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Discovering witnesses is just as important as catching criminals.

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Catching The Butterfly

As though you were born
As though you were born
And so you thought
And so you thought
The futures ours
The futures ours
To keep and hold
To keep and hold
A child within
A child within
Has healing ways
Has healing ways
It sees me through
It sees me through
My darkest days
My darkest days
Im gonna keep catching that butterfly
In that dream of mine
Im gonna keep catching that butterfly
Im gonna keep catching that butterfly
In that dream of mine
In that dream of mine
Im gonna keep catching that butterfly
In that dream of mine
In my lucid dreams
In my lucid dreams
In my lucid dreams
Something now? ? ? ?
In my lucid dreams
Through life no fun
I want to feel
I want to run
Something numb
Through life no fun
Im gonna keep catching that butterfly
I want to feel
In that dream of mine
I want to run
Im gonna keep catching that butterfly
In that dream of mine
Im gonna keep catching that butterfly
In my lucid dreams
In that dream of mine
In my lucid dreams
Im gonna keep catching that butterfly
In that dream of mine
Im gonna keep catching that butterfly
In that dream of mine
Keep catching that butterfly
In my lucid dreams

[...] Read more

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No Recidivists

No recidivists

When clever Dr Guillotine
perfected his humane machine
for executing criminals.

It was accepted straight away
as being a much better way
of executing criminals

The state made no apology
for using this technology
for executing criminals.

The product of a brilliant brain
He was convinced it caused less pain
when executing criminals.

The guillotine’s not used today
It was a most effective way
of executing criminals.

Though not regarded as P.C
I think it proved effectively
that executing criminals

Ensured they did not re-offend
Results on which we can depend
by executing criminals.

You may see this as cruelty
Some states do not as you can see.
They still execute criminals.

10-Feb-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

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Regent's Court

Regent's court
Is the court were the police brings the criminals to be sentenced
Every singe day during the week
Some criminals caused serious offences in the city
That they need to be punished by the Regent's court
Also some of the Judges will be hard on the criminals
Because they need to pay for what they done to their victims
And the crown procecutor also works with the judges at Regent's court
But the criminals have their lawyers at the court that defends the Criminals because the criminals are their clients
When the day comes for the judges at the Regent's Court to deliver The sentence for each criminal every single day they will be there At The Regent's Court every single day giving the sentence to the criminals depending on what crime they commited like assault, Domestic violence, child abuse,
Drug trafficking, manslaughter, and murder
For first degree murder is 25 years and for the second degree murder is less

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If It's Love!

It's important that unshown love,
Comes directly shown from you.
To say it...
Doesn't make,
That-love-be-true!

It's important that unshown love,
Is a thing one wants to do...
Just to prove what is said,
Is absolutely true.

A hug,
And maybe a kiss.
A touch,
That has been missed.
A show of thoughtfulness...
Can go a very long distance.

A call,
Every once in a while...
Will go further than a mile.
If love is there to be shared...
Show someone they are cared for!
And doubts will come no more.

It's important that unshown love,
Comes directly shown from you.
To say it...
Doesn't make,
That-love-be-true!

It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love.
Yes!

It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love.
Yes!

It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love!

It shoos a boo-hooin'...
Known.

