandra whispers~~~~
The screen behind the mirror
The voice and the snake
Principles of lust
The eyes of truth
Tnt for the brain
Turn around and I will show you something
Turn around and you will see
Life is just a roundabout, a kind of lsd
Turn around and I will show you something
Turn around and you will see
Life is like a roundabout
A kind of lsd
~~~repeat~~~
T..t..t.. turn around and I will show you something

song performed by Enigma
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Turn To Me

Turn to me, Burning me, Turn to me, Burning me
From all the taking down,
To the driving far away.
As if we're lost and found,
Removing us everyday yeah.
Pushing things too far,
Or never moving it along.
Forgiving and forget,
Only makes one person strong.
Hoping and finding, resisting, denying,
Hey, with your classic words of
Turn to me, that's what you say
When you're burning me, that's what you do
When you turn to me, need more days
And the time to turn you off.
Turn to me, that's what you say
When you're burning me, that's what you do
When you turn to me, need more days
And the time to turn you off.
There's no familiar face, or a hand to cling upon,
We've walked a short distance, but it took so very long.
Hoping and fighting, resisting, denying,
With your classic words of
Turn to me, that's what you say
When you're burning me that's what you do
When you turn to me, need more days
And the time to turn you off.
Knowing that we'll jump a little too high to live
Knowing that it's safe, but not safe enogh to give.
Your heart, your dream, no give, no recieve,
Respect, believe, turn to me.
Turn to me, burning me
Turn to me, time to turn you off,
Burning, me, turn to me, resisting, denying.
Turn to me, that's what you say
When you're burning me, that's what you do
When you turn to me, need more days
And the time to turn you off.
Turn to me, that's what you say
When you're burning me, that's what you do
When you turn to me, need more days
And the time to turn you off.
Oh why don't you, why don't you, why don't you, why don't you, why don't you
turn to me baby, time to turn you off,
Turning me not burning me, turning me not burning me, now turning me not
burning me, yeahhhhhh.
Turning me, oh burning me now na-ba-dupa-ba-dupa-ba-dupa yeahhhhhh
Turn me, oh burning me, why don't you burn me yeahhhhh
Turn to me, that's what you say
When you're burning me, that's what you do,

[...] Read more

song performed by Vanessa Amorosi
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Iliad: Book 2

Now the other gods and the armed warriors on the plain slept
soundly, but Jove was wakeful, for he was thinking how to do honour to
Achilles, and destroyed much people at the ships of the Achaeans. In
the end he deemed it would be best to send a lying dream to King
Agamemnon; so he called one to him and said to it, "Lying Dream, go to
the ships of the Achaeans, into the tent of Agamemnon, and say to
him word to word as I now bid you. Tell him to get the Achaeans
instantly under arms, for he shall take Troy. There are no longer
divided counsels among the gods; Juno has brought them to her own
mind, and woe betides the Trojans."
The dream went when it had heard its message, and soon reached the
ships of the Achaeans. It sought Agamemnon son of Atreus and found him
in his tent, wrapped in a profound slumber. It hovered over his head
in the likeness of Nestor, son of Neleus, whom Agamemnon honoured
above all his councillors, and said:-
"You are sleeping, son of Atreus; one who has the welfare of his
host and so much other care upon his shoulders should dock his
sleep. Hear me at once, for I come as a messenger from Jove, who,
though he be not near, yet takes thought for you and pities you. He
bids you get the Achaeans instantly under arms, for you shall take
Troy. There are no longer divided counsels among the gods; Juno has
brought them over to her own mind, and woe betides the Trojans at
the hands of Jove. Remember this, and when you wake see that it does
not escape you."
The dream then left him, and he thought of things that were,
surely not to be accomplished. He thought that on that same day he was
to take the city of Priam, but he little knew what was in the mind
of Jove, who had many another hard-fought fight in store alike for
Danaans and Trojans. Then presently he woke, with the divine message
still ringing in his ears; so he sat upright, and put on his soft
shirt so fair and new, and over this his heavy cloak. He bound his
sandals on to his comely feet, and slung his silver-studded sword
about his shoulders; then he took the imperishable staff of his
father, and sallied forth to the ships of the Achaeans.
The goddess Dawn now wended her way to vast Olympus that she might
herald day to Jove and to the other immortals, and Agamemnon sent
the criers round to call the people in assembly; so they called them
and the people gathered thereon. But first he summoned a meeting of
the elders at the ship of Nestor king of Pylos, and when they were
assembled he laid a cunning counsel before them.
"My friends," said he, "I have had a dream from heaven in the dead
of night, and its face and figure resembled none but Nestor's. It
hovered over my head and said, 'You are sleeping, son of Atreus; one
who has the welfare of his host and so much other care upon his
shoulders should dock his sleep. Hear me at once, for I am a messenger
from Jove, who, though he be not near, yet takes thought for you and
pities you. He bids you get the Achaeans instantly under arms, for you
shall take Troy. There are no longer divided counsels among the
gods; Juno has brought them over to her own mind, and woe betides
the Trojans at the hands of Jove. Remember this.' The dream then

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Turn Of The Screw

Do you feel the turn of the screw?
Pushing harder, breaking through
It's better than you ever knew
Now it gets to take care of you
I won't go and tell it
Don't bet you're due
It swings enough to know the truth
It even left you black and blue
Never stop when there's nothing left to do
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
The thing you said you'd never do
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
There's no backing out once you've turned the screw
You never thought what they say could be
One night alone and you would see
I think you'll take back all those doubts
Now you know what the talk was all about
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
The thing you said you'd never do
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
There's no backing out once you've turned the screw
Turn, Turn, Turn it around
Turn, Turn, Turn it here on the ground
Turn, Turn, Turn it around
Turn, Turn, Turn it here on the ground
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
The thing you said you'd never do
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
There's no backing out once you've turned the screw
The Turn of the Screw
The Turn of the Screw
The Turn of the Screw
The Turn of the Screw1

song performed by 1208
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

[...] Read more

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!