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The long and distressing controversy over capital punishment is very unfair to anyone meditating murder.

quote by Geoffrey Fisher
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Knife

Slit and
Slither knife
Penetrate in phallic push
To perforate the pulse of tissues in the flesh
Slice a vein to drain the unsuspecting victim
E’er they bleed and plea
Their scream
Of death

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Premeditation

Oh blade you'll warm tonight!
Awash in crimson-purple flows,
Your sheen will dull with aching flesh:
Palpating anatomic mounds
Caressing, dancing, writhing round
Your metal form-
Whetted ‘gainst a lonely bone,
Then to probe the pounding, begging heart.

And all the while the prey will howl
Before they crumple; greet the mud-
A taut and unbelieving jowl
Will open out for giving blood-
A vent from down below,
Once a brutal show
Of metal in the man.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

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

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

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

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Mr Man (feat. Jimmy Cozier)

Jimmy Cozier)
Somethin' about the way you smiled at me just drove me wild
Wish I could know if your alone, don't wanna cramp your style
But I cannot deny the feel that I feel when I look straight through your eyes
Feel my heart beating fast for her challenge may you try
I wanna know if you feel the way I do (I do)
I wanna know if theres a chance for me and you (and you)
If theres no way, meet at the bar and you say can't (You can't)
Cuz I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be. I don't wanna be
Unfair to Mr. Man, unfair to Mr. Man, Unfair to Mr. Man, unfair to Mr. Man, unfair
(Alicia Keys)
Like the way you've given me attention through the night
Maybe I've had too much Remy, my man's right by my side
Every time I catch you watchin' me, feel somethin' down my spine
I play the game; it's just for fun and only for tonight
I wanna know what makes you feel the way you do (You do)
I think youre hopin' theres a chance for me and you (and you)
Should I meet you at the bar and say we can't? (We can't)
Cuz I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be
Unfair to Mr. Man, unfair to Mr.Man, unfair to Mr.Man, unfair to Mr.Man, unfair to Mr.Man
(Alicia)
I know all you wanna know is answers
(Jimmy)
Cuz you could give me what I need
You could give me everything I need
(Alicia & Jimmy)
We both know that we're attracted
Should we let our desires lead?
I wanna know if you feel the way I do (I do)
I wanna know if theres a chance for me and you (and you)
If theres no way, meet at the bar and say you can't (you can't)
Cuz I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be
Unfair to Mr. Man, unfair to Mr.Man, Unfair to Mr.Man, unfair to Mr.Man, unfair
I wanna know if you feel the way I do (I do)
I wanna know if theres a chance for me and you (and you)
If theres no way, meet at the bar and say you can't (you can't)
Cuz I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be
Unfair to Mr. Man
I wanna know if you feel the way I do (I do)
I wanna know if theres a chance for me and you (and you)
If theres no way, meet at the bar and say you can't (you can't)
Cuz I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be
Unfair to Mr. Man

song performed by Alicia Keys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Controversy

I just can't believe all the things people say - Controversy
Am I black or white? Am I straight or gay? - Controversy
Do I believe in God? Do I believe in me? - Controversy
Controversy Controversy
I can't understand human curiosity - Controversy
Was it good for you? Was I what you wanted me to be? - Controversy
Do you get high? Does your daddy cry? - Controversy
Controversy Controversy
Do I believe in God? Do I believe in me?
Some people wanna die so they can be free
(I said) Life is just a game

song performed by Prince from Controversy
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Dire Wolf

In the timbers to fennario, the wolves are running round,
The winter was so hard and cold, froze ten feet neath the ground.
Dont murder me, I beg of you, dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
I sat down to my supper, twas a bottle of red whisky,
I said my prayers and went to bed, thats the last they saw of me.
Dont murder me, I beg of you, dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
When I awoke, the dire wolf, six hundred pounds of sin,
Was grinning at my window, all I said was come on in.
Dont murder me, I beg of you, dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
The wolf came in, I got my cards, we sat down for a game.
I cut my deck to the queen of spades, but the cards were all the same.
Dont murder me, I beg of you, dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
In the backwash of fennario, the black and bloody mire,
The dire wolf collects his dues, while the boys sing round the fire.
Dont murder me, I beg of you, dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
No, no, no dont murder me. I beg of you,
Dont murder me. please, dont murder me.

song performed by Grateful Dead
Added by Lucian Velea
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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