It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown,

[...] Read more

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Im Catchin Hell

Written by chuck jackson and marvin yancy
Tonight, i, I just want to talk to the ladies, oh fellows your cool but girls
If youve got a good man, youd better keep him,
Oh I know youre saying right now, what does she know
Who is she to tell me about my situation, well, I dont know your situation
But whatever it is, you should try to stay together
You know that big argument that you had the other night, remember
Well, today its not nothing, just dont let him leave you honey
Cause then youll find out that it wasnt those real big things you loved about him
It was the real small things, go on and laugh but its true
You know, things that youve seen a thousand times around the house
But never paid any attention to, like helping with the groceries
And helping in the yard and painting and repairing and huh, paying the bills
But you know now, all I have is memories and regrets
I could have given our love a chance to grow but no
I had to challenge it and be heard (oh), let me tell you something
That female liberation stuff, I dont know, sometimes I dont think its worth it
And Im really feeling, feeling kind of bad yaul, Im catching hell living here alone
Hmm, I never realized, oh lord, that you mean so much to me
Im catching hell living here alone, I want you to come back baby
Come back cause heres where you belong, oh yeah
If I could replay, if I could replay that whole scene again, oh well
You know that I would never, never say it again, that our love, our love is at its end
And oh, you know that I would kind of ease on back, yes I would
And let confusion pass on by, I took moves well, oh yeah
Without one good reason why, Im catching hell, catching hell
Lord Im living, living, living here alone, alone, lone, I didnt believe it could be
You know all the pressure on me, all the time, oh, Im catching hell, well, well
Living here alone, lone, lone, lone, lone, lone, lone, to tell you the truth
To tell you the truth Im going out of my mind---, yeah, oh do you hear me tonight
I dont have too (this is my story) much more to say except
Somebody (hey, this is my song) told me that if youve got something
Thats good to you and you dont use it (sad, sad) you might lose it (sad, song)
(song, so sad) so girls hold on to your good thing (oh), (you gotta hold on a little bit now)
And dont let go, oh---do you hear me tonight, its so sad living alone
Living alone (hmm), hold on to your good thing, hold on, (well, well) oh yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah---oh, oh, oh, lordy, lordy do you know what its like
Catching hell, (somebody turn up the microphone, oh---), oh, no, no, no, no, no, no

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William Cowper

Retirement

Hackney'd in business, wearied at that oar,
Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more,
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,
All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego;
The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,
Pants for the refuge of some rural shade,
Where, all his long anxieties forgot
Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot,
Or recollected only to gild o'er
And add a smile to what was sweet before,
He may possess the joys he thinks he sees,
Lay his old age upon the lap of ease,
Improve the remnant of his wasted span,
And, having lived a trifler, die a man.
Thus conscience pleads her cause within the breast,
Though long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd,
And calls a creature form'd for God alone,
For Heaven's high purposes, and not his own,
Calls him away from selfish ends and aims,
From what debilitates and what inflames,
From cities humming with a restless crowd,
Sordid as active, ignorant as loud,
Whose highest praise is that they live in vain,
The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain,
Where works of man are cluster'd close around,
And works of God are hardly to be found,
To regions where, in spite of sin and woe,
Traces of Eden are still seen below,
Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove,
Remind him of his Maker’s power and love.
'Tis well, if look’d for at so late a day,
In the last scene of such a senseless play,
True wisdom will attend his feeble call,
And grace his action ere the curtain fall.
Souls, that have long despised their heavenly birth,
Their wishes all impregnated with earth,
For threescore years employ’d with ceaseless care,
In catching smoke, and feeding upon air,
Conversant only with the ways of men,
Rarely redeem the short remaining ten.
Inveterate habits choke the unfruitful heart,
Their fibres penetrate its tenderest part,
And, draining its nutritious power to feed
Their noxious growth, starve every better seed.
Happy, if full of days—but happier far,
If, ere we yet discern life’s evening star,
Sick of the service of a world that feeds
Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds,
We can escape from custom’s idiot sway,
To serve the sovereign we were born to obey.

[...] Read more

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Simple Pleasures

In our lives, there are many little pleasures;
Little moments which we love to treasure.
Things which, on your face, put a smile,
Even if only for the very briefest while.

Sleeping between freshly laundered cotton sheets.
Breakfast in bed is an experience, which can’t be beat.
Discovering that you’ve at last lost a few pounds in weight.
Going to the cinema to see the latest film with a good mate.

Browsing around a second hand bookshop.
Making the bubbles on bubble-wrap pop!
Sitting, browsing through your old photos.
Playing about in the freshly fallen snow.

Singing your heart out to your favourite song in your car.
Meeting up for a drink with your friends at a local bar.
Curling up on the sofa with a hot drink and a good book.
Someone paying you a compliment on the way you look.

Waking up, thinking it’s a workday, and then discovering it’s the weekend.
Having a relaxing, girly night in, with your all of your close girlfriends.
When you make someone’s face light up with a big smile.
Catching up with old friends, you haven’t seen for a while.

Discovering a tenner in you pocket, which you forgot was there.
The odour of freshly cut grass filling the summer air.
Finding yourself in the quickest supermarket queue.
Having a relaxing massage or getting a new hair-do.

Getting all dressed up for a great, fun night out.
Eating your Mum’s Sunday roast, without a doubt.
Reading a good book on holiday by the pool.
The side of the pillow, which is lovely and cool.

When a random person smiles at you in the street,
Or when a person on a bus or train, gives you their seat.
Excitedly watching the very first snowfall of the year.
After work, sitting relaxing, sipping a nice, ice-cold beer.

Seeing a small baby clap their hands and joyfully laugh.
Lying back and relaxing in a luxurious, warm bubble bath.
When, from a friend, you receive a colourful, news filled letter.
When something happens, which makes everything feel better.

Different things bring different people pleasure,
So it can be difficult to calculate the exact measure.
But I suspect that at least one of the above,
Describes something which you really love.

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Now, Heart' - Some Of What I Remember When I Listen

A river is a process through time, and the river stages are its momentary parts.
—Willard Van Orman Quine

From early poems,1970s, youthful indiscretions/attempts to vocally/poetically arrive at/derive a worthwhile writer's voice. Some explication might serve or enhance these under serving, undeserving though 'striving-after' poems hidden in old journals understandably unpublished but now so with apologies which are these expiatory explanations. Recently rediscovering these early arrivals, derivative yet aspiring I recognized and reembraced an enduring self maturing, arriving into late middle age:

Obsessed newly by jazz, mad about the many miraculous lady singers, entranced all too easily as youth are wont to be by sorrows and sexual infatuations which feel, emphasis on 'feel', like love, here are two of many 'songs' as tributes and life markers to jazz singers who provided soundtrack and felt expression to my angst and easily inflated/deflated sense of self, of beloved others, and of that new territory, independent life away from parental home and childhood community discovering, blundering into the fray of separate hearts and minds, irresponsible genitals and insouciant jouissance ('juiciness', in French) , discovering then and again and again that like Walt Whitman I 'contain worlds' and many disparate selves poorly formed, most of them collective projections and expectations of who or what I wanted to be, what others wanted and expected me to be, resulting in much confusion, tumult and multitudes of momentary throw-away selves. Thus singers like Bessie Smith and Dinah Washington became anchors, warm contexts and containers, for my daily fragmentation and re-formation.

I lived on 3rd street in downtown Chattanooga, a refugee from zealous, politically conservative white evangelicals and the vestigial yet still viral Southern Confederacy. Just a block or two from where Bessie Smith was born, I used to watch from my upstairs porch the steep hilly street's comings and goings with a glimpse of the Tennessee River between tenements across the street, its persistent rich aroma heavy in the air. I imagined Bessie Smith as a little girl playing up and down the street like the kids I saw then - once, two of them gleefully chasing a frighteningly large and confused looking rat.

William—he insisted on 'Willie'—an old man down the street who knew Bessie as a little girl, used to come up to my porch after one day hearing Bessie from my phonograph singing blues onto the always busy but attentive street. One of the first and permanent things I learned from my porch is that a city street has keen, observant eyes, acute ears, omnivorously seeing/hearing everything, indifferently, perhaps, but nothing escapes it, a roving, all-knowing urban Eye of God.

Extremely green and eager as green always is though stutteringly, and without apology, I enjoyed Willie's many stories and back pocket bottles of Old Mr. Boston Apricot Brandy, both of which—story and spirits/spirited story —dissolved or appeared to, age, racial, cultural, and sociological differences, along with those catalysts/cata-lusts, the forever alchemical Bessie and other jazz singers, Billie! Dinah! Ella! Sassy! Lil Ester Phillips! Nina Simone! to name only a few of the sensuous solutio chanteuses resolving sexual confoundaries by Miss-ambiguating sins' plethera with loose lilt and will- o-the-lisp whisper tongues.