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Murder

Murder
Coming to get us
Theyre coming to get us for the way we are
Murder
See it all around us
See it all around us for the way we are
Murder
Coming to get us
Theyre coming to get us for the way we are
The way we hide
Tie me to a tree
Tie my hands above my head
Sing a song to me
Sing a song like what you said
Ohhhhh... (murder)
Ohhhhh... (murder)
Cause theyre gonna murder me
Theyre gonna drag me down
Even before I sleep
I cry murder
Come spit at us
Come and throw your weight around
Come and fight with us
Try and knock us to the ground
Cause theyre gonna murder me
Theyre gonna drag me down
Even before I sleep
I cry murder
Murder...
Oh now what can it possibly gain
Oh what could it possibly gain
Oh what could it possibly gain
And what could it possibly gain...
(Cry murder, murder, I cry murder)
Murder
Coming to get us
Theyre coming to get us for the way we are
Murder
See it all around us
See it all around us for the way we are

song performed by Coldplay
Added by Lucian Velea
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Kinder Murder

Here in the bar, the boys like to have fun
Theres a wager lost and an argument won
Theres a stone-washed damsel on a junk food run
Its a kinder murder
Theres a ladder to heaven from a battered stiletto
Spitting out the words that he put into her mouth
See her in silhouette going down south
Its a kinder murder
Its a kinder murder
She could have kept her knees together
Should have kept her mouth shut
Its a kinder murder
Its a kinder murder
Jimmy took her down to the perimeter fence
He was back in half an hour, he said he left her senseless
Then he went back to his regiment
Its a kinder murder
The officer said it has to be denied
Theres a tear-stained would-be teenage bride
All the family pride in the little ram-rider
Its a kinder murder
Its a kinder murder
She could have kept her knees together
Should have kept her mouth shut
Its a kinder murder
Its a kinder murder
The child went missing and the photo fit his face
Dishonoured jimmy just read about the case
He said that he was just taking up space
Its a kinder murder
Jimmy took his best friends keys from the pile on the table in a flash
He was dreaming of the pigskin seats and the walnut dash
The knickers in her handbag and the one false eyelash
Its a kinder murder
Its a kinder murder
She could have kept her knees together
Could have kept her mouth shut
Its a kinder murder [4x]

song performed by Elvis Costello
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Step Outside

Well the walls to wet to sit on
And theres a curtain right over my head
Stamp my feet waiting for a bus
But decide to walk instead
And the american saxophoner follows me
All the way from the tele to the public house
My fingers are always in my ears
But the reeds always in their mouth
And if youve ever crossed your heart and hoped to die
The voices in your head saying you must cry
Then theres more to you than meets the eye
But if you go about your business with capital b
Theyre sure to cut you up with a capital c
And then you will be dead with a capital d
Just step outside
Well we could stop for a conversasion
If we could think of anything to say
But you know youve got nothing to talk about
When nothing happened yesterday
And if I ever commited a murder
I think Id go about it this way
Never mine a rope or a dagger and a cloak
I could spend a week on this estate
And if youve ever crossed your heart and hoped to die
The voices in your head saying you must cry
Then theres more to you than meets the eye
But if you go about your business with capital b
Theyre sure to cut you up with a capital c
And then you will be dead with a capital a
Just step outside
What are you doing tomorrow
And the day after and the day after that
Got some money I can borrow?
Ive become the person Ive admired
And if youve ever crossed your heart and hoped to die
The voices in your head saying you must cry
Then theres more to you than meets the eye
But if you go about your business with capital b
Theyre sure to cut you up with a capital c
And then you will be dead with a capital b

song performed by Housemartins
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Getting Away With Murder

Somewhere beyond happiness and sadness
I need to calculate
what creates my own madness
and I'm addicted to your punishment
and you're the master
and I am waiting for disaster
I feel irrational
So confrontational
To tell the truth I am
getting away with murder
it is impossible
to never tell the truth
but the reality is I'm getting away with murder
(Getting away, Getting away, Getting away)
I drink my drink and I don't even want to
I think my thoughts when I don't even need to
I never look back cause I don't even want to
and I don't need to
because I'm getting away with murder
I feel irrational
So confrontational
To tell the truth
I am getting away with murder
it is impossible
to never tell the truth
but the reality is I'm getting away with murder
(Getting away, Getting away, Getting away, Getting
away, Getting away, Getting away, Getting away,
Getting away, Getting away with murder)
Somewhere beyond happiness and sadness
I need to calculate
what creates my own madness
and I'm addicted to your punishment
and you're the master
and I am craving this disaster
I feel irrational
So confrontational
To tell the truth
I am getting away with murder
it is impossible
to never tell the truth
but the reality is I'm getting away with murder
(Getting away, Getting away, Getting away)
I feel irrational
So confrontational
To tell the truth
I am getting away with murder
it is impossible
to never tell the truth
but the reality is I'm getting away with murder

song performed by Papa Roach
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The World

the world is unfair everyday
the world is unfair everyway
the world is unfair when a loved one dies
the world is unfair when the dead ones mother cries
the world is unfair when we have to go to war
the world is unfair when the soldier hits the floor
the world is unfair when a bullie hits you in the gut
the world is unfair no matter what

poem by Jean Pullman
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I. The Ring and the Book

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

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

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder” (The Billion-Dollar Question)

We must all stay aware…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder….,
It’s been increasing for years….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !

Can’t dare turn our backs….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
It’ll sneak up and kill us…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !

It’s hard to believe and conceive….
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
That’s why so many are blind….,
To the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !

We’ve seen the bloody attacks…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
So we must face the facts….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !

Yes they’re after us all…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
Their radical religion condones it….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !

Can we control it or stop it….,
So it won’t go any further….? ? ?
That’s the billion-dollar question….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !

poem by Trade Martin
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Murder is Bad and Why?

The Man spoke:
'It is in the murdering' he said
that I find the most puzzlement.
Why should I or anyone not murder
one and all. It is, I think, human's basic instinct.

'Look' he said to the priest 'is not all of history;
more a story of murderous war than peace and tranquility?

'So what is most common to human nature?
Seems clear to me, humans murder their fellows, rest up during the peace
and, as soon as possible, get back to the murdering.'

The priest:

'Murder is wrong in God's eyes and in the eyes of society and
the murderer will pay with fire and brimstone, and the death penalty.
Ending murder is the bedrock of all society, even pirates have a code
that says don't murder your fellows.

Humm, said the man 'Society has several faces; it is ok to murder in war, but
not in peace. Where here is the consistency?
Even your God says do not take life but vengeance is mine and murdering in retaliation, he says, is mine. Seems murder is at best relative; sometimes the act of the monster and sometimes the act of the hero in war.
Who decides which is which; and I tell you father I see no hand of God in this but that of politicians. And no one will mistake them for God.

The Sociologist spoke then:

Well, here the point is clear; we kill those who threaten the peace and make society impossible by preying upon the weak. Without restraint bandits and warlords would rule, look abroad Iraq, Afghanistan and the rest. Rule by guns and by the strong is a recipe in the end for mankind's extinction. Therefore, we have the rule murder is not only bad, but stopping murder promotes the good.

The Little Girl:
I think God, and society makes murder bad to protect the children. I think God and society makes things crimes to protect us from adults who would be cruel and leave no one to grow up to inherit this earth.

The Democrat:
There lies the convincing point. Murder is bad because not murdering gives the species a better chance at survival. What species eat their young and have survived? None.
But the larger point is I think is that the genius needed for society to meet all its challenges cannot be predicted. Therefore, all must be preserved because no one can predict from where, or whom, critical keys to human survival will evince.
Take Einstein: who would have made the prediction that a math-challenged youngster would change the world? No one. So the point, kill no one since you are not God and can't know where human salvation will come from.

The Priest said:
Yes, and imagine the world, if Jesus had lived.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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What does that make you?

If you work in capital punishment what does that make you?
If you kill a murderer I think that’s murder too.
If you hurt some one would you expect it to be returned?
But from your point of view that hurt would have been earned.
I agree they should be punished, I really, really do,
But I also think we should help them to get through.
Do you really consider all of their concerns?
Or do you think: murder, now it’s their turn.
Murder is an intentional killing in the laws sight,
Just because capital punishment is in the law doesn’t make it right.
It’s just like a policeman breaking the law,
And the authorities turn a blind eye lacking awe.
If they are not justified to their discrepancies,
Do you think our crime sentences really should be?
We should be punished for our major illegal wrongs,
But if they aren’t then justice in society does not belong.
Because if we as a society lets capital murder carry through,
Just sit and ask yourself what does that really make you?

poem by Amy Fifita
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Nine Manifestations of the Mother

Sailaputri

Trident in thy right hand...

Kamandal, an ascetic’s bowl in the left

A crescent adorning thy divine head

Daughter of Himavant, the King of Mountains

Parvathi, Hymavathi—the giver of boons

Salutations to thee, my Mother…

Brahmacarini

Penance to be Shiv’s consort

A rosary in thy right hand

Kamandal, an ascetic’s bowl in the left

Resplendent ‘Brahmacarini’

Meditating upon thee

Gives us focus and directs our hearts

Towards the divine

Salutations to thee, my Mother…

Candraghanta

Vessel crystalline filled with

Nectar of eternal joy

O, DurgaAlso known as Candraghanta,

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poem by Indira Babbellapati
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