One night Willie, much 'in the pocket'—an expression for being well onto tipsy which I've never heard from anyone but him—wanted to dance to a Bessie tune playing, 'Back Water Blues', him recalling nights as a young man in rural Tennessee where he'd worked hard days in oppressive vegetable fields then hit the after hours juke joints for 'colored, twas segregation days, ' he explained, where he would go to drink, dance then dive/delve, as it were, into the sensual mysteries of moist skin, hot breath, mutually open mouths with their commodious moans and mumbles, venial hands, always vital parts, private hearts mutually pounding ancient known rhythms, odors and tastes of gin and those slender, forbidden, now greedily stolen bites in those all too short nights with their damned intrusive dawns.

'Dawnus interuptus, ' I quipped, us both slapping knees, passing the narrative bottle fore and aft hefting moments re-grasped between us, offerings to the equally narrative river, the all-knowing hungry street.

Jumping to his feet, Willie described 'powder dancin'' (pronounced marvelously, 'powdah') which I had never heard of. Talcum powder would be copiously scattered onto the dance floor where couples in stocking or bare feet would ecstatically dance, gliding and sliding sweetly scented, muskily bent toward later glides and slides in the slippery joy of momentary allure and amour on dimmed porches or surrounding woods often enough and gratis upon delicate slabs of moonlight gratuitously dewy providing cushion for Passion's out and in, honoring and dignifying deities of skin wanting more making more skin, headlong Nature's frictional algo-rhythms indelibly scored in every/each his/her yawing yen.

Willie shouted, 'YOU GOT ANY TALC POWDER? ! '

...The jazz us trembled...

'NO! ' I bellowed, curious.

'YOU GOT ANY FLOUR? ! '

Even more curious, 'YEAH! ! '

'GO GIT IT! QUICK! ! '

He grinned an Old Mr. Boston juke-joint night-memories quaff-again grin.

Martha White, a brand of flour sold down South, has never been put to better use. Willie threw handfuls of 'Martha' over the tenement-planked living room floor as I half protested at the mess it (and me and Willie) was and would become. Completely gripped by his present-in-the-past brandy trance, a much younger man now, he suddenly grabbed me, brandied and tranced, too, my long hair flying, and danced me all over the floor the night through with swigs of Old But Now Spry 'n' Sprightly Mr. Boston with pauses to change record albums on the phonograph, 'catching up our breaths, ' he panted.

Next morning (more likely early afternoon) , Willie long gone, I awakened sprawled on the penitent porch—a cool concrete floor my sinner's bench—sweaty and thick as pan gravy, mosquito bitten, marinaded in Tennessee night mists. I staggered into the living room onto the ghostly floor powdery white, 'stroked' with two attached, or close to, sets of foot prints, heel slides and smears, a kind of 'Jackson Pollock meets Tibetan sand painting 'yazzed' yantra'**' with cigarette ashes flicked into the flickering impermanent mix. I've not powder danced since when we drank discovering oral history's joys, opened eager ears and fraternal arms forgetting fears of race and religion, age and expressed/ espressed Desire's multilingual disseminations.

I know that wheat is anciently sacred but now even more so for flour, the sight and feel of it, its unbaked smell, turns me again toward a Chattanooga 3rd street, its compass river swelling like bread nearby bearing witness still for one cannot say too much about rivers—their irreverence of edges scored, spilling themselves, proclaiming natural gods deeper than memory yet dependent upon it for traced they must be in every human activity, no matter the breech, for something there is to teach even deity though it may be wrong to do so, or hearsay to say it or sing, but the song is there for those whose ears are broken onto bottoms from which cry urgencies of Being and between, dutiful banks barely containing the straining Word.

**From Tibetan Buddhism. Visual meditation devices,
Yantras function as revelatory conduits of cosmic truths.

1. To Bessie Smith,3rd Street Chattanooga (circa 1971)

Already the river begins its sweat.
April to September I'll be on the porch
Come sunsets listening to cars in the
Dark and you, remembering the flour
On the floor and me and Willie in
Stocking feet dancing till dawn,

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Antenna

I'm the Antenna
Catching vibration
You're the transmitter
Give information!
Wir richten Antennen ins Firmament
Empfaengen die Tone die Niemand kennt
I'm the transmitter
I give information
You're the antenna
Catching vibration
Es Strahlen die Sender Bild Ton und Wort
Elektromagnetisch an jeden Ort
I'm the Antenna
Catching vibration
You're the transmitter
Give information!
Radio Sender und Hoerer sind wir
Spielen im Aether das Wellenklavier
[repeat to fade]
I'm the antenna catching vibration
You're the transmitter give information
I'm the transmitter I give information
You're the antenna catching vibration

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Fingertips

Everything is catching
Yes, everything is catching on fire
(everythings catching on fire)
Everything is catching on fire (everythings catching on fire)
Fingertips
Fingertips
Fingertips
I hear the wind blow
I hear the wind blow
It seems to say, hello, hello,
Im the one who loves you so.
Hey now everybody now
Hey now everybody
Hey now everybody now
Whos that standing out my window?
I found a new friend
Underneath my pillow
Come on and wreck my car (come on)
Come on and wreck my car (come on)
Come on and wreck my car (come on)
Come on and wreck my car (come on)
Arent you the guy who hit me in the eye?
Arent you the guy who hit me in the eye?
Please pass the milk, please
Please pass the milk, please
Please pass the milk, please
Leave me alone, leave me alone
Whos knocking on the wall?
All alone all alone
All by myself
Whats that blue thing doing here?
Something grabbed ahold of my hand
I didnt know what had my hand
But thats when all my troubles began
I dont understand you (I dont understand you)
I just dont understand you (I dont understand you)
I dont understand the things you say
I cant understand a single word
I dont understand you (I dont understand you)
I just dont understand you (I dont understand you)
I cannot understand you (I dont understand you)
I dont understand you (I dont understand you)
I heard a sound, I turned around
I turned around to find the thing
That made the sound
Mysterious whisper
Mysterious whisper
Mysterious whisper
Mysterious whisper
The day that love came to play

[...] Read more

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The Judge – versus – A Judge

THE JUDGE of the Universe called me
to dock and asked on the judgment day
“Justice Joy, to defend yourself
do you have anything to say?
You’re charged with the
crime of denying justice at your hand
To many an innocent accused
when you dispensed justice in the world.
Heart-rending cries of innocent convicts I’ve heard
Acquitted criminals
trumpeting boasts also I’ve heard.
Despite knowing the truth yourself,
you’ve relied on (false) witnesses,
And sent to gallows many faultless.
Your acts were indeed heinous.
I’ve heard your judgments many
that you pronounced in open court.
Often you treated life and freedom
with no justice of any sort.
Widows’ wails and orphans’ cries
have never ever touched your heart.
Innocence written on victims’ faces,
you always failed to look at.
Succumbed to pressure you
wrote out judgments as ‘bosses’ wanted
To gain ‘their’ pleasure and favors,
several evidences you twisted.

Judge, your traits were bad.
You harbored prejudice and hatred
Your opponents couldn’t ever escape.
Traps you had manipulated.
You never used your knowledge to give
men their life-saving justice.
These are ‘A’ grade crimes,
according to Heaven’s Law of Justice.
Prescribed punishment for these
is ‘Long-term Roasting in Fire’.
State your defense as to why
you shouldn’t be condemned to that fire”.


The dormant lawyer in me woke up
when those ‘allegations’ I heard.
I posed the following questions:
“Who are the complainants? Tell me lord?
What is the evidence? Who are the witnesses?
Who is the advocate on record?

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They Won't Want To Go Back

While we live our lives as best as we can,
There are those who couldn't care less,
The criminal fraternity do what they like,
We're left to pick up the mess.

Soft justice favours the criminals,
While the victims are the ones left to rot,
To turn the tide the other way,
A hard lesson needs to be taught.

Take the murderers they don't give a damn,
Jail for them doesn't hold any fears,
Three square a day free drugs and no rent,
Then back out in just a few years.

There are those who advocate killing us all,
Yet these terrorists are now cowering in fear,
Saying please don't send us to the U.S.of A.
We'd much rather do our time here.

The rapists and thief's who couldn't care less,
They'll do it day in and day out,
They show no remorse for their victims,
Then ask what are we all about.

If they mug an old man or a women,
Which results in their violent demise,
They will not be charged with their murder,
For their lawyers make out it's all lies.

We are now running scared of the criminals,
The do gooders have them in their sights,
There's money galore to be made from these thugs,
It's the innocents who have no human rights.

Society now favours the criminal,
They're much better off than us,
When we ask why there's no retribution,
We're told to stop making a fuss.

They now live in five star prisons,
We want more is what their lawyers shout,
The more we give them the more they demand,
No wonder they don't want to come out.

Soon they'll be appealing their sentences,
Telling us we need to be tough,
They're enjoying prison life so much,
Their sentences are not long enough.

[...] Read more

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Who reigns supreme

Who reigns supreme and guide on earth?
Kind and merciful even though we are not worth,
HE loves his creation even they make wrong move,
Not to HIS expectation and conduct bad prove,

Life and death destined from day one,
Not a day more and not a less one,
Then how do we try and assume HIS role?
When life is like bubble then what can be goal?

No one is allowed to take away the life,
Not to cut throat with double edged knife,
You may resist attempt but still not threaten,
Always name on lips even bodily beaten,

Life is precious so need protection,
Hard, punitive and stringent steps for action,
But not beheading a person or put to death,
Such steps considered inhumane and against faith,

We may advocate person to be banished,
If not capital punishment but severely punished,
If life is taken away from him then he is finished,
Then role of creator is just completely diminished,

This is humble position but not to be demeaned,
It I shard to forget when murderer not condemned,
Perpetrators find heaven and arrange less fined,
Definition for crime needs more to be defined,

One more forces has emerged to halt human abuse,
Protection for human rights, even rules criminals refuse,
One innocent is spared at cost of hundred criminals,
Such is thought and well defined rationale,

Hanged to death punishment is rarest of rare,
None may resort to crime and not even dare,
It is not for the others not to rush and take care,
Criminals brought to book and innocents spare,

Human activists may raise hue and cry,
Even human bogey outrageously try,
Their roles not limited but yardstick must apply,
Ensure purpose not defeated when charges reply,

Heinous criminals, terrorists may pretend innocence,
Tutored and public opinion may crate nonsense,
Allegations and counter allegations defeat very essence,
Hold unto last amidst lies and truth absence

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Oh That's Right You're Just Another Girl

i like the echo of the narrow mountain:


Oh! that's right
You're just another girl
That loves to show of And to feel important at the same time

And to feel important at the same time
And to feel important at the same time
at the same time at the same time
at the same time at the same time
same time same time same time same time
And to feel important at the same time
And to feel important at the same time
at the same time at the same time
at the same time at the same time
same time same time same time same time
at the same time at the same time
at the same time at the same time
same time same time same time same time
And to feel important at the same time
And to feel important at the same time
at the same time at the same time
at the same time at the same time
same time same time same time same time
And to feel important at the same time
And to feel important at the same time
at the same time at the same time

Oh! that's right
You're just another girl
You're just another girl
You're just another girl
You're just another girl

aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo


crash! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! krassssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss sss!

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III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

[...] Read more

poem by from The Ring and the BookReport problemRelated quotes
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Discovering

Now you say you belong to me
Do you ever take the time to ask me
If I want to be more involved in your life
Its so sad
You dont realise
What I can do for you
Its so sad
You wont spend more time alone with me
When you could be discovering my love
Cant you see just how much youre hurting me
When you say one thing and then do another
I forgive you
But still you take me for granted
Its so sad
You dont realise
What I can do for you
Its so sad
You wont spend more time alone with me
When you could be discovering my love
You know there are times
When nothing else takes my place
And those times
Mean more to you than anything else
But still you need more of me
And I need more of you - give me more of you
Its so sad
You dont realise
What I can do for you
Its so sad
You wont spend more time alone with me
When you could be discovering my love

song performed by Cliff RichardReport problemRelated quotes
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Please Call Me, Baby

Well evening fell just like a star
Left a trail across the sky
You spit as you walked out the door
If this is love were crazy
As we fight like cats and dogs
I just know theres got to be more
So please call me, baby
Wherever you are
Its too cold to be out walking the streets
We do crazy things when were wounded
Everyones a bit insane
I dont want you catching your death of cold
Walking in the rain
Ill admit I aint no angel
Ill admit I aint no saint
Im selfish and cold but youre blind
If I exercise my devils
Well my angels may leave too
And theyre so hard to find
So please call me, baby
Wherever you are
Its too cold to be out walking the streets
We do crazy things when were wounded
Everyones a bit insane
I dont want you catching your death of cold
Walking in the rain
Were always at each others throats
You know it drives me up the wall
Most of the time blowin off steam
I wish to hell youd leave me
Wish to God youd stay
Lifes so different than in our dream
Please call me, baby
Wherever you are
Its too cold to be out walking the streets
We do crazy things when were wounded
Everyones a bit insane
I dont want you catching your death of cold
Walking in the rain
I dont want you catching your death of cold
Out walking in the rain

song performed by Indigo GirlsReport problemRelated quotes
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Sneakin Sally Through The Alley

(alan toussaint)
Sneakin sally through the alley
Sneakin sally through the alley
Sneakin sally through the alley
Trying to keep her out of sight
Sneakin sally through the alley
When up pops the wife
I said, ah I cant find nothing wrong with being friends cos sometimes
She lets me use the car
She said if you cant find nothing wrong with your mind
Youd better find something wrong with her, her
So I began to explain ah that it wasnt just ah what she thought
Id better find something to do with my time
The fact is Ive just been caught
Sneakin sally through the alley
Sneakin sally through the alley
Trying to get away clean
Sneakin sally through the alley
When up pops the queen
Trying to double talk, get myself in trouble talk, catching myself in lies
Catching myself in lies
Mama just looked at me as if I was, ah, crazy
And didnt even bat an eye
So I began to try to explain, ah that it just wasnt what she thought
Id better find something to do with my time
The fact is ah just been caught, just been caught,
Sneakin, sneakin, sneakin,
Trying to talk doubletalk, get myself in trouble talk
Catching myself in lies, catching myself in lies
Mama just looked at me as if I was crazy
She didnt even bat an eye
Sneakin sally through the alley with sally
Sneakin sally through the alley with sally
Sneakin sally through the alley
Sneakin sally through the alley
Sneakin sally through the alley

song performed by Robert PalmerReport problemRelated quotes
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Catching Snowflakes in the sun

It's amazing what people do
When snowflakes fall on top of you
Some run and hide from the falling snow
Whilst others make balls to throw
Life is weird that way
Catching snowflakes in the sun.

As they drift slowly down and fall around you
Look up and open your palms and let land a few
And try to catch their silence and serenity in your hand
Before they quickly melt and disappear
Leaving drops like those from an emotional tear
Catching snowflakes in the sun.

Open your mouth wide and let them land on your tongue
And try to taste the essence from where they have come
For if heaven really exists and is the place to be
Then you could be there in a dream alone floating free
Magic aerial crystals dancing through the air
Catching snowflakes in the sun.

Lie on the ground and you'll be covered from head to toe
Like everything around you in a blanket of snow
Pretend to guide them towards you to the ground
By slowly moving your arms up and down
For a brief moment a snow angel you've become
Catching snowflakes in the sun.

Stand up and brush away the snow
Then build a snowman for you to enjoy
For as the season changes - as it surely will
No longer will you suffer from winter's chill
Instead enjoy every moment before it disappears
Leaving sounds of silenced snow whispers in your ears.

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Peace in Glow

Think of birds with flying colors-
find and feel its immense pleasure,
flying not for any earthly bargain
sky pastures peace, hardly any pain.

Eyes catching up thy show,
peace found in subtle glow!

Sun pops out with silent splash,
spilling red of rinsing paintbrush.
The dawn and dusk palette same hue-
peace newborn pays the end its due.

Minds catching up thy show
peace found in subtle glow!

Buds’ hinting promise of colours
blooming into splendorous flowers
call us all to the peace divine
just to be attuned and be aligned.

Hearts catching up thy show
peace found in subtle glow!

Visions of innocent beauties -
non ephemeral joys in plenty,
cognizance has to be treasured –
precious gifts beyond any measure.

Souls catching up thy show
peace found in subtle glow!

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